Beertography, defined

Sometimes I am lucky and very clever.  It is rare, but it happens from time to time.  However, I knew that when I invented the term "beertography" in my mind a few months back that I wasn't original or clever. Certainly someone has thrown this term around before me.  I didn't really care because I'm not using this site to make money and ultimately, no one really reads this blog anyway (or is there anyone out there).  Turns out there is indeed already a blog dedicated to beertography (http://beertography.blogspot.com/).  Dammit.  Thought so.  To me, "beertography" was a way for us to document a year of our life, the places we've been and the things we've been through together.

<Note to self: be more clever>

You'll notice a large gap in my blogs a few months ago.  The Husband and I got tired of it.  Well, he's actually never enjoyed doing the blog (even though his entries are far more witty than mine) but at least gives me time to snap a photo before he slugs his beer.  And after a while, despite it being my idea, I got tired of blogging also.  It felt like a chore.  Sometimes, I just wanted to drink a crappy beer.  Or I just wanted to crack a deliciously rare beer and drink it without having to think about it or analyze it. 

But I kept taking pictures of my beers because I liked the idea of blogging.   

I like writing.  I'm not a great writer but I've always liked being able to put pen to paper (er....fingers to key?) and just spit out some thoughts to re-read a few years down the road and laugh about.  The same way I love the idea of a travel journal....but never keep one.  I have so many empty journals that I purchased with the intention of taking on trips and documenting things but then end up giving to our older daughter to draw in or use for whatever kind of crazy arts and crafts project she dreams up that day.

Tonight is exactly the situation that lead me to change the name of the blog to "Suburban Suds and Beertography" instead of "Suburban Suds and Brew Review" because I'm certainly not reviewing an earthshatteringly amazing or extremely rare beer. I'm drinking a can of Guinness.  Guinness in a Guinness glass (because we just so happen to have a few) in our kitchen on a water-proof kiddie placemat while sitting at the kitchen table organizing all our photos for backup (spending a fortune to recover all my photos since college once was enough for me -- lesson learned).  I'm drinking alone and watching the sunset out our kitchen window through the beautifully overgrown Palo Verde tree that &#$* up our pool once a year when it blooms and turns into a giant crazy yellow puff.  I'll really miss this tree if we do actually cut it down this fall.  I'm listening to my dog drink amazing amounts of water out of his bowl next to the trash can and end up with the hiccups. Awesome.  I'm wondering what kind of beer The Husband is enjoying in the Portland Airport tonight while on his way home from a business trip (answer: Rogue - Dead Guy Ale).  And I'm calm because I have nothing to do tonight but enjoy my beer, do a few situps and some stretching, sit in the rocking chair and listen to our daughter snore lightly from her crib for a few minutes before I give her a kiss and kick back and actually hear all the strange noises our house, and all the things I love living in it, make.  These are the noises you hear when you slow down and appreciate everything - and everyone - that you have in your life.  

Cheers.