I wish I still had my teenage bladder, the only that would allow me to sleep until noon. Instead I have the 68-year old version that wakes me up every two hours. It feels like I’m going to explode each time, but then out comes a trickle. Sometime last night my rhyming mind made me think of George Dickel, the whisky that was the star of every pool party. I even had a dream that took me back to those party days when the greeting was usually, “did you bring your Dickel?” I have many stories related to “George,” as told in Post # 26. Although the less-known “George” might have been treated as substandard to popular  “Jack,” at that time because they didn’t advertise, we always felt that it was a hidden treasure. In recent years, it has become quite popular in the bars around Portland and on gift lists for men. It’s no surprise to me!

I’m not necessarily a whisky lover, but still have a George Dickel Tennessee Whisky No. 8 coaster on my office desk. It’s a symbol of the friendship that I shared back in the late 1980’s and it makes me smile every day by just looking at it. I can’t remember the last time I ever sipped some Dickel, but then again it’s been years since I’ve gotten together with this group that was part of my advertising career. Most of them are back in Indiana where we worked and played softball together. We’re in touch, but it’s difficult to “Dickel” over the phone. We probably should have buried a bottle to be enjoyed by the last man standing. I remember my dad telling me that he had a similar arrangement with his “Dirty Six,” but I’m certain it wasn’t a bottle of George Dickel. 

I woke up this morning with memories of Dickel on my mind, as I continue to fight a nasty cold. A hot toddy might be just the thing I need on a gray, rainy day. It would have to be a Dickel Toddy or Hot Dickel, if I had the naming rights. I’ve also got a bottle of Vitamin C Gummies at my side, as my nose continues to steadily drip. I will hopefully get some natural sunshine relief next week in Florida. In the meantime, I continue to make four or five trips to the bathroom each night thanks to my aging, sensitive bladder. Each time I get up in frustration, there’s sadly only a trickle from my Dickel.