Parting Glances: Dance with me, Michael

I often find myself having the urge when out shopping to buy a ledger notebook or arty journal to record check numbers, daily bank balances, art titles, PG column ideas.
It's nothing more than my persistant subconscious nudging – usually ignored – to get things organized.
My studio is a clutterama of art (my iPhone holds 850 images), art supplies, CDs, DVDs, books (currently reading "The Letters of Noel Coward"); but nothing about my studio comes remotely close to the creative chaos of gay English painter Francis Bacon's studio. (See movie: "Love is the Devil.")
Today's purchase temptation is a journal that carries a cover statement that hits home. It fits neatly with an experience I had while out biking Thursday last. The author is someone singly named Souza.
I'll Google Souza, if and when I get organized. He offers sage advice which – again, if I ever get organized – I'll try to follow: "Dance as though no one is watching you. Love as though you have never been hurt before. Sing as if no one can hear you. Live as though heaven is on earth."
It's the dance part that captures my attention. (I'm too old for lovers who hurt; and I usually sing Ethel Merman show tunes in the shower three times a week.) As for dancing, I sent this e-mail to my photographer friend, S. Kay Young, former DIA associate and current Oakland Community College instructor.
"SKY! I biked at twilight Thursday, heading toward Hamtramck by way of American Axle and empty, sadly weed-worn GM properties. I was mostly alone on Joseph Campeau, returning toward Detroit on a curve of Hamtramck Road that bends southwest toward the downtown waterfront. During my pedaling only one car honked by.
"I looked skyward – narrowly avoiding a pothole – and saw hundreds of swift-winged starlings dancing circles that expanded and contracted this unexpected eventide aviary vaudevillian troupe. Whirlwinds of movement. Tiny dots caught in a seamless breathtaking net of rarely seen acrobatic performance.
"A larger bird flew in and out of this showoff corps de ballet. (A would be choreographer? A frustrated predator?) It was unrehearsed. Spontaneous. Admission free. How fortunate for many moments to be a solitary witness to it all.
"I thought of you. Thought that this fireworks of flight was something you might have instantly captured with your ever-ready camera at hand, and shared seldom-seen images with others not present.
"I read somewhere that birds before retiring engage in these gregarious flights of fancy when the air currents are right. Perhaps there's a metaphor for those of us who, like myself, experience a chance at second childhood now and then – but rarely, second adolescence. I remind myself: Enjoy life, it's later than you think."
Friday it was my pleasure to share outdoor lunch with Kay at Le Petit Zinc, a new French restaurant located at the edge of Detroit's thriving Corktown community. We drank cinnamon tea. Ate salade poulet. Gossiped. Laughed. She said her mother once told her that birds always tell their stories at the end of the day.
While chatting Kay unobtrusively took pictures, making me wonder how these rapid snaps of our salads, our waiter's handsome profile, me in ten-dollar sunglasses might turn out. Kay sent me jpgs. Visual dessert! Visit http://www.facebook.com/skayyoung.
Saturday: I spot Henry, 86-year-old neighbor, DIA brunching. His once dyed flaming red hair, now elegantly snow white. Says he's off to buy a Michael Jackson CD at nearby Barnes & Noble! (He'll probably dance alone later; but the early Michael and the late JC more than likely will be watching.)