I'm Not a Doctor, But I Do Drink Beer.

I'm recovering from one virus while watching another, more powerful one take root.

Back from a busy trip to Missouri. Wedding preparations and celebrations. Working hard, playing hard, and trying to ignore a combined fit of seasonal allergies and acute viral rhinopharyngitis. The much-delayed and re-routed flight home (why even bother having an airport in Chicago, if it never works?) didn't help matters any. However, the well-traveled bottle of homemade smoked porter I had last night helped quite a bit. Well, it was leaking a little. Had to drink, didn't I?

These trips get beerier and beerier as we sow the seeds of serious suds throughout our family. My dad looked on while my brother and I brewed, working on plans for a small home brewing installation in the shop he's building. Mom is nearly finished with her world beer tour. My sister and her husband are hooked on Cantillon. My mother-in-law is now addicted to Rochefort. My father-in-law brewed 30 gallons of zesty lager, all-grain and all by his lonesome, to serve guests at his daughter's wedding events.* All of the above were habitual drinkers of either Miller Lite or Bud Lite not long ago.

Full flavor is viral because it speaks of a full life. We all want that. Much like the common cold, there's little chance of finding a cure anytime soon.

*Pictured above in the capable hands of pals Vickie and Meredith. Gorgeous, no? And the girls ain't bad looking neither.