Prior to 2002, I’d never had a Red Stripe. I’m not even sure I can remember ever hearing of the beer. Now it’s my favorite, and in a funny sort of way, brings back memories.
My father was a Falstaff man. When I was a kid, I remember him having a Falstaff, in a glass, with a pretty good dose of salt added. I don’t know why he added the salt, but I remember the grains flowing out of our tall white Tupperware salt shaker to the bottom of the glass once the ‘Staff was poured. If Dad had a favorite beer, that had to be it.
When he died in ’02, my manager told me that I needed to get out of the office for a while and clear my head, so Becky kidnapped me to Jamaica for a week. It was the first time I’d been to the Caribbean, and I fell in love with Negril, the town that we called home for that week. The hotel (one of the Riu chain) had a stocked fridge, and inside was Red Stripe beer. I had one, and fell in love with it.
Now, every time I have one, I can’t help but think of dad. I’m pretty sure he’d never had a Red Stripe, but the two are irrevocably connected for me. When I went away to try to come to peace with his passing, I discovered a new flavor, and the two are forever joined at the hip for me.
So what’s this got to do with tonight’s image? Well, after a rough couple of weeks, I decided I needed some down-to-earth time. I pulled my last Stripe from the fridge here at home, and with my iPod cranking out some of my favorite country music, I realized I’d found my muse for tonight’s image. My slightly lighter Stripe sat upon the light table, but it just wasn’t enough for the image, so I decided to put one of the little lead English toy figures next to it, appearing to gaze up at this gargantuan bottle.
I think dad would’ve chuckled at this one.