PanningForGold

Every year my wife and I manage the ritual of forcing ourselves to stay awake till midnight on New Year’s Eve.  Every year the countdown starts and I find myself rushing to the kitchen uncorking the wine splashing some into each glass and sitting back down on the couch beside my wife we both call out in our in our half asleep voices in unison with Dick Clark 4…3…2…1!  Happy New Year!  We sip our wine give each other a kiss tell each other we love each other and then we haul our tired, lazy asses off to bed as the neighbours irritatingly set of fireworks.

In the morning we dump the remaining wine from our glasses down the sink and for the next 8 months we shuffle the half corked wine bottle around the fridge in an effort to make space until somebody bites the bullet and dumps the remains.

We both enjoy a drink.  We both enjoy wine; wine is for special events or company and considering how little company we get, company itself is a special event.  Yet special events come and go and there the bottle sits.

Beer never goes to waste and there is never a partially opened bottle to shuffle around. Liquor never goes to waste.  Liquor lasts forever and stays in the pantry rather than taking up much needed room in the fridge.  I have no problem adding a splash or two of Captain Jack’s spiced rum to my soda.  Being the owner of a Jimmy ‘Buffet Margarita Maker’ we always have different flavours of rum and vodka in the house along Tequila, Triple Sec and various bourbons and of course you never know when you will need a shot of whiskey.

This year we decided to do things a little differently.  We were not going to open another bottle of wine.  And we were not going to force ourselves to stay awake till midnight.  We would go to bed at our usual time 10pm, if not earlier.

December 31 we found ourselves running errands and decided to see what we could find in the alcohol store.  We are not connoisseurs by any stretch of the imagination.  We look for the coolest looking bottles we could possibly afford.  Speaking of which, I don’t know how people can afford to be alcoholics.  A bottle of cheap common vodka is eight dollars, want a little better? The price jumps to twelve dollars and up, and up!  Even Nyquil is a fortune these days, but I digress.

My wife shows me a bottle of something called Irish Mist.  We like Irish, my wife has some Irish blood and a friend in Vancouver is of Irish descent and she is cool.  The back of the bottle describes the liquor as a distinctly Irish smoked and honey flavor.   The little tag has some directions for drinking, (I suppose that is for idiots like myself how can’t figure out how to drink) you can either add a shot to cola (cola=pop or soda depending on where you come from) with a twist of lime, or pour over ice and then drain into a shot glass.  I was thrilled, usually when they give you additional recipes you have to spend another three hundred dollars on the spirits.

We finally made it home and it was time to attend to Irish Mist. I got two short glasses placed an ice cube in each and added a shot of Mist.  We sat down on the recliners and I had my first sip.  I closed my eyes as the honeyed liquid velvet slowly whispered its way into my soul. My second swallow finished the shot. I looked over at my wife, she was already sucking on the ice cube and holding her glass.  In her best Oliver Twist mimicry said: “More Sir, please more”

Two more ice cubes, two three more shots.  My wife the tequila drinker tells me she is feeling tipsy but perhaps just one more shot.  Plink, plink two more ice cubes.

Some habits are harder to break than others.  Long past our bedtime, the dog is snoring on the couch and suddenly the countdown has started and once again I’m in the kitchen two more ice cubes three more shots I manage to sit down as Dick Clark takes over from Ryan Seacrest and slurs out the last 10 seconds (really Dick, you’ve done a great job, we all love you, but perhaps it is time to retire).  Four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!  We kiss each other, kiss the dog.  The neigbours set off the fireworks but for some reason they are not so irritating this time around.  We drift off into a peaceful slumber with Irish fairies dancing in our heads.  

And so a new tradition is born!