Today’s dram: Laphroaig, 18-Year-Old
Today’s tasting notes: Strong, deep breath of the sea. Somewhere a fire is burning. Sit here and remember with me, the things we loved in days gone by.
Today’s thoughts: This one is a bit late, especially considering I had basically all day to get it done.
Well, not all day.
I had presents to wrap, shopping to finish, dishes to catch up, probably other tasks that are slipping my mind …
So, I slept in.
I thought I might just have a quick lunch and then get going, but Cat looked at me pitifully, so I sat on the couch and let her flop with me a bit.
Then she reminded me the remake western The Magnificent Seven just dropped for streaming rental today, and she really likes westerns and The Empress of Whisky (who does not) is away hiking, so …
Decent flick. It ain’t Seven Samurai, but then, what is?
Then an unusual thing happened, the sort of thing that I suppose happens a lot but I never notice because I am away at work — a crew came by to pressure-wash our building. The water made weird sounds out there, and the sounds made Cat anxious, so I stayed on the couch to console her, and I decided to read a bit …
Next thing I knew, The Empress of Whisky was home with dinner.
Not only had I accomplished nothing on my personal to-do list, I also had yet to even pick today’s whisky.
The topic, however, basically writes itself.
I have long had the great ability to put off ’til tomorrow what cannot be accomplished today.
“And what can be put off ’til tomorrow might just as easily be put off ’til day after tomorrow as well.”
I forget who said that, but I remember it was Douglas Adams who said, “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”
I love being on holiday when the only deadline I have is a self-imposed one to daily drink a dram and then write about it.
I realize how incredibly fortunate a position that is to be in. Moreso, I realize how, when I’m not on holiday I mostly work by a set of generous white-collar deadlines that would be the envy of most workers the world over.
So being unhappy that I cannot meet my own deadlines is an admittedly advantaged position in which to find myself.
Doesn’t make it any easier. But I do acknowledge it.
Today’s deeply morbid thought on tomorrow: A good friend of mine — the same who gave me the Laphroaig 18 — once said to me, as I was lamenting my lack of progress, feeling like I was spending too much time on trivial pursuits, “Someday this will all be dust and no one will be here to remember or care; so, in the long run, idle chit-chat is about as useful as anything short of building an empire.”
Today’s toast: To the reader: I’ll have something for you tomorrow. Probably.