Drink! Don't Smoke!

These are the wise words from my mother this evening as she rubbed it in that she was just sitting down to enjoy a glass of wine.

My parents hail from the good ole days of highballs, smoking while you're pregnant and giving your kids sips of wine to help them sleep. (This is them 50 years ago)

As she sipped on her glass of chardonnay and I told her I was tempted to smoke, she yelled, "For god sakes Ingrid, drink! Don't smoke." I've done neither.

Old Dog, No Tricks
I started drinking when I was about 12. A suicide mix of everything from my parents cabinet that ended in what you'd expect--me holding back my braids, a retching sound and a trembling fear that my parents would find out. They did. I got grounded. And, as true punishment, to this day I still can't drink any colored liquors like scotch or bourbon. Since then I've gone from problem drinking to complete abstinence for about two years (hard to believe now) to mini-fasts like this.

I told Amanda today that it's the drinking I probably miss the most. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've known it for so long, relied on it for good times and bad, and loved the way it welcomed me rain or shine. Kind of like a dog. But I'm not really the dog owning type. So I guess come Feb 1 I'll be back to my old tricks. Like they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.