It Started out to be a Great Day

The sun was shining brightly after a week of rain. I only had three loads of laundry instead of five. The chicken I took out for dinner didn’t have freezer burn. My jeans zipped up without me having to lie down to do it. It was going to be a great day.

After my Saturday morning chores, I went to a wine festival with my girlfriend. The kid at the gate carded me. After he unwrapped himself from my grateful hugs, he informed me over my girlish giggles that he was told to card anyone that looked under 80. Kids young enough to be my children should not be allowed at a wine festival.

I was determined to enjoy the day. I walked over to the first display, started down the steps and fell right on my behind. Holding back tears, I gratefully accepted the hand of a stranger. “I haven’t even had any wine yet!” I told him as I tried to find my girlfriend in the crowd of onlookers. He just started shaking his head and laughing. As he walked away I heard him say to his wife, “It’s sad when they try to deny the problem, isn’t it?” She just clucked her tongue and walked over to grab another glass of Chardonnay. I sat to wait for my girlfriend, who had donned a pair of dark glasses and pretended she didn’t see me. Once she saw my face, however, she felt guilty and brought me a taste of Merlot.
“Here”, she said. “I don’t think you need to have anymore than this – it seems you may already be over your limit”. At least she didn’t cluck her tongue as she drank her Chardonnay.

Later that night, I examined the newly spreading bruise on my behind. It really did look neat. I mean, it’s the neatest bruise that I've ever seen. Purple and blue and green. It even has a lovely, white, lacy pattern to it. I've never seen anything like it. I was so proud. I showed my husband. He said, "Hmmm - isn't it interesting that stretch marks don't bruise?"

So much for the great day.

Life is a Cabernet, Ol' Chum...

In a perfect world, my daily dinner would be bread, wine and cheese. What a well balanced meal, right? OK, throw in a few pieces of oh, lettuce, to make it food pyramid-worthy.

So, for some reason, my friends think that I may be obsessed with these perfect foods. A lot. I mean just because I have a bumper sticker that says “life is gouda”, or an apron that says “life is bleu-tiful” doesn’t mean I would go through withdrawals if I couldn’t eat it – as far as I know. Even though my beach towel shows a picture of three bottles of wine and says “group therapy” doesn’t mean I actually need the therapy does it?

When asked if man could live on bread alone, I would venture to say “heck yes!” But only if it’s served with olive oil, cheese, and – oh yes, vino.
Bread is the food of the gods. Especially San Francisco sour dough. And rosemary Focccia with sea salt. Let’s not forget warm salted rye and French bread with roasted garlic.

See what I mean? How could one not love a life of bread? Along with a little Gorgonzola. And Zinfandel. And maybe a few apples and red grapes.

I have a flag that I bought on a trip that my husband refuses to hang outside our home. It says “Wine a bit – you’ll feel better.” Well, yeah! It works! He doesn’t think it’s funny. Or maybe it’s the wine tote I have that says “Will trade husband for wine.” No sense of humor.

A loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, a bottle of wine and thou. Isn’t that how the famous saying goes? Life is too short to not enjoy your favorite things. Julie Andrews has her “raindrops on roses and whispers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.” My song goes more like this: “Swiss cheese on rye bread and brie that is gooey, bright chardonnay wine and French bread that’s chewy…”. Well you get the picture. So I fully to intend to embrace my love for all things Mediterranean. After all, “Life IS a Cabernet, old chum”.