​A favorite TV series of mine is Lark Rise to Candleford. I watched it many years ago and liked it enough to consider rewatching it recently. A character on the show, the Postmistress, made me laugh by remarking, “It’s my one weakness.”

Over the course of the show, she said this on multiple occasions, revealing multiple “one weaknesses.” I picked up the phrase and use it from time to time to make my husband laugh.

When I say it around other people, though, they sometimes give me a funny look. “Your one weakness?” my sister echoed.
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“Of course it’s not my only weakness,” I explained, and I told her about the show. Since then, I worry that people take the remark to reflect a lack of humility. Who, among us, has only one weakness?

Usually, when I make the remark, the weakness is something superficial. “Chocolate is my one weakness,” I’ll say.

“Shoes are my one weakness.”

Or “Butter is my one weakness.”

Or “Clutter is my one weakness.”

You get the idea. What I rarely, if ever, reference are more serious weaknesses, like pride or anxiety or selfishness.

I don’t say, “Worrying too much is my one weakness,” or “My one weakness is that I’m too easily distracted from doing what I know I should be.”

I’m unlikely to say, “My one weakness is being inconsiderate of others by being habitually late,” or “My one weakness is prioritizing the wrong things.”

Oh, I have plenty of one weaknesses, both superficial and more serious. Perhaps our weaknesses help us to overlook and forgive those we see in others. He, who is without sin, can cast the first stone. (John 8:7)

I’ve signed a contract for the publication of my next book, The Girl from the Bell City Bottom. Failing to tell people I meet about my writing is often my “one weakness” so please spread the word for me. Thanks!
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In the meantime, check out Song of Sugar Sands. I was able to set the sale to run for $1.99 on Kindle through March 22 (free on Kindle Unlimited).  http://www.debracolemanjeter.com/song-of-sugar-sands.html

A couple nights ago, my husband and I lucked into the last two seats in a tribute to songwriter Carole King. I had seen Carole perform at the Ryman a few years earlier, and I’ve seen Beautiful on stage too. But I think I enjoyed the tribute by Suzanne O’ Davis almost as much, or possibly more.

She covered such a wealth of Carole’s songs, and the number of hit songs Carole has written is truly staggering. Suzanne focused on the album Tapestry, but she also brought back wonderful memories of songs by the Monkees and Herman’s Hermits, among so many others.

“We’re the youngest people here,” my husband said.

I looked around. We were not, I’m sure, but there were plenty of blue hairs, as my director from community theater used to refer to the typical matinee attendees.

When the allotted time approached an end, more than a few of the older guests hobbled out. “Hey, I’m still performing,” Suzanne called after them, and everyone chuckled.

The rest of us were glad we stayed. When she closed with “I feel the earth move under my feet,” a lot of the crowd rose to their calloused feet to dance.

The rhythm almost pulled me to mine, and I thought back to my early childhood. My parents occasionally took me to a hamburger joint with a jukebox. When someone chose a snappy number, I couldn’t resist. “Watch my 7-up,” I’d order, jumping from my chair to spin, twist, and twirl.

At that age, I didn’t care that no one else was dancing, or wonder if people were laughing at me or with me. I just moved to the beat with joy.

Later, though, I became aware of issues like coordination and dance steps. I had one ballet lesson. In my memory, everyone else knew what to do when the instructor spoke in a foreign language, or so it sounded to me. I felt so foolish and lost that I never returned for my second lesson.

Another time, my parents allowed me to join in a square dance. I’d seen the adults on many occasions swinging their partners and doing a do-si-do, but I had not really paid attention to the calls or the moves. It looked so effortless when they did it. Once again, I felt foolish and lost.At the Carole King tribute, I nudged my husband. “Want to dance?”

He looked at me without budging. I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I also knew that, even if he had been, it’s not in his nature to dance. But why didn’t I?

Remember Elaine’s dance moves in Seinfeld? Perhaps I feared I might dance like Elaine. So what if I did?

Next time I will dance.