Hooch
We have some. It came from a friend who has a husband who makes homemade moonshine every year.
And let me tell you, it is splendid stuff. When T brought it home in its little mason jar, I was skeptical.
Hey, dudes. I sometimes am channel surfing and hit on those shows about people who make their own moonshine. I've listened to them talk. I am not sure that anyone should be drinking anything that they have their hand in making.
But, this was a reputable source. A friend with a husband with a hobby. I peered into the jar. The bottom was lined with cherries. They looked like maraschino cherries but T said that no, they were regular ones, just turned bright red from the hooch.
"Well, aren't you the savvy moonshiner," I teased her. "All this knowledge about hooch."
We both took a tentative sip.
Holy Mother of God, this was good stuff. I wanted another sip even though it was already burning a path of stinging fire into my belly.
Gimme some of that hooch.
I licked my lips. We agreed to take one more sip and then leave the rest to occasional sips and our once monthly offerings to the fae in our Hawthorne tree.
I often wake up in the middle of the night in pain. It's just part of my new life. It isn't terrible, just there. A deep aching in my bones. I generally move carefully to find a new position or if it is really uncomfortable, get up and walk around until the pain eases.
I woke up one night around 1 a.m. My shins were aching. My shoulders felt as if someone had beaten them. Some of it is rheumatoid arthritis. Most of it is from side effects from the chemo drugs that I am on. I have been spared the nausea and puking, except for the first few days after my shot. But, the bone and muscle pain is pretty remarkable. I tried moving....slowly, slowly, slowly to a new position. Flat on my back, legs spread out flat.
No relief.
I am very sorry to say that my mind drifted to um....okay...just spit it out.
My mind drifted to the mason jar of cherry red moonshine sitting on the shelf right next to the Mrs. Butterworth's syrup in the cupboard.
The Hooch.
Maybe just a swallow would be good. And...hey...it would be good to get up and move my legs. I quietly got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, turning on only the soft light above the sink.
Opened the cupboard. Pulled out the hooch.
And then the big bright kitchen light in the ceiling came on and there was T. And there was I.
Redhanded. Hooch jar in hand.
You would think that I had been snorting coke or something. I felt myself blush like I was 14 and she was my Mom.
"I was in some pain and thought a little nip might help," I stammered. Good hell, I even sounded like an alcoholic.
A little nip? What the hell kind of language was that?
T shook her head. Held out her hand.
"I think you should give me the hooch, honey."
Suddenly, the humor of the situation just got to us. We both started laughing. The moonshine was in the same cupboard with the Tullamore Dew and the Jack Daniels. I had never went to um....have a nip...of either of those. This was just...absurd.
I handed her the mason jar. She set it in its place, closed the cupboard door and we walked arm in arm back to bed.
So, the moonshine sits in our cupboard. I haven't been tempted to use it again, although...I am heartily looking forward to the next full moon...a blood moon, on January 21. We will pour a jigger of moonshine for our fae and allow ourselves a good long pull of hooch to celebrate the occasion.
A few days later, as we were having one of our meandering long conversations in the car, I told T that I thought I would be good at making moonshine. I liked the whole idea of it, I told her. And it would be a good hobby. Probably easier than making soap or lotion.
She gave me a long look.
"I think not," she finally said. "You should have seen your face that night in the kitchen. You wanted that hooch something fierce."
I had to sigh and agree. I have not indulged in it since then, but it does catch my eye sometimes when I am reaching for something else. I suspect that I would be good at drinking the stuff.
Or maybe just good at escaping. Sidestepping pain. No. I won't become a moonshine addict.
I will allow myself to be an infrequent nipper every month at the full moon.
The next day, I looked into yoga classes for old people.
And let me tell you, it is splendid stuff. When T brought it home in its little mason jar, I was skeptical.
Hey, dudes. I sometimes am channel surfing and hit on those shows about people who make their own moonshine. I've listened to them talk. I am not sure that anyone should be drinking anything that they have their hand in making.
But, this was a reputable source. A friend with a husband with a hobby. I peered into the jar. The bottom was lined with cherries. They looked like maraschino cherries but T said that no, they were regular ones, just turned bright red from the hooch.
"Well, aren't you the savvy moonshiner," I teased her. "All this knowledge about hooch."
We both took a tentative sip.
Holy Mother of God, this was good stuff. I wanted another sip even though it was already burning a path of stinging fire into my belly.
Gimme some of that hooch.
I licked my lips. We agreed to take one more sip and then leave the rest to occasional sips and our once monthly offerings to the fae in our Hawthorne tree.
I often wake up in the middle of the night in pain. It's just part of my new life. It isn't terrible, just there. A deep aching in my bones. I generally move carefully to find a new position or if it is really uncomfortable, get up and walk around until the pain eases.
I woke up one night around 1 a.m. My shins were aching. My shoulders felt as if someone had beaten them. Some of it is rheumatoid arthritis. Most of it is from side effects from the chemo drugs that I am on. I have been spared the nausea and puking, except for the first few days after my shot. But, the bone and muscle pain is pretty remarkable. I tried moving....slowly, slowly, slowly to a new position. Flat on my back, legs spread out flat.
No relief.
I am very sorry to say that my mind drifted to um....okay...just spit it out.
My mind drifted to the mason jar of cherry red moonshine sitting on the shelf right next to the Mrs. Butterworth's syrup in the cupboard.
The Hooch.
Maybe just a swallow would be good. And...hey...it would be good to get up and move my legs. I quietly got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, turning on only the soft light above the sink.
Opened the cupboard. Pulled out the hooch.
And then the big bright kitchen light in the ceiling came on and there was T. And there was I.
Redhanded. Hooch jar in hand.
You would think that I had been snorting coke or something. I felt myself blush like I was 14 and she was my Mom.
"I was in some pain and thought a little nip might help," I stammered. Good hell, I even sounded like an alcoholic.
A little nip? What the hell kind of language was that?
T shook her head. Held out her hand.
"I think you should give me the hooch, honey."
Suddenly, the humor of the situation just got to us. We both started laughing. The moonshine was in the same cupboard with the Tullamore Dew and the Jack Daniels. I had never went to um....have a nip...of either of those. This was just...absurd.
I handed her the mason jar. She set it in its place, closed the cupboard door and we walked arm in arm back to bed.
So, the moonshine sits in our cupboard. I haven't been tempted to use it again, although...I am heartily looking forward to the next full moon...a blood moon, on January 21. We will pour a jigger of moonshine for our fae and allow ourselves a good long pull of hooch to celebrate the occasion.
A few days later, as we were having one of our meandering long conversations in the car, I told T that I thought I would be good at making moonshine. I liked the whole idea of it, I told her. And it would be a good hobby. Probably easier than making soap or lotion.
She gave me a long look.
"I think not," she finally said. "You should have seen your face that night in the kitchen. You wanted that hooch something fierce."
I had to sigh and agree. I have not indulged in it since then, but it does catch my eye sometimes when I am reaching for something else. I suspect that I would be good at drinking the stuff.
Or maybe just good at escaping. Sidestepping pain. No. I won't become a moonshine addict.
I will allow myself to be an infrequent nipper every month at the full moon.
The next day, I looked into yoga classes for old people.
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