Freestyle

A few weeks ago I took the girls to an arts festival while Daddy studied. In a word it was awesome. "Punkins" of every color, free face painting, all kinds of fine pictures for sale, and a kids tent settled next to the hugest subwoofers I've ever seen, or heard. You could paint a pumpkin for two bucks; so I bought two and let Curly style both while Bobalouise lovingly identified every other gourd in the joint...when she wasn't busy hooting with the band on her kazoo. Before the hour had passed Suzie had produced pumpkins so very Pollock meets Rothko and Bugs had been there to help all volunteers understand that pumpkins are amazing in that they are round, orange, and quite easily fallen off of. I scribbled initials in our signature pink and started herding them toward the door. We made a small detour to get the stinker's face painted; then I exited to the sunshine with one Sweetface a bouquet of flowers, and the other greatly troubled by the mess on her sister's cheeks.
The pumpkins were still wet and we had energy to burn so I suggested they dance in the grassy sunshine while our prizes dried. This was wildly successful! The band did cover after cover of everything from Cotton Eye Joe to Michael Jackson through the years. And the girls were busting a move. Little Lou bounced in wide circles across the lawn. Slightly oblivious, and totally delighted. Sweet Sue, she was a blur. Light glinting off golden curls, ice blue polka dot skirt casting shadows on the dying grass. Twirling, leaping, posing for dramatic effect. Song after song after song. I couldn't keep my eyes off her, she was so fun to watch.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found an old woman, purple sweatsuit hanging on her fragile frame, the fuzzy hair of a much loved teddy bear, eyes deep with purpose. She asked me if Curly had dance classes, encouraged me to get her some, discussed the lifelong benefits of music in one's life. Curly could tell she'd been noticed and gave her performance everything she had. I enjoyed it. This woman was sweet, sincere, kind, passionate. And soon I could tell she was tired. Her daughter came to guide her back to her folding chair but not before our patron made me promise to foster the arts in my home. I think she may have had some difficulty with short term memory, we replayed the conversation three times more. But she was right about everything. And we had fun.