One measure of 4/4 followed by one of 3/4.
The beat missing creates a loping anticipation.
It’s oddly natural and easy to feel.
Maybe it comes from our ancient past.
When we ran through the fields to keep the beat.
Jogging with a cardiac rhythm.
Hearing the drums beating
in the wind of our breath.
Mickey’s at it again, dreaming about music and meter.
It’s what brings him joy.
And joy’s been a bit sparse as of late.
In our family we only had one dog name.
At one time, our grandparents and us both had dogs named Homer.
It’s very efficient.
You only have to give one command.
And call one name.
The dogs don’t care.
As long as you feed them, love them and don’t make them wear the same outfits.
It was Ruth’s idea.
Why waste energy having to remember more than one dog name?
Keep it simple, stupid.
Charlie was a mobster.
He stopped by on his way to the city.
Next morning he took his girlfriend, Ginger, antiquing.
They returned with a crystal punch bowl.
“It’s so beautiful…stunning craftsmanship!” my mother said, thirty times.
“Enough”, said Charlie, “If you like it that much, it’s yours.”
Now we owed him.
Why did Ruth have keep lavishing the stupid punch bowl with praise?
It wasn’t even that nice.
Now he’s going to be back when he needs something and someone’s going to have to do it.