As I was attempting my run this morning with legs of lead, I noticed a little bird flitting through the bushes as I made my way down the trail leading to several sets of stairs. A few years ago this steep ravine was transformed into Eagle Landing Park. This park is a lovely little get-away a mere half mile from my house and can transport me back to a time when the land was all trees, birds and critters making their way down to the Puget Sound. Of course, there weren’t the 270 metal stairs that can cause pain when used as a workout tool. So this little bird was following me along as I plodded up and down the trail (two times today—a sleepless night sapped me to my very core so my speed was close to jogging in place) and I had to wonder if the bird was merely curious or having a good chuckle watching me move my awkward human body from one place to another. As tough as it felt doing this run this morning, I felt happier and refreshed after my commune into nature doing my little jogger dance.
Most of my family and I went to the Folk Life Festival over Memorial Day weekend-- lots of food, free spirits, music, arts and crafts. I vaguely remember my first venture into the Festival with our first-born in a stroller. I was beyond exhausted and didn’t try again until she was in college. My husband and I were in such a sleep-deprived fog, that it is possible that it wasn’t even the Folk Life Festival—it might have been Bumbershoot (another Seattle Festival over Labor Day). At any rate, now that the kids are walking and talking on their own (ages 22-10) we’ve gone to Folk Life three years in a row and have had a great time. What I love the most is watching people enjoy the music. Smiling, rocking, lying in the grass, enjoying their food, but the best shows are always the dancers.
We spotted the old guy (third year in a row) who wears a rainbow skirt, bikini top and dances with abandon to any band playing on the main stage with the largest lawn on which to flutter his tied dyed scarves while spinning and dipping. I should mention that he has curly grey hair halfway down his back, a Rip Von Winkle beard and looks to be about 99 years old--- a vision that never fails to cause mouths to drop. I think the dancers who were having the most fun were the ones at least my age or quite a bit older (unless my self-perception is totally off) who were all doing their own thing to the Blues as we munched on our Pad Thai and Jerk Chicken near the big Seattle Center fountain. There was the button up type guy with pressed shorts, shirt neatly tucked in, hiking boots (kind of like a 50 year old boy scout) bobbing his head and marching to the rhythm with a little hip wiggle every once in a while. Then the 60 something rotund guy with a ponytail who could tip and swerve his legs and feet as if he were on a surfboard. It wouldn’t have been complete without the old hippie gal with her gathered skirt, long locks and gyrating torso with her arms in the air like she didn’t care. The whole vibe just made me smile. During this amazing blues set these dancers were letting their feet take them to a place where they were alive and happy. These grey-haired dancers were no longer invisible or irrelevant in this world of the next new thing. These dancers were magnificent. 5/29/12