Very Important Business

Mike has hidden my camera somewhere. This means a few things.

Firstly, you can't see anything that I've finished recently.

Also, I have a really great excuse for not having proof of said finished items.

The Harry Potter fun was also not documented. Alas, that was just a bunch of knitting in a theatre waiting for a movie to start. This was the only time Mike has not looked at me with his crazy eyes (which indicate my insanity, not his) because I purchased the bucket of soda that comes with free refills. We got there at 7pm, which gave me many soda drinking hours. The photo oppurtunities were plentiful, and we missed all of them.

So, in place of photos ... actual words. The horror! Don't worry, I'll try to keep it short.

In June of 2008 Mike and I will have been together in one way or another for 10 years. That's nuts! We decided that to celebrate the nuts we should have a party of some sort. Something fun and special. I immediately focused on the first order of business - the music. In the process of thinking about what will be our smashing good song list it occurred to me that such an event will require a first song. You know the first song. That one that's your song. That first song you have to sort of dance to all alone up there before everybody is apalled and finally joins you to hide you on your special day.

Right, so I turned to Mike and asked, "do we have a song?" Maybe the fact that I had to ask him should have prepared me for his response of, "why would we have a song?"

I was not prepared. I was really sad. I started playing every song that has ever reminded me of him or that we have sung together. It was looking bleak for a while. We've sung a lot of songs together, and still we couldn't find that one song.

Then I realized something ... we don't have a song. We have a lot of songs. So I changed my plan. I started making a list. The problem with having more than one song is that you only have one that you can do the first dance to. I've decided to get your input.

Moonage Daydream - David Bowie
The Origin of Love - Hedwig & The Angry Inch
Chariot's Rise - Lizzie West
Downeaster Alexa - Billy Joel
Romeo & Juliet - Dire Straits
Take Me to the Hospital - The Faint
Each Coming Night - Iron & Wine
Thank You - Led Zeppelin
Fool in the Rain - Led Zeppelin

I know it's a motley list of songs, but we've narrowed it down to these. Where Billy Joel is concerned, I'd like to note that neither Mike nor myself have ever been fishermen or "worked with the rod and the reel" in the way that Billy Joel means, but we still really love this song. I'm convinced that if anybody had sung Downeaster Alexa on American Idol during Billy Joel week they would have won.

Mike made me take Fine Young Cannibals off of the list as well as Mr. Vain by Culture Beat and Rhythm is a Dancer by Snap. I may never forgive him. I think he's just afraid to get funky in front of others.

Any comments you have are welcome. I'll even accept jokes about our terrible taste in music. This will be a very do it yourself event, so I'll also gladly accept any recipes for feeding large groups of people and classy decorating on the cheap. As it stands all of my plans include giant bowls of olives and snowflakes cut out of the scrap paper from work. The knitters who read this will be able to back me up when I say, I may know how to knit, but it doesn't mean I have any sense of style. This anniversary thing could be a disaster. Luckily I'm giving us 11 months to plan it.

I promise more photos of Mike in tight pants are to come. I can't have my most favorite reader disappointed.

All of the rest, or Estes Park Wool Market pt. 2

It would seem that I took about 200 pictures of llamas and alpacas and only 100 hundred of the various other animals. This is fine, as I am now under the impression that the goats and some of the sheep know how to work the camera. One might chalk this up to a lack of dignity on the part of the animals, but I think that the llamas and alpacas are, at heart, working animals, and find pride in completing tasks, wheras the animals pictured here are mainly used for fiber and sometimes their milk. They're not often saddled up and told to pull a carriage or carry things. So, they have time to practice their vogueing, sometimes even visiting the clubs.

This girl clearly knows how to accessorize. Barrette in hair, goat on lap. I wish we were friends. And then we have the parade of fantastic horns. I really love when they curl around the ears. This goat and I became dear friends after he twisted his neck and horns through the bars to eat my shirt while I was looking in the pen next to his. Nice fella.
This one was very austere and stand off-ish. Who needs friends, after all, when you've got a set of horns with such amazing symmetry.
And this lovely sheep had a nice set up being inside and not being tied up waiting to be judged. It was sunny outside and much too hot for such a dark pretty thing. Again with the crazy twist around the ears.
Among the goats it was very popular to use their horns for scratching. I have several photos of this. I kept running from pen to pen saying, "Oh, that one's doing it, too!" Mike found this to be worth giggling over.

These goats were being fed a potato chip by a nice little girl. I'm not sure how this fits into their normal diet, but they were really excited. I imagine if your normal diet consists of hay, a greasy potato chip is a nice change of pace.And here is the yak that tried to eat Mike. That's Mike's hand. He was going in to pet it, and it opened its mouth lovingly and gently chewed on it. Mike's hand was clearly without taste, as the yak quickly moved on to somebody else. Other than the chewing, the yaks were quite nice. I would invite them to tea. Especially if they needed a combing.And last, but not least, a photo of my puppies. I love them, although they do not bear me any fiber. They shed everywhere and I can't fathom using their hair for anything. I'm just not like that. Now, the rabbits ... that's a story for another time. Charlotte is the black and white one and Kyrsten is the brownish one. They're nice and terrible, like all things one loves.

Estes Park Wool Market pt. 1

On Saturday Mike and I woke up early, readied several large cups of iced coffee and headed for Estes Park, which is not only the most picaresque drive I've ever been on, it lead to a fantastically gorgeous setting for the Wool Market.

Because I took about a thousand pictures, I'll break up the post into pieces. In this installment we'll be touring the camelids.

We started with some carriage races. When I am king, I will have one of these and the alpacas or llamas to go with it.Mine will have spots, though. Lots and lots of spots. Like this one. I kind of like the blue merle color. I'd love to spin some of that and then knit it up. I imagine the outcome would blow your minds. Alas, my dreams of having a spotted alpaca drawn carriage are a long way off. Sometimes life just isn't fair.These are paco-vicunas. They are cute and wee and oh so unbelievably soft. I would have run off with one, but they're not exactly easy to hide.

I learned a bit about them when Mike and I went to the lecture on ancient South American highlands culture. There's a vicuna on the Peruvian flag (that's a close up of the crest). Their numbers are low because they've spent most of their history being killed for their soft bits. I think that's terribly rude, and I'm sure you do, too.

These ones were just babies and mostly sleepy. I was dumbfounded at every turn by how long all of their necks were. It's otherworldly and magnificent.
This one I named Old Blue Eyes for obvious reasons. The owner told us about how they don't generally breed for blue eyes because there is a propensity for deafness. I was reminded of small gene pools and royal families. I giggled out loud and when everybody turned toward me I sobered up and said, "I'm sorry. She's beautiful." And she is. Beautiful and really wicked cool. Wicked ... cool.
This one wore a bandana in order to indicate that it was a cowboy ... or cowgirl? In any case it was pretty damn cute.
This one had no eyes and no legs, but look at that hair. This one was my favorite. It made faces at me. At no point did I see any eyes, but I did see lots and lots of teeth and a big smile. I named it Charlie. I figure that way we keep some gender neutrality and I like the idea of a llama named Chewy Charlie.
In this photo you can see the mountains in the background. It doesn't do the scenery justice, but it might give you an idea. It was just beautiful. The most important part of the photo though, is the little girl leading her llama up to the pole for the llama limbo they had. She made it really far, although she didn't win. Her llama followed her under and over this pole. It was cuter than cucumber sandwhiches and tea.

And here you see a slightly older girl, but still young, who had limited success with her llama. He would not jump, despite the pole not being of any great height at all. This was after the limbo, in which he was very cooperative, so I suspect he was just tired of following his little girl around. She should have given him a treat. Do llamas respond to treats? Surely they do.
And these two ... well, they were just too cute. I think they're getting ready to grow up and be working pack animals. Their little baby packs are pretty ridiculous. I wanted to put my chapstick in them. Can you imagine?

Stranger: "What's that?"

Me: "Oh, that? That's just my chapstick alpaca or llama." (I promise I would find out exactly which animal I was allowing to tote around my chapstick.)

Stranger: "What?"

Me: "You know, I take him around with me so I have a place to put my chapstick. I mean, where do you keep your chapstick? In your pocket?" (followed by a loud snort and me walking off in a hauty manner."

And last but not least, a resting dark hairy llama. This one was very nice and didn't mind all of us strangers just walking up and poking at it. The poking wasn't malicious. It was more as a result of our reluctance to get too friendly with the llama, who didn't seem to have a person anywhere in sight.
The end .. for now. Next there will be photos of Mike being chased down, trampled and eaten by adorable yaks as well as Mike being gored by pointy horned goats.

p.s. I'm sure that I've butchered any and all information about these animals. Rest assured there will be even more butchering and a great showing of the less than little knowledge that I have about fiber bearing animals. I promise next year, I'll be far more informed.

Developments

So, after having a moth-related heart attack last night, I'm glad to say that all of the yarn and roving that I had laying about exposed has been properly stowed. Granted, Mike thought me a bit wacked when he saw me running around smacking all stacks of fiber that I had. It's just, maybe there was a moth hiding inside. You know? I don't want to go trapping the moths inside a plastic container with a lifetime's buffet. So, if you happen to be over at our place, don't mind me if I start hitting our jackets, laundry or exposed fiber. You'll thank me later when you don't have to deal with my complete nervous breakdown.



To help calm me down after the Mothra experience, I knitted. Of course. Here is a sock. This sock is for Kelly. I hope they fit. That's what I always say, though.

And then there was a sweater. This sweater has been suffocating inside this bag for nearly a year now. It's high time it gets out for some fresh air. So, I'm setting a goal date. This lovely thing for the lovely and clever Cara will be done on or before Sunday, July 1st. You'll all hold me accountable, I hope. After all, I need to get moving on finishing things other than socks. Y'all are probably under the impression at this point that I can't even knit and that I'm just borrowing unfinished objects from other people to put up here. You're wrong, and I'll prove it.

These are Mike's new pants. They are purple and tight and stretchy and totally hipster and emo and skater and anything ridiculous that you can think of. I love these pants. I'm not sure if Mike feels comfortable in them. I think he might feel a bit exposed. It's because they put his junk on display.

When he wears them I like to say, "Can't you put your junk away? Everybody can see it." Then he laughs. These pants might not seem blog worthy, but if you've ever met Mike, you'll find the pants development to be of utmost interest. Mike, in general, wears loose and comfortable clothing and certainly not anything with any sort of elasticity. I'm still trying to get him to wear them to work.
And last, but not least, we have a new addition to the family. Her name is Giselle. She is a Jetta TDI. She eats Diesel as TDIs are wont to do. She is clean inside and free of dog hair. She gets amazing mileage and many other lovely things. Unfortunatley, last night she was struck upon the head by a tree branch. The Boulder/Denver area experienced some pretty ridiculous winds that came rolling down from the mountains. This caused the breakage and flight of many a heavy branch. Alas, Giselle has been dinged up a tiny bit, but she has insurance and her insides are still clean and she still gets about 600 miles on one tank of gas. I'll take that any day.

Oh my god ...

Hide the yarn. They are coming for it. Not a single skein is safe.

Not knitting ...

So, I have been knitting, but not all that much. This weekend we spent a good deal of time with some friends who moved here from Chicago around the same time that we did. I like them for many reasons, not just because they like to drink just as much as I do. Cara here is putting some iced coffee back in the fridge. She was enjoying some coffee and Kahlua, while I was cooling down with my favorite mixed drink, gin and tonic.


They were packing up their apartment, getting ready to move to Denver where things are, in general, more like Chicago, simply by virtue of being an actual city. I'm pretty sure they're moving because, like me, they're tired of having little to do and having to travel so far to do it. Additionally, I think they are tired of hearing unbelievably privileged college students utter sentences such as, "Dude, the powder was so sweet this week." This can alternately be replaced by something about hiking or rock climbing. This isn't because they hate sports or the outdoors. It's something else entirely. These folks are drenched in a sense of entitlement and upper middle class benevolence, which manifests itself in ineffible ways. They have more money than any college student I've ever met, even funded ones with jobs and publications. I am scared of what their contribution to society will be. I'm not talking scientific developments, literary publications, etc. I'm talking about how they treat other human beings in everything that they do.

So, while they were packing, Mike and I sat around and did what you do when folks won't let you help. We drank. Parker likes baseball, so we watched some inter-league games. I made fun of them and in general had no idea what was going on. I was told, though, that the Rockies should win against the Royals. I have no idea how the game turned out. My picture of Parker was bad, so instead I give you a picture of a picture of a man playing baseball. It's meta, no? Not really, I guess.

And then there's Schweezie. She's their doggy or they're her humans. She's lovely and silly and she pretends to be afraid of me, but she really loves me. We play.

And the real reason that I've not been knitting much or posting ... skating. I've been roller skating. A lot. I'm glad to be skating again. I had almost resigned myself to skating infrequently because I couldn't find a decent rink around here. While looking for a weekend job to bring in extra cash and help me finally pay off my bills, I found a posting looking for volunteers to ref for derby. Although volunteer wasn't exactly the pay that I was looking for, I love to skate, so I guess there goes the extra money. I figured I'd go see the practice space and maybe find a new place to skate. What I found was a really nice rink with great floors and a great group of people. It's not as lovely as Orbitz back in Illinois, but still nice. I finally have a place to skate. I'm also working on my skills so I can ref for derby, which I love almost as much as I love just skating, but not as much as I love knitting. It's hard to beat knitting. I don't have the photos to prove it, but trust me.

This, my friends, is Maggie.

No, not that woman in the pink and grey, the baby. Maggie is the first, and currently, only baby of my former boss and coleague. Aside from the demon eyes that children are wont to have upon being born, isn't she cute? I've only met her a few times, and I don't think that I'll probably meet her many times in the future. All of this aside, you see that green cardigan she's wearing? I made it. Before she was born. Before we had any idea if she was a boy or a girl or whatever. This didn't matter much to me, as I had no intention of making this child any sort of clothing that could easily gender stereotype it. Her birthday was in November and I felt that this child would need some green. Green is so fresh and full of life, like some babies. It can also, of course, indicate infection and the presence of bile in vomit. But these were not on my mind when I chose the yarn. It is a mercerized cotton of some sort. I think maybe it was from Louet, but who can be sure. I finished this thing in October of 2006. You can't expect to remember that far in the past, especially after the last two months I spent in Chicago.

The pattern was Trellis from Knitty. A tiny cabled cardigan for a baby is a great way to impress everybody that doesn't know you're being lazy. Still, it was a really fun pattern. I'm still amazed at how quickly I worked it. This is the first picture they have of her wearing it, but they tell me that it is their favorite piece of clothing and that they get nice comments. Someday, maybe, she'll give it to a baby that she knows and there will be a nice family heirloom. These are some of the thoughts that keep me smiling on nights when I'm sad and lonely.

That woman in the pink and grey ... that's not Maggie's mom and I have no idea who she is. Probably a nice aunt or something. I'm sure she's lovely.

And all of this Koigu? Well, a yarn shop closed in Denver. I had never been to it and was not terribly distraught over its closing. The place was very cold and boutiquey. It was in a neighborhood that reminded me very much of the scarier places in California full of scary folks with tons of money and no idea what to do with it. This is not to say that it wasn't a nice place when it was up and running. The owner who rang me up and helped me when what I was holding became far too much for two arms, was wonderful. I wish her luck in her future endeavors.

I walked out with a considerably large amount of yarn for considerably less than it should have cost me. I picked up only sock yarn, as the thought of buying only one bag of stuff to make a sweater or some such caused a sharp pain behind my eyes. If I limited myself to sock yarn only, then, I decided, I would be okay, and I was. There were other yarns purchased, but I wanted to show off the lovely Koigu, as most of the other stuff is now wrapped in plastic. There were also needles and measuring tapes and the like. Isn't it nice?

Above and below these meager words are some wonderful sock yarns from The Loopy Ewe. There is some Schafer Yarns Anne and some Opal, as well as a skein of Louet in there. Below is a close up of the Opal yarns. The black and grey is for my favorite Double Crosser. She's a retired player for The Windy City Rollers as well as being of considerable awesomeness for other things. I thought she would like some socks, and what better colors to do them in, but the colors of her and my favorite derby team? The red and pink I just liked so much I couldn't help it. I might have to make some sort of Valentine socks or summat out of them.

And last, but definitely not least, there was a place called The Wizard's Chest right next to the closing yarn shop. It was an enchanted place somehow outside the realm of the scariness of Cherry Creek. What got me to go in, after all, was that the storefront was a castle! It was filled with games and costumes and juggling items and tiny plastic babies. I'm talking tiny. Smaller than my thumbnail. And as I was perusing the aforementioned items, I looked up and found what I had thought didn't exist any longer. 221B Baker Street. I've only played this game once, but it was a copy of the game that had much use and implied that the game was no longer made.

In this game, which is somewhat like Clue, there is a mystery and for each section of the board that you can make it to you get a clue. The clue is a special clue having to do with the specific story that you're using. There's a book that you have to reference repeatedly, and although it sounds like more work than Clue, it's absolutely worth it. If you ever have the oppurtunity to play this game, I suggest you pounce.

Oh, I tasted the new Diet Coke Plus. It has vitamins in it. Vitamins! I promise you, I'm not making this up. I have many thoughts on this new addition to the Diet Coke line, but I'll save that for another time.

A couple of things I've learned ...

Or, I'm sick of trying to format this thing so it looks nice and I have to wake up early and I'm sorry if it looks like crap, but here is the post. I promise to figure this out next time. Sorry if it looks like a junior high project website about bacteria or dinosaurs. Unless you like that sort of thing, in which case, enjoy!

Sometimes, after several socks not allowing you to knit them, one comes along to give you a kiss and make your day. This sock has done just that. It's the gartered rib sock from Sensational Knitted Socks. I love that book, as do many other brilliant boy sock knitters that I've had the privilege to know.

That monkey you see is just something Mike drew nearly eons ago when I was sad and he called me a monkey to cheer me up. I replied that if I was going to be a monkey, it would have to be an octomonkey. I meant a monkey with eight legs, he thought a monkey with eight tails. I think he might have made the better choice.

A week or two ago Mike and I learned how to spin with a drop spindle. I show you these bits I've done so that you will be amazed at my improvement when I show you how terrible my first bit of spinning was.

We took the class at Shuttles, Spindles & Skeins. Maggie was our teacher and I have to admit that I am very lucky to have such an amazing yarn shop to patronize. I'm convinced Maggie will have me spinning on a wheel by the end of the year. That is, of course, if I can manage to get into one of their classes. They're really popular, and I'm not as fast as you might think.

Now for the terrible photos of what Mike and I put out during class. You'll kindly notice that, as I suspected before the class, Mike's yarn was far more impressive than mine. Maggie barely talked to him the whole class. He picked it up like a hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk.

If you still can't pick his out, it's the baby skein/hank with all of the blue in it. She gave us two different bits of roving to try our hands at roving that had been carded differently. I'm fairly certain these words I'm using are the right ones. I worry about using them, since I'm not sure if I'm making it all up. Mine was so inconsistent and out of control. When she showed us how to ply it, I nearly fell on the floor giggling at the thought of bothering to ply the junk I had created. But I'll have you know, I was unbelievably proud of this crap. I plan on knitting it up into some tiny small bit of crap. There's something truly amazing about the moment when you realize that you're making yarn. Each drafting motion is exhilirating. This was even true when I was spinning this junk, this wonderful junk. Now scroll back up and note how much I've improved.

Maggie told us that if we attempted spinning the next morning we would be better than we were that night. So I went into work early and stood around in the cafe (there's a cafe inside our office) and I went at it. Maggie was right. I should not have been surprised. She seems like a lady that has learned a few things and knows what she's talking about. I've improved with each go at it. Soon I'll be able to spin with confidence. I'm looking forward to the confidence.

I bought this beautiful roving after class. It's not as beautiful as some of the stuff I wanted to try, but I tried some of the blue during class, which is the same stuff as the grey, and I don't think that I'm ready for the combed stuff, which was creepy and shiny and enchanting. I will practice more and then work up to exciting thing like alpaca and such. My plans for this stuff is to spin it on my "maggie" maple spindle, which is hand made, and then to hand knit some mittens for my hands. Do you see the wonder? Hands!

You may not be able to tell this is a shirt, but it is. I bought it because it makes me want to knit knee or thigh high socks/stockings with tons of color work which will result in a beautiful forest clearing image like this. The shirt is from Threadless and is titled "Can't See the Forest for the Socks." They also have this wonderful shirt, which I've ordered, but not yet received. You should buy one, too. It's perfect. A sheep made of balls of yarn. It was meant to be.

And last, but not least, the plants. We have a tulip. I keep trying to name it, but the range of names has been so wide I can't even begin to list them. It is our only tulip. I am proud of it. We didn't plant it, but we haven't killed it and we're not as stupid as our neighbors that mowed all 28 of their tulips along with their grass. Mind you, their tulips are in a flower bed, not in their lawn. I am just as amazed as you.

And here you see there is a bush that miraculously appeared in our yard. It was not there this morning. I swear it. This morning it was just some sticks, a naked sad bush that looked exactly like the other naked sad bushes next to it. When I came home from work it had completely changed. I love it. I have named it Neil after Neil Jordan, who is obsessed with rapid transformation. Although, I've never heard him admit it.

And then there is the weed. Our most impressive plant of all. I'm hoping that it grows at least another foot before our landlord comes buy and pulls it out himself. He probably wouldn't mind, but it's in the front flower bed and he's mildly prominent in the community. What would they think of him if his tenants cultivated a weed and regularly stood outside taking photos of it? Nothing good, I'm sure. I think he's already lost points for the amount of yarn I get shipped to the house. Our mail lady is growing increasingly frustrated with all of my packages. Maybe I'll let up when she stops making fun of my name to my face. Maybe.

All of it, all of it

I decided that since there is no way anybody is reading this blog at all anymore, that I should start posting more regularly. I also found the battery to my trusty pocket camera. Things have fallen into place. For the recuscitation of this thing I decided I should start with the blog's impetus, which is to say, Blue Moon Fiber Arts and its Rockin' Sock Club.

The first installment came and I said nothing. I was busy hanging my emergency sock yarn in various places and wondering just where I should put my sticker. Sorry. I'm sure none of you were looking anyway.


After starting up the Inside Out sock, which was the pattern for February, I was really excited to run into Theo, who I've met before. He's one of three boys of a coworker of mine and he greeted me quietly and said the following, "Will you show me how to knit? I want to make a sweater for my whole body." I was a little taken aback, but it turns out his gramma had been breaking him in a little and convincing the child that he wanted to make a full body sweater that may or may not have included some sort of head covering.

In any case, Theo plopped himself down next to me while I was on lunch and swiftly figured out how to knit and purl for the desired ribbing effect. Mind you, this was on size 0 needles with medium weight socks that rock. Nice and tight and awkward. He, of course, did wonderfully.


So, imagine my chagrin when on this very same sock, later that very same day I managed to turn the heel on the wrong side. I have, needless to say, had quite a fight with it and thrown it aside. I have since cast on no less than three socks and they have all been doomed. They are all cooling off for a bit, while I consider further action. To the left you can see the offending sock. Looks nice, but it's trying to eat my brains. I'm sure of it.





Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Blue Moon was having a contest for the members of their Rockin' Sock Club.

We were to suggest names for new colorways yet to be released, the theme being tides. I'm sure you've all read about this somewhere else. If not, though, please ooooh and ahhhh at how it is that I managed to think of a name that was so wonderful only about a billion (or seven) other folks sent in the same name. This mattered less to me when I came home one day and found that despite being among so many geniuses like myself, I had received prize yarn for having a winning name entered. And it wasn't just any yarn, it was the yarn that we had all named, and it was my very own Undertoe. And here it is, with a nice flash glare and everything.


You can get a better sense of what the whole skein looks like below. It has some green, mauve and purple. It sort of reminds me of varying degrees of fuzzy mold. I know this sounds gross, but I love mold. It's fascinating and usually beautiful when it's not invading your lungs or eating your flesh or anything like that.

On the left there you can see the April installment of the Rockin' Sock Club yarn. It's beautious.

It's so beautious, in fact, that it has 108% fiber in it. 89% superwash merino and 19% silk. Having participated in exciting labeling mishaps in my life, I delight in this one and I'm fully amused at the notion of 108% fiber possibility in a skein.

And, last, but absolutely not least, I have some photos of some photos. The whole taking photos of photos thing makes my head hurt a little, like when you purchase a bag at a store and they put it in a bag for you to walk out with. I always feel like having a bit of a rest when things like this happen. But on to the fun.

These photos were taken by Rusty. As you can, maybe, tell from the photo on the left I asked what Rusty's given name was. It was given to me by his lady friend, whose name I've forgotten entirely. I only remember Rusty's given name because she wrote it on the back of the photo. This is one of the many reasons why you should try to not meet fabulous folks while getting a bit drunk on free beer. They take scandalous photos of you. I only escaped with these two.

I like to imagine that they gave me these two because they were the two with the least impressive captions.



I was hoping to visit with them some more and take my own photos of them, but they didn't show up this weekend. I hope they come back. It may be that, unlike me, they think that showing up two weekends in a row for free beer at the Avery tasting room is tacky. I've been informed by Peter, who is the wonderful guy that runs the tasting room on the weekend, that there are some folks that have been showing up on the two weekdays that they're open and on the weekends. I try to tip him okay, even though he never puts out a tip jar or pint glass. It's great fun there, stop buy if you're in Boulder, CO. There's always something interesting on tap in addition to a wide range and representation of their beers. For instance, their Reverend aged for about a year in Opus One cabernet barrels. Tasty doesn't even begin to describe this beer. The body alone was amazing, and I never would have tasted it had it not been for a Saturday visit to the tasting room.

Oh, I've also learned how to spin with a drop spindle. More on that later ...