As death approached, Jenny slowly gave up even the smallest of pleasures. She was a lover of the good life and someone who knew how to have a good time. As a stewardess, she had seen the world, mostly with a glass in her hand. While in hospital, she told me about her time in Africa and how she showered in the rain with Alepo soap. So I got her a bar. She took one whiff, held it to her heart, replaying the memories in her head, and then set it aside. Just a few days earlier she was still eating ice cream, but now she no longer asked for strawberries, and gentle feet and hand massages with luxurious creams could not soothe her. Finally, she drank less and less Sprite, until all she could manage was a sponge or a cotton swab dipped into her revered ambrosia and gently rubbed on her lips. We watched her part with all her little pleasures, one by one. In the end, all she could keep were the memories of all the things, places and people she had once enjoyed. And isn’t that what it’s all about. So, put on your red shoes and dance.