on getting lost

or missing out

Every Sunday after dinner at my Nanny and Granddad’s house we would transfer from the kitchen back to the living room.

My mom would help my Nanny with the dishes.

And my Granddad?

He’d finish his whiskey.

Which whiskey?

Maybe it was his first.

Not likely though.

As a kid?

I loved the smell of Crown on the rocks.

He was a whiskey man - a rye drinker.

Before long, whilst sitting in his chair, he’d pass out.

I figured that’s what being an old man was all about - passing out on a Sunday evening surrounded by family.

Invariably he’d snore.

As he snored?

I’d tickle his feet.

He’d wake with grunts and a start and a big scowl on his face.

Once he saw who was playing with his feet, that scowl would melt.

Some suggest that kids do stuff like this to bring their elders back to sobriety - that we missed him somehow.

That wasn’t the case.

Tickling passed out Granddad’s toes was the entire point of the game.

But meow?

Thirty five years after his passing?

We’ve missed him a long time meow.

They say alcohol is a big part …