My eyes grew heavy on the five minute ride to the courthouse and I worried if I would be too tired to enjoy the evening; pain drains me like a bullet hole in a bucket sometimes. Harold was kind enough to carry the chairs and cooler of Diet Pepsi and water so all I had to do was manage to walk up the sidewalk in front of Everett’s Furniture. As we approached our destination, I saw a familiar, bright smile and my spirits immediately lifted, it was my dear friend, Jean Reeves, beaming with welcome. Harold and I settled in next to her and my heart crawled inside the feel of its San Saba home and my mind readied for another wonderful street dance.A gentle breeze blew across Commerce and the enormous flies used it to save strength for dive bombing toward nachos bought for dinner. Flies really don’t care about good causes or the fact Mission San Saba was selling the nachos to dance goers to further the selfless work they do in our community. I watched as Jean tried to protect her dinner with a paper towel and still manage to eat it. I couldn’t help but think the positive side to the equation was that while the flies may have been plentiful, at least there were no mosquitoes coming around to collect blood donations once dinner was over.Did your parents ever tell you to stop fiddling with something? If they said those words they must not have ever heard the sweet sounds an actual fiddle makes! My dad played violin but one would think a fiddle is a completely different instrument. I happen to love classical music but I shall be honest, I never tapped my toes to it. Our house was filled with the sounds of a Mozart violin concerto but the music was most often like sad falling tears or a gentle breeze in a field of flowers. Fiddle music is a party that sparkles, seems to be infused with carbonated fizz and once inside your eardrums, rumbles through your body like shock pulses of movement motivators. The street soon filled with tandem two steppers, willing waltzers and capable Cotton Eyed Joe lines. I thought it was a rule all over the world that little boys are supposed to think all little girls have cooties and never to be talked to in public, let alone brought out into the street for a dance! My heart melted as I watched several young men patrol the crowd for possible partners. I am speaking of an age where their starched cowboy shirts were too young to be disturbed by sweat rings, boots so small a lizard, rather than alligator would have been enough skin and belt buckles so large the only way to keep any balance was to waltz their young girls around the street stiff legged, straight armed and with their necks strained in one direction. I felt I was watching their future unfold right before my eyes and the feeling was bittersweet because for all that we gain in life we must put aside other things we hold so very dear.Laughter is a music in itself and there is always an abundance at these events. The laughter comes from that warm place of friendship and welcome this town exudes. When the band played the song America and the crowd rose to their feet, I truly felt my heart was connected to every other heart there. I felt the pride, the love and unity just as if we were all the same heart standing as one…it was beautiful, humbling and profound. I was not able to dance a step at the street dance but at the Courthouse that night my heart waltzed, my mind two stepped and my soul tapped out the shoddish with the guy who held his son close to him while moving along the pavement. San Saba once again came to life as a rainbow of honest simplicity, deep meaning and root of what is truly important about life. Life is a dance, we are the music, the composers, the dancers and those we love, have a smile for, nod to, and with whom we deal each day are our dance partners…treat them well. I love you all with all my heart and in case any of you are wondering, I am writing this with two feet and at home.