Coming Home

by Lisa Plummer Savas

I honestly never thought I’d dance again. It had been more than 15 years since I’d put my ballet slippers, favorite leotards and worn out jazz shoes away. While I never stopped longing for that blissful feeling of freedom that used to be mine when I danced across a studio floor or stage, I thought for sure that my aging body would never be able to handle the inordinate demands of the classical dance forms again. I just figured my days of sweeping across the floor and leaping through

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It’s Cha Cha Cha Not Calculus

The Dancing Housewife was treated to a free dinner this weekend. Thanks to the dancing husband’s musicality and innate sense of rhythm, he placed second in a dance contest and won himself a gift card to a local pizza establishment. I’m glad all those private lessons I’m taking are paying off for him. At least he shares.

In case you’re wondering, my dancing husband, Pat, did not have a sudden and unexpected change of heart. He remains resolutely unwilling to enter ballroom

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