I kind of can’t believe I have 48 of these things. At the same time, it really feels like this is the 48th. All I want to do is list the two new things I did this past week, upload a photo and call it a day. My reluctance to elaborate or dig deeper just serves as a reminder of how easy it is to not bother with even the smallest side steps. Of course, that would be a mistake. It’s good to push forward or outward or to swing around in random, erratic loops. Anything but the slump of routine. The routine will be there, arranging the vast majority of my time, filling me with its pleasures and comforts. Taking a few hours away from that is never a bad idea.
With that in mind, I finally made it up on stage at an open mic. I read a short, non-fiction piece about my sex life to a welcoming audience at an event hosted by the lovely Jenny Forester and the Unchaste Readers Series. She picked names out of a hat to determine the reading order. Mine was last. Which meant that by the time I got up on stage, all my nervousness was buried under a strong IPA and the cumulative, soothing effect of the brave readers who went before me.
I also finally got on the Portland Spirit, a boat I’ve passed a hundred times while down in Waterfront Park. As a 49th anniversary present, I brought my parents on a cruise on the Willamette which, it turns out, is kind of a funny place to cruise. It was fun to go under the bridges I’d only gone over. It was fun to see a girl moon the boat from the sandy edge of Ross Island. It was fun to see the houseboats along Oaks Bottom and the audacious estates of Dunthorpe neither of which I knew existed. All very mild amusements and yet an entirely satisfying way to spend a few hours with my folks.
And now, a few more pictures:
Tracy Burkholder 
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