Yesterday I drove to Oklahoma to see my friend Marina, who’s ninety-five and an original Rosie the Riveter, in the Tulsa Christmas Parade. She was the grand marshal. As I understand it, grand marshals often lead a parade, but yesterday a giant floating dump truck led the one here. Not exactly the holiday spirit if you ask me, but I guess it was because the waste department sponsored the whole ordeal. So there’s that. Anyway, after the dump truck were a bunch of hot firemen (go tell it on the mountain), then there was Marina. Later Marina told me that growing up she wanted to be a comedian, but her mom said, “You’re going to be a lady.” So at seventeen Marina started working at Boeing, making planes for the war. Talk about a lady! You should have seen Marina yesterday–she was too cute–she wore the actual overalls she used to inspect planes in and had red do-rag tied around her head.

I attended the parade with one of my friends from high school, Kara, as well as my swing dancing friends Gregg and Rita. We all dressed warmly, but I personally wore ski pants and thick wool socks. Y’all, this may need to be my daily outfit until the end of March. My legs and feet are normally constantly cold, but yesterday they were so warm and toasty. Still, it was freezing at the parade, especially when we stepped out of the sun. As soon as Marina passed by, and shortly after we all got hit in our heads with a bunch of hard candy, my crew decided to call it quits. Gregg and Rita went home, and Kara and I went to a new bookstore in town (Magic City Books) because we both love to read. And whereas my willpower has been nonexistent with reference to food this weekend (I’ve eaten a lot–a lot–of carbs), it was intact at the bookstore–I didn’t buy a single thing. (It was a Christmas miracle.)

Last night Gregg and Rita and I attended the weekly swing dance they helped start and continue to help with. Marina showed up, and I can’t tell you what a fun time it was, dancing with people you love and care about, people who love and care about you in return. Plus, all my friends are entertaining. Marina said, “Everyone I wanted to dance with died. I wanted to dance with Fred Astaire–he died. And Patrick Swayze–he died too. I saw Dirty Dancing three times. I couldn’t get over him.”

“Well, who could?” I said.

Later Marina said although she didn’t get to dance with Patrick Swayze, she did see him dancing at a nightclub in Brooklyn once. I said, “That must have been a sight.” Marina said one of her friends that evening commented she didn’t think he was that good of a dancer. Patrick Frickin’ Swayze, and this lady was all I’ve-had-better. Talk about being hard to impress. I thought I had high standards. Anyway, then the conversation turned to the time Marina introduced The Rat Pack before they performed, about how there’s a picture of it–somewhere. I nearly fell out of my chair, just like I nearly fell off the sofa this morning when Rita told me she used to dance with Disney on Parade. Well, that much I knew, but today I found out she apparently performed with Cathy Rigby in a little production called Peter Pan. Y’all, I’m such a Broadway fangirl, I nearly spewed my coffee across the room. Of course, I tried to appear calm.

“Oh yeah, I think I’ve heard of her.”

Most of today has been spent telling stories like these, breaking my food rules, and thinking about how I’m going to tell my therapist tomorrow that I only took four naps this week instead of five. Shit happens, lady. Some days you don’t dance with Patrick Swayze. Still, I’m looking forward to sharing how I’ve moved my blog writing to the afternoons, the way it’s taken a lot of pressure off. I mean, the pressure’s still there, but it’s better.

Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m in Gregg and Rita’s office. I can see Christmas lights through the window blinds, Tracy Chapman is playing on my phone, and these things make me smile. Rita’s been taking a class through Pepperdine about how the brain works, and she said that this is one of the things necessary for being creative and coming up with ideas–being slightly happy. Just slighty is enough, so long as you’re not miserable. To me this is really good news and means that you don’t have to be perfect in order for life to work. It means that four naps may not be five, but it’s still huge improvement; that any pressure off is good pressure off; that you can get hit in the head with hard candy and still enjoy the parade.