I’m my own grandpa’

July 4, 2009

“…and just like for an instant, all his life is just folding in on itself and it’s obvious to him that time is a lie.”

Sippin' Rogue at the Terrace.

Sippin' Rogue at the Terrace.

A year ago when I was blasting off fireworks with siblings that were strangers to me merely three years ago, I figured it wouldn’t be possible for another Independence Day to live up that one. Never again would I have such a unique combination of family, friends, fireworks, and spirits.

Cafe Flame Lily, which I broke into.

Cafe Flame Lily, which I broke into.

A year later, well, it still seems pretty impossible. I certainly would have never thought I’d come close though. I woke up today on a sofa in Tacoma, Washington. I ended the day sipping a mini Afritini at Café Flame Lily, an African Cuisine Restaurant that I broke into.* I also had dinner with the mayor of Lake Oswego and enjoyed some fantastic food expertly prepared and served by the staff of Terrace Kitchen. We swapped crazy family stories sipped Arnold Palmers (iced tea and lemonade), and enjoyed a panoramic view of a dozen fireworks shows in Portland and various surrounding areas.

All because I decided to attend a jazz jam session at Proper Eats on Thursday night. Causality is a crazy thing.

I’d love to elaborate, but it’s damned late. Happy Fourth, y’all.

*for the record, I did not actually commit breaking and entering.


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