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May Update

After battling a failed respiratory system for four months in the hospital, my 23-year-old son, Justin, died last night.  Last week, he was driving the hospital bean-counters and back-office people crazy by having way too much fun in the hospital.  He was playing video games, watching sports and crime shows on tv, and ordering Uber Eats.  Then Saturday afternoon, he went code blue with rapid changes in oxygen level, heart rate and blood pressure.   With modern medicine, drugs and technology, hospital staff stabilized his numbers, but Justin became quite uncomfortable and agitated.  His last words were, "Will it ever end?"   Allie flew home on Sunday night, and her presence in the hospital room on Monday brought a final, brief smile to Justin's lips.  He passed later that night.   I'm proud of my son for his lifetime willingness to fight for a life that was in many ways fuller than most able-bodied people.  In return, he made our lives richer and fuller.   After a time
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Slow Current

 

Geese in early morning mist

The river is very low, compared to times we’ve camped here in the past.


Julia took advantage of winds blowing upstream and spent some time in her inflatable kayak. She had to get out (and get wet) to get past the sandbars.


Callie is a fan of the river. I keep her leashed to avoid “exploring the other side” issues.


We ended the day at the Mississippi Brewing Company. The server started off with, “Don’t ask me about the beer because I don’t know anything about beer.”


Not a problem, I thought, ordering a milk stout from a Davenport brewery. Mississippi Brewing does not brew beer—just selling beers made elsewhere.  My milk stout turned out to be a coffee-infused beer that barely had enough body to taste like a porter—nothing like a milk stout. I was tempted to pour it down the drain of the very cool keg fountain above. Of course, being frugal, I choked it down. Blech!

Next up. Heading north!

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MFH said…
I *hate it* when that happens.

Over the years, as you too have likely experienced, we stout (and porter) enthusiasts suddenly find ourselves choking, gagging and, if there's clear area, SPEWING after a sip of dark-colored piss-water.

Dad used to make a show of rolling the cork next to his ear (it's dry and "crackles" if the bottle has not been properly stored), sniffing the cork (for initial notes & to prime the olfactory) and the dramatic swishing of the initial sip.

I never saw this performance for myself but heard of it from Mom. In acknowledgement of the tradition, I have, once or twice, taken advantage of an occasion such as you describe to clutch my throat while performing the aforementioned dramatics (gagging etc.)

If nothing else, I've obtained a modicum of revenge and paid homage to my paternal grandparents who, because they didn't need to work, dabbled in *The Theater.*

Some people say forgive & forget; I recently read Wallace Stegner (*Wallace Stegner and the American West* by Phillip L. Fradkin) held grudges and savored his rare revenges. You might enjoy it.
July 26, 2023 at 3:54 PM
John said…
Make that stale coffee-flavored piss water. I’m open-minded about additions to beer, but coffee in beer has no chance to be fresh. Either add enough roasted malt to cover up that foul taste or use less coffee/espresso.

I’ll give that book a look. I’m more a fan of sweet revenge than smoldering grudges that do the holder harm. I can forgive for those who don’t know better, so long as the ignorance isn’t intentional.
July 27, 2023 at 7:15 AM
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