Last night I listened to a romantic rendition of the wedding waltz, and cried. Gentle happy memories of being a tiny girl held securely in my father’s arms as we danced around our large Beverly Hills living room. Happiness.
As I grew older, memories with my father dancing the waltz actually faded.

My father and I danced when the occasion came up, but it’s the wedding waltz that feels strongest in my kinesthetic memory. With it, the deeply embedded taken-for-granted message that the fulfillment of my life was to be married. To marry the right man and create a remarkable family like my mother had done.