I’m thinking that the kids will come visit for Fathers Day tomorrow, give me a hug and pound me on the back and then hunt for snacks. I don’t know if the wife is planning on cooking a big meal, but that’s okay. If it doesn’t get too hot, I’ll solicit some garage cleanup help for those in attendance. After all, the majority of the mess is theirs, the bastards.
This getting old shit is for the birds. I had another birthday around last Memorial Day and I found my left ankle has swollen a bit. There is no pain. After I received a blood test, a foot doctor diagnosed gout and gave me pills. I told my regular doctor that the first doctor thought it was gout. He gave me more pills. The second doctor’s nurse said I could wind up getting kidney dialysis. My wife and daughter-in-law claim it’s a blood clot and have me diagnosed with congestive heart failure. I diagnose myself with a fat ankle that gives me trouble putting on my shoes. Time to get a third doctor. Maybe another wife.
I cooked up a batch of Skeeter Pee last Tuesday and there are 5.5 gallons of super sweet lemon liquid (with a pinch of this and a spoonful of that) fermenting away. I hit all the numbers. 1.070 for O.G. When it hits 1.050 it’ll be time for another coupla spoonfuls and the last 32 oz. bottle of lemon juice. Then we wait until it “ferments dry.” It should finish below 0.995. Preposterous! Interestingly, while the liquid is in an ale pail, it does not require a lid and airlock. I just threw a clean towel over the opening as shown in all the videos I watched on the subject. If you catch the light just right, you can see all the really tiny bubbles slightly churning the surface. Not like manly beer kraeusen. Harrumph! I hope the ladies will be happy drinking it. (Maybe I could run a glassful through a randall containing some hops. I just might like that.)
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