DANCE WITH THE DIVINE

      Soon it will be time to celebrate (or acknowledge) the passing of another year in the relentless passage of time in this saga of living.  I boldly requested a present for the occasion.  Dance is a life-long passion of mine.  Not so for my husband.  It came to my attention that our city will be hosting the 2016 performance of the richly inspiring and unique Shen Yun, the Chinese choreographic phenomenon which has its audience "enter the gates of a lost civilization where ancient legends come to life (certainly a goal of mine) and music connects heaven and earth."  (the birthday gift of perfection for one who is unable to stop her new , modern computer from drawing red lines through and under her limping verbiage, giving new and painful meaning to 'connect=the=dots'.
       I went to the limits of brashness in asking (no harm) this remarkable machine to share a sampling of this performance masterpiece with you, dear reader, potential listener, via linkage with a "You Tube" excerpt, "Dance with the Divine". (And I profer a premature apology should you hear, if anything, 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of company 'B'".)
       Apropos of nothing (why break my streak?), there is a TV commercial currently running which has a tag line of "Optometry humor.", thrown out snidely by an actress aptly-garbed in a white lab coat. Somehow, this little (VERY, thankfully) literary outing appears to stumble into that category.
       But I digress.  (surprised?) My birthday inching ever closer. THAT was our topic, it is hoped accompanied live or through the miracle of what is sure to be a 'Helen Keller' effort on your part (It is on MINE,  and I'm writing it. I would happily trade every jar of wrinkle cream this evening to have my hunter green, portable Underwood of college days for just one hour!) Birthdays - as a rule, in the Pythagorian, not twelve-inch sense - can be an occasion of 'stock-taking', an 'epiphany of significant or 'passing' largesse, a gathering/celebratory excuse or, perhaps, at some point, just another day - 'same-old, same-old', laundry, meal preps check the obits and, not finding your name, check the horoscopes.
       Given the insurmountable shortcomings of simply discussing the issue, I can only hope (fingers AND toes crossed) that the "big day" will come and go with more grace/less aggravation and desultorily throw out a 'postcard':

Later, Lorane. . . . .