Water and 15th Street

well-we-are-the-bluegrass-state

I had a wonderful weekend wherein my wife invited a few incredible friends. These gracious human beings with whom I have struck out adventures with and laid under the stars to weave my wild-eyed stories, have yet to run off Seattle’s Pier 44 in a fit of dementia or insanity. This is a good thing. Thanks to a beer ordering service, an eagle that makes Kentucky straight whiskey, and a late-night jam session playing MegaMan 2, last night was intimate and fun and a bit of a blur. The atmosphere was pure concentrated car talk, future traveling plans, the headache of adulthood, and the ever-present notion that I would never quite grow up.

We had invited my neighbors over. Great people, dog people. You can rarely go wrong with dog people so they hopped over with the whiskey from the Bluegrass State and joined in the festivities. Rest-assured, philosophy reared its head as it usually does when one imbibes at these parties. Being that it was my party, the topic was about me and my connections. My neighbors knew our old neighbor, a car guy…who is pretty familiar with all my friends at the party. Furthermore, two of my friends are not fond of each other. Both arrived and were amicable to each other. It was declared that I am somehow not made of fleshy bits but of horse, that is glue. I was internally smiling after that.

In a time of unknown and wild accusations, the fact very little was spoken on that day’s Women’s March or the inauguration of our 45th President gave me hope. The night was young, but this morning made gave a loud reminder that I am older.

Sláinte, my friends. To the very best life has to offer us.

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