Dance like you never forgot where you came from

Today on campus, I saw a girl breaking it down by the Eupora fountain in the concrete landing strip called McClung Plaza. Man, was she moving, stomping her feet, twisting her middle, jolting her head from side to side. A boy sat on the fountain's lip reading a newspaper like he didn't see this blonde Rockette dancing out her inner choreography a few feet away.
She had headphones in, moving to the grooves channeled into her ears. I even heard her not so much singing but aspirating her lip sync. She was playing that ever necessary but dangerous game-- dancing like no one was watching.

I envy her lack of inhibition.

In other news, I spent the evening having happy hour beers and free-range chicken sandwiches with some MA friends at the Tomato Head. While waiting to be seated, I saw a group of older folks in Razorbacks sweatshirts leave the restaurant. These my people, I stopped them to ask where they hailed from, and guess what? They were from Conway. Small world, huh? They asked me if I knew a bunch of people I don't know (never was big in the Central Arkansas social scene), but I loved running into people from my old hometown. Reminded me of when I lived in Conway, how I could go anywhere--the coffee shop, Target, the movie theatre--and run into at least one (but usually more) people I knew. I miss that part of small town life.

I'm also nostalgic for my rural roots, but not so much I'm willing to go back to them anytime soon. Until then, Michael Chitwood can tide me over--

From cutting the nuts out of a bull calf's bag with a Barlow,
from laying case knives on a dress pattern,
from running a trotline and baiting the hooks with gone liver,
from mashing a tobacco worm into a green blot,
from crimping dough at the piecrust edge,
from whisking an egg,
from whipping a boy with a switch he fetched,
from doffing a bolt of taffeta,
from working the one arm of the adding machine,
from beating the answers out of the erasers
Oh Lamb of God, they come.

from "The Saved"