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This week I didn’t know what I wanted to write about, but I knew I wanted it to be touching and I wanted it to bring back everyone’s romantic memories.

So I sat in my writing chair and mulled.

I knew I had romantic experiences, but the memory that kept popping up in my mind was about a dance held where my parents both lived.

It was an assisted living facility, and by George, there was a party that made a lasting impression on me.

I now live in a facility smaller and with fewer activities but with similar goals.

Yes, now I am sure. I want to tell you a story about a dance party I attended to escort my parents. So let’s go.

The balloon and colored streamers hung from the ceiling, tinting the light of shades of mauve , rose and aqua, and it softened the light that graced the faces in the room.

Laughter bubbled over like champagne and the warmth reached like caressing fingers coaxing all who stood at the door to enter and join in.

It was a party for the residents of Abbey Delray where my parents lived. Most were in costume, and in the wearing of them, their view of the night and each other blushed making them respond to the music with an inner beat and lightened feet.

I stood at the back of the room because I didn’t want to miss anything.

It was certainly not what I expected. I expected it to be cute. It was not cute.

It was delicious and romantic, and if ever I had thought of elderly as anything other than that, my mind was changed that night.

Different emotions crisscrossed my mind and heart as I stood there.

My favorite couple was the “odd couple,” a sign on his back said.

He, however, went in high heels, a long dress and a red curly wig. She, much shorter than he, went in a man’s tux and top hat.

It was hilarious to watch them dance because he, I mean she, tried to naturally lead while she, I mean he, followed.

He, I mean she, kept losing her stuffed bosom and panty hose. When they weren’t dancing or rearranging body parts, they held hands.

Then there was the lovely southern belle in her long, pink, flowy dress and parasol with her date in tux and white hat.

They had obviously danced together for a lifetime and she was home in his arms.

He, by the way, was the coolest of any age I had ever seen.

There was the pair of clowns, both in wild wigs cut in brilliant costumes having a great laughing good time and the beatnik couple in loud tunic and head band. There was no doubt of their shared love.

I couldn’t name all of the characters, but the love in the room filled it to overflowing and I felt it deep inside myself.

How did I ever get the idea that old folks can’t cut loose, they don’t cut a rug, they don’t make love?

I stood tapping my feet to their beat marveling at their energy and their joy.

I found myself laughing out loud feeling their joy of life at that moment.

I found myself blushing being drawn into the intimacy they displayed so easily.

I found myself choking back tears as I watched a husband asking his lovely wife to dance.

She answered something like this, “Oh, I can’t dance. Don’t you know I have lost my balance?” To which he swooped her up in his arms saying, “Then I’ll hold you.”

They stood right in place dancing, moving their bodies as one to the beat of the music and their own love. I had to turn away because it was so sweet it made me cry.

It was nearly one party in an endless array of them that they gave for the residents, some who are 65 and many who are in their 90s.

I loved going to see them, which I did, a lot.

There was such life and love and energy there that after each visit I came away renewed.

Also, I knew my wonderful parents were happy and well cared for.

I think I’ll find out when the next dance is planned and that will be when I will go again.

Next time, I will rest up before getting on that plane so I can join in the dancing.

If I don’t have a date, I’ll dance with the ocean breeze and the beat of the music.

I just hope I can keep up with them.

The view from the mountain is wonderous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in The Sun for more than 25 years.