No? Well, I just survived a heart attack, so I am allowed. As I may have mentioned in another post I grew up in the home of a strict, Victorian era Baptist preacher. My dad had two loves in his life: his books, of which he must have had around 30,000 volumes and his memories of WWII. Dad was a tail gunner on B29's during the war, and he talked about his experiences constantly.

I am presuming most of us cannot relate to the experiences of those who placed their lives on the line in times of war. Dad was in the Pacific theater, and I've heard him talk about having to shoot at and being shot at Japanese fighter planes while on a bombing run or whatever. Actually, Dad was in a reconnaissance group, and he brought back tons of photographs -- photographs of unimaginable devastation.

May I be afforded an aside here? Had the United States not entered the war the world may still be fighting the evil Nazi regime. Had the British not decided to take a stand the world would without a doubt be marching to the beat of a Nazi jackboot. All of the various allies played their part, including the brave French underground. The Canadians, the New Zelanders, the Indians, etc., etc. ..., Where would we be without that brave, selfless, and valiant generation?

Back to my story. My dad was Victorian-era. No vices had he. I have no images of my father sitting or lying down. Dad was always busy at work. One thing my dad strictly forbad was the consumption of any kind of alcoholic beverage. To this day, and I am 54 years of age, I have never tasted beer.

I have, on the other hand, tasted other kinds of alcohol. Back in the day I was a salesman, selling security systems, fire alarms, and burglar alarms. I had a call to make on a local tavern, but I was in the throws of a serious head cold, teetering on the brink of the flu. I made my call, apologized for my condition, upon which the tavern owner said, "I have something that will take care of that for you."

"I'm sure you do," I said. He excused himself and returned with a shot glass full to the brim with a pretty purple-colored liquid and said, "Drink this." Now I had never had alcohol in my system before, but at that particular moment I was weak and vulnerable and quite willing to try anything that might relieve my miserable condition, so I relented. It was delicious! I sipped excitedly as I presented my wares. He had given me the most delicious blackberry brandy, and was it ever so delectable! I fairly floated through my presentation, and by the time I had finished I felt like I had genuinely left the nasty head cold behind. Blackberry brandy is indeed the nectar of the gods.

I have kept a bottle of blackberry brandy in my pantry ever since. Mind you now, I have never been drunk. I do not now nor I have ever drunk alcohol for purely social reasons. I partake for medicinal purposes only.

However, one Christmas not long ago I was watching around me and noticed that everywhere people were embibing and enjoying the intoxicating pleasures of various potions with intriguing names like sherry and port and vodka and scotch. "What's all the fuss?" I wondered to myself. I had never drunk any of those -- nothing more than the blackberry [what turned out to be flavored] brandy that I kept in my kitchen cabinet, and that only to sip when I was not feeling well. So, I decided to check things out. I decided that I would settle the issue for myself once and for all. I would discover for myself what all the fuss was about. So I went to a local liquor store and asked for advice. I was given several small bottles of various renditions of hooch, paid the bill, and returned to my house.

At home on Christmas Eve I decided to give them all a taste. I opened each bottle in turn, but in each case I could not discern anything special. So I went through each bottle again, swigging and tasting then swallowing. "So what's the big deal?" I asked myself. I couldn't see it. What exactly is it that all these people see in these things? Nonetheless, I continued to sample these bottles of different colored liquid. Eventually I grew tired and went to sleep.

The next day was Christmas, and that morning I awoke with quite the headache. I went outside to drink in the early morning sunshine, and as I stepped out I noticed how warm it was. The sun was already high in the sky. I saw my neighbor from across the street (This was years before I bought Willow Oak, and I was living in a trailer park at the time), and exclaimed as to how gorgeous a day it was, being Christmas and all.

"Yes, Christmas day was a beautiful day at that."

"Was?" I asked.

"Yes." Then he looked at me and laughed. "Boy you had quite the party going on over there at your place."

"What day is it?" I asked.

"You don't know? Christmas was two days ago."

Like I said, I have never been drunk ..., that I am aware of.