Portland Blues Fest extravaganza

Dawn Welch and her son, Josh, rockin' out to Little Feat, Portland Blues Fest, July 5, 2010.
Click on the photo to see it full-sized.

Yahoo! Four days of music, dancing, and carrying on. In the meantime. My mind wanders to home. To my mother, age 93, who, I hear, has called my sister five times in one day to inquire about my whereabouts. To our sons, one a proud new and sleep-deprived father, the other an insane kayaker who appears to be on the cusp of making a living as a professional athlete. To the new (one and only) grandchild, Mr. Noah. To the garden, the cat, and the summer that is half gone. Even deep into a separate reality, the mind wanders.

Percussion and bass are at the heart of Little Feat. Here's one of the ban's two drummers rockin' out.

But great music, as usual,  takes me away and twirls me around and around and around. I'm not at all alone. Portland is vibrating with great dancers,  and they have inundated the Blues Fest, especially the Front Porch stage, which is pretty much devoted to dance. For the first time ever, I lose confidence in my own dancing and become self conscious—a shocking development.  I learn that Portland has a rich dance culture. Not "on the stage" dancing, but people who go to clubs or to dance classes or music festivals to do their spectacular thing. They have arrived en mass and are a joy to watch. (I actually got to dance with two fancy dancers. I guess they sensed my longing.)
I regret I didn't get photos. I was too in awe. Too jealous. Too old. And not in possession of the camera or the will or the ability to capture the moment. These were magnificent young people (for the most part) full of intricate rhythm and fancy moves and throbbing with life.
I soon got over it. Great bands like Little Feat and Galatic and Curtis Salgado (wow!) restore life force, and I was soon one with the musical moment. Isn't that what live music is all about? I'm am restored now, back to the elderly mother and writing deadlines and the overripe peas and the blueberry plants stripped of fruit by a "well meaning" neighbor, and the bigamist cat that has deserted us for his other home and more accommodating mother, who lets him sleep on her pillow and lick her hair.
I'm way better off for having been immersed in rhythm and dancing and friendships for a brief but renewing getaway.
A few more photos from the weekend.