My parents surprised me this week with an offer for a lunch getaway and a bag of cider donuts from the autumnal version of Shangri-La. As I halfheartedly prepared to resume my normal afternoon activities, all three of us were looking for reasons to delay the final rounds of hugs and goodbyes.

"Hey, you'd made reference to seeing Tom Petty in Texas, and we saw the photos. But how did he do? What was it like in the...photo pit, right?" God bless my mother. I'd completely forgotten that this was my first face-to-face encounters with the folks since Austin; my telephoned anecdotes had all been quick bursts, not in-depth explanations.

The white paper bag of fall's finest baked items were temporarily set aside atop my parents' car. I needed to talk with both hands.

You know when something big is taking place, but you have to focus on the series of small tasks in order to get the job done?

That was Tom Petty's set. If I were to take it all in, I would have been overwhelmed before the performance even began. I had the roar of at least 50,000 people hitting me in the back as I stood among professional photographers, each seemingly armed with lenses longer than my forearm. The two men who had been overseeing security in the photo pit all weekend were shouting over the cheers, telling us that we would have to clear out of the pit if people in the crowd -- some of whom had been standing in the sunshine and heat for more than eight hours -- started to require medical care. Apparently, the crowd began to drop like flies during the last set at Lollapalooza, and they were worried that this would be the same kind of situation.

We were all supposed to take seats along the metal benches that were built into the crowd barriers. We had to wait there until the band took the stage; we weren't allowed to approach the stage until we saw Tom. Imagine a slew of photographers playing musical chairs, trying to get a seat as close as they could. Somehow, I wound up with a seat immediately to the right -- and I'm talking about maybe a foot and a half -- of the microphone.

So we're waiting, the crowd is chanting (and some photographers are joining in), and I'm busy trying to keep my energy contained by checking my battery, chatting with another photographer who tells me he shot off 500 frames during The Flaming Lips. I'd been psyched to get 50 shots, some of which were blurred. The difference between a point-and-shoot and the real thing. Yeah.

The lights go down and the crowd is whipped into more of a frenzy than I've experienced live. I'm craning my neck, trying to look up onto the stage and off to the stage right side...and then I see the band walking out. A moment later, I see the light fall on the blond hair. We've already stood up by this point, and now we walk up to get the best spots each of us can get.

I'm pointing my camera up, and Tom Petty is right there in the frame. I start taking photographs and then it hits me that there is absolutely no one - nothing but a level of stage - between me and Tom Petty. Someone I never even thought I'd see live is right in front of me, smiling out over my head at the thousands upon thousands of people who are screaming as if Jesus Christ had taken the stage.

When the band starts playing, I'm trying to get shots AND groove at the same time. I'm not the only one. Lots of the photographers are enjoying the vantage point. The band is tight and, were there anybody in the crowd not into Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, they would have been excited simply feeding off of the crowd's energy. The singalongs are intense -- his voice is drowned out by the audience and he appears to be absolutely loving it.

It was insane. Unbelievable. This huge spectacle of light and sound and lenses, and then just me, fully aware of the fact that if I don't focus on working with the light and getting these shots, my head really might explode from the utter shock of it all.

But then my camera's battery is dying, so I get out of the pit and meet up with Michelle. We had a good spot already picked out, right near where the exit to the photo pit, so it was relatively easy to reach her. We're dancing like mad, along with the rest of the people in our area, when we start to see the lightning flickering in the distance.

We're hoping that the storm will bypass us, but soon the wind is picking up, whipping the band members' hair as they continue to play. It adds to the weird, crazy nature of the experience -- kind of like that time I saw Grace Potter in Boston and it felt as if she was channeling nature, you know? It makes them look all the more like rock stars.

The rain starts slowly, a few drops here and there. All of a sudden, drops become drizzle, which morphs into a light shower. The band plays as long as they can, before the water threatens to ruin the equipment and pose a safety hazard. But during those two songs when they kept playing? It felt almost Dionysian -- everyone just frolicking in the storm.

Tom promised everyone that the band would be back, but they hid out back as the rains really started to come down. It was cold! We just laughed and looked up and whooped about the fact that this was happening. How was this happening? How were we here? For this?

Ultimately, the band came back and we continued to rock out and be amazed. There were a lot of the hits, as to be expected, but I didn't expect "Refugee" to be a highlight. Huh. Anyway, then the band covers Van's "Mystic Eyes" and I am just so damn excited that I jump up and down with delight. Michelle laughs at me, of course, then joins in the rockout.

And then it was over.

My parents are grinning, as I've been jumping around, providing near interpretive dance of the experience. I laugh at myself, fix my hair and shrug my shoulders.

"So yeah. It was cool. Yep."