Mama, hold my hands and dance!

Tonight I meet myself at the writing desk with a glass of wine and a delicious chocolate walnut brownie. Honey rolls are on their first rise and in a few hours I will roll out the dough for tomorrows brunch with good friends. I haven't been here in what seems like weeks. Here, meaning the writing desk, the creative space, the studio, the mat, whatever you want to call it. The Holidays knocked me down hard and I'll admit I've been in a bit of a rut. I've been falling asleep snuggled up next to Oscar at 7:30 and waking up at Midnight only to shut off the lights and crawl back into my bed. January is feeling like the longest month in the history of the Universe. The days are long, the air is dry and I'm baking enough cookies, muffins, biscuits and brownies to feed the entire town. I, like everyone else around me, am dreaming of Spring, the bright green promising re-birth, rhubarb, muddy boots and birds chirping and celebrating the sunrise.

Last weekend I received three very big gifts; a new iPhone, a vintage Canon F-1 camera with multiple lenses and filters, and my Uncle's record album collection with well over 200 albums. As soon as I got the heavy boxes of vinyl into the house I opened the box closest to me, pulled out a record, announced the title to my mom and her husband who were visiting for the weekend. I pull out another album and I jump up with it in my hands. ACROSS THE ALLEY FROM THE ALAMO! I don't notice how dirty the album is and rush to put it on the turn table. I'm singing along while Oscar and I dance to Bob Wills Greatest Hits and my mom is explaining to Dennis my enthusiasm for the song. Out of ALL the albums in the collection, that was the second one I pulled out? It was the album that Uncle Fred played for my dad, years before I was born. It's my dad's deep voice, his slower more drawn out version of Across the alley from the Alamo that I wish I had recorded somewhere else besides my memory. When the song is over and my triumph has mellowed, I finally notice how filthy the album is. For the most part, the albums are in good shape, but they are filthy. If you knew Freddie, you are simply nodding your head. Yup. The best part about that is that every single album is properly placed in the sleeve. I remember him teaching me the proper way to put albums away, the same way he showed me how to read a book without bending the spine.

I spend the weekend with my mom and her husband, affectionately known to Oscar as Nana and Papa Dennis. Dennis picked me up some record cleaner in Madison on Saturday and I got right to work cleaning; Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, Steely Dan, Neil Young, The Beach Boys, Arlo Guthrie, CCR. Sunday morning at 7am, Oscar and I are dancing to Tom Waits, Rain Dogs. I am hit with the powerful emotion that only music and perfume can unleash. My dad and Uncle Fred would have LOVED this very moment. While I'm dancing, an image is forming quite clearly in my mind of a photograph that I took of my dad and Uncle dancing with the neighbors daughter when she was around 5 years old. Tears are in my eyes and out of nowhere Oscar asks me "Mama, hold my hands and dance!" Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure Freddie and "Brother David" were in the room.