That damn bottle of scotch was my last concrete tie to the person that passed it along, and I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go. I would have dumped it a long ago, but I’m not one to waste alcohol, lest I be suspended in it when I die.

It seems to be the time of year for looking back and letting go — it must be in the stars. One of the dearest people I ever had the honor to know, Chris Trauger, was killed in a head-on collision 6 years ago last week. He was only 27. Chris was one of those people who changed your life in a heartbeat, even though you didn’t know it. It’s taken me a long time to get here, but Chris’ tragic death and his stupid-ass grin are inspirations to me as I work towards a simpler life. Happiness is what really matters, and life’s too short to live otherwise. Thanks, Chris.

My Grammy also left this earth at far too young an age.   I came into the rest of my inheritance last Saturday, and while it amounts to nothing more than a nicotine-stained rocker and a box of corroded costume jewelry, I am reminded of all of the things I learned from her.  She was feisty, bawdy, smart, and opinionated.  She could soothe my grandfather’s temper and hand me a fudgesicle all in one breath.  She walked away from the deli counter to answer my aunt’s questions about lard, and she is single-handledly responsible for my love of cheese.  I may not have appreciated it during her lifetime (I was only 15 when she died), but she had a major impact on the way I see life.  Sometimes, it’s not worth the anger; sometimes, it really is as simple as an iron in the refrigerator.

To all of those we’ve lost to death or other means, to all of those that have shaped our lives, I dedicate this new bottle of Glenfidditch.

Smash.