I grew up around beer. We had several breweries in town. One (Stegmaier Brewing Company) is still in business but is owned by a competitor of many years (The Lion Brewery). My parents drank beer since before I was born, and I was sucking suds long before I was of legal age. I still drink beer. When people see me with the occasional glass of wine, they ask if I am feeling well.
Here’s to a long life and a happy one.
A quick death and an easy one.
A good girl and an honest one.
A cold pint and another one.
No blog of mine on beer would be complete without the wonderful pub song by Tom T. Hall, I Like Beer.
So this week’s Taco Tuesday recognizes Seattle Beer Week, which is actually 11 days long. It is a huge beer celebration in terms of both participation and geography. The Pacific Northwest has more breweries and beers than I can imagine.
When we drink, we get drunk.
When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
So, let’s all get drunk, and go to heaven!
–Old Irish toast
Walking down the beer isle in my grocery store I experience sensory overload, and that is just a wee sample of the plethora of brews one may imbibe in these parts. Beer week brings together retail establishments, all kinds and sizes of brewers, and beer aficionados of all levels. This thing runs from the cities of Tacoma and Kent south of Sea-Tac Airport to the city of Lynnwood north of Seattle. It runs from Puget Sound to the west then past Lake Washington to Bellevue on the east side.
Here’s to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking.
If you cheat, may you cheat death.
If you steal, may you steal a woman’s heart.
If you fight, may you fight for a brother.
And if you drink, may you drink with me.
The links below are blogs related to Seattle Beer Week, and a few others I thought you might enjoy.
http://seattlebeernews.com/ Professionally presented blog with news about beer.
https://www.facebook.com/washingtonbeerblog Could not get link to blog to work, but the Facebook page is cool. Got it to work (yay) and worth a read: http://www.washingtonbeerblog.com/
http://brewdad.com/ Great blog. It has a long list of other beer blogs and more useful beer information.
http://nwbeerguide.blogspot.com/ Good blog about general Pacific Northwest area, including Alaska.
http://seattle.taplister.com/ Not a blog, but a cool little app site on finding beer.
I included a clip from the Washington Beer Festival that was last month, simply because it looks like fun to me.
Of all my favorite things to do,
the utmost is to have a brew.
My love grows for my foamy friend,
with each thirst-quenching elbow bend.
Beer’s so frothy, smooth and cold–
It’s paradise–pure liquid gold.
Yes, beer means many things to me…
That’s all for now, I gotta pee!
in Fall City, Washington. Fall City is about four miles north of I-90 from the Preston exit. The restaurant’s web page has directions. Fall City is about five miles down-river from 
The restaurant entrance is in front and opens directly into the dining area. This can be a nuisance on cold windy or rainy days for customers seated near the door. No reception area or waiting area is available. Hostess seating is unnecessary from my experience because you simply pick your table and sit. You can see all tables from the entrance. However, a few customer reviews have complained about this.
The atmosphere is friendly; so are the staff. The ambiance is county and laid back–so say the locals. Dress code is anything legal. Turning left upon entry and walking about 40 feet brings you to the bar area. There is a smallish stage area and a little space for dancing (but not enough, really), a u-shaped bar with no more than five stools per side, a few tall-boy bar tables, and a walkway to the pool table room. This is a large room with a pool table surrounded by a few tables. I walked in about 5:00 PM on a Wednesday and it was full of customers who might be called ‘biker-bar clientele.’ A few folks were playing pool and there was room for that. County-rock was the music genre.
While my server was not very experienced (or old), she impressed me. When she asked for my drink order, I asked about dark beer. She was able to tell me what she had and even referred to notes in her little order book to tell me. She offered up a draught from the 
My first restaurant review is of 
The receptionist area is where the cash register probably was back in the day. The two inside seating areas are separated by two steps (ADA?) with no visible ramp. Some tables are a little close for girthy customers, but it’s manageable. Ambiance is comfortable and ok, but should be a ready for a little rehab soon. Most tables seat four, but can be moved to accommodate larger parties. There are no booths. The acoustics are average and loud voices are easily heard.
The server explained some things regarding the pasta and we ordered a Greek salad and Spaghetti Alfredo (they did not have fettuccini). The wait staff was energetic and service was almost too fast. They are a little blunt and straight-up for some customers, but I think it fits the charm and atmosphere of the restaurant. While I’ve had better salads, it was ok. My wife thought the alfredo white sauce was subpar. The waiter boxed up her leftovers. I tried it the next day and found it on par with what comes in a jar from the store.
Overall
In my lifetime I’ve been called a wise-guy, wise-ass, and a wise-you-name-it. I don’t recall denying any of it. But until I lost a significant amount of hair, gained a lot of scars (and weight), and dealt with a good bit of life’s experiences, no one has used the words wise or wisdom (without suffix) regarding me. So, as I was running through the w’s (women, walking, wine, wild, Wilde, and why) in search of an ‘a-to-z challenge’ blog topic, my wife says, “How about wisdom? You should know about that.” (Her birthday is tomorrow.)
To me, the word wisdom has much in common with the word quality. Both are generally positive; we recognize them (or their absence) when we see or encounter either. But, precise definition for both eludes us. We are willing to take on as much quality and wisdom as possible, but with one condition. We want to know the cost. What price must we pay for quality? Can we afford it? What price must we pay for wisdom? Are we willing to pay the price?
As a college student, I would walk into the Seven-Eleven store and eyeball the beer coolers. I looked only at price per six-pack. Texas Pride was 86-cents for six cans. I still can’t believe I managed to drink that horse piss, but price mattered more on my tight budget. I ignored quality. Little did I know then that years later I would gladly pay eight-to-twelve times as much for top-quality, locally brewed, craft beer. My taste and budget have both matured in quality.
I had a conversation with a friend who was a wonderful, doting, and loving mother to her children. As I listened to her rant-on one day concerning some problem that her son was having, I asked her this question. “You love your son. Why do insist on preventing him from learning life’s lessons simply because they are painful? Be there for him. Protect him from serious harm. But allow him the dignity of learning his own lessons.” Before she got over her hurt feelings about what I had said, she backed off (he owes me). Hard for her, good for him.
We are wiser when older because we have been schooled in life longer.
Long before I ever entertained the idea that I might want to write 
things that people don’t pay me for (as in my old day job), I read a biography about J.R.R. Tolkien. It impressed me that he and his writer group (the Inklings), which included C.S. Lewis, would gather at a pub (The Eagle and Child) to discuss writing and literature. They would read what they had written to each other and critique each other’s work. I want to be there to watch, to listen, to learn, and to discover. Can you imagine? This happened in the 1930s, 40s and 50s. Lewis and Tolkien were alive and writing during my lifetime.
Ironically, unlike the Inklings who were exclusively male, most ‘members’ of the kaffeeklatch group are women. The group was started by one of them (Hi Caz). We drink coffee (or your choice of morning beverage), eat, and talk. Some in attendance have even confessed to getting some writing done. I wouldn’t miss it. If you’re looking for me between nine and noon on Friday mornings, check the Black Dog in Snoqualmie. I am the one with short gray hair, wearing a cap, mostly listening, frequently laughing, and totally confused. Who is to say that the next Tolkien or Lewis is not sitting there, telling me how I need to work on my plot?
More than a year later, I learned a new word that explains my reaction to the painting. It had never happened to me before, and has not since. The word is duende. It is a noun meaning the mysterious power of art to deeply move a person. There is a lot more to and behind this word. You can check it out for yourself by reading the wiki, if you’re curious. Apparently, artists sometimes experience this with their own work. However, if you’re familiar with this, or had a similar event happen, I would love to hear from you.
Our Literary Journey 