Last night I went to a brewery to hear my uncle’s music played. A tribute. I left and went on a walk for most of the first set. Mom said I missed the adorable kids dancing. I guess it’s ok. It would have reminded me too much of myself back in the day. Instead. I walked to the Columbia River, which was very close by. There were mossy pilings and a big boat nicely equipped with nautical things of which I am clueless. Uncle Michael probably has cute little boats embossed on his DNA, but if he needed a model for a a wolf sea vessel, he had it here in Astoria. Next, I turned around, found the steepest street in sight, and walked up it. I called my Dad on the way. We talked about how when Dad would run into Uncle Michael in the park in NYC when they were young, he always reminded him of a lizard, so relaxed, lounging in the sun. We also talked about the state of the country. And Finland and saunas and happiness. Life is fleeting.
Phoebe Wilcox, Writing Like the Deadline is Death 