"It's a whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey I cry
If I don't get rye whiskey, well, I think I will die"
Driving across the Missouri River yesterday, I turned on the Sirius satellite radio to an old country station and heard Tex Ritter's song playing which, to me, wrung out all kinds of memories. I thought of the time beside a lake in Manitoba, the name of which I cannot recall, when on a fishing trip with a friend, we shared a campground with a bunch of party-time Canadians. There was plenty of firewater to go around that night, and we were doing all right until one of them brought out a bottle of rye whiskey. Always being one who likes to try new things, I immediately stepped up to the trough and morphed into a pig . Then I probably became the life of the party and surely must have had a good time. In contrast to the line of the above lyrics, I thought, after the fun was over, that I would die because I did get it.
That was the same trip, whether it was the night before or the night of I've forgotten, that we sacked out in our tent, and I awoke during the night thinking my friend sure snored loudly. Next morning we exited to find our campsite a shambles, a bear had come in the night and helped himself to anything edible plus a few other things.
Story-telling started at the party scene, and the theme turned to bad bears. About that time one of the women stepped into an outdoor toilet. Of course, with the fear of bears in the night now planted in her head, one of the men stealthily walked up behind the toilet and gave out a fearsome growl which caused the woman to scream and burst out of the flimsy structure. A chorus of laughter and teasing welcomed her.
So long ago! Sometime in the 1960's. With a hangover giving double vision and nursing the top of my head which had blown off, we headed for home the next day. I think my friend wanted to fish another day, but alcohol does bad things to a guy. I haven't had a drink of alcohol for about 22 years.
If I don't get rye whiskey, well, I think I will die"
Driving across the Missouri River yesterday, I turned on the Sirius satellite radio to an old country station and heard Tex Ritter's song playing which, to me, wrung out all kinds of memories. I thought of the time beside a lake in Manitoba, the name of which I cannot recall, when on a fishing trip with a friend, we shared a campground with a bunch of party-time Canadians. There was plenty of firewater to go around that night, and we were doing all right until one of them brought out a bottle of rye whiskey. Always being one who likes to try new things, I immediately stepped up to the trough and morphed into a pig . Then I probably became the life of the party and surely must have had a good time. In contrast to the line of the above lyrics, I thought, after the fun was over, that I would die because I did get it.
That was the same trip, whether it was the night before or the night of I've forgotten, that we sacked out in our tent, and I awoke during the night thinking my friend sure snored loudly. Next morning we exited to find our campsite a shambles, a bear had come in the night and helped himself to anything edible plus a few other things.
Story-telling started at the party scene, and the theme turned to bad bears. About that time one of the women stepped into an outdoor toilet. Of course, with the fear of bears in the night now planted in her head, one of the men stealthily walked up behind the toilet and gave out a fearsome growl which caused the woman to scream and burst out of the flimsy structure. A chorus of laughter and teasing welcomed her.
So long ago! Sometime in the 1960's. With a hangover giving double vision and nursing the top of my head which had blown off, we headed for home the next day. I think my friend wanted to fish another day, but alcohol does bad things to a guy. I haven't had a drink of alcohol for about 22 years.
