Got a bit drunk the night before my surgery.
Paperwork said not to drink.
I thought, if I don’t wake up,
and don’t visit my favorite pub and have
at least one Manhattan, what’s the point
of not having a damn drink.
So we went to the pub.
The next morning I told the anesthesiologist,
“I had a beer last night.”
“Yea? What time was that?”
“You’ll be fine.” He smiled.
“And by a beer I mean a few drinks.”
“Eh. You’ll be fine.”
And I was.
I don’t ask permission to live my life.
Cheers. To thine own self be true.
Easily among my favorite days. The book signing was an incredible success. Even though my hands were shaking while signing the first few.
Summarizes my priorities. Me looking at my family.
What a memory! I’m one lucky man.
I’m doing it! I’m hosting a book signing event at a brewery!
February 29th, at Element Brewing Company! Which borders the town I graduated High School from. One of my best friends urged me to host a book signing. I was embarrassed at the thought of it, but I’m doing it!
It’s been great vibes! The owners of the brewery are all for it, and the support from my home town has been incredible. Friends, family, and even people I don’t know are already signed up to attend. I wonder just how many people are going to flood the brewery and have a beer with us! Megan, and even Gavin will be there. My brothers, and parents…oh it’s on!
I wanted to share the fun with all of you, because, you’re invited too! lol I realize many of you are in different countries, but it’s the thought- having some of my digital writing buddies there would be great, even if just in spirit. This is going to be one fun party and I don’t want you to miss out.
Seriously though, if any of you are in the Massachusetts area, and want to connect, you are invited. Contact me for the details.
(Some of you may remember that I was invited to a book signing at a bookstore in New Hampshire. I did that. It was awkward. This one is a completely different animal and I can’t wait!)
The rain isn’t so gloomy with a beer.
I’m a stocky, hairy, Scots-Irish American.
I like books. Good books. Cigars, not always good ones,
and looking at walls. Not all walls have secrets, or are the same,
but most have something to say, if you listen, or see.
I guess walls are a bit like us. I like us. I cherish all
cultures. I want to know what makes a Scot a Scot, or
an Indian an Indian. I want to learn. I want to cheers
a Russian with a glass of mother’s vodka, and smoke a smoke
with an Iranian. If that’s something they like. I don’t know.
I don’t want to hide what makes us, us. I want to celebrate
these differences and decorate them as an alliance.
My wife took a few photos of me and made it a GIF.
This was just before we moved and I’m as out of shape
as I can be, but that’s OK. I’m vulnerable and comfortable
with looking not my best. I like things to be what they are,
facades never mean anything anyway.
ps, If you ever have a drink with me. Good luck lol
My last name is Taggart. And once was McTaggart. From what I understand
my heritage goes back to the highlands of Scotland. Hope to go there.
I like beer, so I drink it.
I love my wife, I kiss her.
I love my son, I tell him.
I like the sun, I dance in it.
Life is a thing, until it isn’t.
In 2013 I got drunk and wrote a short story concerning my cousin. Before 2013 I had ignored writing as though it was a waste of time.
The story is raw and at times tough to read. Descriptive in nature. The story is not fully edited and full of ridiculous errors I wouldn’t make now. However, it’s real. My wife, Megan, self published the book for me. I wrote the story hoping it would help my cousin. Though he loved the writing, I’m not sure that it helped in any way.
If you want to read a moving story about a man trying to handle his demons, loves dogs, but not himself enough, here –
I took the photo. Sugarloaf Mountain, South Dearfield, MA is on the right of the Connecticut river and Sunderland is on the left. This is where the story takes place.
This catapulted my mind back to where it belonged.
Sometimes for me
writing is a bit like fishing
When I finish a poem
I lean back
take a sip of beer
I lost my sense of smell and taste. This is the first time I’ve experienced this. I have a hellacious sinus infection. Instead of getting antibiotics, I’ve been drinking beer.
The problem is Tiger Woods. He’s the reason I started playing golf. I remember well the swelling crowds filled with gushing emotions and admiration as they followed him. I had never seen anything like it; his effortless swing and ability with confidence while wearing a brilliant smile. Tiger was just 21 when he won his first Masters tournament. And just a bit older than me.
I don’t want to miss anything Tiger does while on the course. His ability seems to be creeping back into his game, and mind. I can’t possibly go to the Doctor and be put on medication while Tiger is on the hunt. He’s only one shot back, and today is moving day. If I start to take medication, I won’t be able to drink beer. That’s not an option. For many years I was single and the Masters tournament was my occasion to kick of Spring. I would literally take off work just to grab a twelve pack and a lime to rush home and watch Tiger. Yes, I enjoy the Masters, but it’s Tiger I can’t miss.
While having lost my sense of smell and taste, I’m not willing to break my tradition. It’s time for the Masters. It’s time for a few Spring beers. No matter where you are in the world, I hope you have an absolutely kick ass day.
Thanks for hanging out with me!
I enjoy reading books at pubs.
I enjoy the atmosphere, the noise,
the celebration of life via
conversations over drinks.
I’m comfortable hearing the
constant commotion while filing
through the lines of whatever
book that is in my hand.
I love the smell of the different
foods being prepared in the kitchen,
and the visual of the steam following
the order to the table where it’ll
be enjoyed. I can squint my eyes
and barely see the words I’m reading,
or I can leave them wide open and
take in the moments my peripheral will
provide. Either way is fine with me,
though sometimes it depends on the book.
As though they demand somehow an
existential variation concerning a costume
they wish me to wear, and though I shake it
off, at times it drapes and I do don it for
a small while to satisfy their needs.