The first time a friend told me about their Drynuary a few years ago, my mind reeled.
Drynuary, as I soon learned, means spending the entire bleak stretch of January totally sober as a sort of counterweight to holiday overindulgences.
Madness. Only someone thoroughly insulated from several more months of relentless attacks by Alberta clippers and arctic air masses can afford to indulge in that sort of thinking.
But the real captain of this ship is John Ore, who has been my Drynuary coach for a few years now. He and his wife are on their eighth year—EIGHTH YEAR!!!—of this folly. John is also a fantastic cook and mixologist, both of which will factor heavily into what we'll bring you in the next few weeks. Because it turns out that when you give up The Drink entirely, you have to find other things with which to fill your time. It sorta blows! But it's also sorta great in that every new or different activity is a reward for our monthlong abstemious choice.
I don't really have an issue if people want to give up drinking for whatever reason during the year. I have a number of friends who have given it up for Lent, some on more than one occasion. Spare me the cutesy name though. And spare me the psuedo-drama:
"Look at me, I'm giving up drinking and it's so hard, but not in the icky alcoholic way that would mean I have a problem and by the way you don't have a problem, do you? like so-and-so who kinda seems like she has a problem and isn't it all so fabulous that we can sit around and talk about ourselves not drinking?"
Okay, that's a bit of paraphrasing on my part. It does make me think of George Thorogood and the Destroyers though:
If I had to drink with the Drynuary crowd I'd drink alone too.