Blues Escapism

With David Bromberg playing loudly on the stereo I began brushing paint on cabinet doors. I think I could listen to him sing all day, with his quirky lyrics telling tales of love, music, travel, and drinking in his bluesy, guitar-picking manner. It made me long to be sitting with my husband in a smoky blues bar in a seedy part of Chicago or Memphis or New Orleans, drinking whiskey until I could sit no longer then jumping up to dance like a fool, inhibition lost to the rhythm. When my husband tired of dancing we would sit at our table, feet tapping and bodies swaying, letting the music wash over us. Afterward, we would catch a cab back to the hotel, holding hands and laughing, his easy smile making my heart quicken. Music has become a common bond for us over the years, my husband always excited to introduce a new artist to me. We have enjoyed going to concerts and blues festivals in the region, seeking out blues clubs and bars in distant cities, sometimes just the two of us, other times with friends and family. We dream of going on a blues cruise one day, a week of relaxing and reveling to the sound of the music under the giant night sky as we rock and roll with the waves. We would slip away from the ship at each port, exploring the islands, browsing in the shops, and lingering over lunch. Back on the ship we would attend the jam sessions and the autograph sessions with the assorted blues talents, buying as many of their CDs as we wanted to add to our growing collection. Stretched out on lounge chairs, we would bake in the sun and then cool off in the pool, alternating between reading and napping, re-energizing for another night of blues. This is our dream. The current reality is that my cabinet doors are now painted, the chore made enjoyable by the music on the stereo and the dreams in my mind. Without both, life would be much more boring.