It’s Sunday night on Memorial Day weekend, and I’m reflecting (while trying to avoid my belly button) on my day. I think that my new eating and DRINKING habits have just made this particular American holiday null and void. Some would claim that Memorial Day is a day to honor our fallen soldiers. It is, and I will fly my flag tomorrow (I don’t even know if the official holiday is Sunday or Monday). But here in sunny Southern California Memorial Day is seen as the start of summer, w/ the attendant rituals of beach, grilled flesh, and beer.
I have adjusted to life w/o alcohol quite well so far. As I can have the occasional glass of red wine (it’s written in a book, so it’s OK!), I am not a complete teetotaler. My cabinet full of liquor has not been talking to me b/c I know I cannot have it. I even made a holiday cocktail (Marguerita on the rocks; we had two limes in the house, and the jar of simple syrup I had made was still sitting in the back of the fridge) for Brigitte. Ditto w/ the few bottles of beer that sit in the same cabinet: “That beer ain’t worth getting cancer.” All that is in that cabinet sits there peacefully waiting for someone else to drink them, w/o a thought from me.
But on Memorial Day when you’re at the beach w/ your best gal, your dog, the sun, the surf, and a thick layer of sunblock, you’re EXPECTED to be consuming a bit of fermented brew. It was my first Memorial Day Manqué.
I know I can get by. I just gotta get my mind right. Being Sunday night, we watched our $17/month TV show (Mad Men on HBO), and I know this feeling of mine is just some Madison Ave. creation. I’m bigger than it; I just have to free myself.
Next diet crisis: Thanksgiving.