[lit-ideas] Re: Question

  • From: Walter Okshevsky <wokshevs@xxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Tue, 25 Dec 2018 13:14:36 -0330

Somebody gifts you a bottle of Laphroiag in appreciation of your beneficent efforts? What would they have given you had you caused them hurt or harm? But then, they may love the smell of diesel oil, old bandaids, rotting seaweed, (all official notes in the Michael Jackson Bible - not THAT Michael Jackson) and the taste of OMSW* chicken wings.

Cheers (in esteriness), Walter

* "Oh my sweet Jesus": a Newfoundland expression for a VERY high level of culinary or libationary spiciness.

P.S. Yes, there is no violence in the NHL. Ungentlemanly conduct is itself severely punished: usually a 2 or 5 minute penalty for the offending player. The sentence is served on a bench in a transparent box open to view by the fans in attendance and those around the world watching the game on tv or internet. The prospect of such utter humiliation keeps the players honest and the game at a high level of aesthetic skill.



On 2018-12-24 21:35, david ritchie wrote:

The football game in Madrid was won by one team and some manager was
fired as a result.  All this was duly reported, but no follow-up story
on the money and cures for all that ails.

 I was thinking of Walter yesterday evening.    Years ago I reported
that I had found an old bottle of single malt in my father’s attic and
that I proposed to drink it with friends.  I recall Walter reminding
me how valuable the bottle might be.  I thought my solution was fine
and, miracle of miracles, I still have some left for when you all pop
over. ( Obviously I don’t have a sufficiency of chums or special
occasions.)  But the reason I was thinking these thoughts was not
simply recalling that bottle;  we opened a different bottle, Laphroiag
quarter cask, a bottle that had been given to me when I helped someone
out of a jam.  As I tried to pull the stopper I thought, “I wonder how
long ago that was?”  When the cork crumbled to nothing I added, “Maybe
it’s been a while.”  I am the absolute worst historian of my own life.

Merry Cod, Pasta, Bread Season to you all. Also all the other holidays.

Good wishes to Walter and Robert, and to the horde of old timers who
usually remain quiet.  Also a toast to Geary, Straker and other Absent
Friends.

David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon

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