Miss Nellies Pretty Place

Amos an Allie were married over sixty years. Amos and I became great friends from the moment we first met. Amos taught me how to play "42". His sister was married to Allie's brother and another of her brothers was married to to another of Amos' sisters. The children of each of the three marriages were cousins to each other but had more "blood relationship" than a "normal cousin" They all looked like brothers and sisters and referred to themselves as double first cousins.

In the mid 1930's the three couples, their parents and children began meeting for an annual family gathering near the small hamlet of Abbot, Texas, home of Willie Nelson. (my father in law, George, attended elementary school with Willie). Within a few years, the gathering became so large that they relocated to a small campground/picnic area near Navarro Mills, Texas. The children of the three families were growing older and starting families of their own. They would invite others to attend the gathering and within a few more years, Navarro Mills could no longer accommodate the crowd. The new location for the annual reunion was at Cameron Park in nearby Waco. At 470 acres it is one of the largest city parks in the State of Texas.

Through the years the attendance steadily increased. Eventually more than a thousand people would attend the Cottongame/Sellers reunion at Cameron Park on the first Sunday after Mother's Day. People would drive to Waco from all directions. They would brings cakes, pies, cookies, covered dishes, fried chicken, ham, salads, tea, sodas, chips and dips and many more wonderful delicacies. There were several generations of people. Of course the big event was the arrival of new members of the family. Each child, grandchild, great grandchild would be paraded and passed around by their parents and proud grandparents. Volley ball nets were set up for heated contests. Holes were dug for games of washers held along side several games of horseshoes. The sounds of children playing, old women cackling, dominoes rattling as they were being "washed" and hearty laughter and Texas "Bullshit Tales" from old men flowed in the breeze blowing through the pecan and oak trees as well as the rooms of the clubhouse that was perched on top of a hill overlooking the mighty Brazos River (which was accessible from a stepped walkway known as Jacobs Ladder). After an hour or so after "lunch" the "game" was played. The game was a softball game held in an adjacent field between members of the two original families. Most participants were not too sure as to which family they belonged to. In the end it really did not make a difference. The game was the culmination of the reunion. Around 3 or 4 in the afternoon the game was over and most people had "headed" back to Cleburne, Gatesville, Everman, Kennedale, Corsicana, Fort Worth and other places left, thinking about returning the following year.

My first trip to the reunion was in 1973 with my girlfriend, her brother and her parents. We left their home in Cedar Grove early on Sunday morning. We arrived in Waco around 10 or so. As we were exiting their dark green LTD The Plaintiff's aunt Georgie Mae quickly moved to our car with a hand made wedding dress in her arms. To be honest, I had never thought about the possibility that I would one day be married to The Plaintiff. We had been dating only a few weeks. The wedding dress was a shock but for some strange reason, I was truly "drawn" to this strange family because of it's reunion...

For the reunion of 1977 we drove our new metallic red Monte Carlo up Highway 6 from Houston to Waco. In the back seat rode our eight month old red headed daughter, The Prodigy. As we drove up the hill and was approaching the clubhouse at Cameron Park, I witnessed a sight I shall always remember. My father in law was literally running across the spacious lawn towards our car. I stopped and rolled the window down to say hello and ask him where a good parking spot was located. He gave no reply. He simply opened the passenger door of my car and extracted my infant child. I parked in front of the adjacent baseball field.. No "hello daughter or son in law". Then he gleefully shouted as he held the red headed infant up and said "see" Junior she has the Sellers/Cottongame hair". He was smiling from ear to ear but there were tears of joy in his eyes. There was an old woman who would attend each year named Aunt Mena. She would always bring two pies. One for the reunion and one for her two favorite nephews. George and Junior. One year I along with George's son Dennis and Junior's son Randy hid and later ate both pies. George and Junior did not think our prank was funny.

In May 1984, the day before the annual family reunion at Cameron Park, "Cousin Randy" was involved in a freak accident and he died. It put a real damper on the reunion and as a result only a handful attended the event. We attended the following year and The Prodigy actually invited one of her school friends to attend the event. I would be my last Waco Reunion. A year later I was separated from The Plaintiff and we eventually divorced. After Junior's son died, as well as most of the original "brothers and sisters", the annual event had fewer and fewer people attending and once again the event was held a Navarro Mills and finally not at all...

A tradition had died. But it shall forever remain in my heart as a fond memory.

Last year I had the good fortune to be invited to attend a college football game between Texas A&M and Baylor Universities. Once again I was in Waco with my oldest daughter. It had been over 25 years.

We had plenty of time so I drove into Cameron Park and revisited many familiar places. As we drove up on the hill we saw the refurbished "club house". We marveled at the spacious lawn where we once played many heated games of volleyball, washers and horseshoes. I stopped the car in the exact same place I had done that day my father in law kidnapped his granddaughter. Tear filled my eyes as I recounted the story to her and her husband. "Dad I do not remember it, I was only 8 months old. The field were "the game" was held was now a garden of Texas wild flower and fauna. At a location close to where the pitchers mound was stands a expansive pool of water with water fountains. The old "backstop" has been replaced with large cement columns resembling Roman or Greek architecture. Engrave on a cement wall is the new name of the field Miss Nellies Pretty Place. I do not know who Miss Nellies is or was. Perhaps she was one of those wonderful people who would gather once a year for the reunion.

I realize that as time passes thing obviously change. Many of those people who gathered for that reunion have gone on to "Gloryland" I am no longer a member of that family and other than my daughter Jennifer I probably shall never any of those people again. I also realize one can never truly go back to what once was. Forums such as this blog at least gives me the time to reflect on those wonderful times.

Those pies were good...



Cousin The Third

My Season Ten Predictions

Yes, I realize this is a Beer Blog but I can not help myself and once again I want to post something about American Idol.

Ok....... I know I swore off American Idol. But I backslid. I admit it. I watched all of the crazy auditions and I was impressed at the total number of people from Louisiana that tended to rise to the top. Sadly I think all of them will be gone soon, if they are not already gone. Thus far I find the addition of Steven Tyler and J Lo to be a good and positive change. But enough of that. I want to state after watching the the first two live episodes, who I predict will be chosen by America as the Top Ten, and who the two wild card picks of the judges will be. In addition I will predict who I believe will be in the Final Five as well as the final two positions and the eventual winner.

I realize everyone seems to want a female to win for a change but honestly, I do not think it will happen this year. Although there are a couple of female contestants who are actually pretty good, I find that none of them distinguish themselves enough to win it all. My prediction of the top five of the women are:
Pia, Haley, Karen, Thia and Ashton. The judges will choose either Lauren Turner (a Louisiana girl) or Naima as their wild card choice. I feel Naima holds a slight edge with the judges. Based on last night's singing Lauren should win out but the judges will not save her. Of the "six" only Pia and Karen have a realistic chance to make it to the Final Five.

Of the "boys": I like the stand up bass playing Casey and I like the Nudie Suit wearing Paul. I feel their quirkiness will carry them both near to the end. The Durbin fellow (with the tail and Asberger's Syndrome ) is a damn good talent but I think he will fail eventually. I think his personality will not garner the support for the "voters". Yes he is a "rocker" . So was Chris
Daughtry. Did he win? Scott from NC has a good county voice but then again so do a lot of people. I agree the two of the biggest alumni winners from AI are "country stars" but I do not think the producers are aiming to produce any future Country stars. Hell, Kenny Chesney has a great voice but out of 1.387 songs on my music player, it still remains Chesney free. Jacob Lusk rounds out my list of the Top Five Males. My prediction for the Wild Card choice will be either Brett or Clint Jun. (I give a slight edge to Brett)

So who will be the Final?. I predict the Final Five will be Pia, Casey Jacob, Karen and Paul. The last three standing are predicted to be Casey, Pia and Jacob. I think Casey Abram's loyal following and eclectic performances will carry him to the finals. But as far as who I think is going to win ( or should I say who I think should win)....Jacob Lusk. I admit there is a long way to go and I admit that public opinion changes. I watched him give a performance of a lifetime during one of his try outs. It brought tears to my eyes and I watched as he giggled with glee with all of the praise bestowed upon him but I also watched as he went out side to greet his family and saw him collapse in sobs. In my book that is the true definition of soul

Each year we hear the hype that this year's talent is the best ever. My first year to watch American Idol was Season Five. I correctly picked the eventual winner, Taylor Hicks from the very first time I saw him. People tend to look at the Season Five winner "Soul Patrol" and laugh but the fact is that Season Five's contestants have by far done the "best" . Do the names Bucky Covington, Ace Young and Elliot Yammin, Chris Daughtry, Kellie Pickler sound familiar.I predict this year will produce an equal crop of future stars as well.

Yo Dawg


The Third

The Chair

Nearly two years ago I posted on my blog ( Cosc ar bheoir ghlas) about my great great Grandfather Michael Tomas O'Sullivan. The picture shown on the left is one taken of him. He was born in 1835. He immigrated to America from County Cork, Ireland in 1851 and eventually settled in Memphis Tennessee and worked as a member of the city's fire department. In 1861 He enlisted in the Confederate army. He was a Private in Company 7, 10th Regiment of the Tennessee Infantry, CSA. He was captured at the Battle of Shiloh and spent time in a "Union" POW Prison (Camp Douglas).He eventually was involved in a prisoner exchange. He was sent to Vicksburg, Mississippi. After the war he married the sister of a fellow soldier whom he met in the war and settled in the Northern part of Mississippi. In January of 1883 he arranged for his father, and mother , his brother John and his wife Kate and his sister Ellen and her husband W.P. Condon, to sail from Ireland to New Orleans, Louisiana. From there they traveled via a river boat up the Mississippi River and then the Yazoo River to Yazoo City, Mississippi. Mike met his family in Yazoo City and then traveled with them on his wagon for nearly two days back to Coila, Mississippi where he and his young family lived. He had not seen his parents for over 34 years and both his brother John (Little John and Ellen ) were born after he had left Ireland. His parents lived less than a year before both of them passed away. He died Carroll County, Mississippi in 1891 at the age of 56. Most feel an injury incurred in the war contributed to his early death. He was a contractor most of his life. He dug wells and ditches. He was a brick mason and a carpenter. He built houses. He had seven children, five sons and two daughters. Tomas Ulliam (my great grandfather); John Walsh; William Maurice, ; Ellen Katreen; Patrick "Pad" Owen; Mary Elizabeth; and Francis Donal. His sons continued as contractors and builders. In 1899 , the sons of Mike Sullivan, John L, Sullivan and W.P. Condon using lumber from the land of John L. Sullivan, built the first Catholic Church (Sacred Heart Parish) in Northern Mississippi (Coila). The original structure stands to this day.
According to the story told to me by my father, the "boys" built the church as well as the altar and pews all within one month. From some of the left over materials William Maurice (Uncle Morris) crafted a rocking chair for his older brother Tom's second born son Thomas William (Dit).
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My grandfather began working for Humble Oil and quickly was promoted to Pipeline Superintendent. He worked in Sabine Parish near Zwolle, Louisiana for most of his tenure with The Company. In the early 1950's he transferred to the small town of Oil City. He purchased a five acre track of land which had a large Humble Oil "Superintendent's company house" located on it. The house had two screened porches. One was at the "front" of the house. I spent hours swinging on the swing on that porch and watching as trains would speed along the nearby Kansas City Southern railroad tracks. The side porch , which led into the kitchen area, was much smaller. On it was a light gray painted rocking chair. I remember playing in it. I also recall my grandfather telling me how he, his brother and sisters. my father,my aunt and even I were rocked to sleep in that very chair. It was the chair my grandmother (Bessie) would set in as she shelled peas or snapped beans. In 1970 my grandparents moved from that house and moved to a brick house near our house in Shreveport. My grandfather died a few months later.
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The gray rocking chair occupied one of the three bedrooms at my grandmother's house. In the same room was a roll top desk which I also recall playing on back in the "company house". Over the years I pretty much forgot about that old rocking chair.

In 1974 my father purchased a four bed room house in the Memorial Area of Houston, Texas. On my first visit to their new home, my father pointed out their "antique room" Inside was an old wrought iron bed and frame, an old "dresser drawer" my mother had found at a garage sale and a rocking chair. "Is that the same one that was grand daddy's?" I asked. "It sure is" my father replied. It looked so old and dirty. I told him that I remembered it as being painted gray yet it was an awful shade of green. "I painted it" he told me. "Tommy that is the same chair that rocked my father to sleep when he was a baby" he said beaming with pride.

Two years later, The Prodigy was born. Soon after, a fourth generation was rocked in that chair. My father had repainted it again. This time it was a light grey and the seat had been re padded and reupholstered. Dad had the seat covered with a nearly pure white "unborn calf hide". It really looked nice.
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My father eventually sold his house in Houston and after several years he moved near Toledo Bend Reservoir. The rocking chair once again went with him and this time it found it self outside on the covered patio adjacent to his lake house. The weather was not kind to the chair. The paint eventually chipped and discolored and the calf hide seat cover was worn and had holes in it. But...the chair still rocked. My youngest daughter was nearly two years old when my father held her and rocked her to sleep in that old chair.
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Once again my father moved, this time to New Mexico. On his last visit to my home, he told me that he had something for his granddaughter. He seemed pretty excited and he asked that I help him bring it inside my house. I walked with him to his truck and there to my surprise was that rocking chair. It had a fresh coat of white paint and the seat was covered with light gray leather. He told me that he had the chair completely restored and repainted. I took it inside our home. My Dad then told us that the chair was not ours but rather Sarah's. She was six or seven at the time. He then told us the story of the chair. I don't think my daughter paid attention. The chair sat in our living room for nearly five years. For a long time no one was allowed to even set in it. The Rock Star Mentality made sure of that. The chair served at a coat rack and a place for The Mrs The Third to hang drying clothes on.

When we moved to Central Texas, we brought the chair with us. It spent nearly five years in storage and finally when we moved into the house we are in now, we brought the chair to our living room. Mostly the chair just sat there. It once again found itself being used for the same thing it was back when we were in Tomball.
My daughter, Jan Brady would come down from far North Texas and visit us. Her daughter, Little Cat seemed to always be fussy, She wanted little or nothing to do with me. She was constantly having problems with her ears. One night she was fussy and I picked her up and I sat in the rocking chair and began to rock her. Before long she was fast asleep. The chair did it's magic.
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Several months ago, I wrote about my grandson. I wrote how he was born premature. He only weighed one pound seven ounces when he was born. He was so tiny. The picture on the left is his footprint on an infant tongue depressor. There were countless things that could have been "wrong" with him. The odds of his survival were not very good, yet as I stated in that posting, He has the heart of a Tiger. He spent nearly month at Austin Texas' Dell Children's Hospital. His mother and father would travel to see him multiple times. I along with his grandmother visited many times as well. He had all sorts of tubes attached to him and in him, yet he continued to progress each day. Eventually he was returned to the hospital where he was born. He was still very frail and very small. We would go to the hospital and visit him. The small child was inside a plastic encased device. We could barely see him and we could not touch him. He seemed to never cry but only squeak. As time progressed he was moved to an open bed and we could actually touch him. Later we could even pick him up and hold him and even feed him. He continued to grow. He would open his eyes and gaze at me. His even cried too. But he was still in the hospital. Months passed he still remained. All of the things that could have been wrong...were not. He was growing into a healthy baby. He approached seven p0unds and we learned that it should not be too long and the boy could finally go home to his mother and father.

Please forgive me if I sound sappy or sentimental.
I realize that I am a lot like my father. I realize that sometimes I am misunderstood. Although I mean one thing, sometimes people tend to interpret what I say as something other than what I mean. It is more frustrating than most people believe. I suppose it is my cross to bear. I have spent the best part of my life trying to be the very best parent I can be. I make no boasts or excuses as to how well or how poorly I did. I have witnessed my four children as adults and I am confident that each of them carries a substantial amount of my "influence" whether they admit it and or like it or not. I do not always agree with the choices and decisions my children make, but I truly try to support their decisions regardless. I like to say that I have never intentionally given any of them bad advise. I could never hurt them. Which reminds me of a true incident with my own father.....We were driving together one afternoon when we stopped at a "roadside" BBQ stand. Both of us got a BBQ sandwich, a jalapeno pepper and a soft drink. We got back in the truck and continue our trip. My dad began eating first and at some point I asked him how hot the pepper was. He looked at me and said "Not too bad." He then took another bite of the pepper for me to see. Since my father told me the pepper was not "hot" and since I witnessed him taking a second bite from his pepper, I sunk my teeth into the pickled pepper. Almost immediately my mouth exploded from the intense heat I felt. "Holy Shit!!! Holy Shit !!! I screamed. "That is the hottest pepper I have ever tasted" "I know" my Dad said while he laughed. "And I had to take a second bite just to see you burn". "It was worth it." He was laughing so hard he actually cried. I cried too...mostly because of the hot pepper. ... but I laughed too. I tell that story because that is how much my father loved me and that is how I know that he did.

That is how much I love my children too. Hopefully one day they will realize the same thing I realized about my Dad.
Perhaps they already do.
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My father in law, George was absolutely obsessed with his first grandchild. The love he had for The Prodigy was so intense that those around him could actually feel it. Although he would have other grandchildren, there was something truly special about his feelings for his "Little Sister". My own mother was pretty much the same. I never believed that I could love anyone as strongly and intensely as they did. Looking back I think maybe I always have but I assure you that the mere thought of my grandson (previously referred to as Number 18 but now and in the future, to be known as "Hayseed") stirs a feeling inside of me that I cannot truly describe. He is still a small infant but to me he is my hero. He gives me inspiration and hope. I hope one day he and I can share a pepper one day too.
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So RSM has moved to an apartment with The New Mexican, an American Hero. Yesterday, after over three and a half months in hospitals, my grandson has finally gone to his own home. No strings and no tubes attached. He is a healthy baby boy. The Mrs The Third, Jan Brady, Little Cat and I went to visit him and his parents. Upon entering their apartment, I noticed the rocking chair setting in the corner. Once again it seemed to be a coat rack. I even placed my coat on it. I eventually got my "turn" to hold the baby. I held him and went over to the corner and sat down. There was a lot of commotion and no one noticed the tears in my eyes. I felt the love that George and Odessa felt. I am sure those tears were partially for those who came before me but also tears of joy of those who will follow. A fifth generation was experiencing what his great great great Uncle Morris built over one hundred and ten years ago. My grandfather was the "first" and now his grandson was holding his grandson. It was The Big Cat and Hayseed as it has always been destined to be....rocking in The Chair.


Geaux Haise !! Rock On !!!!



The Third

I would do it for You

I have been posting to this blog for over two years now. In many ways it certainly is not what I thought it would be ......and on the other hand it is. I have tried to take a lighthearted look at many things and have muddled my way through never really thinking too much as to how it played out. In a strange way, I feel that it is becoming a quasi autobiographical introspect. From the very beginning I have attempted to avoid using actual names of people I write about. I have assigned nicknames to many of them. Most people who know me, can readily identify to whom I am writing.

This is my blog and no one else contributes to it, I have never intentionally written anything that I felt would truly be harmful to anyone, living or dead. From time to time, I express my opinion and I sprinkle in some wry sarcasm. What I write I do so with tongue in cheek. I would never lie on purpose. If someone believes anything I have written is a lie, I guess there is nothing I could write here that would undo that opinion. If one does not care to believe what I write.... that is his or her prerogative. Although I sometimes use a bit of hyperbole, everything I have written is truthful. Sometimes you have to read what is written "between the lines". If you feel offended, betrayed or insulted..... then read it over again. Perhaps you did not truly understand what I was trying to say. Or perhaps, your cerebral limitations (or mine) or your predetermined beliefs, interfere with your ability to truly understand what I am attempting to say.

I have always striven to give each of my postings a positive and affirming spin. I would never want anything I write here to be construed as spiteful, malicious or vengeful. In a bizarre way I write my postings with a positive light.

With all of the above said, I am one who is not with out sin. I do not live in a glass house therefore I tend to not throw stones. Those who know me know I am talk way too much and that if you give me enough time I will eventually put my foot in my mouth. Although I usually try to keep a watchful eye on what other think, I also admit that other peoples "petty feeling" matter very little to me. I am confounded that they "simply do not get it."

I think most people consider me a "good guy". I feel that my good nature does not garner me the respect of others. I feel I am perceived as one who sort of goes with the flow. I do not like to be confrontational but trust me I can and will take a "stand" when I need to. I am capable to admit I am wrong and I will constantly remind you when I am right.

As I have written before, I played baseball for the Mighty Lakeshore Baptist Bees. One of the teams we would play twice a year was the team sponsored by one of the local Catholic churches, St. John's. At each of our contests, the announcers would state who was at bat as well as who was"on deck". As a small boy child, it was sort of special to hear your name announced. One of players on St. John's had the same last name as me. Of all of the teams that we played each year, St. John's actually had a person who I was actually related to. The two were not the same person. My mother's cousin had a son who played for St. John's. After each game with the cheating bastards , my mother would drag me over to introduce me to her cousin and her son Bucky Boone, my third cousin. It was on one of those occasions that Bucky introduced me to his friend and teammate Bill Sullivan. I think we were either nine or ten at the time.

Several years later while attending Louisiana State University, I was assigned a new roommate. His name was Steve. Steve was from the same home town as I was and had graduated from the local Catholic High School (Jesuit). Steve and I became fast friends. He knew many of the guys I used to play football against back in high school and yes he was friends with both the aforementioned Bucky and Bill. Bucky ended up joining the Army and died in Viet Nam. Bill began attending LSU and he ad I hung out a lot. He was the second youngest out of 11 children. He did not have a car and I found myself driving him around in Baton Rouge. He would show up at my room and ask me to take him somewhere. Usually I would tell him I did not want to go or I did not have time or some other excuse. He would say " Ahhh Come On Man, I'd do it for you." Most of the time I relented. Back in Shreveport we actually had several people convinced we were actual brothers. We even won a trophy as the best Foos Ball team in town. It seemed that no matter where I went, I tended to cross paths with Bill. Eventually I began to see less and less of Bill . In 1974, The Plaintiff and I were married on August 17 at 4:00 PM in the afternoon. I learned the next day that my friend Bill Sullivan had been married at 7:00 PM later that night at the same church......St John's Catholic. On a week day in 1981 I along with my Aunt Mary Nell were have a winning day at the local race track. I was standing in line to redeem a winning ticket when someone directly behind me spoke into my ear. "Come on Man..I'd do it for you.". It was my friend Bill. He was drunk as a skunk and he proceeded to tell me how much money he had lost that day. I bought him a beer and we spoke for about five minutes and made plans to get together soon. I had not seen or heard from him up until this past year. It seems he works at an accounting firm of which I have conducted some personal business recently.

I do not recall Bill doing one single favor for me. But I truly believe it is because I never asked him. I am confident that he would have. He taught me that if you are truly willing to do a favor for someone, you can truly ask them to do a favor for you.

Recently I submitted a posting concerning my son in law bringing some beer back to me. I wrote it to point out the various beers I was hoping that he would retrieve for me. (which he did by the way) I detailed how I took the steps that I took to make his "favor" for me to be as painless as possible. Upon his return home he informed me that the whole process took less than ten minutes of his time; that he only drove a mile or so out of his way; and the the sales rep even carried the seven six packs outside and placed them in his truck.

In the same posting I referred to an instance a year earlier wherein I had requested a former coworker to retrieve some beer from me. I implied that he "owed me". I pointed out that he was "too tired" to "hook me up" even though I believed it would have been very easy and convenient. I supposed it could be construed that I betrayed my "friend" as someone who was a loaf or someone who would not honor a debt and even steal money from me. I mentioned a vehicle I sold to him and I inadvertently misrepresented the actual selling price. The fact is that he did indeed pay for the vehicle (over the course of several months). I even provided him a written affidavit to attest that he had paid me in full. I did not directly give to him forty dollars. I had actually given the money to another employee with instructions to give the forty dollars to him along with directions to the local beer store. I never consulted with my friend and coworker concerning his willingness to acquire the beers for me. I suppose my history with the aforementioned Bill Sullivan led me to believe that my "friend" and former coworker would "hook me up". The beer he was supposed to have acquired for me was actually going to be a present to one of my new local friends. Finally I want to state that the person to whom I actually gave the forty dollars, informed me , after the fact, that he, not the "proposed beer mule" had my money. It was he that never gave my money back to me.

The mention in my posting was never intended to disrespect my former coworker. It was written as filler and in passing. I have since edited the posting to insure that little or any reference is made to him.

I realize that very few people actually read my blogs. One of the few that do (or did), is the person who I had hoped would bring the beers back to me back in 2009. He now feels as if I insulted him or as he states "I placed a shank in his back". he purports that I use my blog to lie. I differ with him that I lied. He in entitled to his misguided opinion. Regardless, I hereby apologize to him for anything I said either expressed or implied that would have caused him such consternation.

I sincerely hope that I have sufficiently addressed that matter. I do not intend to concern myself with it further.


On with the show



The Third

First, Second and Sixtieth

Last night The Mrs The Third and i visited our grandson in the hospital. Number 18 is really doing well and I look forward to the day when he can go home to his mom and dad and none of the tubes and sensor wires are attached to him. I have a feeling it will not be too long actually. We took a red and white stocking cap(saying Baby's First Christmas) with us. We placed it on his head and took several pictures of him.

Today, I took my annual pilgrimage to Austin and Honey Baked Hams. On the way back I stopped at Spec's and picked up a sixer of Abita's Christmas Ale (it is remarkable), A sixer of Harpoon UFO (Blue) for the wife and to my surprise I found a six pack of Moose Drool. I also purchased a twelve pack of Pearl (in cans).

Although it will be Number 18's first, I realize that tomorrow will be my sixtieth Christmas. Each one of them special. I don't recall any of them before I was 4 or 5. My grandchildren who will be celebrating their first or second Christmases probably will not recall tomorrow at all.

We are having a meager holiday and very few if any gifts will be exchanged. But in many ways this is going to be my favorite Christmas of all.

I have the glorious honor to have three beautiful grandchildren. They are my gifts. The very best kind.

Merry Christmas to everyone but especially to Kyleigh Marie, Levi Rafe and Hastin Duane. Big Cat loves each of you more than mere words could ever say




Cheers (Christmas)



The Third

New England Beer Run

If you ever get a chance to visit the Detroit airport, I strongly suggest you take a side trip on the underground conveyor that leads from one terminal to another. It is a really cool light show and the music is pretty futuristic. It reminds me of one of the things you may find at a World's Fair or at a Disney park. It was during one of my lay overs at that airport that my journey for "craft beers" actually began. I had over an hour between flights so I decided that I would set at one of the over priced pubs/lounges. I ordered a Sam Adams Boston Lager. I was shocked at the $ 7.00 price. I drank the beer and then took in the aforementioned conveyor belt ride. I guess I drank the beer too fast because I recall the overwhelming hops taste after I belched. It was wonderful actually. I finally found a beer that tasted like that first beer I had experience back in Dulac, Louisiana (my very first blog "and so it begins") so many years earlier.I have been looking for more ever since. That overpriced beer begot The Brew Chronicles

Over the past two years (my first blog was December 15, 2008),I have rambled about many things and sometimes I actually discussed beer. I am no longer employed by the Power Load so I no longer travel across the country the way I used to and as a result I have lost the ability to discover new and wonderful offerings from the nation's craft breweries. I have to rely upon what is available locally and the good nature of my former work mates.

About a year ago I gave $ 40 dollars to a coworker. I was assigned to a project in Texas and was not going to a job in Northern California. I located a liquor store within a mile from where the motel my coworkers were to be staying. Along with the cash, I gave a detailed maps and a "wish list" to my co worker and I asked that he drop by the liquor store and pick up a few bombers of beers that are not available anywhere near where I live. I once sold him a car for $ 400.00 wherein he paid me in installment over the course of a year or so. I sort of felt that "he owed me one" Although he had six nights to do the favor for me, it seems he was "too tired" to take ten minutes out of his day on my behalf. I never got my Pliny the Elder and I never got the $ 40 back either. He ended up giving the money to another fellow employee who assured him that he would return it to me. (which did not happen). He now seems offended that I would mention this or that I might besmirch his name or good nature, If I had offended him, I apologize.

My son in law , The Big Ranch is currently working in a small town just south of Boston, Mass. I have given him $ 70.00 and a shopping list of some New England beers not available here. I have provided him the address of a beer store and I have even called the store and gave them my shopping list. (thanks Keith) . He called me last night and informed me that he had "my beer" He said that the store was less than two miles out of his way and that it only took a few minutes (since the beer was setting there waiting for him)

I am getting seven "six packs" of which I plan to make up "New England Mixer Six Packs" for The Jim, The New Mexican, Matt, a friend of mine who has introduced me to home brewing, and the owner of my local favorite pub. I plan on drinking the rest. Yum.

Here is what I am planning/hoping to get:

Gritty McDuff’s (Maine) - Original Pub Style -- This brewer has a cult following

Otter Creek (Vermont) - Alpine Black IPA . A real "Black" I.P.A. It is their Winter Ale

Blue Hill’s (Massachusetts) - IPA --This beer is brewed withing 5 miles of the liquor store

Long Trail (Vermont) - Double Bag Ale -- I have never drank a Long Trail beer. I want to.

Smuttynose (New Hampshire) - Old Brown Dog Ale -- The dog is actually named Olive

Haverhill (Massachusetts) – Homerun APA -- Never had one of these beers.

Wachusett (Massachusetts)- Black Shack Porter -- ditto

Two beers from Maine, two from Vermont, one from New Hampshire and three from Massachusetts. A true cornucopia of New England beer.

Atlas Liquors, Quincy, Ma ( less than a mile from where John Adams was born) is where my beers are coming.

I really tried to make the "beer run" for "The Big Ranch" as easy as possible. I would like to think that he may make a few more on his future sojourns. On the other hand I have to admit that the selection of various craft beers have significantly improved here in CenTex over the last several years.

Cheers... and Happy Birthday Bub.

The Third

Post Script:

If you are The Jim, The New Mexican, my friend Matt or one of the owners of O'Briens Pub, please try to still act surprised when I give you your New England Mixer.

"....what I have failed to do"

For far too long I have been writing my rants and thoughts here on The Brew Chronicles. I have sparsed out some thingsbeer from time to time but frankly I must admit it has been a vent for me.

I have spent far too much time focusing on things that all not in my control. It may not come across too much, but I found myself looking at the end as compared to the continued journey. That "train" of thought has ended

I realized the end is inevitable but my opining about it is not required.

For some strange reason I am beginning to feel renewed. I am going to 'roll" with it. The continued journey is and will be the subject of this blog.

"Hang on to your ass Fred"


The Third