What a super weekend. Being paid for a day off, though it do be a national holiday, still seems naughtily luxurious to me. It's been cooler for the past several days, in the 80s instead of the 90s, so we stayed in town as planned and happily hung out at home, with our Little Guy and our pool and trees. I have finally realized the best way for me to read: in the pool with my arms over the edge. With contacts or not, this is fine. Unless someone is splashing in the pool, and I don't think it too much to ask that innocent bystanders have a splashfree zone. Gripe moan whine. So we sunned and read and ate cookies, and by late afternoon headed to Red Rocks for Blues Traveler.
Once there, we realized we'd been stupid not to bring rain gear or a blanket, but that was the only mar in an otherwise excellent evening. For one thing, the crowd was open and mellow, which I experienced only at my first Dead show, in Buffalo 1993. Lots of Deadheads or at least people affecting the look. Hackey-sacks, mandolins (but no drums), smiles on everyone.
And Security didn't have a chip on its shoulder. Guards asked if my bottle of water was sealed from the manufacturer, and took my word instead of seizing it to examine it. Neither of us was patted down (though I saw that others were).
Red Rocks looks different than I remember it from the "Under a Blood Red Sky" video, but I haven't watched that in years. I did wish, of course, that Blues Traveler would get at least Phishy enough to holler satirically, "This is Red Rocks! and this is the Edge!" but they didn't. And unlike that old U2 show, the rain was only a sprinkle, not freezing (in the video Bono's sweat, not just his breath, evaporates visibly), and lasted less than half an hour. From the top row of the mostly natural amphitheatre, we had a view of Denver from the northwest corner of downtown (so that the Coors Field fireworks peeped over a foothill blocking the rest of the northern view) south through Littleton and Douglas County. On either side of the steep stretch of cement bleachers rises a huge red (no!) rock formation in which pigeons (of course), swallows, swifts, and bats nest.
With our binoculars, we saw all the fireworks displays from Coors Field southward, and lightning in Douglas County that mercifully didn't touch down where we were, and the birds' nests ingeniously and stubbornly built into crevices in the rocks. And Blues Traveler and the opening band, of course; more on them in a bit. I thought the swallows' nests looked either like volcanoes or uncircumcised penises, depending on their shape. I was surprised that latter comparison occurred to me.
The opening band was a local, Boulder affair named Leftover Salmon. Despite that inauspicious name, they were fun. A little bit like the Dead, a touch of bluegrass including a moment I was sure they were going to segue into Charlie Daniels, a little bit like Jimmy Buffet: a lively live band. During its set, it rained and lightning'd and there was the left leg of a rainbow arc to the south. Between bands, a whole arc opened up with its north leg in Lakewood and its south one miles away and hidden behind the rock formations. And then a reverse rainbow opened above it--a phenomenon I have never seen.
Throughout Blues Traveler, fireworks exploded in the whole span of our view. Coors Field's, Fiddler's Green's, and Littleton's were far away but still delightful, but then Lakewood's were only two miles or so away and the view was perfect. Blues Traveler did "Stand," "Run Around," "But Anyway" (which title should answer why I like the band, even if you don't know the music), "Dropping Some NYC," other songs I don't remember, and songs I didn't know, from its most recent album. They opened their second set with "The Star-Spangled Banner" on harmonica and electric guitar, and thence segued into "Fallible," very appropriate.
All in all, a great Fourth: beautiful weather (including the storms), great bird-watching, constant fireworks, a fun concert, and at least a rendition of the anthem. I suppose the Fiddler's Green concert we went to last year was supposedly more patriotic, but I don't call a medley of our favorite national songs anything so much more wonderful than a heartfelt and genuine improvised "Star-Spangled Banner." And towards the end, Blues Traveler--without Leftover Salmon--did play "Devil Went Down to Georgia," which was more funny (because I'd anticipated it) than a good rendition.
And yesterday and today we spent by the pool or under our sapling or in the house, with water and books and computers. So Blake has been pretty happy with us home so much, and this weekend has done something new: tucked his beak into his wing for under-desk naps. Percy used to tuck at the slightest provocation, and I have missed this posture of complete adorability and demonstrated trust. But I am glad Blake is usually too busy preening or playing or smashing things up (from "Hope and Glory"; properly, chewing things up) to nap as much as Percy did.
The pansies are alive, but not flowering; the petunias, at least, are thriving in the sun. And this had been another complete failure with lobelia. If lobelia ever have a justice system, I expect I shall face capital charges.
I began to reread One Hundred Years of Solitude, didn't get too far with Hopeful Monsters, and have only skimmed the latest New York Review of Books.
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