Lead-headed Baby; Dancing In Museum

1/13/10

Walking through a model village in Africa. My mother is there and says she's eager to see the lead-headed baby. This sounds like a terrible racial epithet and I'm mortified. My mother explains that it's the offspring of a pygmy woman and a Hottentot and that it's a giant, sixty feet tall. I'm incredulous.

I go to the museum with M and J. I eat leftover middle eastern food. It's delicious and I make a big mess, spreading my little plastic containers and wax paper everywhere. M is sitting at the head of the table and J is on her right. Suddenly a tune starts and she and J jump up and start dancing. They're dancing the same steps, a little clumsy, but with great intensity. They're both wearing outlandish costumes, brightly colored. There's a step where they both jump and then a trumpet starts up and the tune is recognizable now. They form a sort of conga line and it's incredible, everyone knows the steps. I think about joining them but I would have to get up and stow all of my stuff. Suddenly a sinister man with two many fingers on his hands comes up and tells them they have to stop. He's the museum guard. The dancers disperse. Later, when we're looking at some drawings, a nebbishy young guy comes up and tells M her dance was good. He's just moved to NY. M tells the guy that she's lived here all her life.

Not so strange I should dream about Africa. Last week during a conversation about Africa I became ashamed of my ignorance and have spent all week studying maps. But why my mother? It was my father who lived in Africa for twenty years.

M's been on my mind a lot lately. I have strong, mixed feelings about her. I think she's perfectly nice but I'm shyer around her than I like to be. The other night when we were out with a mutual friend she said I should sit in the middle because I was so quiet. I thought, who is she talking about?