Craft Brew Caper V

Wow, as I'm sitting here in Istanbul writing out my blog, I came to the horrid realization that the following didn't post! I'm so sorry about that dear readers. Please excuse this slight deviation from the Turkey plot.

(Intended for last Monday)

Due to a slight miscommunication between my blogger profile and me, I accidently deleted last night's intended post...And that's why I should stick to hand writing everything. SO to spare my hands of typing too much, I spread out writing this piece into last night and this morning. 

On a slightyly different note, I just returned from my orientation for the big Turkey trip that is coming up next week! Can you believe it? The time has come so fast. In the orientation we learned about the itinerary and about the different items we will likely need. I'm getting more excited by the day and now after the orientation it finally feels real. None of this would have been possible without the support of my friends, family and network! Thank you all so very mch for belieiving in the cause of citizen diplomacy! I will be blogging and posting updates from Turkey, so please keep your eye on the Weekly Read over the next few weeks!

Speaking of the Weekly Read - ready or not, here comes the exciting concluding chapter of Rodger's tale!

Craft Brew Caper, Part V

The story that Roger produced was a stretch to believe. However, not a trace of beer influenced this man's tail. If there were any truth to be found in this world, it was reflected in the light of Rodger's eyes. The story was far too grand for the head security guard Dennis. He told Rodger to hold on for a moment while he fetched the powers that were.

"Sir," Dennis respectfully called to the brewery master, the owner of Hornblower brewery.

"What is it now, Dennis," the stout middle aged Jack Pilot asked as he swiveled his chair around to face a senior employee. Though Dennis was not one to waste the time of another man with the doldrums of his post, the cigar between Jack's fingers was particularly fine and deserved attention.

"I've got a guy downstairs that you will not believe," he shared not bothering to take a seat. The man with the dog seem to deserve all the time available. "I really think you should hear what he has to say."

"Dennis, I'd prefer to not be disturbed by the drunken flimflam rambles of our clients, however dear to us they are." Jack said as he took a long drag from his cigar.

"I respect that sir, but this guy, he isn't a standard sipper." The tone that Dennis used was one that Jack had not yet heard. Keeping the end of the rich cigar between his lips, Jack mumbled, "Alright, alright. You win. But this guy gets two minutes. Tops."

Those two minutes became twenty minutes, which quickly grew to two hours. The plot that Rodger conveyed was not only one worth listening to, it was one worth seeing through.

All of the work that Rodger had put into this Friday night's event was finally coming together. As the commotion at the judge's table concerning the to-be-named Golden Hopp winner arose, Rodger inhaled deeply to appreciate how fortunate his life had turned. 

The head of ceremonies at the Crown Ball cleared his throught and nervously said over the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, a moment more of your patience, if you please."

There was confusion among the judges draped in black robes at their elevated table. It would not take them long before sorting out the unexpected anomaly that had occured right under their noses. The tasting had been blind until the final decision of the winner was reached, and now that the judges were aware of the identity of the brew, they were confounded and confused. Nothing like this had ever happened before. They did not yet know what to do.

The delay caused the crowd to stir. People began to whisper among themselves generating ideas of what happened and guessing at the possible scandal.

Rodger spoke to no one. He watched the beautiful Wilhemena standing in her group of fellow black boots from their brewery Sir Hops A lot. There was a line of excitement about her features, but directly beneath that was a hint of loneliness. The idea that she felt in the slightest out of place or without company even though she was surrounded by colleagues hit Rodger like a clapper to a bell. He could not stand for this.

The judges began to make their conclusion as to what was to be done with this delightful anomaly and Rodger made his way through the crowd. Rodger cut through the people too entwined in their conversations about what was happening to notice his presence splitting through theirs at all. His world was mute to their gossiping clucks. All he could hear was the rushing beat of his heart. This was what his dying soul needed most. 

"Wilhemena," Rodger heard his voice say to her shoulder.

The men in her group looked at Rodger with raised eyebrows and cocky foreboding stares. But Wilhemena turned to the call of her name with a soft and curous expression, which lightened upon seeing Rodger's face. 

The slight transformation of her gaze that only Rodger noticed filled his soul with the fire he needed to say, "Wilhemena, no matter what happens tonight, I want you to know that to me, you are the most beautiful girl in the world."

Before Wilhemena could build a response to the complement and before the other black boots could heave snide reactions out from their shock, Rodger slipped away. The cloud that he was floating upon was far too pleasant to be spoiled by the men in her company.

 "Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, if you please, gather 'round," the head ofceremonies called out above the crowd. A series of "shooshes" echoed throughout the hall as people quickly quieted to hear what had been decided. "We have an extra special delight here tonight folks, an extra special delight indeed!" 

Rodger resumed his hiding place where he could see everything. And though most eyes were locked on the stage and the presiding announcer, Rodger continued to watch Wilhemena. Much to his delight, while the majority of her attention was on the raised stage, her eyes would dart here and there throughout the room. She was looking for him.

"Would the brew masters of Hornblower and Sir Hops A lot join us up here, please," the announcer called.

A strong look of confidence filled the being of Tony Alessi as he walked forward to take his place by the stage. He thought at last his time had come to be recognized against the formidable talents of his cousin, the owner of Hornblower. Jack Pilot too had a certain look about him because he had a fair idea of what was to come.

"Thank you gentlemen for coming forward and for bringing to us something that will likely never be forgotten," the master of ceremonies said proudly. He was pleased that something so momentous would occur under his jurisdiction. "Ladies and gentlemen, due to the profound ingenuity of these two brew masters, we have a first here at the Crown Ball, one which will certainly go down in history." Turning to the table to grab his stein full of the best beer ever tasted, the head of ceremonies raised the glass high above his head to toast this spectacular feat. "Ladies and gentlen, I present to you the talents of Mr. Alessi and of Mr. Pilot - the spiced ale, Culmination-U. Congratulations gentlemen, your brilliant mixer of flavors will proudly wear the Golden Hopps award!" 

The crowd was mostly silent from bewilderment. They could not understand what had happened. Never before had a mixer been entered, and none would have ever before thought to blend two styles of beer from two different breweries. And that the two biggest rival breweries would come together to make a Golden Hopp award winning beer only added to the reasons for peoples' mouths to be agape.

"What?!" Alessi asked, flabergasted from the whole scenario. With an exception of a handful of black boots from Hornblower, all the other members of the two boasted brewing groups were equally as astounded. The small team that Jack had enlisted from his staff to help see Rodger's team through glowed with pride knowing that they had hands in this historical event.

"Y-yes," Jack started, patting Alessi on the back, hoping to cover before Tony ruined the beer that represented everything good. Turning to the crowd, Jack explained Rodger's plot just like they had rehearsed; "The Cumination-U represents the ingenuity of both our breweries and the brining together of old rivals into one unified beer. Culmination-U is the product of good hearted, hard working people who depend on each other to make award winning beer. And that is why both my brewery and Alessi's will be serving Culmination-U as our regular pours, representing the goodness of both our teams, and of the broader fellowship that exists here in our island. None of our achievements would be at all possible without every man and woman what calls himself a citizen here. We have our differences, our different positions, different styles, whatever they may be, may Culmination-U be the daily sipped, hopefully daily, reminder that here on our island, we are united by our crafts."

That was exactly it. The message that Rodger had been hoping to get across this whole time. Any enterprise had a team worth recognizing and particularly here on his home-island where position and title determined one's status in society. The mix and label that he had designed for this beer sought to keep the people in all tiers of their island in everyone's hearts and minds.

The largest smile Rodger had ever before borne in his life lighted his face, but it was not from the glory of his triumphantly successful plot. In his distraction of watching the frustrations of his employer being hidden behind a mask of stymied pride in a beer that he had no idea was his own, something wonderful had occured. Standing sweetly at his side was the beautiful Wilhemena. She too was pleased that her brewery had somehow become involved in this incredible, albeit secret, alliance, but there was a greater victory or her tonight. The man that she had secretly admired from afar since the day she saw him had admitted that his heart also longed for her.

"Rodger," she called to him sweetly. The cheers and claps of the crowd in the Crown Ball room could not have been loud enough to have stifled her voice to Rodger's ears. "Would you care to dance with me?"

A laugh of disbelief and of utter hope escaped from Rodger. This night had turned far better than he ever could have planned. "Oh yes, Wilhemena," he answered as his trembling hand took hers for the first time. "Tonight, and any other night that you please." 

As Culmination-U was distributed to the crowds, met with nothing but delight from the tasters, Rodger and Wilhemena danced to the tune they created. The pair swung together sweetly on their very own euphoric cloud. As Rodger held her for the first time, he reflected on that depressing visit to his physician when the doctor told him, "I'm sorry, you're dying. If you don't do something significant with your life, your soul will simply give up on you." His body had been in perfect health this whole time, but the lack of change, excitement and love were killing him. 

However, tonight, as everyone raised their glasses to toast the brilliant message of his creation, the Culmination-U, and as he danced with Wilhemena, Rodger's enlightened soul came to see that this indeed was the night his soul had been living for. 

End

I certainly hope you all enjoyed the exciting adventure of Rodger! If you have a glass of a golden brew or of a chocolatey stout in hand, feel free to raise it to the message of Culmination-U!

See you all next week at the begining of our traveling adventures in Turkey! I've got a lot of packing and preparing to do!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Craft Brew Caper IV

Good morning everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. I got to spend a couple of days up in Northern California, catching a bit of fresh air and peace. But this is not the time to share that adventure, this is Craft Brew Caper time! On with the show!

Craft Brew Caper
The crowd of attendees at the Crown Ball gathered around the main stage. Nine black robed judges sat at a long table with a satin table cloth covering its face. The glasses laid out across the table told the tale of the choice brews consumed. For the expert judges to remain impartial, the tasting was blind. No one knew which brew was which.

The contenders were divided by style for ribbons marking top in their class. But only the best of the best would rise to bear the coveted Golden Hop award. The ribbons would be distributed at a later event. Tonight, the people gathered solely for that ultimate achievement.

Rodger too positioned himself closer to the stage that was erected in the back of the dimly lit hall. However, he remained on the outer rim of the crowds, a shy yet confident smile on his face. The position he chose was perfect. From where he stood by the thick concrete column, he could see both the stage and the beautiful Wilhemena. She looked exquisite. Her auburn hair sat on her head like a crown upon a queen's brow. Just seeing her in this way made Rodger feel so full of life! Of course, the terrible pains in his back also reminded him of his mortality.

As the main speaker on the stage began the opening announcements for the closing events leading up to the revealing of the Golden Hop winner, Rodger tenderly stretched his back. The tightness in his muscles was not from the strenuous labor of pushing his squeaky trolley with a barrel as its load. It was instead from his momentary experience of flight.

For what felt an eternity, Rodger parted from the weights of the earth as he completely departed involuntarily from the ground. With the unhelpful assistance of two enormous security guards, Rodger was hoisted from the ground by his shoulder and knees, to be thrown back first onto his landing pad, an unforgivably sturdy table. This Thursday had turned so horribly wrong so quickly.

The force of the impact knocked the wind from his lungs and made the stars that appeared before his eyes so clear that for a moment he thought he was in space.

An odd sort of sound murmured, but it sounded to be miles off in the distance. As the sound continued it began to take the shape of a voice speaking in a slow, mono-tone. The brightness of the hanging lanterns above were the primary detail that entrapped Rodger's attention. It wasn't until the sharp pains ringing throughout every inch of his back and shoulders brought him to fully functional condition.

"-thinking?!" the final word of a winded rant filtered through Rodger's conscience.

Rodger squinted his eyes. It was so bright and it appeared as though a man was inquiring something about his thoughts. "Wha'?" Rodger's lips slowly formed the word that this voice box could not.

The thick jawed security man that addressed him shook his head and opened his eyes dramatically. This would not be the first time that his boys had knocked the sense out of those he was interrogating. The notion that he would have to repeat himself was quite infuriating. Sucking in a deep breath, the guard repeated most of his original dictate: "You pay off and con several people, you hide some dumb, annoying trolley full of our brew, and you lie to us by not telling us anything! How can you even pretend to be upset with us?"

Rodger was not pretending anything. He was genuinely upset that his plan had been thwarted by some gabbing gusses. The emotion that pressed most of his heart was the fear that Francis, his companion and dearest friend, would be offended by these heavy handed buffoons. "Look, I'm not," Rodger's voice strained to produce these words. His dying soul felt more broken now than ever before. "I'm not feigning anything. I will tell you absolutely everything if you swear that you won't hurt my dog."

The strong jawed security guard turned his hazel eyes down to the dog in his arms. He too had a large faced, four pawed friend at home and he realized how he would feel if a stranger were doing the same with his pup in hand. With a sigh, the security guard named Dennis recognized that his approach was a tad too threatening. "Alright," he grumbled. "Here," Dennis handed Frances to Rodger. "But I ask that you give us every detail of your intended shenanigans."

Holding his dear friend close made all the wrongs and disclosures in his life whole and right. The unconditional love and loyalty that reflected from Francis' eyes was all that Rodger needed to feel alive. "Alright," he conceded, ""But you must believe everything that I say no matter how mad or far fetched it may sound."

Dennis grabbed a wooden chair and flicked it around so that he could straddle the back. Sitting comfortably directly in front of Rodger, Dennis said, "Try me."

~*~*~

What will Rodger say?!?!? Find out next time at the Weekly Read!

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

PS - look, it's me at the J.B. Fletcher house from Murder, She Wrote!

The tale of that adventure will come...

Update

Good evening all! I'm posting from my phone right now because the internet powers that be are strongly neglecting my computer. I will be posting part 4 of The Craft Brew Caper tomorrow from the WiFi safety zone of a cafe so do not fret! More of Rodger's tale will soon be on the way!
Until tomorrow,
S. Faxon

"You Are The Pan"

Tonight's post was supposed to be the next chapter in Rodger's Craft Brew Caper, but a higher calling has been made. 

For those of you who do not yet know, I regret to say that the world has lost a brilliant actor, comedian and human being. Mr. Robin Williams passed away today.

The beloved man has made the world laugh with his incredible wit and humor. He warmed our hearts in roles like Andrew Martin in Bicentennial Man, Patch Adams, and the Genie. He brought hope and comfort to countless through his charity work, raising funds and awareness for a wide variety of causes. Whether it was laughing with him while suffering from hot flashes on his first day as a woman in Mrs. Doubtfire or bending over in stitches from his stand up, he could always brighten even the darkest of days. 

In honor of this great man, I would like to share what role of his stands out most to me and how influential he has been and will continue to be for me. 

Ever since I was a young child, my favorite movie is Hook, with Dustin Hoffman as the "scary ol'" Captain James Hook, the elegant Maggie Smith as Wendy, and Robin Williams as Peter. The story is about the same three Sir Barrie characters we know and love years after Peter left Neverland. He has children, a wife, a career, but most importantly, he has grown up, a fate he swore against as the proud youth leader of the lost boys. And though his memories of mermaids, Indians and pirates were stolen by the tides of time, Hook is not about to let their quarrel die. 

If you haven't seen this movie, do. It is the greatest demonstration of how important it is for one to find their inner child and to live and to love purely and wholly. Robin Williams' portrayal of a man bound by professional expectation, turned back into a little boy who only wants to have fun, has left some of the most impressionable lessons in my life.

We become so consumed by work and material nonsense that the finer things in life, like the laughter of our loved ones and the beauty of the world around us disappear. The transition of Peter's perspective in Hook is portrayed so beautifully by Robin Williams. You truly believe in this man's metamorphosis and it infects your soul. I often think of the scene that I have included here, it's power and it's message of finding one's spirit and setting it free: 

Thank you so much Mr. Williams for your unbelievable contribution of laughter to us all. Thank you for the words and portrayal of a character that has helped to carry me through the more weighty of times.

God bless you Mr. Williams. May you find peace and may it be as grand and as wonderful as Neverland. You are and always will be the Pan. 

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Craft Brew Caper III

Sorry for the delay folks. I enjoyed a particularly busy weekend, but please know that at least part of my absence from posting was due to critical research for this story as seen in the below photos of Stone and Golden Road. Stories like this need hands on experience...

So pour yourself a glass of your favorite brew (responsibly) and get ready to read part three of Rodger's adventure!

~*~*~

Breaking into the well guarded casks of the next brewery was bound to cause problems for Rodger. The second brewery that was involved in his caper was deservedly infamous and thus so as well guarded as any bank or treasury. Cracking into this golden egg greatly troubled Rodger, but it had to be done. For the sake of this man's dying soul, this plot had to be seen through.

The approach to hit this target would have to be very different from the strike on Sir Hops A Lot. There would be no inside connections, no knowing when and where the security would patrol and certainly no golden knowledge of where the specific barrel he needed would lie. There was so little time remaining. It was sheer luck that the brewery at which he was employed closed early the day before the crown ball - that way the employees would be well rested and rearing for their big day to come. The enormity of the morrow was nothing Rodger needed help remembering. Try as he had since his diagnosis to solve this final puzzle, nothing yet had his clever mind produced. However, with a few precious hours remaining before the point of plot abortion arouse, a spark of a plan came to life. Configuring the how-to came to Rodger as he was slowly tapping the end of a fountain pen to his temple, realizing too late only after the pen's tip bled down the side of his face which side he was using to poke at his mind.

"That's it!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "They'll never suspect..." Ripping out his pocket watch, Rodger checked the time. It was half past two in the afternoon, surely the brewery's tasting room would still be open. There were only four nights remaining before the crown ball. He would have to act quickly.

"Come along, Francis," Rodger said to his round bellied pug while popping up from his well used, personal secretary desk. "We've some tasters to bribe with brew."

~*~*~

As Rodger floated on his merry cloud of contentment at the Crown Ball that credit night, he chuckled to recall the conversations he had with the fellows he employed in liquid, posted almost directly in front of the multi-annual Golden Hop winners, Hornblower brewery.

Finding men and women who wanted to be paid to drink the finest beer on the island was not difficult. Convincing them that he was not a nutter was.

"Well, why cant you go in and fetch it?" A particularly questioning candidate asked of Rodger on his final bout of beer running. It had been a terribly difficult trial securing this draft, as had certainly been expected. Collecting enough growlers to fill a barrel via a train of strangers without getting caught was almost as nerve wracking as his ordeal of stealing from his employer. When Rodger first approached any of his six thus far successful candidates of several failures, the first question he asked was for the time. Then, once established, he would hiss and say he was late to an engagement at his fiances father's home and that he had nothing to bring to their table. Those who returned to him any sort of sympathy were then asked by him, "Could I ask an enormous favor of you?"

"Sorry, mate, running late m' self,"
"I'm sorry, I don't know you,"
And, "ha, if only," were among some of the less colorful responses he received, but an eventual five people prior to this pokey sir were willing to have a listen to Rodger's well rehearsed fib; "Could I ask you to run inside and grab me a growler while I grab some flowers for my future mother in law? I'll give you the money for it now and enough to cover your next three rounds when you return. Please, it will really help me."

Once the correct style of beer to fill the hollow bellied growlers was established, Rodger with Francis happily at his side, would scoot off toward a flower shop, but the bouquet of false pretense was already cleverly hidden nearby. The dupped yet helpful folks would go into the brewery never expecting that Rodger had been awaiting them nearby with the array of colorful wildflowers that he had selected and bound from an obliging field earlier in the day. In the hiding spot behind a grocery market, Rodger had his squeaky wheeled trolley loaded with a crate, which once held salmon, but was now nearly full of growlers. The precious cargo were individually wrapped in canvas satchels to keep them from jingling against one another. In the back of his mind Rodger was hoping that the canvas bags would not absorb the terrible residual fishy smell that remained in the crate.

However, the residual smell of salmon was soon to be the least of Rodger's worries. The inquisitive fellow that Rodger conned last was very talkative, too much so. And he had not been the only open gabber.

Inside the brewery, at the long and well polished tasting bar, the pourers had been commenting on how suddenly popular one particular draft had become. The beer style was unique and did appeal to particular tongues, but having rushes on the select draft of the month was not out of the ordinary. What did become questionable was when two different patrons arriving with over an hour between them entered with strikingly similar stories about assisting a stranger in need.

The likeness of the stories perked the attention of the pourers, but it was this comment which drew their attention full and center: "Bloke just offered me three rounds if I did this one simple favor for him. Not a bad deal on my part at all, I'd say." The words were innocuous enough alone, but paired with a story earlier from another different patron who boasted that her next three rounds tonight were to come from a sweet, nervous gentleman, was enough to have the guards brought in.

"Excuse me, sir, ma'am," a large shouldered security guard approached the two patrons, catching the inquisitive man right before he was able to leave the tasting bar. The woman had returned to this brewery to make good on her gifted allowance. The tall guard brought the pair together at the far side of the tasting room from the many other sipping guests so not to cause a scene. "Sorry to disturb the pair of you, but we just want to confirm something - do you two know each other?" The middle aged woman and the inquisitive man looked at one another. The man was clearly cellar rat who worked hard all day keeping the breweries clean, and she was a relatively well kept woman. In other words, their circles on the island were not likely to have previously crossed.

"No," the pair answered in unison.

"Why?" The inquisitive man asked.

Staring hard at the pair of them, the intimidating security guard asked, "Well, unless I'm mistaken, you two seemed to have made a similar acquaintance."

~*~*~

This scheme of Rodgers did not come without tremendous risks. The overarching scheme could land him in prison, but pilfering six 32 ounce growlers individually would make it appear as if he was preparing to resell on the black market, which was as punishable as assault. These thoughts had weighed heavily in the back of his mind over the last few hours as he performed this con, but the idea of repercussions dropped in his gut like an anchor when the one of his earlier recruits and the inquisitive man emerged from the welcoming wooden doors of Hornblower with the most unwelcoming looking security guard.

Rodger felt the air in his lungs turn into led, and the blood in his veins turn to ice. This was it. The end. Rodger did not know whether to run or to stand to fight with one hell of a lie.

"Sir," the security guard's booming voice called to Rodger from ten feet away. Rodger felt himself shrink about six inches. "I'm going to need you to come with me." The bouquet of wild flowers in Rodger's hands capsized from his limp wrist.

"That'll be all you two." The tone in the guard's voice told the accidental snitches that it was time for them to go and fast. As the pair scurried off like mice, Rodger thought of being a boy in school and being called into the headmaster's office alone. It was not much fun then and Rodger had a grim feeling that it would be extraordinarily less so now.

"Right this way," the guard waited for Rodger to come to his side before leading him and Francis away from the tasting room and toward the back of the brewing building. Although Francis happily and obliviously trotted beside him, Rodger had a sudden and overwhelming rush of dread and loneliness. No one knew he was here. No one would know if he was lost or missing. The possibilities of what could happen to him were dark and endless.

As the three of them entered a cold, dim cobblestone alley that led to a tall black door, Rodger felt the color in his face go drawn. It was the moment in which he realized that he just truly might die and much sooner than expected.

~*~*~

Alright folks - you know the drill. Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of The Craft Brew Caper!

Until then,
Your humble author,
S. Faxon