I've just returned from a wonderful Portland visit in the honor of seeing my mother-dearest celebrate surviving for a fourth of a fifth of a millenium. It was boppin', tumultuous, and zesty. Four brands of foaming, mouth-tingling homebrew were served. My lens broke on the airport. Everyone was dancing! I found out that my mother actually had friends. But my camera lens had suffered more years than it wished in age and refused to focus. I had one distance which was focused that I could not change no matter how I tried. But everyone was tipsy. My mother, aka one beer Betsy, said the night before that she was going to be drinking the entire night. The next day she mentioned rejoicefully that she hadn't had a drop. If all these explanations feel like they are leaving you swirling, you might want to hold onto something more corporeal like the images below. Tug that mouse and pounce on that image of the page hidden beneath this one.
