Open Container?

Growing up in Minnesota, we were told that you couldn’t have an open container of alcohol in a vehicle on the road, unless, of course, it was stowed away in the trunk. 
 
This ordinance (which is also in place in North Dakota, where I now reside) has never had ramifications in my life until just recently.
 
On Saturday, we traveled down to our provincial house, some two hours south, for a community meeting.  I so look forward to these day trips, which provide not only the chance to get away but also the opportunity to visit with our other Sisters. 
 
This time. I decided, with some encouragement from Sr. Rebecca, to bring my bottle down to show the other Sisters.  I don’t know what I should call it, vodka or vanilla. 
 
About a year ago, Sister Rebecca confiscated a bottle of vodka from one of our apartments, where tenants where getting into trouble.  My response was an excited ejaculation: “I can make vanilla!!” 
 
For some time, I had been hearing about how a person can make vanilla by adding vanilla beans to liquor.  This was the perfect opportunity to try it.
 
I didn’t have vanilla beans, and we weren’t going out shopping too much (Spring of 2020), so the bottle of booze sat untouched until I could get a hold of the needed vanilla beans. 
 
Then came the second week in June…My mom was passing through and spent the night with us on my birthday.  Previously, I had mentioned to her about the bottle of vodka and my intentions. 
 
For a birthday present, she brought me a package of vanilla beans.  We opened them and prepared them for insertion into the confiscated bottle. 
 
Ever since then, periodically, I’ve been taking it out of its place in the cabinet and swishing it around a bit to circulate the liquid. 
 
It is getting darker and smelling more and more like vanilla. 
 
It’s taken longer than I anticipated for it to process, but I’m guessing that this is probably because people in subsidized housing don’t buy the real expensive liquor.  Their check only would go far enough to cover cheap products.
 
Remembering the above ordinance from my childhood, I carefully stowed the precious bottle in a box, surrounded by rugs in the trunk of our car.  It made it safely down and back, without any trouble from the police.

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