Waterfront Blues Festival 2010

   Pretty morning, a few clouds but the day was perfect, the temperature was gentle against the skin.
The bus taking me downtown was convivial . . . the bus driver was a woman my age, she had a big skate-board propped up on her dashboard . . . a smile on her face as she shouted at each customer as we stepped aboard . . . "you're getting more hours on your ticket . . . see your getting six hours instead of two!" She had to shout at us, we were all wearing earbuds, listening to our own music. . . I was listening to Jami Sieber, her gorgeous cello is glorious.  But, unfortunately, the gentle sounds of her music were drowned out by the raucous noises on the bus. I thanked the bus-driver for the ticket and for not making us go by skateboard. Somehow, this woman made my day. 
   The bus-driver spoke constantly about her skateboard. I was so amused by her vivacity in regards to that meter long board with the bright red wheels. She had great pride in her personal mode of travel. She told me that if I went to certain skateboard shop, they would give me lessons in the art. Even as I was stepping off the bus, down-town, she was still extolling the virtues of going by skateboard to me.  I pointed my finger at her and told her she was an inspiration to me. And she was! This bus-driver didn't realize that she was speaking to a woman who believed herself inhabited by a skateboarding teenage boy.
   If my friends see me in a couple of months with banged up knees and other scrapes and bruises, well what can I say. . . I have a new reason for feeling young again . .. Portland is a wheeling town . .. As months go by I see more and more bikes on the road. Maybe its time for me to get a bike too. All this fun stuff to do. I don't know where to start.

The festival, is located down by the Willamete river, on huge grassy banks, where Portland does a lot of celebrating, and is devised as a way to generate canned food donations. The park has three large stages, several booths, lots of fun activities, thousands of people, many of  whom I consider aging hippies . . .

Lots and lots of aging hippies . ..  "What happend to us??!!?? We got all wrinkly and gray!" is my cry . . . But I still like us . . . we  tend to think we are young .  .  . and hey dude . . . that's my bag too, because I'm going to learn how to skateboard.
 The music was great, lots of blues, really loud music, friendly people, free food, beer, stuff to buy, views and did I say loud music . . . I listened to three or four groups as I went from stage to stage.

People were dancing, everywhere  . .. and the silver man with his glass balls was under the bridge near the toilets.. . Well, anyway I took a ton of videos, but all the music was too loud and harsh to give them to anyone to listen to. Sorry. I remember standing on the banks of the river, watching the boats and the traffic on the bridges and the people climbing up from the river side, the music was so loud it shook my heart. I wondered if anyone else felt that . . . but probably not . . . I am a little strange sometimes. 

A little video of the silver man 

 

  I had a fantastically good time and was glad I went this year. I ended up exhausted and when I realized that my six hours were almost up,  like Cinderella at the ball,  I gathered up my toys and goodies and raced out of there, down the ramp and the mile and a half down to the Saturday Market (another festival place) where I caught the train home.