the Distillery.
Bourbon is aging and you can't mistake the aroma.
"My as well stop at this one too," Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, says jerking the car off Bardstown Road for "The Kentucky Bourbon Distillery."
We're on our way to a Spiritual Retreat at the Gethsemane Monastery where the famous Monk Thomas Merton had lived.Gethsemane is a beautiful place but apparently Bill is no hurry to commune with the Holy Spirit opting for other Spirits.
Later in the Monastery Office we're giggling uncontrollably, falling all over one another and the Monk is delighted we are so happy to visit.
That's all I recall about that particular retreat.
"Ah good times," I tell Sarah. "Old stories."
I've got a lot of them.
She and I are creating new ones in Belize, Key West and on a boat when a naked, drunk Cowboy stole our towels and chairs.
My son Jeremy's in Kentucky visiting the same Distilleries Bill and I did all those years ago and that makes me happy.
Sarah and her girls are taking off for New York City today which is their old stomping grounds and they're excited and it makes me happy because it makes them happy.
I'm watching the home fort with Goddess, Winston The Little Gay Dog and Gypsy the formerly gender confused cat ... watching football today ... leading Bar Church tomorrow ... and working on work Monday ... and these things make me happy too!
I wish Sarah could have Scotty beam her back to bed with me every night while she's away.
And I do wish it was warmer.
Plus a winning Lottery ticket would make it all perfect.
But I suppose you can't everything.
I should just accept the happiness that I have now.
