Slow Dancing to Fast Songs

At 17, I did it barefooted and braless, Pink Floyd pinging off the neon walls. Climbed right up on the coffee table and danced, dipped, ca-chinged to the sounds of the cash register clanking...

Bubble eyed gold fished swam in the bathtub, lost in the psychedelic world we painted on their clawfooted world. Christian smoked a fat one. Strangers came and went. And the music played on and on and on.

And we danced.

At 19, I wore neon green platforms and borrowed white painter paints. I rubbed elbow to elbow, knee to knee, through a sea of strangers drinking nickel beer and danced up the steps and down again, Making grand entrances over and over again.

We danced....

In and out of my twenties,
in and out of revolving bars
into raging oceans,
waist high in midnight currents....

At 30 I danced out of one life and in stilhetto heels and a drippy hippy satin dress, danced right into my next....
Tom Jones and the Art of Noise....
The Kiss....
Off the dance floor and into a sea green pool....
Navy blue fabric, and tea stained lace floating,
swirling.....
And we laughed...

Until we cried...

And in slow motion, a gazillion years passed and I watched black and white re-runs...
the music slurring, blurring, getting buried under dust bunnies...

Until I remembered...

And it wasn't exactly like riding a bike....
It didn't come back all at once...

Not until I closed my eyes....

And danced again...

The Kind of Rain...

Tonight.

A little Hurricane gone lazy. Toodling off treck. Wandering like a magpie faerie lost in the woods....

The rains are here.

Delicious. Loud. Plump.

And in this quiet house, the sound I hear is yesterday....

Plodding along in Million's van, bumpity bumpity pot hole jumping down the one lane road through the forest, clod hopping over tree roots and spent beer cans to the opening in the woods, where the bon fire burned endlessly, umbrelled by oak trees, and a blessing we didn't know we had, to Peace Creek......

Piled under layers and layers of musty quilts, hand tacked and sewn of old men's suits and tattered over-alls...9 years old at Mamaw's house. The rain, a mad xylophone on the tin roof, and the car lights, flying past, strobe lights through the clapboard walls...the sounds of tires swooshing.....

Stacked in the hallway, tiny feet, sweaty arms and legs, pretending to play Twister while the Eye of the Storm passed, once, twice, three times and shook our little house like red dice in a cup and spilled it out on the lawn.....the sound of the morning after rain, the safe rain....when we tip toed quietly through the dark out onto the wet earth that was our tomorrow...

Nineteen. Donned in yellow raincoats with hoodies. Rollerskating through Jacksonville in the pouring rain. Silly. In love with the moment. No reason to fear the lightening. Yet.

My wedding night. Yards of taffeta in the mud. I knew it would rain. It was supposed to...

Tonight....
Fat little tadpoles of luminescent rain falling from the sky.....

Perfect.

Rikkity Tikkity Tink!

It was cold and our laughter billowed out in whispy cartoon clouds, mixing with the tart aroma of candied applies and mustard slathered pretzels. My fingers were almost frozen and I kept tap-tap-tapping my boots on the wooden steps trying to keep warm.

Half way up.

We laughed harder. More on purpose. More out of silly make believe fear.

The wooden track wobbled, shook, seemed to tilt in the air, as if the faintest breeze would topple the entire roller coaster over on it's side, and spill it into the boardwalk, a mangled erector set, glowing in the dark. The music stopped , or maybe it didn't, and up ahead of us, the white faces of instant ghosts climbed from their seats, teetering for just a moment to gain their strength, to breath again, and then the tentative laughter of those surviving this trip began again as they descended the other stairs. Free and Alive.

"Next" he shouted, gruffly arming Kimbies and I into the first seat, alcohol breath tucking us in. He started at the back.... one, two, three, twelve, thirteen, running the wooden track, slamming the safety arms down into lock, lock, lock....his dirty fingers barely grazed us, and the little train began to climb. We gave the arm a little wiggle. It bounced straight up. We slammed it down. It bounced again. We screamed. And screamed again. And went higher and higher in tiny rickety bursts of strength. We rounded the highest corner and snapped to the left. And began free falling. The two of us, elbows locked, parachuting. Choking. Huge fists on our necks, faceless fingers twined into our clothes, our hair, holding onto us by Angel's breath. We hit the bottom and slammed hard to the right, left, and I forget now, if we were shaking from the inside or the out, but I remember dying. Just before the next climb.

That was 25 years ago.

The first of many, many "never again"s.....

I woke up this morning with cotton candy in my hair. Two tattered ticket stubs stuffed in the back pocket of the crumpled jeans on the floor.

I woke up smiling.

You gotta love the fair......

Nana

When I was 14, she was 66....
Blonde banana curls cascading down her back , dread locked ahead of her time. Skinny little legs and Blue Mascara. Patent leather pocket book exactly the color of The Yellow Submarine. My Nana. Skinny's Nana. Kimbies Nana. She was wild.

She laughed with no reserve, head tilted back, guzzling the wine of stolen moments from a long fluted glass.
She danced with the abandon of a Ballerina in red slippers, with the wind up wings of a Go-Go dancer, with the free spirit of a magpie faerie.
She told stories in a whispered language only those in cahoots would ever understand or remember in the morning.

She was tickled pink when women burned their bras, but believed in keeping the sexiest ones, the ones in ice cream colors and wicked lace, for the night time....
She rubbed elbows with everyone....catching their magic, and savoring it....
She Loved scary movies, patent leather boots, mini skirts, red lipstick, smokey bars, storytellers, rock and roll, Liberace, romance novels, and her handsome hubby....
She was wild....

She taught us secrets we'll pass on to our daughters and nieces....

I felt her,
heard her,
hugged her...
on Saturday night.....

And I know when she peeked down,
eyes sparkling,
head thrown back ready to laugh,
she was thrilled.

You taught me well, Nana.
I wore fishnets with the combat boots.....

The Red Cup...

Sometimes....the clink is so soft,
so quiet,
the ta!dah! of soft red plastic,
cold beer splashing,
spirits smiling....

that you only hear it in remembering....

And then it happens again...
a Spontaneous Celebration...
one arm up in peace and love
stretching to kiss the sky and
one hand
snuggling the splash,
in the very moment
that the sisterhood,
the brotherhood,
the love,
becomes a wave...

That's how we do it down here....

Sticks and Stones

For a moment,
a really really long moment,
I forgot....

What it was like to slide across my fake terraza floors, skating on the sand, under the heat lightning of a 1970's disco ball, a thousand strikes of a summer sky....

And dance...

My car stereo ate the last of Bob Dylan on a roadtrip through unamed cities, the computer spit out the Beatles with totally misplaced venom, and my Adobe crashed....hushing Mick Jagger forever from my playlist world....

And then...
I ordered 100 dollars worth of office sillies from a starving Office Supply Vendor, and they sent me the key....a little dime a dollar CD player with a thousand electrical cords dangling and a handy dandy remote player....

And I danced in a blues bar on an accidental night to accidental music...

And I remembered....

"You can't always get what you want,
but sometimes you get what you need"....

Even if it's the same old story....

Friday's are for dancing...

Cat Burglar

He steals in through the summer door,
walking lightfooted past my porch light,
and slinks onto her porch to lick his paws.

He's waiting for the lightbulb that was once on ,
a cartoon style halo over her head,
to go out again...

To flicker for just a moment...

So he can steal her blind again.

Happy Hour

Half way home.
Half way between high noon and sunset.
Half way between the listening and daydreaming.

That's when we did it.
Banged a 90 degree turn off the face of the earth and drove straight to the Ocean.

And without another word,
we walked straight out into the wild green sea,
clothes billowing up around us like abandoned parachutes,
cheap lighters and bubblegum wrappers floating upward,
confetti in reverse.
Deeper and Deeper and Deeper...

Until we were
halfway between the sand and eternity...

The waves were plump and
lazy,
cotton sheets blowing on the line...
and the water was Margarita Green...
crystal clear,
and frothed in salt.

I could see my toes...
and swirls of sand dancing with the current.

And for just a moment,
I thought that I had never seen life any clearer.
Or been more free.....

Peace, Love, and I'll have another beer, dear....

She Barbie-doll walks across the floor, Cinderella shoes clacking on the floor, Rhinestone Cowboys on her fingers, and smiles with painted lips and glow in the dark teeth. He's right behind her, fingertips on the small of her back, swishing this way, and her way. They run a tab and dance the night away...An Arthur Murray re-run. They're in love...

Just ask them, they'll tell you....

He straddles the barstool and scuffs his pointed shoes on the floors while she giggles and swirls and twirls around him....eyes flitting in disco circles to see if anyone is watching. The show gets better with an audience. They're in love...

Just ask them, they'll show you....

She caresses her glass, swishes the cheap shot in lazy waves, and then eyes it like an Owl on a telephone pole. One determined Gulp and she's got hair on her chest. Her left hand travels and she accidently touches her neighbor.

She's looking for Love....

He nudges her, and she falls....head over heels...for him...and onto the floor...

I swing my legs Pippi Longstocking style, balancing, I hope...
Just high enough and brave enough not to ever go there.

I'll have another beer, dear...


And if it's all the same to you,
I'll keep believing in peace and Love...

Close your eyes....

I can vividly remember the first night...

They sipped pink champagne in long fluted glasses and in between the vinyl grooves, they set their drinks on the mahongony table...

And it left rings in the morning....

She swirled and twirled to Ray Charles, Bobby Vinton, Louis Armstrong, Chubby Checkers, The Tijuana Brass....and just for fun...The Grasshoppers....He dipped, and spun....and laughed....

I sat on the couch and watched. Long gangly legs in a pink velvet dress and blonde bangs chopped off to match my Barbie Doll. Kimbies and I had to be very, very quiet, or we had to go to bed....

I barely breathed.

On the blue carpeted floor, they shimmied and watootsied and "Love potioned Number 9'd" each other.....

And then I grew up....

I went to first grade, and fifth, and senior prom. I fell in love and out of love. And got married. And divorced. I raised my babies. I danced on coffee tables, balconies....and beaches. I danced in empty bars, at concerts, in traffic, and in the kitchen....

But I never forgot...
they might have, but I didn't...

The magic of that night...

Of them closing their eyes and feeling the music....

I believe in Magic...

Hitchin' a ride....

I believe in Peace and Love...
Everything in between is just a roadtrip....

I would have sent postcards.
I swear.
But I didn't take stamps, and
after a while,
I was sure if I just whispered to the wind....
scribbled breadcrumbs on lonely dirt roads,
left love beads in unexpected places....

You'd know....


It feels good to be home again...

To unpack my imagination
and toss it wildly on the floor,
next to crumpled blue jeans and empty cigarette packs.
To wake up to it the next morning....

Yeah, It feels good to be home again....

Let the Peace and Love begin....

"blessings, healing prayers.. may the next fall be in love ~s."

I remember vividly...
the night I believed...

Rounding the lake...
the fluorescent lights swarming with blind mosquitos
and the Ghosts...
fog bouncing off the bows of lonely fishing boats...
dancing on the water,


And the Martini Moon...
there...
Above me...
The perfect cusp of glass raised to the sky,
Clinking! with the Stars...

And so it was,
that on that night...
under the tipping brim of an accidental moon...

I fell again...

Head over heels,
face first
into an even more
Accidental Love...

It's been a long time
since
I've laughed that hard.

Felt that hard.

Fell that hard.

Tonight,
the words tumbled from a keyboard,
splattered into my in~box...
from a friend...

are the same fiery color as that long ago Moon...

Our time...

I dance in Combat boots. Laced one eyehook after another up my shin. I have a past. And I don't wanna go there again.


And so it goes....


The rinky tinky cell phone rattled across the kitchen counter.....vibrating over imported stone....crawling towards the end of the world...the inevitable crash. "I'll take it" I said, volunteering to both rescue the little thing from it's near death and to finalize our plans to meet up with friends in a little bit. And like all good volunteers, I followed instructions, slipped out the backdoor where there was "reception"....


One step out the door, two steps out from under the awning and then, on the third step, the last step, I fell off the earth. In the moonlight, I watched my falling from grace from somewhere high. "Watch your foot" I whispered to myself galloping in midair....And so she, me, tucked her right foot back, knee to chin, and dove Mark Spitz style over the ledge, left shin tracing, banging, skiing as we flew over the ledge, then the next ledge, and the next.....Courthouse steps I was never expecting, and then finally....the bottom....where the rock was finally flat. I kissed the floor quick. And unexpected. Chin, lips, nose. The sound of tiny tea cups shattering. And when the noise stopped, I knew.

I had barracuda teeth....

Today they sort of look like tiny pieces of chicklet gum. Strung across my smile.

But I'm smiling.

Miracles.

They blow me away....

Shortly after this could have been fatal fall, my handsome blue eyed baby boy, now bigger than his Daddy, was speared by the unexpected shattering of a 4 by 8 foot plate glass mirror, shearing his calf and severing both arteries and the major tendons, nerves, and muscles to his foot. His Father held on to him for life....a red sprinkler christening them both. Blue eyes locked into blue eyes. Waiting.

It's tomorrow now. The surgeries are over. There's a pulse.

And with my jack-0-lantern smile, I kiss him good night....

And believe.....

This House Believes

Sometimes I see things...
Faces...mermaids...faeries...
Out of the corner of my eyes,
for a flash, an instance...

Or maybe, sometimes....
Things see me....

Photos taken last night at our little Hippie Slumber Party. These are the walls and windows to Kimbies world....

Steam trapped forever, frozen in a glass box at the bathroom window...And we all saw it...

A delightful painting of an English Garden, tucked behind glass in a Victorian frame....
And we all saw it...

The Faces....

We weren't haunted. We weren't afraid.
We danced.
Drank beer.
Told stories.
Cried.
In their company...

And somehow I'm sure, so did they....
In ours....

At the Matinee

The last time I was going to be a ballerina, I clunked through all the closets, dug through the drawers, pilfered through old suitcases and found one....just one...tattered pink shoe. I pirouetted out into the living room, spinning madly to Jethro Tull, and my daughter, eyes barely lifting off the book she was reading, muttered..."Ma, you can't do that anymore, you'll break your foot". I never quit twirling.

And of course, I was in surgery, three days later. And still in a cast three months later.

Today, I was a ballerina again. On my own private stage, the heavily wooded curtains hiding me from the audience in the red velvet chairs. The wind an orchestra....the sun a spotlight shining only on me...

Sometimes we just have to believe....

And keep on dancing....

Running Away....

Today, I'm pretending. All day. I decided that before I fell asleep last night, so I wouldn't have to wonder about it at all this morning.

I woke up to bedhead hair that's now half way down my waist, make-believe dreadlocks the colors of a drip castle at sunrise. I stood up and stretched, slowly padded through the house, the old cold congoleum covered in cat hair, sudden beach sand on terraza floors. I smiled.

In a little while I'm gonna whip up Bloody Mary's, ice cold and freckled with black pepper and then on the little splintered deck, I'm going to the Tiki Bar...the tinny sound of Rolling Stones dribbling from the little amfm radio will fill the Air....Amps the size of Winnebagos will hang from the sky, and for a little while, there won't be anything at all but the music and the movement and the moment.

When the Sun reaches Noon thirty, blazing, I'll bop over the ring of the blow up pool and fall face first into the ocean....A giant salty tidal pool just my size. When I open my eyes underwater, the coquina will be six inches deep, thousands of teeny tiny shells....a treasure chest under the sea. My little pink float will be a peace kayak, and I'll paddle out of my puddle and down to the river where the water runs up, up, up and away....

At dusk, I'll drape my long flowy girly swirly hippie dress over my head and fall asleep on the hammock, barefeet dangling in the overgrown grass, that for just one night, will be wild sea oats tickling my toes.

I'll dream paisley colored thoughts until the light show in the sky nudges me awake...an electrical parade just for me....

Peace....sometimes we just have to make it happen.....

Fairytwinkle Soup and Other Short Stories...

I remember when Skinny was little and she used to run away. She'd have on the same little dress she wore for years and a quickly swiped pack of gum, maybe a marble or sidewalk chalk ,and she'd hit the trail. Long legs flying, hair dancing in the wind. And she never looked back. Not once.

Eventually, we'd have to go and fetch her. Find her in the cubby of an oak tree limb...periously dangling over traffic, or squatting at the lake edge, stirring the brown water with a magic stick....

And so it goes that we all grow up, grow old, and forget how to runaway....We pack electric toothbrushes, cell phone chargers, cowboy boots and crayons. Bayer aspirin, cold packs, and dirty laundrey. We take it all with us....

And then some.

Next year, I'm going Naked.

Now....

It's 93 degrees on my porch and one by one, I shear off the legs from a stack of hand me down levis... These are for Skinny, this pair for Kimbies, a ratty tatty pair for myself. I reach down and wind my hair up into a knot, thread a bic pen threw it to keep it off my neck. I'm melting. And I smile. The broken AC is paying for how may nights at the beach?

I lug a giant tupperware box into the kitchen and start tossing necessary evils into it....salt, pepper, a cork screw, the camera, sidewalk chalk, a flashlight, paper fortune tellers, packs of no name cigarettes. We go without eating at home, we won't need much food at the beach....And I smile.

I wander through the house with a Winn Dixie bag and a peace backpack chocking random things in at will....the last bikini's I'll ever wear, magic markers and paper, little Love postcards for playing Pixies. I wonder for the last time where I left my little suitcases...what rendevous I came home from bagless...and what priceless pair of old jeans were lost in the leaving. And I smile at my makeshift luggage.

Less than 48 hours....

And we'll all be home...