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Floating down the river of De Nile...
Jan. 12th, 2006 11:06 amDaddy drank. A lot. Potent potables was a big bit of the flag pole around which our family danced while I was going up. It was more than just the alcohol although that was certainly a key ingredient. There was the ceremony, the symbolism and the ritual that held about as much importance. And the rules and lessons.
I remember Daddy explaining what success meant to him. Success was never having to buy whiskey in pints. Success was fiths or half gallons. Success was Chevis Regal. When he no longer had to worry about how much money booze cost, he knew he had made it.
I also remember his business advice... Never refuse a drink at a business function. Never order or drink anything you can't see through (unless it's a Sunday Brunch business meeting and everyone else is drinking, then you may have a bloody mary). Never ever ever order or drink anything pink.
Everytime anyone ever saw or mentioned the Ten Warning Signs of Alcohol Abuse, Daddy would immediately rattle off those that did not apply and, therefore, declare proudly that no alcoholic was he!! (I noticed when I went to find this link that the 10 signs have changed a bit over the years... interesting.)
He had two that were his standby.
He never drank before 5 p.m. (that was also strictly the 5 p.m. of the time zone he was in at that moment) unless it was on Sunday and then only after church. Or on Saturday but only when he was working around the house and then it was only very very very cold beer.
He never drank in secret. He was proud of his drinking in a really strange way.
But, unless he could check off every single warning sign, he was no alcoholic. And he monitored this closely for years and years. I often wondered what would have happened had he hit all 10 and/or dried off that river of denial and realized that he was pretty much hitting all 10 anyway.
Yesterday I read in People magazine (please note, I only quote the best sources but, parenthetically, this source will dry up soon as I am - after years and years - letting my People magazine subscription expire. Turns out there is a limit to how much information I can ignore about Lindsay Lohan and hip hop stars.)... Anyway... I read excerpts from Star Jones' book. In those excerpts she talks about what led to her decision to shed some pounds.
She talked about the physical discomfort of hauling around the spare blubber and the desire to do things she could not do - simple things - crossing her legs, holding her arms up long enough to fasten the clasp of her own necklace.
Bingo... right smack dab in my sweet spot. It really does hurt to be fat. My back and shoulders and neck and butt all kind of stay sore all the time. I can walk a mile or more fairly easily and comfortably but 2 flights of stairs is my limit. I'm sure I have blood clots in my legs that are on the way up to kill me.
I seriously did not realized that I could no longer cross my legs until I read that article. I seriously can no longer cross my legs. I can hold my arms up long enough to fasten the clasp on my own necklace but I can feel the tug that says that won't always be the case.
I've kind of known about all of this. I do have a mirror. I have not been able to buy regular (only one x) clothes for several years now. I'm not in denial. I'm not denying anything. I'm fat and out of shape and not comfortable with it. But, I'm also not uncomfortable enough to do something about it. At least not yet. And maybe never.
I smoked for 40 years and one day woke up and decided to quit and did. It was just time. At my age and my state of physical disrepair, it could well be that if/when I finally do wake up one day and decide to fix it, it will be too late. I know that. But, for now, I think I'll go put my necklace on.
I remember Daddy explaining what success meant to him. Success was never having to buy whiskey in pints. Success was fiths or half gallons. Success was Chevis Regal. When he no longer had to worry about how much money booze cost, he knew he had made it.
I also remember his business advice... Never refuse a drink at a business function. Never order or drink anything you can't see through (unless it's a Sunday Brunch business meeting and everyone else is drinking, then you may have a bloody mary). Never ever ever order or drink anything pink.
Everytime anyone ever saw or mentioned the Ten Warning Signs of Alcohol Abuse, Daddy would immediately rattle off those that did not apply and, therefore, declare proudly that no alcoholic was he!! (I noticed when I went to find this link that the 10 signs have changed a bit over the years... interesting.)
He had two that were his standby.
He never drank before 5 p.m. (that was also strictly the 5 p.m. of the time zone he was in at that moment) unless it was on Sunday and then only after church. Or on Saturday but only when he was working around the house and then it was only very very very cold beer.
He never drank in secret. He was proud of his drinking in a really strange way.
But, unless he could check off every single warning sign, he was no alcoholic. And he monitored this closely for years and years. I often wondered what would have happened had he hit all 10 and/or dried off that river of denial and realized that he was pretty much hitting all 10 anyway.
Yesterday I read in People magazine (please note, I only quote the best sources but, parenthetically, this source will dry up soon as I am - after years and years - letting my People magazine subscription expire. Turns out there is a limit to how much information I can ignore about Lindsay Lohan and hip hop stars.)... Anyway... I read excerpts from Star Jones' book. In those excerpts she talks about what led to her decision to shed some pounds.
She talked about the physical discomfort of hauling around the spare blubber and the desire to do things she could not do - simple things - crossing her legs, holding her arms up long enough to fasten the clasp of her own necklace.
Bingo... right smack dab in my sweet spot. It really does hurt to be fat. My back and shoulders and neck and butt all kind of stay sore all the time. I can walk a mile or more fairly easily and comfortably but 2 flights of stairs is my limit. I'm sure I have blood clots in my legs that are on the way up to kill me.
I seriously did not realized that I could no longer cross my legs until I read that article. I seriously can no longer cross my legs. I can hold my arms up long enough to fasten the clasp on my own necklace but I can feel the tug that says that won't always be the case.
I've kind of known about all of this. I do have a mirror. I have not been able to buy regular (only one x) clothes for several years now. I'm not in denial. I'm not denying anything. I'm fat and out of shape and not comfortable with it. But, I'm also not uncomfortable enough to do something about it. At least not yet. And maybe never.
I smoked for 40 years and one day woke up and decided to quit and did. It was just time. At my age and my state of physical disrepair, it could well be that if/when I finally do wake up one day and decide to fix it, it will be too late. I know that. But, for now, I think I'll go put my necklace on.
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