I’m not a particularly good dancer. Basically, I don’t know how to dance. At all. I just never learned. And because I have this weird fear of — what’s the term? — “shaking what my momma gave me,” I tend to avoid dance floors. But there’s something about this one evening in the summertime, when the sun has set and the music is right and maybe I’ve had a little too much free-flowing rum punch, that I just really enjoy that dance floor. A few weekends ago, my sister, niece and cousins hit Reggae on the Delta, a teeny tiny music festival on a point on the Delta. Here’s how it went for us.
WELCOME!I’m Lauren — a gentle wanderlust who lives in a little valley nestled between Sacramento and San Francisco. I embrace life’s littlest and most poignant moments, and share them here.
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