I have spent the bulk of this week in a state of boredom I have not experienced in ages, probably since being a kid. Yes, I have plenty to do, and I already did that. I no longer have TV, my internet is annoyingly slow, I’ve read all my books…wah wah wah. Welcome to my pity party, it’s actually much less tragic since you’ve shown up. Thank you for that.
So, out of curiosity, I googled “How to kill boredom.”
There are my results. From the vibrant purple hue of the first link, you can see that I clicked on it. The suggestions were obvious. Call an old friend, read a book, volunteer at your favorite charity, etc. At the bottom of the page were links for similar searches.
Awesome. Now I’m depressed as well as bored.
I’m actually fine. And tomorrow I will expand on the root of my boredom. It’s Saturday night, why are you reading this and not painting your local town red?
I think I mentioned this before, but Mr. P and I go way back, tenth grade Spanish class to be exact. We ended up sitting next to each other on the first day of class and those were the assigned seats for the rest of the year. I was new to the school, and a little bit shy. Mr. P had been at the school since Kindergarten and was far more shy than myself. So, I ended up doing most of the talking.
Making mix tapes was my passion, and I made them for quite a few people. After falling in love with/getting engaged to/moving in with Mr. P fifteen years later he showed me the tape I had made him in high school. I can laugh about it now, but knowing that he had a secret crush on me I feel a little badly about some of the song choices I made for his tape.
When I made this, I put songs on that I really liked and that I imagined would be humorous to my heavy metal loving Spanish buddy. Also, many of the songs were from a compilation tape I’d bought in Minnesota from local artists that are AWESOME. Since I no longer have that tape, I am grateful he saved this one so I can ear them once again.
Here’s the list:
Side A
1.Shit Town – Live
2. There She Goes – Boo Radleys
3. That’s Me – Honey Dogs
This is not an appropriate song, I couldn’t find it on youtube, but if you ever come acrossit, listen.
4. Foreign Affair – Vibro Champs
Click play NOW!
5. With or Without You – U2
6. Shakermaker – Oasis
7. New Age Girl – Dead Eye Dick
8. Daffodil Lamont – Cranberries
9. Beats the Hell Out of Me – Delilahs
10. Jaime – Weezer
11. Never Too High – Cell
Side B.
1. Better Man – Pearl Jam
2. She Don’t Use Jelly – Flaming Lips
3. Stay (Faraway So Close) – U2
4. Trajic – Erasure
There were a few years I was obsessed with Erasure.
5. Men and Women- INXS
6. I’ll Stand By You – Pretenders
7. I Can’t Get You Out of My System – Newsboys
8. One- U2
And yes, I have been obsessed with U2 almost since birth.
9. End of The World – REM
10. Surfwax America – Weezer
And the final song was the theme song from The Brady Bunch and I giggled when making it, thinking of my long haired metal loving friend listening to it too.
Just the act of typing all the names of these songs makes me want to go put on a flannel and find my old Doc Martins. Now that I’m done writing and you are done reading, go back and listen to Foreign Affair. You’re welcome.
I’m doing my best to combat cabin fever with some early spring cleaning. In my efforts, I found the very first mixed tape I ever made.
Here it is. Notice the zero in the corner? I numbered all my mixed tapes. I had all the songs on them listed in a notebook so I could find whatever song I needed to listen to at any moment. Not exactly itunes, but I was satisfied with it at the time. I must have been around eleven or twelve when my mother gave me this cassette full of hymns to listen to on my brand new tape player/radio. I was very bored with the tape, likely before I ever made it through one side. The radio, however, was amazing. This was the first radio I had for my very own self to listen to whatever station I wanted to in my bedroom. The rules in our house were that we could only listen to the oldies (which is why I still know all of them by heart), or the Christian college station where this tape was made.
In my own room, while I was doing homework behind a closed door I rebelled. I listened to Top 40 radio. The likes of Paula Abdul, Depeche Mode, and Bon Jovi ruined me. Thirty year old music on the oldies station was no longer enough for me.
My two sisters and I were all given that same tape along with radios for Christmas. It wasn’t too long before we figured out how to tape over those tapes with songs off the radio. My cassette player didn’t have two decks so the dubbing option wasn’t available to me. Even if it were, I didn’t have other tapes to take music from. I taped songs on both sides quickly. So then, without another tape to use, I re-taped. Over and over I did this until at some point in the future I bought blank tapes.
The result of this method is a tape full of terrible sound quality and half songs with deejay voices interrupting much of the beginnings and endings. Listening to this tape reminded me of when I would listen to one of my tapes for so long if I heard one of the songs I’d recorded on the radio, I’d automatically start singing the next song that was on my tape or recite whatever the deejay had said. There was no shuffle, you listened to the whole tape, or risk finding what you wanted with fast-forward.
Here’s the list of songs. It’s fairly boring, nothing obscure or hip. Well, one exception near the end.
Side 1:
1Hold On-Wilson Phillips
2.Corina-Temptation
Really funnyslashstupid song.
3.Signs-Tesla
Tesla covered this song that I already knew from the oldies station.
4.Proud to be an American- Lee Greenwood
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. I’m not laughing about being proud to be from the USofA. I’m laughing because I recorded only the part of the song where they say, “From the lakes of Minnesota….” I had gopher pride.
5. (Everything I do) I do it for you- Bryan Adams
Oh yes. Summer after the sixth grade this song came out. The movie Robin Hood Prince of Thieves came out. The video combining the song and the movie came out. And I remember it well. Also, one of my sisters fell in love with Christian Slater that summer.
6.Shiny Happy People-REM
Blender.com named this one of the worst 50 sings of all time. Blender dot com you are so wrong! I really loved this song.
7.One More Try-Timmy T
This song is bad. Jump to 3:01 for the worst part.
8. Hole Hearted-Extreme
It was Christmas Eve when I recorded this one. The deejay told me so.
Side 2
1.Can’t Stop This Thing We Started-Bryan Adams
I didn’t really like this song. I think I just wanted to because I loved Robin Hood so very much. Sorry Bryan Adams.
2.Fading Like a Flower (every time you leave)- Roxette
Why am I adding the music videos of some of these and not of others? I just didn’t feel like watching some of them, or even bothering to look for them. And what was it with parenthesizing half of the title of a song in the 90s?
3.Love Thy Will Be Done- Martika
Marika also sang Toy Soldiers. She’s so serious.
4.Losing My Religion-REM
Not posting this video. MTV played it so many times it’s burned in my brain.
5.Twin-believable- (I have no idea who sings this…it’s an EMF cover)
This made me giddy beyond belief. If you are also a Minnesota Twins fan, it might make you giddy too. I almost want to dedicate an entire post to this song alone.
In 1991, the Twins won the World Series. With the exception of the ’87 Series, it seemed like pro sports in Minnesota were almost a joke. When they began doing so well in 1991, a local radio station made a parody song using EMF’s Unbelievable, calling it Twin-believable. Lots of teams do this, I know. But I have never heard EMF’s song without silently singing the baseball lyrics since. Also, I looked high and low for this song online. It’s not there. I may have the only recording of “Twin-Believable” on the internet. And it sounds SO badly. There’s a long break in the music around 1:18. Wait, it ends. Possibly KDWB can post the full version themselves and make a whole bunch of people happy. Or at least me.
That’s it. That’s the end of my tape. I had fun. Did you? I have another tape I’d like to review soon but then I’m out. Out of all the tapes I carefully made and labeled in my pre-MP3 days, only two remain. I had to go out and buy a cassette player from a thrift store to listen to this, and it has duel decks with high speed dubbing capabilities. Perhaps I can begin to make them once again. Rad.
Not to long from now, my family is going to pack up the station wagon and head south to the wonderland that is California. I will soon be in a warm state surrounded by movie stars and fancy cars.
Don’t ruin the image in my head with silly facts and truths. I’m well aware that we are going to be amongst other tourists and not see celebrities. Considering we are going to be staying with family in suburban neighborhoods at night and visiting tourist traps during the day, I don’t imagine I’ll run into anyone even on the D-list of famous people. I don’t care. I’m buying new dark sunglasses in case I need to stare at someone famous and pretend they don’t notice. I have been to California a few times but it’s been years. I do have a list of things I must do, and they are all generic.
Disneyland
This is our big splurge. Tickets to the Happiest Place on Earth are eye-bugging expensive. After admission, parking, souvenirs and food I’m certain half our entertainment budget will be blown. We must go, however. You just can’t take kids to southern California and skip it.
The Price is Right
I got tickets! It’s really not hard to get them ,but I did a little dance afterwards as though I’d waited in line for days. I’m going to go sit in the audience of TPIR! I know it’s unlikely I will get chosen, but I’ll deal. I’m going to get a name tag, and that’s just as good.
The LBC
In order to see if there really is so much drama.
Rodeo Drive
I can’t afford shoes with price tags larger than my mortgage. But I want to see the people who can.
Also family, and the Golden Gate bridge, and trees I can drive through, and the beach… Let me tell you a secret. I could never call California “Cali.” I feel silly even typing it.
It’s absolutely winter. During the post holiday/pre-spring time of the year I have always cherished evenings. They begin early. The sun is still somewhere beneath the equator warming people other than ourselves so it’s dark somewhere around dinner time. As a housewife I earnestly attempt to have dinner served by five or six so I can snuggle baby Lucy in her crib and begin The Evening. Lucy is a miracle child as she is in her bed by and no later than six o’clock. We don’t hear from her again until six or seven in the morning. I know we’re lucky, and we cross our fingers each night in hopes that she remains this content in her slumbers for many moons.
Lucy and her hand-me-down 1980’s home made Care Bear.
When Lucy retires, we begin our ritual. First, dinner dishes are gathered and placed onto the floor for Dutch, our trusty dog. He eats any scraps and licks any sauces we neglected and then the dishes are stacked next to the kitchen sink. We don’t have a dishwasher. (Well, we do, but it’s occupied the space under our stairwell for nearly three years and I had to stop holding my breath that we would install it because I passed out too many times.) So my revenge for lack of appliances is to claim that washing dishes by hand would wake the baby, so then I do them in the morning. Don’t get all feminist on me and tell me the man can help out, I hate the way Mr. Pilver does dishes. Doing them all myself is far better than witnessing his method.
Since I am currently a stay-at-home wife/mother I have time during the day to ensure that the great room of our home is orderly enough that all can relax after the dish tower has been built. By now it’s around six thirty, homework is done, chickens have been fed, pets are snuggled on the couches, and now we join them in their curled up positions.
The Pilver Family couches never have any less than four or five fuzzy warm blankets folded over the arms. Considering there are three of us who remain awake at this point, the excess creates toasty cocoons surrounding our goosebumps covered bodies. Our heat is iffy, at best. The kids’ bedrooms have heaters and are always plenty warm. All other rooms are at the best chilly, and the worst around forty five degrees. The worst occurs when the temp falls below zero. On a typical winter night, where it may be around twenty or twenty five outdoors, we usually sit at a solid fifty to sixty degrees in the house. Not toasty, but not cold enough to shiver.
So there we are, in our blankets and with the cat and dog cuddling together, acting as though that’s an accident, and then comes my favorite: TV.
Wars erupted when I stated I wanted to subscribe to satellite. Mr Pilver never had purchased such a terrible waste of time in his life, and did not want to live in a house where “the devil” as he calls it (and everything else he is against) was present. I pleaded my case and I won. I love having television. Here is why; Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, Football, Baseball, and The Biggest Loser. All of those mentioned programs are worth forty dollars per month. I won’t knock anyone for their crazy favorite shows, but I feel mine are non-damaging forms of entertainment. The Biggest Loser is border line, but it’s my guilty pleasure. Soon after we had the dish in our yard I realized why Mr. Pilver was against TV. He’s a junkie. If it’s there, he watches it. I spend most of my day at home alone, and if the TV is on, it’s playing music on one of the music channels. Mr. Pilver will sit and watch every episode of That 70’s show, Seinfeld, South Park, etc all…day…long. He rarely actually does this, but he could. I can not sit still in front of the TV for long periods of time, therefore to me, TV is not the devil.
So, being as I won the wars, we watch TV. Wheel of Fortune first. We don’t pay great attention to this show each night. However, when it ends and Jeopardy begins, the punishment is great for talking during the game. We choose our favorite player and smack talk the others when they answer incorrectly. When the music plays and Final Jeopardy answers are revealed The Max cannot grab the remote quickly enough to switch channels to the hour block of The Simpsons episodes.
With hands on his knees and eyes inches from the screen, The Max must see what Bart is writing on the chalkboard and in which formation the Simpson family will create during the credits. Then, I tune out. I like The Simpsons, but I use the time to grab my smart phone and check emails and play games or work on crocheting the blanket I have been crafting for the past two years.
When The Simpson is over, and the clock strikes nine, The Max grabs a book and heads to bed but not before requesting I read him to sleep. I should embrace this, he’s eleven years old and certainly will not allow bedtime stories for long. The books Max reads, though, I really detest. He loves Greek Mythology and Harry Potter and adventure books all of which have character and place names I cannot pronounce. As he hands me an open book, with his finger on the place where I am to start (always in the middle of a sentence in the middle of a paragraph in the middle of a page) I take a deep breath and prepare for his explanations of situations and corrections of pronunciation. I always end, in the middle of a sentence in the middle of a paragraph in the middle of the page by pausing, facing him, and we say together, “bumBumBUM!!!” He lies and reads for another few minutes, turns of his lamp, and falls asleep.
Then there were two. Mr Pilver and I are typically exhausted by this point and often head straight to bed. There are times we find an interesting show the both of us can enjoy, usually a PBS program with an animal topic or a comedian that annoys neither of us.
Finally, it’s time for Mom and Dad to go to sleep. I must read while I fall asleep and because of book apps on smart phones, I can do this without keeping my husband awake. I usually am in the middle of a poorly written cheesy “chick lit” book I bought for ninety-nine cents or even got for free. It must be propped up perfectly so that I can make minimal movements when turning the virtual page. I never remember falling asleep, but I know it was in the middle of a sentence, paragraph, page when I wake up in the morning and see my phone propped up directly in front of my face. I then crawl out of bed and work through my day, the whole time looking forward to the evening.
Just kidding. Though it kinda feels like that. Yesterday I had a miscarriage. It was the most unexplainable moment in my life. I’m on this roller coaster of emotions, I cannot get off, and I just feel like venting. Bear with me. I’m not logging onto this here blog seeking words of support. I don’t want your pity. I just feel the need to talk about it a bit further. And I don’t even necessarily want a comments of condolences. And I ALWAYS want a comment. FYI, bloggers rate their self worth in comments 😉
I went to the doctor yesterday for a follow-up. I love my doctor. He’s incredibly kind. He’s delivered about a million babies. He’s good at that. But he is a he. He was absolutely unable to relay to me the sensations, the pain, the feelings of a miscarriage. I do not think less of him, nor do I wish to replace him because of this. He’s a great fella’.
I’m interrupting your day only because I feel the need to get something off my chest. I’m okay. I’m totally in acceptance of what has happened. I felt like the absolute worst mom-to-be in existence for the lack of instincts and enthusiasm I had for Baby 3. I love them, I wish they were still a part of my life. But I feel relief. When I saw that there was not a little lemon sized baby inside me, it was as though I wanted to scream, I KNEW IT!!!! Motherly instincts are indeed a real and powerful thing. This was proven to me this past week. I feel as though I had let go of Baby 3 in my soul, and my body was betraying me by hanging onto false hopes.
I still want another baby. (If time and money were not an issue, I’d have ten more.) It didn’t work out this time. Statistically it does not work out twenty percent of the time. So, next time I still get to face that one in five chance. But I want to take my chances. I don’t know when, someday.
Having a miscarriage I am sure is not the same for everyone. But my earnest internet searches assure me that relief is an acceptable emotion to experience. Still, I feel like I need to suffer a bit. I feel like I did not complete something because while I did have “labor and delivery” it was a cake walk compared to the real thing. I feel in need of an aerobic beat down. I feel like building up my body to the most healthy thing ever. I feel strangely powerful and strong.
I am now part of an elite group of which nobody wants to be a part. I don’t want to live in this moment for the rest of my life, but I find it amazing that it becomes an under the rug hush hush tragic event where I am expected to lie in bed and cry. I won’t do that.
If Baby 3 was six days old or six years old or sixty years old…I’d still want to celebrate them. Baby 3 was my child. Baby 3 was no less my flesh and blood than Lucy Girl or The Max.
Everything I’ve read says the confusing emotions will ease. I even read one page that pointed to exactly one month being the cut off point of mourning. I found that amazingly specific, and likely untrue. I’m not going to get online every few days and discuss this, don’t worry. You can come back soon and watch me plant the herb seeds I’ve been sitting on for the past week. I just wanted to let you all know that it’s okay. It’s okay to come and talk to me. Don’t feel the need to hang your head, ask if I’m okay, and slowly walk away backwards without meeting my eye. I want to feel normal again.
FYI-If you are not comfortable with the female reproductive system spoken about in detail, you might want to skip this post.
There’s always a possible downside to announcing a pregnancy. There’s always the possibility that that baby will not survive. If that pregnancy was announced, and that baby does not make it, then you get to say things like I am about to say to you.
This week I knew something was definitely absolutely wrong. I hadn’t yet felt strong pregnancy feelings like illness, or that mommy instinct where you rub your belly or really anything at all. I was supposed to be at the very least eleven weeks along. I was not vigilant in recording my cycles so I could have been further. But after a couple months of waiting to feel pregnant I began spotting, very very lightly, and I was worried.
I went into the doctor to an ultrasound. Normally a pregnant lady gets one at about eight weeks, however, my doctor is apparently so in demand that I could not be seen until next week. I was fine with that, I’m not a fan of driving the forty-five minutes to be weighed and blood pressured in the first place.
I told my doc that I had been having light spotting and light cramping and I just wanted to be told it was nothing so I could rest easy. But part of me knew something was not normal. I knew there was a chance I was having a miscarriage and I knew I could not emotionally handle passing a baby that at the stage I am at certainly would look like a baby.
So, he began the ultra sound. He looked around in total silence for a minute and then asked if I knew what we were looking at on the monitor which was within my eyesight. “No” I said honestly. Point a fetus out to me and I can understand where it is. Ask me to find it and I’m totally lost.
“That’s your uterus.” The doctor told me.
It was empty.
This is the point where I first wondered how a two-and-a-half inch baby escaped without my knowledge. Did I mentally block out a miscarriage? Was I suddenly placed into some insane scientific madhouse where they stole my baby without my knowledge? I was certifiably crazy for those few moments when the reality hit.
The doctor shut off the monitor and placed a hand on my shoulder. He told me he was sorry, and that I had a missed miscarriage. I was still in a state of utter confusion and shock. While I sat there, dumbfounded, he went to the waiting room to summon Mr. Pilver.
When we were all back in the room, he explained it to us. Baby 3 died weeks, even months ago. For some reason my body chose to keep on pretending it was pregnant. It’s still doing that. Baby 3 was likely gone by the time I took my first pregnancy test. This is why I haven’t felt pregnant. I’m not.
I think about my uterus as a little child who still believed their dead fish is just sleeping. It is still hosting a placenta and an amniotic sac, but not a baby.
So, now I am sitting around waiting to have a miscarriage. I am sure I don’t have to tell you how much I am not looking forward to this. It will be painful, and emotional, and could take some time to happen.
I’m okay. Everyone asks me that. Yes, I am. I’m devastated. I’m sad. I’m scared. But, if there is a bright side to this it’s that if baby three did live longer, they would have likely died while I was still pregnant or soon after giving birth. My doctor said this usually happens with embryos not forming properly. I am happier knowing that my little baby didn’t have to suffer through pain.
Baby 3 is gone. It’s hard to say I miss them. But I do miss the anticipation of loving a little person. I am so grateful I have a Mr. Max and my Lucy girl to hug when it makes me sad. Thanks for ‘listening’. And I promise if I make any more little babies, I’m going to wait until I see them wiggle before I go announcing them all over the internet.
When The Max was growing inside me I called him Little Bun until I found out he was a boy and gave him a proper name. Lucy was Gumdrop. Recently I got a complete surprise and now, Baby 3 is wiggling around somewhere in my torso. I have become unoriginal with the fetus nicknames.
I am completely absentminded about this pregnancy. I haven’t even told The Max as of yet. I don’t know how far along I am, somewhere in the area of ten weeks. My first appointment to help determine the due date will not be until I am at least eleven weeks along.
Part of my prenatal ignorance is that I am not sick. When I do sit and think about my new baby, I sometimes get worried, because sickness is a good sign, right? Aw, well. I’m having another baby. I’m very excited and I can already feel flutters if I slouch and smash my womb a bit, making Baby 3 flop to get some breathing room, or so I imagine. Once again I am craving rum and cokes and once again I am satisfying my craving with caffeine free cola with limes. Also, carrot sticks. My skin may turn orange from this addiction.
On another note, I found myself unemployed yet again this week. I had finally found a job with a schedule that worked and bosses that rocked. And then they decided to sell their business. Poop. The bright side of this is that I may find time to write a little more.
I’ve been struggling so much in the past few years on The Pilver. I started writing about the types of things I never buy any longer and the sort of places I rarely go these days. I haven’t really wanted to change the format, so I just have not written much at all. But I think I’m going to go ahead and write about what I do do (hehe) these days. Gardening, baking, canning, composting etc. This will not be a mommy blog. I promise you that. Not that there’s not a place for mommy blogs, I just am certain I would be terrible at hosting one. So, more homesteading hoopla and less city adventures. I hope the three readers I still have will stick around 🙂
Twenty kids were shot and killed in one town, in one school last week. It sickens me. It has taken over our internet feeds, out televisions and our radios. Since then I have been feeling overwhelmed and nauseated at the amount of people fighting with each other over gun rights. These fights have offered little to no solutions for the problem at hand: It is far too easy for a person to walk into a school, mall, restaurant, etc. and murder many people with a gun.
Another thing than bothers me is that we are only talking a bout this one school in this one town. While it was a tragedy in itself, one child is killed every three hours from a gun in the United States. You rarely hear about any of those murders, unless they are on a mass scale and the news stations feel it will make a great headline story to rake in viewers.
My family owns guns. They are hunting guns and while they are indeed deadly, chances are you wouldn’t take any of them if you had the desire to murder a whole lot of people. But I like having them. I like it because they afford us the luxury of eating a greater amount of quality meat. Between our turkeys, our pig, and if Mr. Pilver succeeds in filling his game tags we generally don’t have to purchase grocery store meat during the year. I like knowing where my meat comes from, and guns make that much easier.
In addition to hunting and such, the guns also give us the opportunity to kill any predators on our property. We do have bears and cougars and coyotes (who love to attack our chickens) that we can stop with firearms if need be. In the off chance we had a human attacker, I guess we could shoot them as well. But if I am being truly honest, I don’t know how I would shoot a human. That is a lot easier said than done in my eyes.
And finally, our guns are there by the second amendment, for us to protect ourselves against the government. But I’m not a fool. I won’t be shooting a government official who comes to my home. And I really never expect to need to. I don’t love everything about our government. It’s corrupt in so many ways. However, I am not naive enough to believe that IF the government was actually out to get me (again, I hold no conspiracies in this area) they would not be able to “get me.” I suppose if the government with the most sophisticated weapons designs in the world wanted to off someone, no amount of ammo in your basement would stop them.
Anyhow, back to my guns. I want to keep them. You want to keep yours. But, our guns, our legally obtained guns, are being used to kill innocent people every day. It’s a fact, and it cannot be denied.
So, what is the solution? How do we remain a country free to own weapons in only responsible ways? I’m actually asking for an answer here. Many people have offered that they need to be locked up in our homes. How is this enforced? Do all gun owners pay a fee for an agency to make surprise visits on their homes to check on the status of their gun safes? Some have decided that more guns in the hands of civilians and even teachers in order to combat those who attack with guns. I’m not sure I agree with this. Mandatory guns in schools sounds like a likely time-bomb.
I really would love to hear proposed solutions in the near future. Solutions that don’t include cheesy NRA slogans or seemingly witty facebook memes. I’m tired of hearing that this is not the time to talk about gun laws, this is the time to mourn. We don’t seem to get the chance to talk about it before the next mourning session begins. It’s way past time for the discussion to begin. I don’t feel as though tougher laws on guns need to be considered the end of our second amendment freedoms. I applaud our president for beginning this conversation, though it has been met with so many stubborn responses. It’s an ugly debate and I feel it takes a brave and wise person to properly kick start such a controversial area of topic.
I need to talk about Christmas. I need to review something, anything. I figured I should head to town and buy a bit of holiday goods but my errands today only led me two places; the post office and the natural foods store. It’s not that I wouldn’t have loved to shop elsewhere, but it was past naptime and Lucy Girl needed sleep and was letting everyone within an earshot know her desire for a blanket and her crib.
The post office was a dead end, unless I needed to buy stamps which I did not. The natural food store still boasted decor of pumpkins and orange signs. But I searched deeper, and found winter beer.
I love beer. Sometimes I even brew it myself. If someone were to ask about my favorite style, I would say winter beer. It’s a vague answer, as winter beer varies greatly. But what I mean is the micro brews in limited supply with festive names that are released in the colder months. These beers are typically darker, and maltier than what is available the other warmer seasons.
I guess I’m a beer snob. I will probably pass on the beverage if all that is available is something from the “king of beers” or a “silver bullet”. When I find a new beer, I research it on the internet and read reviews and sometimes write my own. It’s a hobby, a past time, and it makes me feel less like a lush ;).
I have three beers to review, two I bought today at the store, and the other I bought last week, and being that most of it is still around, you might already guess my opinion of it. Let’s start with that one.
Sessions Fest
I’ve never had a Sessions beer. I feel like if Lucky Lager and PBR had a baby, they’d create what is commonly known as the hipster beer in a bottle. I’m not a lager fan so much, I don’t hate them, but don’t expect me to get crazy excited at the release of a new variety.
The beer pours with almost no head. It’s dark amber in color and bready in smell. I don’t love it. I want to, because it is so much cheaper than my usual brands, but I can’t. If I took a decent winter beer and mixed it with an Ice House, I imagine it would taste like this. Not bad, but not gonna buy it again.
However, the caps. Beer companies are often printing silly things on the caps, and Sessions does a great job making me happy with their caps.
Elysian Night Owl
Next let’s look at a pumpkin ale. I have tried many over the last few years. This is the only one I will re-drink. I’m not a huge fan of fruit/vegetable beer. I want my beer to taste like, beer. However, I feel as though Elysian does a good job giving you a pumpkin flavor without overwhelming your taste buds.
It pours well, with a decent lacy head. I have to say, the on tap version is much better. Obviously, draft is always better. But it MUCH MUCH better with this beer. So much so that I don’t think I will try this one again unless it is on tap.
Snoqualmie Avalanche
This is the best of the three I’ll be reviewing today. It’s a winter warmer, and a better than decent one.
Pours dark and the aroma is already screaming malty caramel. For a beer with 6.9% alcohol, it goes down easy. It’s not the best of the best, but there’s nothing to complain about. Cheers Snoqualmie! You have made me sleepy. It’s bed time in Pilver Beer Drinking Land. And yes, all of our drinking glasses are canning jars.
There are my results. From the vibrant purple hue of the first link, you can see that I clicked on it. The suggestions were obvious. Call an old friend, read a book, volunteer at your favorite charity, etc. At the bottom of the page were links for similar searches.
Awesome. Now I’m depressed as well as bored.
The Pilver 