RUSTY DRAPER: JOY IN MY HEART — JUST NOT IN MY LIMBS

RUSTY DRAPER | Chewin’ the Fat

I’m starting to question my senses — while most of you have been questioning them for years.

It all happened the other day while driving down the street. The day I’m speaking of was a beautiful, warm sunny day. There was perfect reason that every man, woman and child should be exhilaratingly happy.

That included me — and I was in a wonderful mood.

It all happened when I reached the traffic light.

I noticed that there was a young man on the sidewalk dancing by himself. Immediately the thought went through my mind that maybe he was trying to entice someone else into joining him.

The second thought I entertained was that it was normally too early in the day for dancing, but who am I to make judgement on that.

This young fellah, maybe in his mid 20s, just seemed a little too exuberant in his fancy dance moves. I just stared and pondered what was before my eyes.

Maybe I was just jealous that my old limbs are no longer capable of such gyrations.

At best, most lights hold you up possibly for just a couple of minutes — unless that is you are in dire need to get a bathroom. In such cases you can almost expect the delay to be much longer.

At this particular pause, it gave me ample time to see this kid’s body shake and manoeuvre in ways one would only see on “Dancing with the Stars.”

I believe I was starting to get envious.

Since it was a marvellously beautiful day, I had my car window down. Then it dawned on me. There was no “boom-boom” music, and even when I zeroed in on the dancer’s ears, I could see no ear buds plugged in.

“My”, I said to myself, “this man has music in his soul.”

Now, I’m really impressed.

Not wanting to be outdone by this obviously “happy guy,” I thought of the many times when I would be alone driving my car and singing at the top of my lungs. And, yes, even doing a bit of a be-bop behind the wheel.

Of course you could always count on some smart alec who would pass me with a huge smile on his face and beep his horn.

But, enough about me, let’s get back to my early morning dancing friend. I simply couldn’t erase from my mind what I had witnessed.

By now I’m enjoying a COVID-safe, outside tea with my friend. And guess what?

Yes, my unknown dancing friend walks by, or should I say “goes dancing by.”

But now, he clearly has found a dancing partner. It was really quite the spectacle. They were a sight for sore eyes. Or should I say a “sight for psoriasis?”

But back to my original question: “Who’s the wacky one, him or me?”

It was abundantly clear that my friend was no Fred Astaire, but he did have more moves than Chubby Checker doing the twist.

This man and his friend were not only happy, but they were expressing it well.

Rusty, on the other hand, while admittedly happy, failed miserably in outwardly showing of my joyful feelings.

In fairness, it’s safe to say that on this particular day, “This guy’s cord didn’t quite reach the plug.”

I know not the reason for this man’s euphoric high, but as for my own lack of outward enthusiasm, I had no excuse. My happiness and contentment that day was clouded in the mundane, the boring, and was appealing to no one but me.

So, one day you might see me dancing in the street, flailing my body to the beat of no music. And with a smile on my face, like a Cheshire cat, you’ll know I’ve discovered the secret of enjoying my happiness to the fullest.