25 years old, 48%, @angels_portion, angelsportion, christmas, glengoyne, let it snow, lutheran, review, scotch, thoma, tornado, Whiskey, whisky
Oh, the weather outside is… a balmy 61 degrees and windy.
But the fire is… only happening because my recycle bin is overflowing with Amazon boxes and I haven’t the patience to break them all down and bind them, so they’re going straight into the fire pit. Done.
And since we’ve no place to go… well, actually, I won’t be sitting around anywhere. I’m a pastor. It’s Christmas Eve. Much – very much – is happening.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow… No! Just one “let it snow” will do. The other two can feel free to carry north into Canada. Three “let it snows” is a call for the evening travels of God’s people making their way to church to be treacherous.
It doesn’t show signs… that we’ll even get one “let it snow.” That’s good news.
And I’ve bought some corn for… icing my back. It’s been sore lately because of the stranger weather, and a bag of frozen corn works well as an ice pack.
The lights are turned… on in every single room of the house while the kids polish their rooms and do a general cleanup in anticipation of Santa. It’s sort of a last ditch effort to use the fast-fleeting fable in my favor. Get to work, guys. Santa’s watching.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow… Yeah, about that. I heard that a tornado touched down in a nearby city.
When we finally kiss goodnight… it will be about 1:30 a.m. because that’s when I’ll get home from the late service.
How I’ll hate going out in the… Florida-like weather. But I don’t hate it. I like it. I like Florida. I want every Christmas to be like this.
But if you really hold… “on loosely, but don’t let go. If you cling too tightly, you’re gonna lose control.” Sorry about that. Weird how a song from the 80s can land on you in the middle of a serious conversation. Weird.
All the way home I’ll be… thinking about my Christmas Eve tradition of sipping a most exceptional dram. Tonight it is the Glengoyne 25-year-old.
As you can see from the initial photo, I’ve already given it a go. Wonderful. Just wonderful. And I’ll be back at its stoop first thing tonight – or should I say tomorrow morning at 1:30 a.m.
The nose of this whisky is a genteel tide of caramel-filled Lindor chocolates, a pinch of almond dust, and a drop of sherry sediment.
The palate is both sweet and spicy. The oak is there – warm, with an allspice berry coating. But soon thereafter, a sweeter nutmeg rolls in with a candied sherry fruitiness in its wake.
Now, before judging the finish, go back and reconsider the nose and palate once more. Pay close attention. I think you’ll find that both are preserved in and through to what is a medium to long coating in the conclusion.
Indeed, twenty-five years is a long time to wait for perfection’s discovery. I suppose that in the moment, the only analogy of equal comparison that comes to mind would be that of my marriage. It was nearly the same measure of time between my birth and the discovered perfection known to me as my darling Jennifer. And of course, when the discovery was made, I didn’t hesitate. I thanked the Lord for the gift, I savored it, and made it my own.
The Glengoyne 25-year-old edition is of lesser grandeur than my marriage, to be sure, but it certainly stirs one to a sentience that, if it is at all within your power to take it, to keep it, to make it your own, then do it. Its splendor and delight far outweigh any bout of pinch and pain in the pocketbook.