What a weekend.

Remind me not to go out, big time, two days’ running on a weekend again. I feel fortunate that I was able to have such a fun, jam-packed weekend but boy, it’s not even 7:30 and I feel ready to go to bed.

Friday night I went to Blossom with a dear friend to see James Taylor. Guy is getting up there in years, no doubt, and started out a tiny bit thin and rusty, but soon warmed up and was in full, beautiful voice under the stars. I worked at Blossom for many years as a security guard. It’s still weird for me to attend a concert there as a patron. I see, out of the corner of my eye, the security team meeting. Guys with radios exchanging information halfway across the ropeline, and wondering what’s up. I instinctively find the right person to ask if they have a set list, so I can figure out when to leave. If not a set list, then when “down time” is, so I can backtrack from there and get the timing right. I was parked out in the grass, which is a haul, so I left relatively early, after only a single drink before the show, sailed right out with no traffic and home with no problems. It was a gorgeous night despite the later rain that cropped up, and I really felt present and a part of what was happening. I teared up during “Sweet Baby James,” as I used to sing a slightly modified version to my son when I rocked him at night. I teared up again minutes later at the sight of a father holding his toddler daughter and dancing her across the back of the pavilion. Happy, sweet tears.

Saturday morning I had a kid’s birthday party to go to, so D and I went out and bought the kid a present, brought it home and I wrapped it. I managed to get a quick, 45-minute workout in before we had to get ready to go. At the inflatables place where the party was, I estimate my son burned approximately 8,000 calories in an hour and a half of constant running, jumping, crawling, screaming, and going up stairs and down an inflatable slide about 789 times. It was tiring just watching him.

Saturday early evening, I drove down to my home town to a wine bar owned by a former high school classmate of mine, because another classmate has a jazz combo that was playing there, and several other classmates and I planned a sort of mini-reunion there. I talked to some people I really didn’t know well at all in school and found it immensely enjoyable. They covered Frank, Miles, played Misty for me (ok, well not for me), and I think everyone had a really nice time. It’s amazing to look at these people and realize they are teachers and nurses and coaches, Moms and Dads, some of them grandparents now. We are middle-aged! Wine bar owners and other contributing members of society! How did this happen!

I was grateful to have a cousin with a spare bed and crawled into it not that late, but feeling very tired, and emotionally exhausted too. Bone-tired.

A pleasant drive back this morning. I got so many stares at the Starbucks in Ashland, you’d think people never saw a rock and roll mama before. Then took my kid out to Crocker Park where he played in the splash zone until he got a nosebleed (he’s got my nose, poor thing), then we picked up some goodies at Trader Joe’s and came home, changed quickly into our dance clothes and drove to the E side for improv dance class. These people are so tolerant and even welcoming of my son’s presence, it’s great. The unstructured nature of improv interaction works well for us. I partnered with my son on a great many things, some resembling dance, some play, and got to dance with some other adults as well, the interaction of bodies wrapping, lifting, carrying, bending and twisting together one that brings me great openness in my soul and happy focus on physical parts of myself that distract my mind from its problems. There are moments people oof and grunt, but also smile and laugh with joy from the connection there in the silence, on the wood floor of this old school building. Communal joy is a good thing to expose my son to, whether he actually does any dancing or not, I’m thinking.

Hope the weekend was good to you, my friends.

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