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Old Doug -> RE: Postings after 1 whole bottle consumed alone (8/24/2011 8:16:09 PM)
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quote:
ORIGINAL: Wine_Strategies
quote:
ORIGINAL: Old Doug
Heh, fear not, Musedir. Most were 1.5 to 2.25 liters. Frankly, I like drunken reveries, but Cabernet + Port + Italian Red + 2.5 hours later you have to go to work = you look at yourself in the mirror as you leave. "You idiot."
- As I bow down, I realize I may have underestimated your, er, talent...
[;)] Wine_Strategies, I've worked with a lot of boozers in my day, and I've seen some awfully sorrowful faces coming into work. "Talent"? [:)]
My step-brother's biological father died at 42 years of age. He drank nothing but beer. Budweiser. But he drank a pile of it. He was a serviceman for the telephone company in Maryland, a capable, knowledgeable (and friendly and helpful) man. My stepmother divorced him after it became clear that there was little hope for him, long after the almost "mystical" initial feeling she had for him was gone. She's a wise woman, now, but sometimes you only get a time or two to really choose, in a life. She and my dad are great.
So - then what about my mom, you may ask? She and my my dad are smart, interesting people, happy in general, but not really suited to each other on a basic level. She graduated from Earlham College, Richmond Indiana, 1958, and my dad went there too, finishing up his degree at Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, where I was born the next year. Me, two brothers, a sister, then in 1975 they got divorced.
A year or two ago, my wife - in a moment of frustration/agitation/anger at me due to my somewhat implacable level-headedness (for better or worse) or at least, "calmness," perhaps wanting some acknowledgement or validation for her more Sicilian-emotional-momentary approach, asked me what I "truly believed in." A moment passed, and then I said, "The essential goodness of my parents." Little bit hard for me to get that answer out, and some tears in my eyes further convinced my wife.
My parents' divorce was one of the best in history, I reckon, and my mom and step-mom became friends, to the extent that they spent a week together a few years after the divorce, just the two of them, at a convention in the summer.
My mom doesn't like drinking, beyond a very slight point. Her dad - my grandfather - was a "scary alcoholic" (her words) who was cruel to my grandmother, though he never physically abused his daughters - my mom, then her two sisters, each two years apart. My mom remembers him taking out his three girls for a ride in the car of an afternoon in 1944, my mom age 8, the sisters 6 and 4, he stops at a bar, goes in, the girls wait patiently. Perhaps 4 hours later, out he comes.
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