Sylvan nursed for the last time the evening of June 24, 2016. And then he nursed between midnight and three the next morning. Sometime before 4:00 a.m. I got up, took a sweet look at my sleeping sons, kissed Aaron, and left in an Uber for the airport—scooping up one Banning Bouldin along the way. I had warned her previously about our 6:00 a.m. flight and said she’d be so mad at me but it was the only way really. It must not have registered with her at the time—that cush life, heading up a nonprofit contemporary dance company (http://www.newdialect.org) must really be distracting—because the day before the flight, when she asked me again and I told her, there was this fantastic outburst about the fact that that wasn’t even part of the day. I knew she’d forgive me (I had told her previously about that too), and at this point she has. You have, Banning, you have. So we wandered through the airport, flew in an airplane, did some things about leaving our bags at the hotel, and went and ate sandwiches at Mister Block Cafe (http://misterblockcafe.com) at 10:30 a.m. Oh, and cappuccinos. And then we began.

We moved through this day in a warm skepticism. Or at least that sensation started smoothing over edges and questions of how exactly we were where we were and were going to be where we were going. I mean, dreamy seems like a word I should avoid (my hair and all) but that’s how it felt for the first bit of the trip. We made it back to our hotel on South Beach (http://thefreehand.com/miami/) and sat around their super-fancy yet chill courtyard (equally emphasized), waiting on Canción to walk out of those art-deco doors. She made it. She flew from Detroit, away from her Miela and from Chad, and she came because I asked and she wanted to. Banning and Canción met for the first time and inside my head I said things of hope and fearless prayers.

We were waiting a bit to check into our room, so we put our swimsuits on in a tiny hallway bathroom and walked 1.5 blocks to the ocean (¡!). Canción has this video of me running into the water for the first time and even though it looks like I fell into the waves, I didn’t; I dived—maybe not perfectly timed but definitely on purpose. ahem. We stayed in this suite with a long couch, four bunks, and an avocado tree outside the door. There was so much more to this place but I’m going to stop being detailed on that front and start keeping secrets. So go there (The Freehand Miami) and tell Anne Posschelle that I sent you. I guess I’d like to communicate that each of us (Canción, Banning, me) emanated a particular energy during this trip. More specifically (since this really could be said about, well, anyone), each of our spirits made a low, continuous hum during our days together, with each hum diverging from its everyday: Banning fell, as she does so well, all the way down and up to a place of openheartedness; Canción tenderly sustained the counterpoise of her time away; and I, well, I breathed in a peace that turned to joy that I then exhaled with a cathexis for each moment, each interaction. What a fucking privilege.

Eesh, this isn’t even our entire first day and we haven’t even gotten to Havana yet, but I gotta head home and tap into the trail end of Buenas Noches time at the camper. I’ll continue this ASAP. So until then, Buenas Noches from JJ’s in Nashville. Nostalgia is filling up my stomach so I gotta get out of here.

AM Miami

Canción and Banning meet in Miami

Canción de Rut

Joy begins

Sometime the ocean makes us feel…

Covered in salt

The Freehand Miami

2 Coladas drinking wine

Thank you, Anne, for making our stay at The Freehand so lovely! (and thanks Marcelle and Nathalie, for sharing your cousin 😉

The Freehand courtyard

Little Havana, Ball & Chain

Before we ate 10-12 tacos, ceviche, pastelitos, tajadas, elote y más

Ball & Chain

Café Cubanos, and just before I learned to understand Cuban Spanish

How Sylvan felt about no más pecho. Cannot handle very well at all (me, I mean)