Day 223. Gone Drinkin’

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!  Hope you’re all doing well on this somewhat chilly St. Patrick’s Day.  Definitely need some long johns if you’re out there, waiting for the FD004819parade to pass you by.

Or, better yet, a wee flask.

(nudge, nudge).

Or maybe not so wee, after all.  Better still.

As I look at this photo of green beer, I’m reminded of a particular St. Patrick’s Day, from a long time ago.  I was still in Montreal, working at J. Walter Thompson which was, at the time, the largest ad agency in the world.  It was in the very early days of my career.  I worked on the Kraft account.  And, the President, at that time, was an Irish lad.

Well, somewhat older than a ‘lad’, but who cares.  Today, we’re all lads and lassies, regardless of age.

I’m honestly not sure if it’s still in their product line-up, but back then, they made horseradish.  And, on the 17th of March, we all arrived at the agency to find a jar of bright emerald green horseradish on our desks, courtesy of Kraft.  Who were

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Day 15. Bitter Taste

This seems to be my time to re-visit my past.  My brain is just bursting with memories.  Most wonderful, some not so great.  Just like life, itself.  So today I am thinking of a crazy friend I had, back in Montreal.  Sadly she passed away from cancer, a few years ago.

She smoked like a chimney (Gitanes, a brand of French cigarettes she got hooked on when she lived in Paris).  She used one of those filtered cigarette holders, thinking it somehow protected her from the evils, and perils, of smoking.  Considering she ended up with lung cancer that travelled to her kidneys, I’d say her thinking was flawed.  She also drank like a fish, but never got drunk.  Or obnoxious.  Her voice was husky, her laugh infectious; and she told one and all that her breasts (which she’d had enlarged way, way before it was fashionable) “were so beautiful they belonged on a mantle.”

I have enough stories about her to write a book.  She was just fun.  Gorgeous (a model).  And from an extremely wealthy family, although you would never have known it.  She was the wild one in the group.  Her name was Jayne — spelled with a “y”, as she would be quick to point out, the minute she was asked what her name was;   and I swear if you were to google Auntie Mame, it would be her picture you’d see.

And she loved radishes (ergo, my ‘bitter” reference).

They had to be whole, slathered with unsalted butter and dipped in salt before every bite.  She ate them by the bowlful.  Often after a very late night on the town (which was most nights).  And trust me, of all the strange and Continue reading