I’ll keep this one short and sweet. Stone’s Vertical series from December 12th, 2012 was a well put together beer. Their prescient minds prepped this Belgian Strong Dark Ale for years of smooth drinking to come. Upon opening, some eight years later, it was still well carbed, with a ton of foamy head. We had 5 separate 4 ounce pours, and all of us enjoyed a little bit of smoke off the top, with lots of spices throughout.

I couldn’t believe that after 8 years, this beer was still kicking it. It drank more like a stout than a Belgian Strong Dark Ale. I got to finish the few ounces that were sitting in the bottle for 30 minutes and the warmth brought out a ton more spice and the sweetness of the Belgian style. There was a nice roast imparted as well.

Below, on my Untapped check-in, I break down all the different flavors. I think if you let this bottle sit for a full decade it would still drink well.

Enjoy the pictures and your cellar. This is the season to start breaking out those bottles you’ve been saving. Share them with friends and introduce the family to some special treats. Sometimes, you can even get 5 nice pours out of an old school bomber. Cheers!

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Boone is a four-month-old, super social orange tabby kitten looking for a loving guardian along with his best friend Agata, a less people-social, but very cat-social brown tabby kitten.

They both landed at Friends of Petraits rescue and fell in love. They are often found snuggling together, running and chasing each other and playing kitten games.

Boone is so loving, snuggly, soft and gentle with people and other cats.

Agata is so very fearful of humans. She has never been outdoors, but was born to a feral mom indoors and learned her fear of humans. I think she will come around to be much more social with a little TLC and patience.

But, together they make the perfect pair! You get the super social kitten fix with Boone. And, Boone gets his cat buddy fix with Agata!

They are both extremely healthy, spayed and neutered, vaccinated for rabies and distemper, microchipped and virus-tested negative.

To meet and possibly adopt this duo, please complete an adoption application at https://friendsofpetraits.com/dog-cat-adoption-application/ and then e-maill [email protected] for an appointment to meet them.

Their adoption fee of $300 as a pair benefits the rescued pets of Friends of Petraits Rescue.

They are being fostered in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood.

“Having failed to make even a plausible case of widespread fraud or conspiracy before any court of law, the President has now resorted to overt pressure on state and local officials to subvert the will of the people and overturn the election. It is difficult to imagine a worse, more undemocratic action by a sitting American President.”~Mitt Romney

“As states wrap up the election and certify the results, it is incumbent upon all of us to ensure that we respect the integrity of the election process and uphold Americans’ faith in our electoral system. Each state has worked to ensure a free and fair elections process. President Trump has had the opportunity to litigate his claims, and the courts have found them without merit. A pressure campaign on state legislators to influence the electoral outcome is not only unprecedented but inconsistent with our democratic process. It is time to begin the full and formal transition process.”~Lisa Murkowski

The presidential election was three weeks ago tomorrow. More than two weeks ago, almost all major media outlets had seen enough to proclaim Joe Biden the winner of the election and President-elect of the United States. Although most Republican’s, including the members of Congress,  won’t admit it publicly, they know Biden won the election and will be the forty-sixth president. The only one living in a fantasy is our current lame-duck president, Donald Trump.

Since being declared the loser, he’s gone to great lengths to try to remain in the presidency for a second term. He’s asked for a recount in a few battleground states. Yes, that’s been futile, but that’s fine. It’s legal and well within his rights. He filed suit in more than thirty courts. That’s also been futile. Twenty-four have been tossed out with more to come. But again, it’s legal and well within his rights. However, a desperate Trump has taken it well beyond what is legal!

His leading toady in the Senate, Lindsey Graham, called the Georgia’s Secretary of State, Brad Raffensperger, to allegedly pressure him to throw out ballots that were not for Trump. Graham also made those same calls to Arizona, Nevada and other states. You know he didn’t do this on his own. You know he doesn’t do anything without the approval of Trump. Luckily for our democracy, Raffensberger and the others, who were all Republicans and Trump supporters/voters,  showed they valued our election system more than anyone one individual. They refused to do anything except certify their state’s election.

But Trump took this one step further.

He started making his own calls. He called two of Michigan’s Republican electors and put pressure on them to not certify election results coming out of Detroit. Then he flew out to Washington a couple of Michigan’s state representatives to use the power of the presidency to pressure them to overturn the results and elect their own slate of electors to give Michigan’s electoral votes to Trump. With Michigan due to officially certify their results this afternoon, we’ll know in a few hours if his tactics have worked. We’ll see if he was able to subvert the will of the people in Michigan. If so, who is next? What states will follow?

So while court cases and recounts are desperate, at least they’re legal. Pressuring the representatives and electors crosses way past the line of legality. There needs to be consequences for these acts. If not, what’s to stop them from happening again?

The obvious answer is to charge him with a crime, but that would take far too long…maybe even years.
So, why not impeach him?

Yes, I know he’s been impeached once before, but there’s no law that says it can’t be done a second time? Yes, I know, he was found innocent of those charges by the Senate. Yes, I know, the same thing would most likely occur again. Hell, the case might not even get to the Senate because it’s more than likely Trump will already be out of office at that time. But, that’s not the point. The second impeachment would be a part of history. It would become a major part of the Trump legacy. When he hears the words, Two-time impeached Former President Donald J. Trump, imagine his disgrace and his anger over something that will live on forever. And there’s absolutely nothing he could do about it!

Our next president, Joe Biden says he doesn’t want to waste his time investigating Trump’s misdeeds. By impeaching Trump again, that takes it completely out of Biden’s hands. It’ll be over and done with by the time he takes office in late January. He can focus on his administration. The country can move forward while putting the last four disastrous years in our rear view mirrors. It’s a win/win for everyone, except Donald Trump!

So c’mon Nancy Pelosi, Adam Schiff, Jerry Nadler and the others. Remember how great the first impeachment felt? Here’s your chance to make it feel twice as good!

Related Post: Which Trump administration flunky are you happiest to see leave?

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Welcome to 30 Adoption Portraits in 30 Days, hosted by Portrait of an Adoption. This series will feature guest posts by people with widely varying adoption experiences and perspectives. 

The Sigh of a Mother Who Loves Her Daughter
By Megan Hugel

At fifteen, I take handfuls of extra strength painkillers searching for the strength to end the pain that felt unending. In the hospital, the doctors ask my panicked parents, “Is there a history of depression and mental illness in the family?” and my mother screams, “No, no that isn’t us!”

“I’m adopted,” I tell the doctor, “and there’s history of depression and suicide in my biological family.” I know this because I have an open adoption and a relationship with my birth mom.

“Is there stress at home?” the doctors ask, and my parents remain silent. I fill in the blanks; divorce, cancer, I’m a teenager.

Nature versus nurture, they wonder. What can explain this? Who is to blame? Could we have prevented it if we only knew?

The doctors prescribe me antidepressants as we leave the hospital and the pharmacist asks if anyone else in my family has ever taken them. They ask if anyone in my family has ever had side effects to the medications. “I don’t know,” we say, “No one in our family has taken them.”

At twenty-eight, I have emergency gallbladder removal surgery. I have been living in pain for over a year. I have told my doctors over and over that it’s my gallbladder and I know, because my mom had hers removed, and we have the same symptoms, but they say I’m too young and it’s probably something else.

In the emergency room the doctor asks me if I have a history of gallbladder removal in my family.

“Yes!” I say, “My mom just hers removed last year!” and then, “Oh wait. I’m adopted.”

“No, that’s important,” he says, “you and your mom probably have similar diets and lifestyles. You’re at higher risk for gallstones if you have a family history, but also with a certain diet and lifestyle.”

“So it’s nurture?” I ask him.

“Sometimes it’s both,” he says and shrugs, “Today it doesn’t matter, you just need to get yours out,” and he sends in a nurse to prep me for surgery.

A year later, my birth mom calls. “I just had my gallbladder removed,” she says, “I wanted to make sure Megan knew what symptoms to look out for because they said it’s hereditary.” My mom and I laugh, “Welcome to the club!” we say, our abdominal scars laid out in matching constellations.

At thirty-two, I spend months ignoring chest pain and shortness of breath when one day I am walking across a parking lot and suddenly can’t breathe. A frenzied urgent care and emergency room trip later, and they find out I have dozens of Pulmonary Embolisms, blood clots filling up my lungs. I am immediately admitted to the critical care unit and spend a week fighting for my life.

It takes me six hours from arriving at the emergency room to get settled into my hospital room. I wait to call my mom until I have more information. I practice over and over what I will say so I can get through it calmly without crying. I am 32; I am an adult. I can call my mom and explain to her what’s going on.

I call her at 9:10pm and as soon she answers, I sob hysterically. “I’ll tell your dad so you don’t have to make two calls,” she says, calm and organized even in fear. “We’ll be there as soon as you want us to be. What can I bring? What do you need?”

During my stay in the hospital, the endless amounts of doctors and nurses treating me keep saying, “You’re too young for this to happen; you’re too young. This makes no sense.”

They ask me if I have a family history of blood clots, heart disease, anything. I say, “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m adopted. Please just fix me.”

They ask me a thousand questions and perform a thousand tests. Pulmonary embolisms are often fatal, and they want to make sure they don’t come back. They search for answers, for understanding. They study my blood for my lineage. They dissect my movements for a cause. They come up emptyhanded. Nature or nurture, they ask. What can explain this? Who is to blame? Could we have prevented it if we only knew?

All the test results come back inconclusive. The blame for the pulmonary embolisms lands on happenstance, on bad luck.

I have been home from the hospital for a few weeks, and my mom is updating my birth mom.

She is summarizing the last couple weeks, the multiple hospitalizations, all the tests, how happy we were when I was released, how she’s taking care of me and in charge of all my meals, how anxious I am to get back to my life.

She asks my birth mom questions, trying to fill in the banks in my familial medical history. She takes furious notes wanting to make sure I have answers not only for myself but for my future children if I choose to go the biological route.

I hear her pause as my birth mom asks her a question.

I hear my mom sigh.
the sigh of a mother
who knows what could have been
who knows what is
full of worry and love
the sigh of a mother who loves her daughter

I hear my birth mom sigh.
the sigh of a mother
who knows what could have been
who knows what is
full of worry and love
the sigh of a mother who loves her daughter

My birth mom inhales a breath and my mom exhales it.
“Yes,” my mom says, “Our girl is going to be okay.”

Bio: Megan continues to fight a medical battle with the endurance of her birth mom, the organizational skills and optimism of her mom and the ability to find the good and the humor in all situations which is uniquely her own. She also uses these traits in her job as the Operations Manager for an elementary school. She finds motivation to keep going from her family, friends, girlfriend and students. Read Megan’s previous piece for Portrait of an Adoption six years ago: http://www.chicagonow.com/portrait-of-an-adoption/2014/11/there-those-are-my-parents/

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Carrie Goldman is the host of Portrait of an Adoption. She is an award-winning author, speaker, and bullying prevention educator. Follow Carrie’s blog Portrait of an Adoption on Facebook and Twitter

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I can’t say I was totally blindsided. I told you a few months ago that this might, might, might occur. But now it is real. It has happened. We are once again, now and forevermore, dog people.

When we left that cat shelter this past summer, our thoughts of adopting an older cat dashed, Barb had plenty of time to ruminate on the long drive home. By the time we had pulled into our driveway, it was a fait accompli. We were going to be getting a dog, a dog with a clean mental slate (unlike Milo,) a dog we could train (unlike Murphy,) a dog who would have it in him or her to become a therapy dog (unlike Max.)

The research began. This consisted of talking to every dog owner in the neighborhood, social-distance apart, on our ritual walks through the neighborhood. And since we live in a very dog heavy neighborhood, those walks seemed to last for hours. But eventually, we decided on a breed and a breeder, there was a litter chosen, and a date for puppy pick-up determined.

But…there was a bump in the road. Dog Trainer B, who we also found via a neighborhood recommendation, was not particularly encouraging about breeder A’s dogs, suggesting we investigate Breeders C, D, or E. Of course, we did, though anticipating that with social isolation dog demands at a peak, no other pup would be available until the spring.

Miracle of miracles! A pooch belonging to Breeder D, down I-90 out near Rockford, had just delivered a litter of ELEVEN puppies. And two were still available. Faster than you can say “Woof” Barb had her credit card out and a deposit was made. Dog days were dawning.

Ten days ago we had the opportunity to choose our newest family member in a video call–and after a bit of confusion about the gender of the two options available to us, we had our boy.

This Saturday we hit the road, arriving outside a barn precisely at 11 a.m. Two other families joined us and a pick-up truck pulled in with three chocolate-colored Labradoodles. They were practically identical– except for one with a curly, white-tipped tail and a white blaze on his chest.

And that, dear friends, is Cooper.  He has a loving personality, seems to adore kids, and has evoked curiosity in the kitten. He goes to Breeder Boot Camp in December for basic training  (heel and sit, not drop and give me twenty basic training.) The rest is up to us.

Will we have the first Raff therapy dog? Or just another lovable ball of fur? I promise to let you know. And let me know about your doggie success stories. We are there for each other.

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