Narragansett Beer - Nectar of the Gawds

My husband does not lose much sleep over brand loyalty of any kind. For reasons of politics and gender, he cannot be bothered. Unless, of course, you are talking about beer.

Brian's love, loyalty and pure devotion to Narragansett Beer began in his Rhode Island youth in 1970's. It was associated with the Red Sox and Paw Sox. And it was a working man's beer that was highly visible in the Providence area - a city he still holds great affection for.

Naragansett is a local beer with modest distribution and even more modest marketing strategies. It is not available in NYC. When we go to the Cape for the summer, my husband drinks it like mother's milk....only it is much easier to find a nursing mother on the Cape than a bottle of Narragansett.

He was leaving work in Connecticut a few weeks ago and nearly drove off the road when he saw signs of Narragansett beer available at a small package store.

I am sure that my husband was hugging the six pack he purchased like he was cradling the baby Jesus. The proprietor immediately picked up on the spiritual bond and offered to order cases for Brian whenever he wanted.

Brian has experienced so much grief lately. I would like to believe that an angel guided him to that package store and to the beer that reminds him of happier days when the Red Sox were the only thing that could break his heart.

Cheers.

Gone

This blog is becoming an obituary.

Right after midnight on September 14th, my husband's father died of a hematoma. He had just successfully finished his first round of radiation and chemo for advanced prostate cancer. He fell over Labor Day weekend and hit his head, refusing to sit in an emergency room for twelve hours "to get a band aid".

By the following Wednesday, he was disoriented and they rushed him into the ER. The first brain procedure worked. The second brain procedure didn't. My husband rushed down and never left his side in the ICU for three days and nights other than to eat or get coffee. My son and I joined him on Sunday after it seemed likely that he may not ever become conscious. Ultimately, all the tubes were removed and he passed away peacefully about twelve hours later with family surrounding him.

Being with someone when they are dying is like being with someone when they are giving birth. It's an extraordinary deliverance. A mystery. Most important, it's an honor to be with them as they enter into God's loving embrace.

Mountain HIgh

Up in Litchfield County, Connecticut on this long sunny weekend.

This place is a tonic for us. Everything is green, lush and beautiful. The Housatonic River is running higher than last summer. Driving along the waterside, you see a sprinkling of fly fishermen (and fisherwomen!) wading into the sunny center of the water with their graceful rods and lines in hand.

We choose to stay on land and hike up a small mountain in Cornwall. Nothing like hiking up a mountain to get a sense of just how out of shape you are! The three of us huffed and puffed. There were tears, laughter, much whining and ultimately a sense of pride as we got to the top ridge without killing each other. It was an amazing view of the hills surrounding us and a bit funny to be so high up that hawks were flying just 30 feet above our heads.

We needed to climb that mountain today and I'm glad we did.