I guess I do feel like blogging

I went dancing with a friend recently. It was the first time I've gone out to dance in a full decade, and it was insane...wild, slightly drunken, deliriously joyful fun. The band was, reggae with a very contemporary sound and big energy. In the weeks that followed, a poem percolated up through the gray matter (look to the upper left), and I found myself daydreaming, doodling, and scheming as I did before I had kids. Cool, thought I, there's still a kernel of my original self under all this efficient maternal hooha. Then, a month or so later, I hear from Jeff, of local comments fame (see below). This, o best beloved, is of gravest significance because Jeff does not know that I was ever less than fascinating. He knows that I was a distinctly dysfunctional artist and girlfriend type person, but he and I lost touch once I committed myself to wifedom and motherhood. Poor Jeff is a busy man, way too busy to delve far into the waters of rekindled friendship or even introspection, but I could just box up a big mess of kisses and UPS them to him for contacting me again because he has sparked yet another smoldering flame in my soul furnace ( and he gives great creative advice). I may be becoming a touch manic in my old age, but I prefer to think I am just reaching my creative and intellectual prime, and not a minute too soon. I cling to each ember and pray for critical mass. Stick around and watch, won't you?