Tag Archives: beer

Things I like today… Chapter 6


I like:

This beer we found at a liquor store in New Hampshire.





It had a rich, dark, oaky finish….. and also made me laugh.


I like :

This meme my husband’s niece posted on FB.




It’s uncannily accurate.

My husband can spot a red tailed hawk in the top of  a tree on the northbound side of the highway while flying down the southbound side at 90mph…. but can’t find his socks. Which are in his sock drawer, where they’ve been for the past 35 years.

Someone please explain that to me.


I like :




This giant pink flamingo my husband’s nephew brought out to the Island for the kids to float on.




Did I mention he’s a rough, tough lobsterman…

And it didn’t quite fit on his boat?


I like :

Reusable grocery bags.

Less plastic and less waste to clog our landfills.




Of course I’m proof positive that saying is pure crap.

I’m 55… and not a single thing about me feels new again.


Gettin’ my beer on…..



We love it, and seek it out on a regular basis.




So when we find a new craft brewery?



Apparently Brickyard Hollow has been open for almost a year and how we never noticed it is a mystery.




Perhaps because the building used to be a 7-11?




Whatever the reason, I’m glad we know now.




There’s a rustic modern decor… which includes those horribly uncomfortable metal chairs that are popping up everywhere.

For the rounded hipped among us? This is not good.




Uncomfortable outdoor seating as well.




But the appropriate vintage photographs provide a relaxing atmosphere…

And then there’s the beer.




Bring on the flights!




We tried the Belgian, the Trestle, the Blueberry and the Amber and they were all lovely. After ordering some full size glasses,  I discovered the cocktail menu.




Which had a boozy Lime Rickey.

Of course Yarmouth is a town famous for it’s annual Clam Festival. And when you’re at the Clam Festival? You have to meet the Clam…




And have a freshly squeezed non alcoholic Lime Rickey… they’re delicious.

But a boozy version?




It’s simple, crisp, refreshing…. and filled with gin.




What more could you want?

Happy as the proverbial clam, I moved on to the food.




Rich creamy clam chowder with just the right amount of everything.




Husband went for Blueberry Moonshine wings while I chose a Black and Blue burger and country fries.




While the burger was too thin for my taste, and slightly overcooked…. it did have a fabulous charbroiled flavor and potent Gorgonzola. The fries were dusted with some kind of slightly spicy rub which I could easily have munched on all day.


Brickyard Hollow rates a solid B.




I look forward to going back and trying Key Lime Scallops, a Cuban and a Crab Cake burger.

And of course… more beer.





Moving day should not include random body parts.


We helped a friend move last weekend.

Because… yes.




Moving is hard work.




There’s lots of stuff to pack…




Lots of stuff to lift…




And lots of stuff to push across homemade scrap wood ramps.




What do you mean that’s not how professionals do it?

The silly thing weighed a ton and it got there.

Do we really care how?

No. We do not…

What we do care about is finding random body parts.

Tell me you saw it.

In the picture with my husband carrying the bright blue garden bench? Go back and look, I’ll wait.




A random leg.

And it wasn’t the only one.




The damned things were popping up everywhere.





A wee bit.

But some of our friends are as well, so it’s to be expected….




It got to be a running joke about where they’d turn up….

So at the end of the day when we were relaxing with beer and bowls of chili?




Naturally we needed a centerpiece.




And P.S….

Just for the record –

As much as I wanted to move their 442 Olds right into my garage at home?




I restrained myself from stealing the keys when they weren’t looking.

That my dear, is the very definition of friendship.



Even better than rocks…


I’ve been known to give some interesting birthdays gifts in my time.

Some elicit laughter, some tears….

Some? Downright befuddlement.

It’s all good.

In the past few years, I’ve gifted my husband with experiences as well as tangible items.

2014 was a beer making lesson.




Friends and family joined us for what I thought would be a laugh a minute celebration…




Ah, look at those happy faces.

(Word of warning –  if you’re thinking about trying it? There’s a lot more to beer than drinking. And I don’t recommend any of it.)

Beer drinking? Fun!

Beer making?




Not so much.

It’s a long involved process…. that I completely stopped caring about two hours in.




Poor husband.

Look at him… he had his tasting glass ready and it wasn’t anywhere near finished.

Birthday experience gift rating on a scale of 1 to 10?



Last year I nailed it with a School of Falconry class.

This was fabulous and we both enjoyed it immensely.




Husband got up close and personal with a Harris Hawk and a Peregrine Falcon.

And they were both beautiful creatures.




Learning to handle them can be challenging.




As well as a little intimidating.

Of course, they were nothing compared to the instructor.



She was downright terrifying.

(I think the husband had flashbacks to boot camp and reverted to a quivering PFC before my eyes.)

But baggie of dead quails aside?




An awesome day.

Birthday experience gift rating?

A definite 10!


So this year, along with the rock and other assorted presents…

I gave him a helicopter.





Okay, calm down.

Those babies go for $425,000.

I gave him the experience of learning how to fly a helicopter.

Half an hour class instruction, half an hour flying time with 2 guests.

I’m not sure when we’ll do it, most likely after the weather warms up.

But I’m guessing it’s going to be a good one!

Assuming we don’t die in a flaming fireball of a crash…

That’s bound to reduce the rating.




When the universe tries to tell you something….


Have you ever had one of those days when all the signs were pointing somewhere?




Hopefully it’s not there.

I had one of those days last week.

It started when I checked the weather forecast.




Fair enough.

We were out of beer.




And on my way to the grocery store?




Okay, I get it.

Corporate America wants in on everything lately.




But then..

The car that pulled in next to me at the store?




And while not all signs are clear…





I’m guessing the universe did not wish me to remain sober that day.

And one should never argue with the universe.





Or my husband, who brought home an interesting wine that night.

What’s a girl to do?






Armadillo eggs, mammoth bones… and shoes.


After our disappointing visit to the  (guess I’m not so clever after all)  corner in Winslow, we noticed there was a local museum down the road. Small town museums are usually a hoot, filled with ridiculous stuff only the locals care about… and we try never to miss one.

But first, lunch.

Because otherwise Martin will unfriend me.




There weren’t a lot of choices in dear old Winslow, so we picked the one that said beer.




Not that I could drink since my no alcohol order was still in place…but it was probably a good thing, because the beer list was annoying.




Instead of… what?

The beer gets… what?




Fresh orchard like …  what?

Open ended sentences do not make me want to order your beer, they make me want to bounce your menu writer’s face off the bar a few times and then force him to finish his description.

And don’t get me started on naming the beers piehole and sex panther. There’s such a thing as trying too hard.

The decor? Early junkyard.




Our hightop table was an upended road sign.

Chipping paint no extra charge.




The menu?

It had the required Eagle references, and some truly awful sounding food.




Armadillo eggs?

Thank you…. No.




The southwest burger I ordered rare was a well done hockey puck… and just about as tender.




The husband’s Caesar salad? A giant bowl of husks.




Thankfully the museum turned out to be much more palatable.




We were greeted by a local woman who gave us the entire history of the town, whether we wanted it or not.

Once a booming Santa Fe railroad stop, and then a profitable Route 66 destination… the town fell on hard times when families stopped piling the kids in station wagons and hitting the road in search of the World’s Largest Ball of Twine. If it weren’t for the Eagles and their silly song, the place would have dried up and blown away long ago.




Mammoth bone.

Because I promised.




Native American beaded shoes.

Because… shoes!




There was a still.




And a box.

I told you this would be fascinating stuff….



Have you ever heard of the Harvey Girls?




I admit I hadn’t, and my mind is full of  perfectly useless nonsense  trivia so that’s saying something.

(Pay attention… tomorrow’s post will include an actual Harvey House.)



Naturally, there was a locally famous Harvey girl.




And some of her dresses.




There was also an advertisement that pretty much says all you need to know about Winslow, Arizona.




What’s not to love?