Rita's Reflections: Indulging in fruits of the vine and 'bad stuff'

I'm not sure if it really helps white people dance like Brad Paisley sings in his song “Alcohol,” but alcohol sure makes some folks act like fools at times. On or off the dance floor.

Alcohol has health benefits in reasonable amounts. A beloved priest who served St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Ida for many years bought beer from my mom when she worked at Bruckner’s Market years ago. In between guiding his flock, Father enjoyed a refreshing beer while fishing.

Neither Larry nor I are big drinkers. If we have a beer or two, we often share. He likes a good rum and Coke. I have had a Bloody Mary or two. I used to have an occasional fuzzy navel, until my dad died. That night I drank peach schnapps straight from the bottle. I got what they call wasted.

My dad’s passing wasn't unexpected. He suffered with COPD — chronic obstructive pulmonary disease — for years. We just called it emphysema. Dad was a long-time smoker until quitting cold turkey after being diagnosed. He also worked in a factory that used chemicals that damaged his lungs. I never heard my dad complain about his condition; just like he never tooted his own horn about his military service.

Another time, I got too tipsy was after drinking some of my dad’s homemade apple wine, which tasted just like apple cider. I don't like wine. I do like cider. I had no idea it was packing a punch until it punched me. It was a wild experience. Music from AC/DC started spinning, the earth was shaking, my mind was racing, and that sweet-tasting wine shook me all night long. And not in an enjoyable way, if you get my drift.

Coming home from a wedding not long after we were married, I was the designated driver. Larry had not been drinking. He worked the night before and was sleep deprived. We had 1979 black Trans Am, with T-tops. I don't remember why I got pulled over. I do remember the police officer asking me if I was driving my daddy’s car. There was no infraction, therefore no ticket. I realize now, the unwarranted comment was sexist in nature. Because I doubt very much a male driver would have been asked if he was driving his mommy’s sporty Trans Am. Unless that's a pickup line I've never heard of.

I don't travel well by airplane and prefer to keep my feet closer to the ground than 40,000 feet in the air. Once when I flew out west for a wedding, I came down with a terrible cold. My nose was so red, I looked like Rudolph without the blinking. Thankfully, I looked worse than I felt. My Uncle Pete, who we lost in 2020, made the best Bloody Marys. Those worked like magic and opened nasal passages I didn't know I had. Veggies are healthy — I'll bet the celery stick did the trick.

After my confession that I smoke marijuana, one reader wrote saying I would not support the use of marijuana if I watched a love one struggle to breath from smoking cigarettes. Well, I have watched a loved one struggle to breath from smoking cigarettes. And I am used to that type of typical comparison. Ironically, marijuana opens my bronchial passages. And I breathe easier after smoking marijuana. Makes no sense. I get that. Nothing is perfect or completely safe.

Comparing marijuana to cigarettes is like comparing Coke to Diet Coke. Although they may be similar in nature, just like alcohol and marijuana, they have completely different effects on the body. Diet Coke is full of aspartame. Those who are aware of the dangers of aspartame call it sweet poison. For good reason. Aspartame was originally approved as a drug, not a food additive. I find that very interesting.

Rita Wyatt Zorn is a wife, mother, grandmother and lifetime Monroe County resident. She can be reached at 7.noniez@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Monroe News: Rita Wyatt Zorn: Indulging in fruits of the vine and 'bad stuff'