Sunday, December 21, 2008

Rootbeer Beer



When I heard the familiar POP HISS as the bottle top came off, I suddenly smelled everything good about my childhood wafting through my memories in that fresh brewed Cutthroat beer. All of my fond childhood memories floated through my consciousness with that cold, glass bottle I held in my hand, all covered in condensation.

My dad used to brew his own beer, you see. He called it “Rootbeer,” even though the fermented yeast smell and taste took over whatever rootbeer extract he added to the brew and drowned it in a fresh beer brewery taste.

Of course, I didn’t realize at my young age that my dad’s “rootbeer-with-a-kick” had more of a similarity to O’doules than A&W rootbeer, but I didn’t care. My dad made it so that was an automatic qualification for me to like it—whatever it was.

Yes sir, I sure grew up with a hankerin’ for that taste. You did something good, and Dad would reward you with an ice-cold bottle of “The Good Stuff.” Of course, he always kicked one back with you since there was no point in drinking alone. I think I was the only one of the kids who really actually liked the taste of that brew. Jared might have pretended on and off or actually acquired a taste for it later on in life, but I liked it from day one.

I always knew my dad’s rootbeer didn’t taste like regular rootbeer… even as a young kid. But I did know it tasted BETTER than regular rootbeer. It wasn’t until I was 19 years old and out of pure morbid curiosity, I drank a beer my boyfriend had in his fridge for guests and what have you. He had offered to buy me beer on any occasion I felt like trying it and one night I decided it was a good night to try alcohol for the first time. So, over a relaxed poker game where no real money was really involved… just bragging rights between my 33 year old boyfriend, his hair-dresser friend and her boyfriend, and me, I kicked back a real genuine Rolling Rock beer (which I kept the bottle for and added it to my bottle collection—the only piece of my alcoholic bottle collection that I actually emptied the contents of into my system) and immediately loved the taste of beer.

Oh, my boyfriend and his other two friends were hugely surprised that I didn’t pucker a nasty grimace and say “Thanks but no thanks,” especially with my LDS upbringing and all. No… it was too good to be true. I already loved that strong kick and the slightly bitter taste (for lack of a better word)… so the alcohol is just a bonus, right? Hahah. I knew immediately I would acquire a drinking problem if I let my beer consumption go any further than one curiosity’s sake bottle, so I left it at that.

One evening just a few months ago, I was attending a Friends of NRA banquet with my husband and my dear ol’ dad, and I brought up my dad’s home made rootbeer in our conversation. I jokingly said something about the fermented yeast and the home brewed beverage probably having a bit of alcohol in it and more closely resembling beer than rootbeer. My dad didn’t say much in response. Maybe he had thought I never caught on to his little brewing secret. Heck… we even had fermented grape juice from time to time growing up. I didn’t like that as much as “Root” beer though.

I must admit my weakness… those are some of the fondest memories I have of childhood… drinking pretend rootbeer with my dad.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Temporary Escape - Poem



Maybe I've managed to post a non-leave-you-hanging story/poem? (Let me know, Kim!) I call this a "story" because it pretty much IS a story of one evening I spent sleeping (er... NOT sleeping... more like lying awake shivering to death with all the night sounds to keep me company) in my little brother's rope-web tree house. Instead of customary boards and planks, Jared built his tree house out of a series of knots and ropes all tied together in a hammock-like web. I spent the night outside for one reason--I'd ran away from home that evening to escape the hate and anger filled rooms of that house after an argument with my mother. After a few hours, when I decided to be a good kid and come home before my parents got too worried about my disappearance, I looked through the front window on my way to the front door and saw my dad setting the perimeter alarm system and locking down the house for the night (before I'd gotten inside).

I suddenly realized at that moment, standing in the middle of my front lawn looking in on the cozy occupants of that house... nobody had missed me. Nobody knew I was gone. That meant quite a lot to me in my young, confused, angry, upset, searching-for-my-place-in-life teenage mind. I realized that night that I wasn't as important to my parents as I thought I was. I knew then that all the years I'd been telling myself it didn't matter when they forgot me or brushed me aside or overlooked me... I realized it HAD mattered all along, and it was too much for me to bear any longer. I wasn't even worth checking in on before they went to sleep. I came to realize years down the road that I wasn't even worthy of getting a phone call on my birthday from either parent, just to wish me an enjoyable birthday. That night in late August right before I began my Senior year of high school, I realized I was alone in the world, and I had to make it on my own. I knew I was on my own from then on out, and I needed time to myself to accept this new discovery. It wasn't so much that I NEEDED to be remembered by them. It just would have been nice to know that I was missed and remembered every now and then by the two people who brought me into this world.

I decided to spend the night outside in the tree house--escape the pressures and stresses and complex family relationships in my life, since they didn't even realize I was absent--cold as it was in late August. One part I DID embellish in this story is the fact that I SAY I had a down-filled bag. All I really had was my t-shirt, jeans, and a mildewy sheet that had been outside for quite some time. "Mildewy sheet" doesn't have as sweet and comforting sound as "Down-filled bag" so I took the liberty in changing it. Hey, it's MY STORY! =) Hope you like it.

Temporary Escape

Tender flesh scraping on asphalt,
The man laughing at me in turn
As I gathered myself from the ground.
I awoke, as I always did then,
Only to hear a soft hum. I realized
A cricket stood a lonely watch
Somewhere nearby my lofty perch.
His soft chirp echoed in the dark
But he never once came into my sight.
The soldier-like sentry paused
For but a moment in his cadence,
Long enough to hold me in suspense,
Then resumed his call to the night.
The coarseness of the musty carpet
Felt like Daddy’s morning whiskers
Rubbing a greeting against my cheek.
I spread my hand across the rough surface,
A loose strand catching my attention.
Winding the fiber around my finger
Absently toying with it,
I opened my eyes to the cool night air.
I found myself staring at the bark,
Patterns deeply ingrained from years past,
The tree mere inches from my face.
A thick, rough smell of wood seized my senses,
Tickling my throat with its delicate touch.
A tiny insect invaded my solitude,
Prancing merrily across my nose.
Though I lifted a hand to brush it away,
The small-scale enemy did not give up.
Suddenly nipping at my ear,
The Lilliputian demanded attention,
And I gave it readily with annoyance.
The web of rope squeaked faintly below
As I rolled over in drowsy reflection
Of the man mocking my every fall.
Overhead, the stars gathered my interest,
Winking behind the swaying branches of the tree.
The myriad of oval leaves rustled gently,
Surrounding me with dancing shadows,
Teasing the moon with their quiet cavorting.
The sprinklers jolted me out of my reverie,
Their sputtering start into the steady rhythm
Of the ticker-tick of their movements.
Safely out of reach from the droplets of water,
Tiny, cold bombs spewing forth,
I curled up inside my down-filled bag,
Burrowing my head deep within its folds,
Trying to ward off further insect foes.
I fell asleep to the touch of the breeze
Ruffling through the soft hair on my head,
Going back to the laughing man in my mind.

By: Jennifer Ada Broadbent
Composed: January 23, 2003

The conclusion of this story would be that I woke up shivering uncontrollably around 4:00 AM and shivered it out for another half hour before I decided to break in to my parents' house so I wouldn't freeze to death. I sneaked in as much as you CAN sneak in when there is a perimeter alarm ringing sirens in your ears and I quickly shut it off and went down to my room and snuggled deep into the blankets for an hour before I had to get up for school. When I got home from school, my dad asked me where I had gone at 4:30 in the morning. Where I had GONE... not where had I been until 4:30. I simply told him I'd gone out to put a letter in the mailbox (which I had done... only I did that closer to 6:30... not 4:30). Liar Jen Alert! But my dad bought the story and never realized I had actually spent the night in the tree house, my temporary escape from life, realizing how little I meant in the lives of the rest of my family.