Today marks the 13th anniversary of the passing of my father, Mark Shield. A typically solemn but reflective day, I've more pride than sorrow and today/tonight I pay homage to the cheeky wine and spirits journalist who departed way too soon for me to truly appreciate his irreverance, wit and accept-no-pompous-bullshit outlook.
"Wines are like buses: there's another good one along any minute, so why drink the same wine twice?"
The typist who drank (a nickname established by my brother Al), would've turned 65 this year and should he have taken better care of his health. He would've also become a grandfather. But like the t-shirt he was laid to rest in said, Shit Happens.
"If guts were printer's ink, you wouldn't have enough to make a full-stop. I Quit".
I'm fortunate for the term I did have with him and I'm perpetually reminded by my own short-fuse, fascination for the printed word and amongst many other things, propensity for a drink, that his legacy lives on within myself and the world around me. If I could have anything close to the impact he had in his time, I'd die proudly. But for now I'm going to have a quiet drink, listen to Miles Davis and treasure life's shortness and fragility.