Alcohol

I have always admired G.K. Chesterton. I don't share his religious persuasion, but his thoughtful, intelligent, witty, and philosophical writing style has made him one of my more consistent heroes. On alcohol, he has this to say:
"A modern vegetarian is also a teetotaler, yet there is no obvious connection between consuming vegetables and not consuming fermented vegetables. A drunkard, when lifted laboriously out of the gutter, might well be heard huskily to plead that he had fallen there through excessive devotion to a vegetable diet."
In my recent experience, the use of alcohol as an anesthetic should not be underestimated. We see it used in so many movies when some doctor is extracting a bullet from a gunfighter. that it has become so ubiquitous that it seems to have lost its meaning.

One of my heroes on vegetarianism

"Why shouldn't I have a purely vegetarian drink? Why shouldn't I take vegetables in their highest form, so to speak? The modest vegetarians ought to stick to wine or beer, plain vegetable drinks, instead of filling their goblets with the blood of bulls and elephants, as all conventional meat-eaters do, I suppose"

-- G.K. Chesterton

Chauncy

In trying to get things rolling again, I found a post that I thought had been published but it appears to have been languishing among the drafts. It is from August 16th of last year.

Today is my father-in-law's 102nd birthday, or it would have been had he survived. John "Chauncy" Kiernan was a natural nobleman, a dignified, witty man whose charm and honesty was evident to everyone who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. More than three decades have passed since he died and still I can see the twinkle in his eye and the slow smile as he waited for me to process his latest bon mot. He loved honor, country and family. God alone knows what order to put those in. He loved his daughters and I suspect that he even loved me for loving his oldest girl.

I miss him.

His family came from County Leitrim, one of the poorest counties in Ireland and settled in Old Lyme, CT. They loved their dram and the telling of stories and I only wish that I could have been there when my wife's grandfather, John and his four sons, "Chauncy", "Charlie", "Denny", and "Joe" were in the mood to drink and spin yarns. I only met Chauncy and Charlie but both enriched my life.

Tonight, in lieu of a cake, my wife and I told a couple of Irish jokes and lifted a glass of Jameson to the memory of Chauncy. If he'll forgive the Scottish toast ...

"Here's to us. Who's like us? Damn few and they're all dead."