New blog domain

For anyone who follows me, I decided to pay for a domain under Tahoegirl.blog

I’m not sure if it goes directly from my previous blog so if someone could give me a heads up if it does or they’re having trouble.  Most tech stuff I sort of go by the seat of my pants so to speak.  so not sure if it just forwards it???

Let me know???

Not a frugal week at all:(

It usually stems from a Costco trip and sure enough, it did.

I spent $375 on food and nonfood items. Nonfood added up to $165 and included Lysol wipes, toilet paper, and tons of other nonfood things. Food was lots of cheese, nuts and some other things. So about $200 in food. Since this will last about 6 weeks of basics it really isn’t that bad.

Overall that’s not bad.  The Arlo security was pricey since we’re not used to spending that kind of money.  But we had it on our list of things to buy for our small house to add security.

Today I -80 is closed due to snow all the way the to Nevada State line. My daughter attempted to get to Truckee but was turned back. Hopefully, it will be gone by tomorrow. Well, the snow won’t but the snowing.

Two movies we just watched I’d recommend.  ‘ The theory of Everything’ about Stephan Hawkin who just died. And then ‘ The Imitation Game’ which was superb. It was so well done. It’s on Netflix if you want to watch it. The other we bought from Amazon Prime.

Dinner is something as we had a pizza last night my son bought for us.141367066

 

 

Drinking plastic

I just read a BBC article about a new study showing that the bottled water of major brands (Nestlé, Coca-Cola, Pepsi…) is contaminated by microparticles of plastic. Here’s the link : goo.gl/fCPQp6.

Just a few years ago I discovered that Italians are the major consumers of bottled water in Europe…We’re talking, more than 10 BILLION liters of bottled water per year.  

That means that every single Italian drinks about 208 liters of bottled water per year…Now, if you exclude those of us–and there are quite a few by now–who do NOT buy bottled water, that adds up to A LOT of bottles, which, er, don’t always get recycled (another problem altogether, sigh… 🙁 ). 

I’ve always felt that there’s something wrong with Italians’ bottled water obsession. My gut feeling would increase during the summer, when I’d notice trucks, loaded with bottled water, parked all over the city in the HOT SUN…It didn’t take a genius to figure out that those plastic bottles were heating up and releasing toxic crap into the water…And this was even before we knew about BPA…

I still have friends telling me that they can only drink bottled water. It’s crazy.

Plus, bottled water is bad for your back!!! Whenever I’m at the supermarket, I see Italians struggling to lift their heavy loads of bottled water into their carts. Ouch!

Bottled water makes no sense to me, on any level. Of course, it makes sense to the bottled water producers that deluge us with commercials in which famous soccer players or actors tell us how healthful a particular brand of mineral water is, blablabla. Boy, I can’t even imagine how much money these brands make…

Anyway…

Truth be told, the BBC article points out that plastic particles are a bit everywhere: “Last year, Prof Mason found plastic particles in samples of tap water and other researchers have spotted them in seafood, beer, sea salt and even the air.”

But if we all stopped drinking bottled water, there is no question that we would help reduce the amount of plastic (bottles) in the environment…That’s a huge incentive to stop, right there.

And so I’m sticking to my tap water…unless, of course, I’m in a place where it isn’t safe to drink it…

Only eyes for you….

At Costco, we bit the bullet and bought a set of Arlo security cameras. They were a great deal and it has been on our list for a while so when we walked in and saw they were $75 off we decided to go ahead.

We live in a small town but over the last couple of years, there have been quite a number of home invasions. I’ve wanted to do something about at least a security camera to see who drives in our driveways. We have 2 ways to come into the house, hence 2 driveways. Not the best Feng Shui but we’ve made it work. But also, our house is situated  so that we don’t hear a car or even UPS sometimes. So it often worries me about someone driving up to the house and coming in.

In addition, we don’t lock the house and I think after the recent break-in down the road, we’d better start. When I’m home alone I will often lock the doors if the dogs are in. (they’re not much use inside). Outside the will bark but inside, I guess, that’s their safe haven.

So this is the first step to better safety. The second is to put up some farm gates this summer as a deterrent. It won’t be electronic but gates do deter people here.

This set has 3 cameras. So one will be on each driveway and the other in the back of the house to watch the animals and see who’s showing up. Rocky Raccoon, Skunkie, and family, a herd of deer. Recently, someone mentioned on our next door facebook that a mountain lion has killed some goats. I’m glad Billie is gone so we don’t have to worry about a hobbly old goat getting eaten by a mountain lion.

I’ll update on how it is after it’s up and running in case you’re interested.

 

My NON post

When I first began blogging, in March of 2007, a more experienced blogger informed me that I had to publish a post every day in order for my blog to be visible on Google and not be deemed “inactive.” If I stopped writing and publishing, even for ONE day, he added, my blog be more difficult to find on the search engines, meaning that I’d lose my readership. He talked about blogging as though it were a competition.

Well, I didn’t care about competing with other bloggers and/or becoming THE most popular myeloma blogger (!), but I did want to reach and possibly help as many people as possible, so I tried very hard to write and publish a post every day. Not easy, when you have “distractions,” such as a loving hubby, a job, a bunch of cats needing attention and care…and so on and so forth….

At a certain point, though, I decided, ENOUGH. I wanted to enjoy my life outside the blog. I’d done enough research to last almost an entire lifetime and, to be honest, I was sick and tired of reading scientific jargon every single day…

Plus, sometimes I didn’t know what to write about/had writer’s block. Writing became a bit of a struggle, even though I have to acknowledge that it’s only thanks to my blog that I have discovered how much I love writing…

Anyway, back then, in short, I needed a break.

And so I took a break from blogging. Just as I’d been warned, my readership dropped. Day by day, practically. It’s now down to less than a third of what it was in the “golden years.” But I didn’t care. I was outside, breathing fresh air, enjoying life, with plenty of time to spend with my friends…and so on and so forth. 😉

Mind you, I still had, and have!, a lot of readers writing to me with their questions and findings. In fact, many of them have become friends in real life, which is just wonderful. I also still had and have a lot of mail to sort through on a daily basis…often so much (mail) that I cannot reply to everyone, and for that I apologize.

Recently, though, I’ve been coming across some really interesting and/or promising stuff, which I’ve found on my own or thanks to blog readers (you know who you are, THANK YOU), such as:

  • the bone marrow microenvironment studies
  • the EBV-MM connection
  • Dieneke’s case study getting published in the UK (yaaaay)
  • andrographolide
  • the Chinese MM patient’s case study
  • astragalus

There seems to be a lot going on, which is very exciting. Inspiring, in fact. And for a while I almost got back to a post/day… 😉 

But ever since Stefano came down with shingles (he’s better now, btw, but still in quite a lot of pain…hasn’t gone back to work yet), I haven’t felt much like writing. It’s so hard to see the person you love in such pain. His pain has had an effect on me, too.

I haven’t stopped doing research…But these days it’s been mostly on the natural ways to relieve the pain caused by shingles, and in fact the turmeric-based topical applications have really helped him. However, only prescription-strength Tylenol (the Italian equivalent) is able to reach the sort of INTERNAL nerve pain he has been experiencing…My poor sweetie!

BUT, of course, this negative period will soon be over. Stefano is already feeling better, and the awful rash is fading. That means that I’ll soon be back to blogging more. I’m already looking at a couple of studies on my desktop,  hoping they’ll inspire me to write a post…

Okay, it’s time now to go check on my patient. Take care, everyone! CIAO!   🙂 

A couple of fun frugal projects.

I am in love with the white milk glass. Don’t worry I won’t start hoarding, but they really blend in well and are easy on the eyes.

So I bought this one for $1.19 on sale at Goodwill.

IMG_1275.jpg

Then I planted some succulents( actually my daughter did) 🙂 but it was my idea. I think it looks great.

Then I can’t remember where I saw this project but it was to use a small crate as a filing cabinet. So I ordered the one suggested from Home Depot.

IMG_1276.jpg I think it’s 12.5 by 13.5 but it fits hanging files perfectly. I got a set of black for a more uniform look. So I like it a lot and it’s easy to get to the files I use the most. Home insurance, Allstate, LLS, Labs, SS etc.

The file cabinet was 15.99 and the files $10? so not bad as a way to corral everything neatly. Knowing where stuff is 95% of the battle of clutter. I do have another metal file cabinet which houses all our old tax forms, mortgage stuff and some other things that I don’t need o a monthly basis.

Unfortunately, today is our last day of sunshine till Sunday. I’m hoping the weather guys got it wrong and the rain will go away. But so far it doesn’t look like it.

I’m staying home today, but tomorrow I’m going to Costco with B. I’ll skip the gym. We need quite a bit of non-food items, so it’s always helpful to have B with me to do the lifting and sorting.  I’ve budgeted $200 for this trip.

Monday night is pasta night, so I’ll make something. Maybe pasta with a butter sauce. Always my comfort food. Growing up as poor as we did, my mother would make bowtie noodles with brown butter. I guess that’s why it’s comfort food. Of course, when she made liver and onions, I only gagged and tried not to throw up.  Good grief who eats liver and onions, it is so disgusting,. It’s a wonder I’m not a vegan.  Well, for the record I was a vegetarian upon leaving home at 18, and then for 22 more years.

 

 

 

Books

Barely a skiff of snow this winter until …

Oregon’s reputation for tough winters suffered a setback in 2017/18. November, December, and January stretched like lazy cats across the table of the Northwest sky. They shed rain but mild temperatures prevailed beneath their sleepy overcast. Skiers lamented the lack of snow on Mt. Hood.

In the valley below, orchardists fretted. They prefer harsh conditions that induce dormancy in their trees. Meanwhile, opportunistic  retirees trudged the fairways of golf courses normally closed this time of year.

Then, in mid-February, just when everyone began to anticipate daffodils and tulips, the season coughed up a hair ball of bad weather. East winds howled for three days. Curtains of sleet arrived in horizontal flurries and temperatures plummeted like the ethical standards of our current White House.

Fruit trees had begun to bud and farmers rued their bad luck. Meanwhile, powder snow junkies called in sick. Parking lots at ski areas overflowed. Mother Nature, undisciplined as the president’s twitter feed, yawned with indifference at those blessed or scorned by her whimsy.

The Books

During this mini cataclysm, I retreated to the sanctuary of my home. But first, I cashed in a gift certificate at Waucoma Bookstore: three mysteries, a fictional memoir, the ramblings of an OCD list maker, and a 12 ounce bar of exotic chocolate. These, I reasoned, would distract me from winter’s final gagging discomforts, not to mention the episodic decadence of American politics.

August Snow, by Stephen Mack Jones, left much to be desired. Just another first person narrative by a wise cracking ex-cop and a cast of cardboard characters. This bland cake of a plot was frosted with predictability. Nothing new here …

The Magpie Murders, by Anthony Horowitz, however, is a classic whodunnit, the perfect read for cold winter nights. Well drawn characters/suspects add intrigue to the patient unfurling of the mystery. A long, relaxing read within the cozy confines of an English village, or so you are led to think … Brew a pot of tea and add some honey.

Love potion number nine.

The Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, entertained me while being infused with “a wonder drug” for my cancer, multiple myeloma. The pre-meds I take to counter possible side effects consist of both steroids and strong antihistamines. The golden glow of this “poor man’s opium” elevated the author’s mundane observations to revelatory incantation. I liked this book, but you needn’t be under the influence to enjoy its magic spell.

The Silence of the Sea, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir. A puzzle of unexplainable disappearances. Procedural patience leads to the only possible solution. This book has suspense galore and a disturbing dread for the victims. Highly recommended if you like it creepy with an Icelandic flair for the eerie.

The Dalai Lama’s Cat, by David Michie purrs with Buddhist bromides. Yes, the cat is the narrator. Did this convention undermine my fondness for mindful behavior? No. What better way to search for the nothing that is everything than through the curiosity of a cat?

Latest numbers are posted in The Drill.

Catching Up

I made a lunch date with my old girlfriend, my first love.  I always thought…  I always hoped that by chance or by plan, I would see her again one day.  I wanted to know how her life played out.  Did she ever forgive me?  Did she find happiness?  I wanted her to know (if she wanted to know) how my life has been.

It was 1965.  We were thirteen and in love, and it was awesome!  Emotions are so intense at that age!  And the music, what a powerful influence.  We were two neglected kids from two screwed up families.  In each other we found attention, kindness, affirmation, generosity, love and tenderness.  Our relationship was not hindered with the burdens of adult relationships.  We had no children to provide for, no house payments to make – no responsibilities of any kind which was good because we had no jobs, no cars, not even a high school education.  Although I considered myself mature beyond my years….  We were kids.  We had nothing to be concerned about except enjoying each other’s company as much as possible.  When the relationship ended after three years, it didn’t end well.  She attempted suicide, I felt responsible.  I was responsible.  That break up is on my list of things I would go back and do differently if I could, equipped now with the wisdom that comes with age.

While searching the Internet to contact a friend, I entered her name also.  It said she was deceased.  I’d waited too long, our reunion would never happen.  But, there were more with her name; I tried again and eventually made contact.

She agreed to meet, and suggested Denny’s at Jansen Beach.  I drove my old Toyota pickup into the crowded parking lot; maybe noon wasn’t the best choice.  I might have been a few minutes early, so I texted her that I was there.  She texted that she was inside, near the back.  I found her.  We hugged.  I looked into her face and was amazed.  Other than the evidence of time passing, she looked pretty much the same as the girl I remembered.  It’s been fifty years since I’ve seen her; FIFTY.  I realized immediately that I must look equally as old to her.

I’ve been working on a theory about love.  My theory concerns only love between people, not the kind of love you might have for anything else.  My theory is that once love is conceived it never dies.  When I consider people I loved who have died, I still love them, even though our relationship has ended.  When I think about people I loved who remain among the living, even though our relationship has changed, that love hasn’t died, but it has transformed from an active or romantic love to something else; maybe an appreciative, or respectful kind of love that I’m sure the Greeks have a name for.  The people who challenge my theory that true love never dies are divorced couples who appear to hate each other.

We sat in a booth and began to tell each other (the rest of) our stories.  She told how she kind of reluctantly married a guy who was in the Army – at her mother’s prodding to get on with her life after our break up.  She had been writing to him while he was in Vietnam.  After they married, he turned out to be very controlling, and eventually abusive.  She said he even controlled the food portions he allowed her to eat.  She did have some good things in her life; her son and daughter.  They gave her two grand kids and a great grandbaby on the way.  I asked if she had pictures, she said no.  She enjoyed her years working at Disneyland as a “costume controller,” but it sounded like her happiest years were living in Hawaii while her husband was a dive instructor for the Army.  Things started to fall apart when he was reassigned as a Drill Sargent and was eventually dishonorably discharged.  Sometime after they divorced, she married what sounded like a friend of a friend.  I don’t know how well she knew him, but after the wedding, he confessed how ill he was – and died about three years later.

She said she wanted to look me up, but couldn’t remember my last name.  I must have looked confused.  She continued, “You did have a few names.”  When I met her, I was known by my first step dad’s last name.  In the time we were together, my mom remarried and we kids assumed his last name.  Shortly before we broke up, I began using my legal name when I got my driver’s license.  So, maybe that made sense.

I was anxious to learn about her family, especially one brother, as we had been pretty good friends.  I hoped I might catch up with him soon, but I won’t.  He died because he burned out his lungs cooking meth, and also burnt down the old family house on Church Street (not in the same event).  He married, had two kids and divorced.  She told how he once jumped off a bridge in front of a moving train and survived.  When asked if it was a suicide attempt, he said no, he was trying to rescue a dog that was on the tracks.

I enjoyed countless laughs with another brother.  Today he would be “developmentally disabled,” but in our early teens, he was just kind of a crazy fun guy who sometimes exercised very poor judgement.  He choked to death on his own intestines.  She said it could have been related to his old, “getting hit by cars” game (imagine something like a ghetto version of Running With The Bulls).  She said she had a hysterectomy because of the same “intestinal looseness” issue – it might have been a family trait. When she listed her accumulated injuries, I asked if she worked as a stunt double.  She explained how she fell down a flight of stairs and broke both legs.  She fell while roller skating and broke both(?) arms, requiring screws and plates.  She slipped on spilled ice at the restaurant she managed, fell and broke her back.

One brother died from a bad liver.  I used to babysit for one of her sisters.  She died, I think she said cancer.  Another sister used to be our family babysitter.  I remember the dunce that was her first husband.  They used to take us with them to the drive-in.  After a second husband, she remains among the living, but the sisters are not on good terms – something to do with their mother’s estate.  Their alcoholic, ex-boxer step dad who I rarely remember seeing sober, sobered up long enough to buy a hotel and property in the middle of the California desert.  She still has his boxing robe, but he and her mom are both gone.

She told me that my best friend for many years became a good friend to her and helped ease her emotional pain.  They graduated together from Madison High School.  I told her the last time I saw him, we were preparing for an 8th grade class reunion, but he dropped out of the planning and didn’t attend the reunion.  He was driving a pickup with a dozen or so stuffed animals in the cab with him, which seemed odd to me for a grown man.  She confessed she was driving a car today which contained many stuffed animals, but said it was her daughter’s car.  I said, “Speaking of cars” as I pulled my calling card from my wallet and handed it to her.  It features a picture of my red, 57 Chevy Bel Air.  I explained that I printed those because often at car shows I will meet someone I want to exchange contact info with.  She giggled when she saw the car, shook her head and said, “I’m not surprised at all.”

She asked if I remembered, “Our corner.”  Sadly, I did not.  It was the street corner closest to her house.  We would just hang out there away from everyone, lean against the fire hydrant and pass the time.

She asked if I remember the jacket she bought me.  After my family moved to Newberg, I would ride the bus to Portland to see her on weekends.  She said I admired it in the window at Penny’s on Union and Killingsworth when she would walk me to the bus stop, so she bought it for me.  She said I wore it often (with my cut-offs).  I wish I remembered that.  I explained that whenever my memory fails me, I confess that I’ve had Chemo Therapy – it’s a perfect excuse which no one questions.

She asked, “Do you remember the box?”  She had it delivered to me at school after our breakup.  I was summoned to the principal’s office by two girls I did not know, saying there was a family emergency and I must leave with them.  I played along.  They took me to the parking lot and gave me a box containing a collection of memories – records, cards, letters, souvenirs, pictures, rings tied with a ribbon she used to wear in her hair; abundant evidence of a young girl’s broken heart.  They told me about her suicide attempt; her hospital bracelet was in the box.  Remember the song, “Traces of Love” (The Classics IV 1969)?  This box embodied that song, but with the added element of suicide.  I told her most of those things are in “my hoarder room” upstairs.

I told her I remember one day after receiving the box, I was sitting in the living room of our family home in Newberg when I felt compelled to get up and look out the window.  I did, just in time to see her and two young ladies drive by in a 1964 Chevy Impala.  I saw her, and she saw me.  I asked if she remembered that.  She did.  I walked out and stood by the street, if they circled the block we might talk.  They didn’t.

She confessed that she’s tried to end her life three more times.  I told her I was sure that seeing me now she would have to admit how foolish it would have been to have ended her young life over the loss of what turned out to be a fat, old man.  She just smiled and shook her head very slightly.

She said there will be no more suicide attempts, “That’s all over now,” and Jesus (“My Jesus”) is very important to her.  Although she doesn’t associate with any particular church, she’s a believer with strong faith and is a concert attending connoisseur of Christian music.  I told her the name of my favorite song, the one that will play at my funeral (if I have one), “I Can Only Imagine” (MercyMe 1999).  I told her about the Christ centered Bible teaching church we attend, Athey Creek Christian Fellowship.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you?” I asked.  Our regular babysitter (her sister) was not available one evening, so she was sent in stead.  When I got off my bicycle and opened the front door, there stood my new babysitter – a sexy, grown up young woman in makeup and nylons; and she was my age!  I ran (calmly) and hid in my room until I conjured up the courage to string enough words together to approach her with a sentence or two.  I didn’t see her again until months later when my family moved across the street from her.  We moved quite often while I was growing up.  I count 27 places (including JDH and two foster homes) before I graduated from high school, so maybe the odds of ending up across the street from her weren’t really that long.

She remembers, and I remembered, the last time we saw each other.  The day – months after we split up, I knocked on her door.   When she answered, I asked to see her brother, but she and I talked a little first.  She remembers immediately putting up a wall of defense, not rude, but understandably cold.  After we spoke briefly, I went downstairs to visit her brother.  I don’t remember what we talked about or exactly why I chose to see him then.  Maybe because he was a good friend I hadn’t seen in a while, or maybe the visit really was to see how she was doing; and she seemed to be doing okay.

I learned today that years later on his deathbed, her brother told her that I told him I came back that day to try to reunite with her.  Believing this meant trading her sadness from being the one abandoned for the sadness of forever disallowing (with her wall of defense) the possibility of reuniting.  I think she’s blamed herself for this and maybe for some unhappy paths her life has taken; paths that might have remained unknown if only she had allowed us to get back together.  Or, maybe I’m over analyzing.

I don’t remember telling her brother I wanted to reunite.  If that was my goal, I would have pursued her.  I don’t remember everything from those days, but I do remember the undeniable feeling before we broke up, that our relationship had become doomed.  The young love we enjoyed so much at age 13 – 14 – 15 was waning.  I felt guilty that I could feel it happening.  I felt guilty that I was letting it happen.  Emotions are very intense at that age, the good and the bad.  I’ve learned in this life that you can’t make someone love you.  I realize too that you can’t compel yourself to love someone.  For this, I am sorry.  Love can bring great joy.  Love can bring great pain.

As I listened to her talk, it seemed clear that her happiest memories were from long ago when we were together.  I’m pretty sure she remembered me at least a little better than reality.  After divorcing an abusive husband, she probably remembered me as being even better.  After her second husband died ending what sounded like another disappointing relationship – in her memory I might have been approaching some sort of legendary status.

I think true love stories are about couples who marry and make a life together.  Every day they practice putting the other ahead of themselves.  They remain faithful and committed for the duration.  They speak the words, “I love you,” and they know the joy of dedication and compromise that shows, “I love you.”  These are real love stories, and it’s the kind of love story to which I’ve continued daily adding pages for 45 years with my precious wife.  But they make boring movies.

The best love stories for movies and books are emotional dramas about the love relationship that could not be.  Budding lovers forever part because of a selfless, sacrificial decision; or they might be unwillingly parted, forbidding their promising relationship from ever developing to its obvious potential.  These tragic, “love lost” stories wrench your heart.  Why are they so much more powerful than the, “happily ever after” stories?

I unintentionally authored our unhappy ending, sentencing our story to that bitter sweet, “love lost” category, never knowing that she mistakenly reassigned that blame to herself.

A couple hours had passed and I’m sure we could both feel our visit winding down.  We continued talking as we walked to our cars.  Was she forgiving?  She’s glad I’m happy with my life.  I asked her to please give herself permission to be happy, as I had the very strong feeling she was not, and hasn’t been in a long time.

 

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Simple Sunday

It’s a beautiful sunny day with the temperature in the mid 60’s. Really lovely. But snow and rain are coming back in from Tuesday till forever it seems. Oh well.  We need the rain, I guess.

Today was a gym day. And being Daylight savings, it was kinda empty. Some guy was waiting for the yoga class that (he didn’t know) had started an hour earlier.  I walked at 6:55 to 7:30am. No one was there, which was nice. And tomorrow I’ll leave 5 minutes earlier.  I’ll keep backing it up 5 minutes a day till I get back to 6:30.  But I’d like it to be at least first light.

Then I went to Target to get a spring smelling candle and quite a few dollars later left.

Target is always a magnet for me. I don’t buy stuff I don’t need per se, it’s just I see stuff I was needing to get and then throw it the cart. For instance, I needed some decaf Peets coffee to make in my thrift store find Moka pot. Then I needed some hash browns for a menu item. Then cat food. So you see how it adds up. So, generally, it’s better for me to stay out of stores, which I do mostly. I don’t shop department stores or the like.

Yesterday I was reading the blog ‘reading my tea leaves’, and Erin was mentioning in her tiny bathroom how she doesn’t have any clutter in that room, as the room is too small. And visually it makes it crowded.  I thought a lot about that. And I completely understand as our one bathroom is 6 x6.  I try and keep shampoos and body wash in a white plastic container that you don’t see. But there’s still some stuff that is out like our towels are just folded on a small dresser. So, I guess there’s always room for improvement.

Dinner is a mushroom gruyere frittata and a green salad.

 

 

Brooklyn Crafted Ginger Beer Recipes for St. Patrick’s Day and Easter

I got turned onto Moscow Mules a couple of years ago.  I’ve tried many different brands of Ginger Beer.  “Brooklyn Crafted” is my favorite.

I wanted to share these fun drinks with you guys:

ST. PATRICK’S DAY:

Ginger Whiskey Cider

Ingredients-
2 oz. Hard Cider
1 oz. Whiskey
Brooklyn Crafted Ginger Beer Mini in Traditional, to fill
Crushed Ice
Directions-
In a 12-16 oz. high ball glass, combine the hard cider and whiskey. Fill the glass with crushed ice and top with Brooklyn Crafted.
Apple Ginger Bourbon Fizz
Ingredients-
1 oz. Bourbon
½ T apple butter
4 oz Brooklyn Crafted Ginger Beer Mini in Traditional
Lime Wedges
Ice
Directions-
Add ice, bourbon and apple butter to a cocktail shaker and shake vigorously. Pour over ice. Top with Brooklyn Crafted and garnish with a lime wedge.
EASTER:
Gingered Apple Sparkler 
Ingredients-
1.5 oz. handcrafted Vodka
1.5 oz. sour apple liqueur
Splash of Angostura Bitters
4 oz. chilled Brooklyn Crafted Ginger Beer mini in Lemon/Lime
1 maraschino cherry
Ice
Directions-
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add the vodka, liqueur and bitters; shake well. Strain into an ice-filled highball glass. Top with Brooklyn Crafted and the cherry.
Peach Nectar Ginger Beer
Ingredients-
1.5 oz. Handcrafted Peach Vodka
3.5 oz. Brooklyn Crafted Ginger Beer Mini in Mango
Directions-
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add the peach vodka and Brooklyn Crafted; shake well. Strain into an ice-filled glass.