What gets to count as a memory?
If you supplement it with a photograph, is that really remembering? Or is that constructing a memory out of articles available to the extended mind, which might also include the ability to count on your fingers or write down in a notebook what you have experienced?
Or, for that matter, these words.
Here’s what I would have written about the night: I left home, a little bit afraid of being able to merely navigate, so I took the route most likely to mitigate against that. Soon enough, however, even muddy trails were laughed at.
And although much was familiar, it all seemed new, including a boardwalk empire that actually was.
Thematically, everything connected: the ArbROretum, the UW ROwing Center, the KROger family of grocery stores, and, of course, LauROlhurst.
As predicted, the Greg Barnes route enabled ascension without descent and pretty soon, who wouldn’t cross that bridge when they came to it? Pour it on, people, pour it on.
Plenty of beer can flares provided entertainment and must have convinced a few of the locals that there are those among us who really are as young as we act.
Seattle’s Finest, emerging from the darkened wood, brightened considerably when they saw gray hair and beards.
As it turns out, the cops in better parts of town are also the most relaxed. Best line from the sandy-haired officer: “You didn’t run when we showed up. That’s unusual.”
Check your privilege? Yes, indeed. But in times like these, it’s also: Privilege? Check.
So, coals were spread, pretty much on the original schedule, anyway. And, thus, a reeled-in newcomer got to experience the classic trifecta: gravel trails, beery fire, and a pleasant encounter with the authorities, check, check, check.
A little flat-fixing and some prophylactic pumping set the stage for the final leg of the evening. Never made it to either of the ROanoke bars, but, I think the NeighbRO Lady suffices, right?
If you supplement it with a photograph, is that really remembering? Or is that constructing a memory out of articles available to the extended mind, which might also include the ability to count on your fingers or write down in a notebook what you have experienced?
Or, for that matter, these words.
Here’s what I would have written about the night: I left home, a little bit afraid of being able to merely navigate, so I took the route most likely to mitigate against that. Soon enough, however, even muddy trails were laughed at.
And although much was familiar, it all seemed new, including a boardwalk empire that actually was.
Thematically, everything connected: the ArbROretum, the UW ROwing Center, the KROger family of grocery stores, and, of course, LauROlhurst.
As predicted, the Greg Barnes route enabled ascension without descent and pretty soon, who wouldn’t cross that bridge when they came to it? Pour it on, people, pour it on.
Plenty of beer can flares provided entertainment and must have convinced a few of the locals that there are those among us who really are as young as we act.
Seattle’s Finest, emerging from the darkened wood, brightened considerably when they saw gray hair and beards.
As it turns out, the cops in better parts of town are also the most relaxed. Best line from the sandy-haired officer: “You didn’t run when we showed up. That’s unusual.”
Check your privilege? Yes, indeed. But in times like these, it’s also: Privilege? Check.
So, coals were spread, pretty much on the original schedule, anyway. And, thus, a reeled-in newcomer got to experience the classic trifecta: gravel trails, beery fire, and a pleasant encounter with the authorities, check, check, check.
A little flat-fixing and some prophylactic pumping set the stage for the final leg of the evening. Never made it to either of the ROanoke bars, but, I think the NeighbRO Lady suffices, right?
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