I have two hometowns

            Chattanooga, home of mind  

            Mobile, home of heart

           

            Both river cities

            Sound of lapping waves soothes soul

            Adventure here, there

 

            Boatmen speed away

            Fishermen hold rods and reels

            Enjoying the day

 

            Parks downtown for all

            Children run, couples walking

            Flowers everywhere

 

            Tunnels capture cars

            Mobile’s go under water

            ‘Nooga cars do not

 

            Mardi Gras is fun

            Mobile, Mother of Mystics

            Parades, music, joy

 

            Chattanooga’s great

            River Bend-Sunday Market

            Hot music and food 

 

            Cities one and two

            Scenic South-long histories

            Told in museums

 

           

            Trail of Tears recalled

            Chattanooga points the way

            To never forget

 

            Cherokees passed here

            The Passage-water-honors

            Cooling steps recall

 

            Mauvilla-Mobile

            Tribe near Mobile Bay became

            Origin of name

 

            Two towns-slow living

            Southern hospitality

            Once there, now here-good

             

  

             

              

             

  

  

              

This week the leader of the North Georgia Writers' Group suggested a writing prompt, write a story about our home town. I began, but wasn't satisfied that I could make it something creative. Then I got an idea. One member of the group is a talented poet who specializes in Haiku poetry. I am not a poet--at least not yet. Nonetheless, I decided to give it a try. The format of 5-7-5 line structure makes the challenge interesting. I created a poem to be critiqued at the meeting on Thursday. If I have some positive feedback, I will share it in a blog. If I discover that I should stay with prose, at least I gave it a try. It was fun.

Here I am at a Arthur Murray Dance Party with one of the teachers.  Barbara, the Flapper having a grand time.

Aging has its way of changing one’s lifestyle. My late husband, Paul, and I enjoyed ballroom dancing, not the dancing of today’s young people. They move around, often not even touching their partners.  Paul and I could rhumba and swing step all around a dance floor. We were good. Paul never did learn to Cha-Cha, a favorite dance of mine.

When I moved to Atlanta I decided not to give up my love of dance, even though I no longer had a partner. I signed up for classes at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio near my apartment.  What fun I had. Along with individual instruction, there were themed dance parties for students to practice their skills. Eventually the school rewarded me; I became a member of the Arthur’s Club for advanced students. We enjoyed dance experiences away from the studio at local dance venues. One time the class ended up dancing the new dance rage, The Macarena, in a restaurant parking lot.

Arthritis has taken Arthur’s place. I can no longer enjoy the dancing experience.  Perhaps that is why I decided to find another form of self-expression—writing. My feet may not be moving, but my mind is in motion. This will have to be enough for now.