A tragedy and other things

Random stuff in my head right now:

I still have to get around to a very good question from Wil.  I've had it drafted for a couple weeks and feel bad for having put it off so long.  But it's got potential so I don't want to scrimp.  I'll probably leave it for my penultimate November post.  I plan to do a video of some sort for the 30th.

Engaged with a stiff serving of 10 year-old Laphroaig tonight.  Very rare that I allow myself scotch two nights in a row, but it's been a long weekend and I find that it's wrapped up fairly well.  Dex is back to his old self and, Sunday evening, Amy and I were sitting, absorbing his aura shortly before his bed time, wondering aloud to each other whither went our baby and who replaced him with a small boy.  (We didn't actually say "whither", I only normally get that pretentious in blog posts, though it's not completely foreign to conversational sprinklings.)

But back to scotch.  I'm sad to say that I currently only have Laphroaig and Auchentoshan to draw from here at home, meaning to cast no aspersions on the quality of those two fine beverages.  Matter of fact, Laphroaig is, to date, my favourite of all the scotches I've sampled.  But my cabinet would be vastly enriched with the likes of Talisker, Lagavulin, The Balvenie, a good MacAllen... and a couple of the Glens.  Perhaps a Kinchie and a Fiddich.

Tavish, too, cast himself in a nearly perfect Sunday.  Granny and Grumpy whisked Dex off to the museum for the afternoon while Amy went off to do a Stampin' Up demonstration.  I was left with an unwontedly content, happy baby and a spot of free time.  Ever since we got our new queen mattress to replace the old double which replaced the soiled (short-lived and sadly expensive) queen mattress, we discovered that we only saved a single queen sized sheet set.  I undertook to double that by buying a new flannel queen set, it being winter and all.  Tav and I came home with a pale blue set decorated with shiny, happy snowmen.  Amy nearly squealed with glee when she saw my choice and took them downstairs immediately to wash so as to give our bed a sartorial comfort boost as soon as possible.  She's languishing therein as I type this.

Dex and I went grocery shopping Saturday afternoon at Superstore.  Their cart system requires that you plug a loonie into the locking mechanism as incentive to return it properly rather than leave empty carts strewn haphazardly about the parking lot.  A man was returning his cart as Dex and I were seeking one, so I thrust a solid dollar coin in the gentleman's direction, proffering a silent exchange (a common practice in Superstore parking lots across the nation; indeed, some often find dollar coins foisted upon them ere their groceries are fully removed, so eager are some shoppers to get the most convenient cart).  The gentleman accepted the coin and turned to walk away as I flopped my boy in the seat.  The goodman did an about face and said he had a better idea: why didn't I just buy my boy a treat with the coin instead?  And gave me back the dollar.

Christmas spirit has found its way to our little corner of the world.  Declan and I enjoyed an Aero chocolate bar as we left the store.

In the same altruistic mental state, Amy came home Saturday from some running around bearing a small container of York peppermint swoops.  She gave them to me in recognition of my serving as an excellent model of both husband and father this weekend whilst caring for my beloved family.  There are very few ways to my heart faster than peppermint chocolate fashioned in the shape of potato chips.  And those that are can't be mentioned lest this website receive an X rating.  I'm finishing them off right now and must admit they're not the best accompaniment for 10 year-old scotch.  But I don't smoke cigars.  Though I would eat chocolate cigars.

And the tragedy implied in the post title?  Amy came tripping out of the bathroom Sunday afternoon, moaning, both hands clasped tight to her head, a stricken look etched on her face.  I was snuggled on the couch with Declan and my good wife ran straight to us.  "LOOK!" she shouted, hands still held tight to her head as she thrust her pate under my scrutiny.  I surveyed the landscape and quickly saw what caused her outcry.

A grey hair.

"TWO OF THEM!"  she corrected.  And was right.  "Now I have to go and pluck them both!"  Which she did, leaving me very little opportunity to commiserate.  Only six days into her Jesus year.  Portentous?

Not all was lost though; we ended on a high note.  Sunday evening after the boys were both in bed we made our own with freshly laundered and still-warm sheets.  I got the electric blanket fired up and Amy got a smile on her face.  "Going to bed with shaved legs in new flannel sheets - it doesn't get much better than this!"

Comments

[Grampa]

Si, The best accompaniment to virtually any single malt is a bag of President's Choice Chocolate Chip cookies for dunking. The cookies take on a dreamy rich dessert-like quality and the scotch is not harmed in any way. How did I come upon this enjoyment, you might ask? It was an episode of M*A*S*H where Colonel Potter extulled the virtues of Fig Newtons dunked in scotch. I tried the Fig Newtons and found them good, but not great. Further experimentation on a canoe trip found the great pairing of the chocolate chip cookies with a bottle of 15 y/o Dalwinney. The rest is history.

[Linda]

Si, it's obvious to me that you do some of your very best writing UTI (under the influence, not the female decipheration) of Laphroaig. Great, busy post. Sympathies to Amy on the hair thing... Glad everyone is recuperated. Thanks for the early Monday morning smile :-)

[TerriTorial]

Amy and I are in the same boat. I too discovered, what I believe to be, my first grey hair. Luckily, 30 minutes later I coloured that baby right out of there.

Flannel sheets and I do not agree. As soon as they get that pilled feel, I get itchy. Love my percale!

[Mark]

That's so cool about the man giving you back the buck. So, Stampin' Up is in Canada, too? A friend down the street is into it, but does not hound my wife about it.

Go flannel sheets! When our bedroom was in the basement of our home back in NW Arkansas, with drafty windows along one wall, I couldn't live without them.

[Moksha Gren]

Simon - Excellent post, a good snapshot of the various small details that make up daily life.

Amy - I too was staring in the mirror this morning and bemoaning the years' effect on my hair. No gray to be found, instead I watch sadly as my hair retreats across my scalp. True, true...it's an unfair double standard that society seems to be more forgiving to men's aging than to womens...but, ya see...I was a headwound child. Never broke a bone, but head wound after head wound, stitches upon stitches. For years I had forgotten about all these scars up there. But now, with each passing month I see more and more of my Frankenstein head revealed.

So, I'm not trying to claim that I've got it worse or anything...but I feel your pain. Luckily we've both found spouses who don't seem to hold it against us as we age. And that's comforting

[Paul]

Sorry, Grampa, but I have to say, "Gack!" You wanna dip a Mr. Christie, or other pretender to the throne, into something alcoholic, go ahead. But the President's Choice Decadent Chocolate Chunk Cookie? That is too delectable to be adulterated by anything but cold, fresh milk.

[marian]

Geez what is it with you people and your sweets with Scotch? Seasalt and vinegar potato chips, boys! Si, sometime try my favorite: 10 year old Balvenie. I like it better than the 12 year old. As for grey hairs, heh heh. You think you can fight it, but you can't, kids.

[Simon]

I sense some cookie wars afoot. Truthfully, I prefer to enjoy a single malt all by its lonesome. I allow the physical and taste sensations to dwindle near to nothing before invigorating my mouth with another sample from my tumbler. A roller coaster ride of the palate that truly needs no accompaniment.

I will have to remember to write while drinking more often. Though this past month has driven home the fact that I really only ought to write something when I have something to say.

On grey hairs and headwounds (which would be a great post title), I long ago surrendered my scalp to the encroachment of time. If the remaining stubble wants to go grey, there won't be any resistance. The criss cross reminders of childhood head wounds are another matter entirely and something I've never had to, er, face. Badges of honour, Moksha, badges of honour. I have a distant cousin - a woman - who went grey very early and she embraced it wholly. She looks gorgeous with a salt'n'peppa coif.

And scotch aside, the thought of sea salt and vinegar potato chips has my mouth watering as I type it. Is there anything that can beat a bag of Miss Vickie's? I assure you there is naught!

[Mr. Big Dubya]

I love when a conversation turns to Scotch.

I have to agree - the Laphroaig is a fine one. I also recommend an 18-year-old Macallan for special occasions (the 15-year-old is also very nice). I also recently shared some Aberlour A'bunadh with some friends and it was quite tasty - went well with the Cuban Montecristos we were smoking.