My Mama's view of whisky.........

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A glass of wine or whiskey after dinner never hurt anyone. My Grandpa never believed in wasting energy to keep beer in then fridge, so it was always kept on the basement floor. Every afternoon he would go down and have one. Before retirement, after getting off the bus, he would stop at the local tavern and have a beer (one), before he walked home. He and Grandma both lived to 95.

A neighbor that lived across the street would stop at a tavern on his way home from work. His car was dented and once he hit the streetlight, and another time he crashed into the tree in front of our house. THAT amount of beer HURT him and everyone else. Eventually, after a few DWIs he quit drinking. HE lived to 90 as well.

Another neighbor liked pot. As a gateway it lead to heroin and an accident that killed someone. He eventually succumbed to the disease at age 50.

Say what you will about whiskey. It CAN be bad, and IS bad for millions. However, I never met a pot head that was worth a ****. Now that our government is legalizing drugs, we must all be diligent. We are going downhill by the day.
 
Never a problem in my youth.
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BLUTO!!! My hero at one point in time.....a very blurry one.......lived in a "Ordie House" which wasn't to much different than "Animal House"......we had a drinking contests.....one of which was called "The Bluto"....I bet you can guess what that entailed.....

A glass of wine or whiskey after dinner never hurt anyone.

Define "a glass"........because I'm allowed two a night......but if I can fill a "glass" of my choosing and divide it in two......I'd be happy being limited to two.
 
WHISKEY

In 1952, Armon M. Sweat, Jr., a member of the Texas House of
Representatives, was asked about his position on whiskey. What follows is
his exact answer (taken from the Political Archives of Texas):

"If you mean whiskey, the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody
monster that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home,
creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths
of little children; if you mean that evil drink that topples Christian men
and women from the pinnacles of righteous and gracious living into the
bottomless pit of degradation, shame, despair, helplessness, and
hopelessness, then, my friend, I am opposed to it with every fiber of my
being.

However, if by whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic
wine, the elixir of life, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get
together, that puts a song in their hearts and the warm glow of
contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer, the stimulating
sip that puts a little spring in the step of an elderly gentleman on a
frosty morning; if you mean that drink that enables man to magnify his
joy, and to forget life's great tragedies and heartbreaks and sorrow; if
you mean that drink the sale of which pours into Texas treasuries untold
millions of dollars each year, that provides tender care for our little
crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitifully aged and
infirm, to build the finest highways, hospitals, universities, and
community colleges in this nation, then my friend, I am absolutely,
unequivocally in favor of it.

This is my position, and as always, I refuse to compromise on matters of
principle."
 
" I reminded her that her brother, whom she revered, had been a moonshiner and bootlegger. And he himself had partaken of the spirits."
My first 'off farm' job was working for a distant relative. One day we stopped at what one might say was the 'connecting link'(a man related to both of us through different branches of the family tree) who was one of the last 'moonshiners' in the area. Maybe as a bit of a 'test of manhood', he invited us to have a snort from his final batch-at least 25 years old( six pint jars remaining from 20 gallons). "Just a sip" was his admonition as I tilted the pint Mason jar and even a tiny sip was plenty. o_O o_O I'd been exposed to 'hard likker' before but nothing like that fire water. I didn't gag, choke, or gasp and so passed the test. When we got back to the office, bossman told his wife(the office manager/secretary) where we'd stopped. She gave him an evil stare like she knew the REAL reason for the visit.;);)
 
the stimulating
sip that puts a little spring in the step of an elderly gentleman on a
frosty morning

It's currently 12 degrees and there is 6+ inches of frozen snow everywhere.....maybe this is good advise.....but seeing as I'm getting my pre op blood work taken in a couple hours perhaps not.....maybe tomorrow before I leave for work.... :unsure:
 
My grandmother readily admitted her father and uncles were great beer drinkers, yet insisted they never touched alcohol. She simply refused to believe that beer contained any alcohol...
 
Bob's post about his mother's view of drinking & booze & her brother, reminded me of a book I read as a teenager. it was called; "Southern Ladies & Gentlemen" if I recall it correctly. One chapter in the book was titled; "The self rejuvenating virgin!" That chapter was full of excuses & antidotes of how a southern girl could be a "little loose" and yet still claim to be a virgin. Things like; "It didn't happen because we weren't in a bed," or "it didn't happen because I was drunk," or "it didn't happen because he was my cousin."

I can't recall all of it,, but I do recall how funny it was that the book described many things I'd heard or that were claimed by girls back then.

It was a very funny book, and had a lot of truths in it about how southern folks could view something AND explain it away.
In a W.C. Fields movie, when he heard of someone drowning in a vat of whisky, he quipped under his breath, "O death, where is thy sting?" (1 Corinthians 15:55).
 
^^^^^Oliver Street in North Tonawanda NY that used to have over 100 taverns. The average time a mailman lasted on that street was about a month
One of my dear friends lost his wife, daughter, sister and neighbor in one horrific car crash. After that, he would stop at an Oliver Street bar (Joey's I believe) every day on his way home from work. He "ate" dinner there every day. When he retired he spent the whole day there every day. Hos gout got so bad that after a couple of years he had to park his car on the sidewalk right next to the front door.

My Dad didn't believe the story about the 100 taverns. He made me a bet. One day we drove the full length, He counted the ones on the west side, and then we turned around and he counted the ones on the east side. This was about 1990, if I remember correctly, and I recall the count was 78.
 
My mother was Southern Pentecostal, never partook of the evil drink. But for some reason she made some blackberry wine. I was about 12 and enjoyed watching the balloon on top of the bottle. One day she declared it finished and went to work. My dad, who was disabled, drank some, I came home from school and found him passed out on the bed. When mom got home she threw a fit, and poured the remainder down the drain. Her sister asked why she didn't bring it to her!
 
Brings to mind a Scot who used to be my neighbor. He drank a LOT of beer, the cheapest he could find, but no whisky. I asked him once why he never ate desert. He said he had to watch his weight and eating desert would make him cut back on beer.

He told a story of returning home to Scotland for his mother's funeral. Staying with his brother, the brother said they should have a drink on this special occasion. He asked his brother if he'd like to see a special bottle of whisky he was saving. He went over to the sideboard and produced an expensive Single Malt. After my neighbor admired it he said he'd love a drink. His brother then took the bottle, put it away (for a special occasion?) and poured two shots of an inexpensive bottle. Ahh, Scots.

Another time the same neighbor had a visit from his father-in-law from Glasgow. We were having a beer and shots of Scotch whisky at the local Canadian-American Legion hall. The FIL said he'd show me how a Scot drinks his whisky. After finishing his shot, he gently rolled the shot glass between both hands, explaining how good whisky coats the inside of the glass, and hand warming created a small last puddle in the bottom. He then downed the last tiny drops!
Ahh, Scots!
 
I'd be willing to bet I've not been in a dozen bars/taverns in my life (not to drink anyway). Did my drinking in private-less embarassing later.
I traveled for my job for 45 years. If the hotel had a bar, or there was one close by, that's where I would eat dinner. Bar food at the time was usually cheap enough so that I could eat in compliance with the company's food allowance.
 
Never a problem in my youth.
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That was me in college.
Got married right after graduating and she cured me of the binge-drinking & pub-crawling. Couldn't afford to drink on a schoolteacher's salary anyway, plus we were raising three sons.
Later in life we kept a box of cheap wine in the fridge for a glass with dinner now & then.
After retirement over 20 years ago we started meeting old colleagues for happy hour once a week for dinner & a drink (usually a frozen margarita).
Being a good Catholic, she still has her one glass a day, but I quit the alcohol a couple of years ago upon the advice of my cardiologists. Don't miss it at all.

Her father and his wife, long time alcoholics, both drank themselves to death 40+ years ago. He was 72 and she was 57. Really sad….. and a very ugly way to go.
 
BLUTO!!! My hero at one point in time.....a very blurry one.......lived in a "Ordie House" which wasn't to much different than "Animal House"......we had a drinking contests.....one of which was called "The Bluto"....I bet you can guess what that entailed.....



Define "a glass"........because I'm allowed two a night......but if I can fill a "glass" of my choosing and divide it in two......I'd be happy being limited to two.
Two fingers….in a bathtub.
 
My grandmother readily admitted her father and uncles were great beer drinkers, yet insisted they never touched alcohol. She simply refused to believe that beer contained any alcohol...
I heard a drunk say that he couldn't be an alcoholic because he only drank light beer. Of course it was several 30 packs a week but his logic told him that he didn't have a problem.
A good friend of mine is going on 25 years of sobriety and he says that 1 drink is too much and 30 isn't enough. It makes sense to me
 
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