While I'm Here

As I sit here at Stone Brewing waiting for a flight, reading with intention, I’ve noticed something.

I thought this was a writing platform. I’ve had a hard time finding writing. Maybe that’s on me; I don’t have to consume what I don’t value. But in looking for it, I’ve found plenty of performance art disguised as moral outrage, moral outrage disguised as performance, mansplaining, womansplaining, cyberbullying, GPT-formatted slop, and a whole load of bullshit.

I didn’t think I was on any social media. Then, I remembered a friend once told me, “Everything is politics.” I guess my naivety won the battle, as I don’t do well with certain social constructs. In short, this place is noisy. So, what am I going to do with my attention while I’m here? Which, of course, made me think of something.

Freddie Johnson, along with his father, worked at Buffalo Trace a great many years. When Freddie’s dad rolled out the 6th millionth barrel of Buffalo Trace corn squeeze, Julian Van Winkle gifted Freddie a bottle of 20-year Pappy.

So, Freddie sat down with his father and brother and popped the cork. After Freddie poured everyone a dram, he went to put the cork back in, and his dad immediately asked him what he was doing. Freddie told him he was thinking he’d save the bottle for future toasts.

His dad told him he’d missed the point. Don’t ever save an old bottle of bourbon when you’re with family and friends. There will always be old and more bourbon.

It was the first time Freddie had ever sat down with his father and brother to drink some whiskey and tell stories. And they finished the bottle.

9 months later, Freddie’s father and brother were both gone.

It ain’t about the whiskey.