Flash Memoir by Michael Field Sitting on a barstool by the fireplace looking out at the snowscape, I am savoring the velvety smoothness of my second O’Ascutney. It is St. Patrick’s Day weekend, and the bartender has spiked my favorite liquor, Bailey’s Irish Cream, with an additional shot of Irish Whiskey. I don’t feel it now but will when I stand up. As I unwind, I think back. My day, then my life, scrolls backwards as if a projector had been left on while the film rewound. My mother is in a nursing home, and I might have to abort this weekend’s outing to be at her bedside. Nursing home aides have a way of knowing when death is near. I didn’t carpool on this afternoon’s drive from Connecticut to Vermont so I could jump in the car should the dreaded call come. I don’t know how to ski but I signed up for Emily’s ‘Weekends To Go’ cross-country skiing trip because other outings with her turned out to be fun. Plus, my coworker, Harry, said he is coming with his girlfriend, Maggie. Al...