aberlour 18, balvenie, balvenie peated cask, dalmore cigar malt, doublewood, glengoyne 15, glengoyne 21, glenmorangie 18, glenmorangie signet, macallan rare cask, review, scotch, thoma, tomintoul 12, toremore 12, vintage cask 1966, Whiskey, whisky
This past summer, in order to make some room in our basement, I was forced to part with several boxes containing a glorious collection — my empty whisky bottles.
I did all that I could to save them. I pleaded that they were valuable. I argued that we had more than enough room in the basement to preserve them. I offered to display them atop shelves and kitchen cabinets. I fell to my knees and wept that I could use them to make something — like a lamp with several outcroppings ending with one of the bottles and a bulb inside. I urged with great sadness that we could not, we should not, we ought not send them away to such shame.
In a single afternoon, 148 bottles went to the curb only to feed the green dragon on wheels, that is, the garbage truck. And while the tears flowed and the family stood in the driveway, draped in black, with kerchiefs in hand and waving the dear friends onto the next world, I knew that a remnant of their time among us remained and was very much a part of our lives. These vessels would never be forgotten.
The following is a photo record, of sorts, that you would see and know and love as we have seen and known and loved. It is by no means complete, only catechetical.