Swamp juice

Yesterday evening I went to jackwilliambell's house to bottle the mocha porter. Jack's grandson, Riley, was there this time, and he was interested in playing spelling and rhyming games. He had a pretty funny idea of what constituted a rhyme, I have to say. His sense of spelling wasn't much better. He'd reel off a series of random letters and ask what it spelled. I yodeled in reply.

kate_schaefer and Glenn came over as well, and Jack barbecued delicious steaks and corn on the cob. Kate and Glenn and I talked about aging, and Glenn said that as you get older (he's turning 60 next year) you realize there are certain things you will never accomplish. "Maybe I'll never finish a novel," Kate said. After dinner, Jack brought out his telescope, and we looked at the craters on the moon and at the moons of Jupiter. Riley said the stars might be ghosts, so the kid's got a sense of wonder, for sure. After the star-gazing, Kate and Glenn went home, Riley went to bed, and Jack and I bottled.

Jack's afraid that he over-diluted the beer at one point when it was looking too thick. There was an amazing muddy sludge of yeast and chocolate at the bottom of the brew. We'll see how it comes out in a couple of weeks after it has finished fermenting in the bottles. Considering that it started out with a very high specific gravity and ended up at nearly zero, it should at least be damned strong.

Next week I turn 48, and I'm likewise unsure whether I've aged well or am over-deluded. Perhaps a mixture of both, and a bit on the muddy side.