First of all. The obvious name situation. Crazy. Also, Astoria is beautiful. I grew up in Grants Pass, Oregon. Definitely miss the Oregon coast. Spent a good amount of time in the Seattle area as well. Beautiful places.
Another wonderfully written piece. Your story reminded me of my high school years when my friend's father took us to drink at the nearby VFW post. We were underage to be drinking but that mattered little there. I reveled in the stories those old veterans told always wondering where fact ended and embellishment began. Most stories were not about war (most of the men would have been WW2 veterans). My biggest memory of that time was an overwhelming sense of melancholy, whether from the drink, the dilapidated bar, the area I lived (very lower middle class/blue collar), or the war, I'll never know.
I’m always fascinated by the way social classes pass close by but never through each other. The way we can cross paths with a multi-millionaire on the way to the corner store but never really touch in any meaningful way. Reminds me of the melancholy you’re talking about. Being adjacent to the opposite in terms of social wealth.
The benefit of wisdom's reflection that comes from shared experience yet there is a displacement with time in shared anecdotes that travels past and present. Something about the pull of the ocean. It's tides coming in, pushing away that reels in that feeling of free yet caught up in memory. Don't get stuck there. You know what? could also be a version of future self sharing what not to do with his younger self. Always beautifully written.
Needed a break from high fantasy, so this was just the ticket. Good work.
Thanks, David.
Reminded me of the Portway Tavern and the Workers Tavern, both in my hometown of Astoria, Oregon. Blue collar, fishermen, vets, alcoholics, Finns…
First of all. The obvious name situation. Crazy. Also, Astoria is beautiful. I grew up in Grants Pass, Oregon. Definitely miss the Oregon coast. Spent a good amount of time in the Seattle area as well. Beautiful places.
Beautiful writing. You paint with words. Made me see my dad and grandpapa at the kitchen table. Old and young. Both veterans. Dad with the glass.
This makes me smile. Anytime we can go back and tour is a good time.
Another wonderfully written piece. Your story reminded me of my high school years when my friend's father took us to drink at the nearby VFW post. We were underage to be drinking but that mattered little there. I reveled in the stories those old veterans told always wondering where fact ended and embellishment began. Most stories were not about war (most of the men would have been WW2 veterans). My biggest memory of that time was an overwhelming sense of melancholy, whether from the drink, the dilapidated bar, the area I lived (very lower middle class/blue collar), or the war, I'll never know.
I’m always fascinated by the way social classes pass close by but never through each other. The way we can cross paths with a multi-millionaire on the way to the corner store but never really touch in any meaningful way. Reminds me of the melancholy you’re talking about. Being adjacent to the opposite in terms of social wealth.
The benefit of wisdom's reflection that comes from shared experience yet there is a displacement with time in shared anecdotes that travels past and present. Something about the pull of the ocean. It's tides coming in, pushing away that reels in that feeling of free yet caught up in memory. Don't get stuck there. You know what? could also be a version of future self sharing what not to do with his younger self. Always beautifully written.