I’m re-entering my real life after the show in St Paul on Tuesday night – happily reunited with my family, catching up at work, trying to hire a damn contractor to put my kitchen back together – and I finally had a minute to look through the photos and videos I captured that evening. I didn’t get much because I’ve been trying to be fully present with the band, the fans, and simply soak it all in. Time is limited, The River album preaches that fact. Even so, I admit I often fall into the OMG-Bruce-and-the-band-are-so-freaking-close trap. Really, how many photos and videos do I need? A lot, apparently.
Anyway, it makes me really happy to see younger people getting into Bruce’s music AND at the same time, I guess somewhere inside my own head I must still think I’m one of them because I’ve had this weird experience lately when I’m in the pit. I find myself thinking, “Wow, it’s so cool to see all of these old farts rocking out to Bruce”. And then I come to the shocking realization that I’m one of them. I’m not one of the younger people. I’m one of the old farts. Or as the guy who filmed my dance with Bruce in DC so sweetly referred to me, a member of the mature demographic. When the hell did that happen?! I have no idea. But I’m not quitting until Bruce does. I know THAT.
Before I got my son squared away for bed tonight, I showed him one of my St Paul videos and he goes, “yeah Mom, he’s really awesome but there sure are a lot of bald heads in the way!” LOL.