I joined my husband at a cocktail party one night last week.  Our host greeted me warmly saying, "You must be very proud of him ... " And then smiling towards my husband " ... the man of the hour."  Words like those embarrass my husband.  I stepped closer to the host, briefly touching his shoulder, "Y'all have a wonderful team here." I smiled looking around ... looking for the place to sit ... two drinks my husband had said before and then we will go to this other engagement.  I was to do the drinking ... he was to drive.

While he was shaking hands around the small group, I found a spot for us where I thought he would be most comfortable and was barely situated when a server asked me for my drink request.  "I like martinis" I said, "but for tonight I'd like try something different ... maybe something I've never had before."   He shot back "How 'bout bourbon, Bud back." Cute. Excellent attempt ... unfortunately I'd heard it before and he, looking right at me, saw it on my face.  Quick as I can ... a smile, "Who says I didn't grow up on that?!" Around us everyone laughs, but the kid can see he stepped in something. "I think maybe vodka ... please tell the bar tender extra dirty."  I try to silently communicate to him that this won't adversely affect his tip. Vodka martini, slushy with ice crystals and golden brine ... very low voltage I discover on the first sip ... perfect for this little party.

Daddy and his brothers drank Budweiser, the king of beers ... and bourbon, when they were together, though my dad privately preferred scotch.  My memories of bourbon and Bud should be all good.  I don't drink it.  I don't drink beer and I don't drink bourbon (... though I have eaten more then my share of deliciously seductive bourbon infused confections at a "church" Christmas party of all places. The other women acted scandalized but I just made good on my words ... more for me).

Bourbon and Bud.  I rode to my brother's funeral with my dad's twin brother.  I was sitting in the back seat leaning forward with my head on his shoulder while he drove.  My aunt passed him a flask. It seems so strange now, but back then everything was different.   Back then, in rural Texas at least, it wasn't uncommon for a man to be sipping on a cold one while he drove, maybe discretely wrapped in a tiny brown paper sack ... or maybe fresh from the ice cooler he kept in the back of his truck.  My uncle had Bud on his breath, and possibly a beer in his hand, I don't remember.  He knocked back a shot of bourbon straight from the flask and offered it over the seat to me in one fluid motion, saying "Here, this will steady you."  I demurred.  I didn't think my momma needed to smell liquor on me on top of everything else that day.  And ... I didn't think a shot of anything would steady me.

Bourbon and Bud always reminds me of funerals.

On the drive to the next thing I told my husband about that old memory leaping out from where ever it has been stored.  I told him I only drink booze at happy times, not sad times and he said, "People handle things in all different ways."  Maybe I sounded judgmental.  That day ... and later if I thought about it ... I wouldn't have thought one way or the other about anyone else drinking.  What I am really trying to think about today is what my husband said, that people handle things in all different ways.
I'm trying to see how I have handle things and how I might handle things maybe a little bit more effectively.

 I think my main strategy is to ignore the stuff that I don't know how to handle.  I "park it" somewhere and maybe I think about it, or maybe I don't.  I think I see time as a modifier of messes ... and I think I see my most immediate responses to messes as bigger mess making.  I have learned that what I might say in response to a mess isn't necessarily productive.  I am a closet hothead ... highly flammable if I just let myself go ... so I don't,  rarely I do ... but always with regrets.  Silence isn't great either though because later it seems like it didn't bother me very much even though it really really really did.  I should figure that out.   That's what my kid was observing a few weeks ago ... Zen Master of Denial.  Not exactly.  Seems like it, but it's actually not that at all.  It's not denial, I just don't always know what to do about stuff.  No one does ... not all the time.  My Dad said you play the hand you're dealt.  Maybe I am just someone who needs time to look at my cards ... I've never liked table games.