A Caution Too Far?

Color me a hypocrite.  But some cautions are just, pardon the expression, one toke over the line.

I was all in with the anti-smoking campaign, contributing to the push to have smoking banned indoors.  Chestnuts roasting on an open fire?  Pollution.  Wood-burning fireplaces?  Asphyxiate me now, please.  Burning leaves in autumn, oh, how I remember those days and the wonderful smell, that dissipated all over the neighborhood.  Burning leaves is now outlawed in so many places, along with the noxious burning of garbage, which I witnessed in my youth.

The caution against obesity, let me take note.  If I were to reach my goal weight, I would have to limit myself to 600 calories a day.  At 82, who’s looking?  Obesity drugs?  Wouldn’t that mean buying a whole new wardrobe?

Cancer and obesity, yes I’ve had my moment of guilt.  (I should perhaps state here that I’m not officially obese.  I’m what I would call “rounded,” and what used to be called “pleasantly plump.”  In other words, if I fall, which I don’t intend to do, I would be well-cushioned.)

Back to cancer.  I had endometrial cancer, and one of the contributing factors is allegedly obesity.  In other words, if you have cancer, you’re responsible for having caused it somehow so don’t blame the cancer cells.  However, I now know several people who’ve had the same cancer.  Guess what?  They’re thin.  We’ve all used talcum powder since—forever.  Who knew?  And if they did, why didn’t they warn us?

But back to the caution I’m talking about today.  Alcohol and the surgeon general’s warning that alcohol can cause cancer.  So, what to do about it.  Stop?

Historically speaking, anthropologically speaking, was there ever a time when alcohol didn’t play a part in human lives.  And animals.  Birds and fermented berries, need I say more?  But back to humans.  The earliest evidence of alcoholic use, so far, was 7000 BCE in China.  We can look to Sumer for the first recorded recipe for beer.  In other words, alcohol has always been with us.

Well, you point out, one can say the same thing about smoking.  Yes—but—I drink. I don’t smoke.  Nor does my drinking pollute someone else’s space.

When did this nasty habit take hold of my life, those involved in this new temperance movement might ask?  Let’s put aside sneaking into bars when I was sixteen and getting that thrill of illegally being served.  I never really discovered the joys of drinking until I was pregnant with my third child.  Aside from being what I lovingly call a man with no common sense whatsoever, he’s doing quite well.

Did I continue drinking throughout the years that followed.  Not regularly.  Mostly socially.  But I find now that I’m alone, I enjoy just sitting of an evening, meal on my lap, television going, and a glass of bourbon on the rocks within handy reach.  Am I willing to give this up for the sake of my health?  No.

A little bit of family history here.  I come from two disparate sides, the Pauls, who could drink anyone under the table and often did, and the Kushners, who didn’t drink, except for ceremonial occasions.  My father, the nondrinker, died of cancer at 79.  My mother, the uber-drinker, died of old age at 102.

I realize this proves absolutely nothing.  It doesn’t qualify as empirical evidence.  Believe me, I know alcohol causes more than just cancer.  Overindulgence can ruin lives in so many ways.  We’ve all seen it, and we’ve all heard it in the news.

But imagine a world without liquor.  Oh, wait. We did.  Prohibition.  How many family fortunes were established by Prohibition?  How many speak easies?  Bathtub gin?  Moonshine?  Then finally, giving the people what they wanted, there came the repealing of the 18th amendment by the 21th.

So we no longer have to imagine walking into a bar and wondering why the shelves are bare.  Or giving a toast with grape juice instead of Champagne. Or bringing that bottle of wine that no one drinks and has been passed around for years as a hostess gift.

I’m not pro-liquor.  I’m not anti-liquor.  Unlike smoking, proper use of a glass of wine doesn’t invade anyone else’s space.  For me, I just use it to relax and have an enjoyable moment at the end of the day.  Should I be denied this moment of zen?  Should I, pouring that brown liquid over ice, be made to feel guilty about this simple pleasure in life?   I’m thinking—not so much.