Looking Good This Morning

So here I am at HollyCornblog’s and CharlieHopbrew’s after a nice, uneventful drive yesterday evening.  We sampled two nice. hoppy Sierra Nevada brews last night and I learned what it means when something is labeled an “Estate” product.  (The ingredients were grown right on the “estate.”)  So I guess Sierra Nevada is the only estate brewed beer in the country – perhaps the world.  Not only that, but Sierra Nevada is a nice, green beer that you can feel good about drinking!

I was moderate and so feel fine this morning- which is a good thing.  (My beer-drinking capacity has dwindled over recent years – a fact of aging, I suppose – and not necessarily a bad thing by any means!

I also received some awesome b-day gifts that warmed my heart and brought back (mostly) happy memories of the World Series.  (Go Phillies!)

Shortly we’ll be getting moving on the day, which includes a visit to the lake.  I’m excited to check out all the changes … and have a chance to help with a few chores, too.

Onward … and I leave you with this lovely poem from this morning’s Writer’s Almanac:


by Wendell Berry

Though he was ill and in pain,

in disobedience to the instruction he

would have received if he had asked,

the old man got up from his bed,

dressed, and went to the barn.

The bare branches of winter had emerged

through the last leaf-colors of fall,

the loveliest of all, browns and yellows

delicate and nameless in the gray light

and the sifting rain. He put feed

in the troughs for eighteen ewe lambs,

sent the dog for them, and she

brought them. They came eager

to their feed, and he who felt

their hunger was by their feeding

eased. From no place in the time

of present places, within no boundary

nameable in human thought,

they had gathered once again,

the shepherd, his sheep, and his dog

with all the known and the unknown

round about to the heavens’ limit.

Was this his stubbornness or bravado?

No. Only an ordinary act

of profoundest intimacy in a day

that might have been better. Still

the world persisted in its beauty,

he in his gratitude, and for this

he had most earnestly prayed.

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