so says the straw hat

The day Baby X and Baby O were born (for my new nanny babies) On the morning of the day you were born a flight left the Austin airport at 6:30 am, headed toward Philly and her old liberty bell. On the morning of the day you were born, a beautiful woman served me a cup of coffee and talked clever at me so that later, while I was grading poetry submissions, I jotted down a few lines about how she was the kind of girl anybody would want to kiss below the bleachers just so they could keep that moment hot-lava and licorice secret behind the back of their tongues. On the morning of the day you were born your big brother was learning how to hold his ring and pinky fingers down with his thumb so he could have just two solid little fingers in the air. How a big boy counts his age. And we stood near the corner of the roof of Whole Foods down on 6th and Lamar and watched the noisy passenger train rattle off below. At story time, we bought a book for your big brother about being a New Big Br...

Something instinctual inside of us knows how to dance. How odd. We make music. Do other species make music? Just to make music? I know there are special mating rituals and calls--some here may argue that our "dance" is a form of mating ritual as well--but I do not know if there are animals that dance without purpose. (note to audience...looking up "dancing animals is so not worth the ten minutes of wasted youtube video watching time). Not the point! The point is that we dance. That the more we dance, the more we want to dance. That we are born with some innate sense of music and rhythm. The other day we were visiting a local craft fair that my friend Misha , talented artist extraordinaire,  was exhibiting at and I was running about outside with her son Kazimir. When he heard some music he stopped in his tracks, head cocked to the side to get a better sound-to-ear angle, and once he got the rhythm it was time to get his groove on. We were born to move our wonderful b...