I am in New Orleans for a conference and every year at this conference I hook up with a friend who I never see anywhere else; we share much in common and it is fun to hang out together. She is much more outgoing and adventurous than I and this trip she found a Blues dance class down in the Bywater District. We took an Uber car there last night, went through Treme on the way, which looks like it is still recovering from Katrina and looks just like it does in the TV show by that name. The building which housed the dance studio was in a run-down block of mostly empty storefronts; the door of the studio was open. We walked in at the end of an African dance class with 3 drummers and dancers ranging in age from 6 to 70 and bodies from sylph-like to Rubenesque. It was steamy hot and those women were doing tremendously energetic movements from one end of the floor to the other, without stopping. The beating of the drums and the movement was infectious and I itched to join them but remained an onlooker only. When they finished and filed out there was just me and my friend, a young man and woman from Chicago, and a middle-aged woman from New Orleans who had taken the Blues dance class before. She said Chance, the teacher, was often late, and he was true to form last night. But once he arrived and we got to listening to old blues songs and dancing I was transported- forgot how much I love to dance. I had never heard of blues dancing before- all it is is a codified type of juke joint dancing, sexy, with lots of hips and innuendo. Anyway, Chance put us through the paces and I sure had fun, though my friend said he wasn’t a good teacher. He invited us to come hear his band at the Spotted Cat at 10, but we passed, needed to get up early today. But I can see and feel how the spirit of this place could turn even me into a night owl now and then, dancing and listening to music and feeling so alive and happy. With the Blues.