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Holidays at the Brewery

Don’t be fooled by my quiet exterior.

At first glance, I may have the cool, red brick and exposed, industrial draw of a silent winter’s eve, but within my walls dances a playful mischief un-matched by the Grinch himself.

Not that I can speak for my fellow historic landmarks, as I have not met them personally, but I imagine them to be filled with the snarls of old fuddy-duddies and exaggerated “sshhh’s!” of a hundred or so retired librarians, eager to employ their long-lost tone of control. I envision the walls of a building like myself to be lined with glass-faced cabinets in need of dusting, floors covered with cheap carpet that serves its purpose of utility and nothing more. Perhaps a desk would be situated awkwardly near the front door to immediately communicate to all guests, “direction: required.”

But not me. I’m different in my purpose. My mortar is the shield to a community founded by enthusiasm, raucous nights, educated frivolity, and the embrace of a friend never seen too often. Like the subtle, innocent smirk of a mother with a Christmas secret, I hold the key, the answer, to a hard day’s work to buy holiday gifts; the warmth to bring life back to frost-bitten hands; the chance to smile a peaceful smile in rebuttal to the bustle of the season.

And it’s one of my greatest pleasures to offer warmth by the fire to the people of this town. I know I’ve talked often of the brewery, of its product and people. But rarely have I touched on the other facets of this team: of the staff who fill guests’ bellies with food and minds with drink.

It’s this world, this group of people that have me reeling from my structural beams to my cracked, concrete floor today as I watch them prepare for another event; a party to fulfill the weariest or most joyful of patrons. A night designed to do everything I love most of them.

A Brewery Christmas! And it is everything one could hope it to be. The posters are hung, the cookie recipes written, the beer brewed, the jazz band setup time confirmed. To the final detail, it’s prepared and awaits the arrival of those eager to experience it.

They are in their final hours now of anticipation, and the excitement grows. It reminds me of the crescendo of a classic holiday song; the real spirit of this season found in the rattling, smooth tones of a well-versed trumpet player, fastening the heartbeat of all who hears his tune.

It says with a quickening beat, “Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Holidays, and the like. Come drink beer with us, feast on cookies, and stay up all night. We don’t judge you, we’ll feed you, and fill you right up. Here’s a toast to the season and a good brew in your cup.”