"And I turned twenty one in prison

doing life without parole ~ no one

could steer me right.

Mama tried

Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better

but her pleadin I denied

So I got no one but me to blame

cuz Mama tried."

We had us another Grateful Dead dance party this weekend. Friends congregated in our local town hall and projected a concert from Three Rivers Stadium, Pittsburgh 1991 onto a big white tarp sealed over the entire width of the stage.

Friends of ours had a beautiful baby girl this past summer and, while I love kids, I'm not the type to really scoop the closest baby up into my arms. This little girl, though, has won a very specific peice of my heart. I've been holding her in my arms since she was just days old and the last time we had this event, she fell asleep in my arms as I danced.

This weekend, as soon as she arrived with her dad, I claimed her as my own. She sucked on my necklace while jiggling around on my hips that refused to stay still.

I found myself singing the above lyrics into her ear as I danced and she sucked, wondering where it was being filed in the developing recesses of her brain and how it was being processed. I wonder the same thing too about Ella's love for Johnny Cash. Folsom Prison the first CD she purchased with her very own money because "he sings to jail people" and, I guess, at five years old, that was really cool. I think at any age, singing to jail people is pretty cool.

It looks like our little dance parties will be a monthly event. Each time we hold it, we send the kids around with a big jug to collect dollar bills from everyone. The money goes toward raising money to restore the town hall. Each year they tackle another project on the building. The clock tower, a handicapped access, a new foundation. One of these years, they'll get around to tearing off the peeling wall paper and maybe painting the walls. For now, we have no complaints.

It's a big wide open space where the kids can run and freak out and the grown ups can get a taste of the yesteryears. Good stuff.