pencil and paper with inscription near cup of coffeeDear Diva’s:

My realtor, a She who may be a He, or a He who may be a She (will let you know about that tomorrow), recommended an independent hotel in the city. I’m thinking quaint, downtown, brick sidewalks…no, think more like the Pennsylvania Carlisle Pike, a four-lane strip mall paradise. Hungry when I get here, I go to the bar/restaurant which luckily for me has a DJ and entertainment this evening.  Good crowd, mostly between 55 and 65 I’d say.  It’s “Shag” dance night, complete with lessons. I ask the young guy next to me if what the group is doing on the dance floor is “The Shag.”  He says, oh no, that’s line dancing Ma’m. In a minute they will be doing The Shag and they’ll be doing it all night long because THIS is The Eastern Regional Shag Club of which I am a member. His spine lengthens and chest puffs out as he makes this proud proclamation. I said he must be the youngest member of the club.  Why, yes ma’m, he said, My parents are the president and head dance instructor, again elongating and expanding on the bar stool.  The Shag appears to be a slow swing dance with a few disco moves thrown in there. The male gets to do all the fancy spins.  The woman makes him look good. Art imitating life. Every woman has a male partner. Impressive.

I try not to eat the red onions in my salad in the event I get swept off my feet.  Nothing to report.  The bartender knows what everyone is drinking. Not hard, a lot of Bud Lights being handed across the bar. Not one other person with a glass of red wine as far as I can see.  Cokes and Buds. A few Miller Lights here and there. I hear one guy talking about picking beans and the right time to harvest. Okay, I have to be fair here…it probably is on par with dairy farms and milk cows.  The stools sit low making me feel like little Edith Ann saddled up to the bar.  There are a good six inches of extended rounded wood between me and my salad. To eat I get a helping on my fork and pitch it toward my mouth getting pretty good at it by the time I finish.

Dear God…What have I gotten myself into?  I think my prayer life is going to take on a whole new meaning.


Goodnight From Greenville, Dyanne

P.S. –  I’m here until Wednesday

Journal Prompts:
Dear God, What…?
My little Edith Ann says…?

Holy Wholly Holey Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved.


Dyanne is an inner wisdom coach, psychotherapist, writer, mind-body healer, Integrative Yoga Therapy teacher, certified “Journal-to-the SELF” instructor and creator of https://www.holywhollyholey.comhelping women heal and step into their power. She is the author of the ebook, “Holey Path to Holy Living: A Women’s Path to Healing and Freeing Sacred Feminine Power,” which can be found on Amazon and on her website

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