On Saturday night I took my brother to his first dance performance.
It’s always an adventure figuring out what my brother wants to do when he comes for his annual visit. I try to find new things for him to do, but sometimes it seems he’s happy to spend time at places he’s enjoyed in previous years.
The main problem, though, is his politeness. He’ll agree to just about anything I propose.
Nevertheless, I invited my brother and my husband to the First Annual Mile High Dance Festival at the Cleo Parker Robinson Dance Amphitheatre (20th Avenue and Park, just across the parking lot from Safeway).
The festival was titled “Celebrating Dances of the Americas” in keeping with the Biennial of the Americas that’s been happening in Denver in July. I’m not sure what troupe was performing here in this wide shot; we arrived about an hour into the show.
In between performances, I coaxed my two men over to the right side of the stage. They sat on the grass, while I tried to figure out how to photograph dance without using a flash. At first it was like a cartoon chase: I ran in front of some people to a planter. Then I crouched beside the planter and started firing away. There were no really fabulous angles with a 55 mm lens, from behind the stage or in front of it, and once again I wondered why I have yet to buy a zoom.
I loved the detail on the dresses and headgear sported by Grupo Folklorico Sabor Latino. 
If only I had captured the stage lights shining through these skirts and the details of the female dancers’ hairstyles. In all my no-flash shots, I got one but not the other.
But these dancers were so exuberant, I couldn’t help but love them the most.
Best of all, my brother seemed to like it. And no one got upset that I ran around for an hour taking pictures.
and I can say with certainty this year was colder. I’ll bet there weren’t too many of these poinsettias out last Saturday.
This year they blocked off the street at night and had perhaps 10 vendors. Otherwise, most things hadn’t changed. Marsha’s Cookies was there again (her cookies are delicious, as was the fudge sample I stole), along with Nana’s Coffee Cakes (the pumpkin chocolate chip was a big hit with the in-laws), and Old Colorado Smokehouse. 
We were about to buy jalapeno cheddar or elk bratwurst or fresh sweet Italian (the last two both sweet), but then the vendor got tired of freezing his ass off in the dark and walked over to listen to the Clam Daddys.
Trout Steak Revival was also there. (The band names are as quaint as the district, don’t ya know?) Both helped take our minds off the cold. 
The ice sculptor had packed up and gone home, leaving a sleigh that 
The Clydesdales were warm in their stables by the time we arrived, 
and people also found ways to stay warm, especially if their shoes weren’t the most practical.
We had dinner at India’s Pearl and then had dessert at Pajama Baking Company (more on those two later this week).
is still in business. All these stores sell unique, locally made products, like these cloth substitutes for sandwich bags (SnackTaxi) from Dragonfly.
shows the aftermath of a race between a Colorado team and the Houston Heat, who must have been grateful for the cooler weather.
to this woman at the Thailand tourism booth. I don’t think she would be able to eat in this costume.
to the place I settled on because I’d never had Filipino-American food (Tropical Grill).
And then Todd came back with what he called “Thai shave ice,” 
which is topped with red beans and 3 kinds of jellies. Weird? Maybe. Tasty? Yes, though the mixture gets less appetizing the more you eat.
Many tents had cots and coolers and chairs enough to seat a dozen people.
Saturday I made my way to the 
on my way to the mall shuttle, I passed a wedding party swank enough to afford two photographers. Everyone but the bride wore black; I liked the bridesmaids’ sleek black satin dresses better than her elaborately appliquéd froth of a dress.
The art started this way for me: large landscapes, which you’d expect from an art fair in Colorado; metal wall hangings like sheaves of wheat; and photographs of horses, taken all over the United States but mostly in Colorado and back East, where 
it seems like more of an organic whole.
“Cool, Crazy, Hot” advertised the brochure for Five Points Jazz Festival last Saturday. I guess standing in line for tamales for 20 minutes, only to be told I should come back in an hour, was kinda crazy. The air was cool but the sun was certainly hot, and it was too early in the season for me to have remembered to bring a hat or sunscreen.
until Todd said some of the drumming was bothering his left ear and causing his eyes to twitch (
I just had to try the sweet potato pie ice cream, so I got a suitably large cone for it and the chocolate. Big mistake: even with Todd’s help, a dessert defeated me.
and then to the Lamont School of Music Jazz Band 
in the newish 
Cinco de Mayo in downtown Denver was the third festival I attended last Saturday, after International Migratory Bird Day in Boulder and the Colorado Chocolate Festival at the Merchandise Mart on 58th. True to my intentions, I had several donuts in Boulder, multiple samples of ganache at the Chocolate Festival, and two tacos midafternoon.
The second thing I noticed was the large number of families. At times, the crowd came to a complete stop, strollers paused, and there seemed to be nowhere to go but straight up. Then the dam burst and we all pushed on through.
looked promising and stepped up to order two tacos for $3, which is pretty cheap for festival food. I got to use some of my limited Spanish while asking for 1 barbacoa and 1 adobaba. The green chile and pico de gallo weren’t as hot as I’d feared—in fact, a great deal less—and the tacos lasted me until dinner time.
and several hundred knock-off Coach bags and a girl playing tennis in between booths and mobiles and Mexican flags
and more food booths
and an entire section of nonprofits until I found this woman with the sombrero traipsing along in front of the Capitol. It was quite a feat to keep up with her; she navigated the crowd as if she were water and it was a streambed.
