Jul 092008
 

It’s 1967, I’m 7 years old, dancing Money Musk with my father at the Nelson Town Hall. Newt Tolman plays the tune on his flute. The air is filled with music and dust. I’m in a whirl of confusion as the lines churn around me, I’m not sure where to go, but everyone is smiling and happy so I keep moving. When we finish, my god-mother, Bonnie Allen (now known in these parts as Bonnie Riley), tells me that Money Musk is her favorite dance. It’s a refrain I will hear from her often over the next 40 years. Continue reading »