I got the call that my father had been in a bad accident sometime around noon on Sunday. In the next few hours, Sally and I made arrangements to travel to Boise that evening, and we ate in the Laurelwood Brewpub in Concourse A at PDX on our way out of town. I enjoyed a fine IPA, which helped dull some of the anxiety that was rising in me.
Dad, it turns out, will probably be fine. There are a few asterisks and caveats, but it may well be that by August, he'll be roughly where he was a week ago.
Last night, I had my second beer of the trip, in the lobby bar of the Doubletree Riverside. (In what I consider a short-sighted gesture, the hospital cafeteria failed to offer beer.) It followed four grueling days of watching dad in the ICU, and man, was I ready for a frosty one. The Doubletree had four beers on tap: Fat Tire, Bud, Bud Light, and my choice, locally-brewed Table Rock WhiteBird Wheat. It was the same color and clarity as the Bud, and not much more interesting--very dry, and mildly wheaty, once I got the glass warmed up. Taking the phrase too literally, Boise's the kind of place where they serve you ice cold beer in a frosty glass. Ah well. When Cleveland collapsed in the fourth quarter, I decided to forgo a second.
It's great to be back. Boise, city of my birth and first fifteen years, has certain charms I suppose, but they're lost on me. Tonight I'll find a real beer.
Thanks again for all the nice comments, folks--