Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2005 Simi Cabernet Sauvignon from Alexander Valley. A local wine store recommended the wine and I must agree that it’s a delicious balance of blackberry, cherry and plum flavors with hints of spice. It was only $23 dollars, so I must return to the 8th Street Wine Company in Boise for another bottle…or two. It’s what I do to support the local economy in these difficult times.
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Corrupting the Grandkid
My fabulous 16-month-old granddaughter comes to play with me at least one day a week. On a recent visit, I had to run some errands, so she agreed to come with me. That was mainly because I secured her in the car seat and she had no choice.I hauled her into the bank where all work stopped so the tellers could make goo-goo sounds at her. Then we went to the store and bought some disposable diapers. Her mommy wore cloth diapers and I must admit these disposable things are a lot more efficient.Then we stopped by Seasons Bistro because I had to finalize arrangements for a donation to the local charity gala. Well, of course they made me sample a tiny taste of wine that would be offered at the event. How could I refuse? So, there I was with a baby on my right hip and a glass of wine in my left hand. I felt so guilty, wondering if my daughter would walk in the door, scream at my derelict actions, grab the baby and rush her to a child therapist. Then the chef offered me a sample of some warm rhubarb-strawberry pie with ice cream. Oh, my! How I needed that pie!Only the purest organic food passes the lips of my gorgeous grandchild, but there I was sipping wine and spooning rhubarb and ice cream into her eager mouth. Such delight for both of us! It was so much better than all those fresh green beans and squash she eats! Grandma really know how to have a good time.I bundled her home and told her never to tell her mommy what we had done. After all, what happens with Grandma, stays with Grandma.
Today’s Cabernet
Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2002 Brunello Terra Rossa from Montalcino, Italy. Say “Super Tuscan” and Brunello and I’m immediately acting like the dog in those insipid “beggin” commercials. It’s a bit spendy at $46 a bottle, but every now and then you need a fabulous glass of wine to commemorate a real special occasion, such as going a day without chewing your fingernails or sneezing without wetting your pants.
Midlife Cabernet: When Public Breastfeeding is Expressed in Good Taste
I recently attended an elegant wedding at a seaside resort where the gift table and the guests were well-endowed. However, there was some engorged indignation at the reception as two perky women nursed their babies without discreetly covering the bobbing heads of the darling sucklings. One of the bridesmaids conveniently wore a strapless gown to easier facilitate the moveable feast.
Reaction to the public display of liberal lactation ranged from frothed and pumped up annoyance to flowing praise for the natural and healthy nourishment between the mother and child reunion. It sucks to be criticized for using a supply-on-demand device for its original purpose.
“Oh, my, I must warn Harold not to go over there,” a woman muttered to a group of older guests with permed hair, lace hankies, and sensible shoes. “I haven’t seen this many bare breasts since I watched a National Geographic documentary about African tribes.”
“In my day we discreetly fed our babies under a blanket, and my mother hired a nurse maid for her children,” snorted another lady. “Things were more civilized back then.”
They murmured, nodded their heads, and clucked their tongues. Meanwhile, Harold and his buddies were sneaking peeks around the corner and clutching their sunken chests as faint mammary memories dribbled into their thoughts.
The younger crowd seemed nonchalant and didn’t latch onto the uncomfortable tension that leaked into the room. They laughed the night away, draining jugs of wine until they acted like boobs. To insure that the event wasn’t a total bust, they danced through the spot so the hooters could hoot, the knockers could knock, and the stranded friends could wean themselves away from the dried up and sagging patrons. In a final tit-for-tat, the young adults pulled the older folks out of their bondage and onto the dance floor to lift and separate their drooping spirits.
By then, the contented babies were asleep and the milked mothers had a few hours to pad themselves and dance the Fandango until the cows came home. That way, they could have their wedding cake and eat it, too.
The best formula for enjoying a special occasion that involves young couples is to anticipate the appearance of at least one nursing mother. Offended people can choose to avert their attention to the drunken uncle or the pouting teenager or the Rod Stewart impersonator in the band. The public nursing only lasts a few minutes and the alternative is to hear a screaming baby and witness a swollen mother in pain.
I nursed my two babies each for a year, and it was a rewarding experience. I never walked around in public hooked up to the little buggers, but I don’t disapprove of those who do. There are far too many neglected babies who hunger for the affection and attachment of loving mothers.
After my children were grown, I cleaned out the house and found a little bottle of breast milk saved in the back of the basement freezer. My younger child was 18 years old and didn’t need it. I couldn’t throw it away so I lovingly placed the bottle into a velvet Crown Royal pouch and buried it under the rose bush in the back yard. I probably need counseling for that.
Today’s blog was fueled by a bottle of 2011 Barbera from Jacuzzi Family Vineyards in Mendocino County. I found this vibrant, complex red wine on a tasting tour after a wedding in San Francisco. It’s about $20 a bottle if you buy a case. Of course I did.
Free to Be Me – with Surgery
I loved Marlo Thomas in the 1960s TV show of That Girl. She appeared recently on the Today Show with a new edition of her bestselling 1972 children’s book titled Free to Be You and Me. I hardly recognized her. She’s 70 years old but her perfect face made her look like someone else. Only her deep voice gave her away. I’m all for physical improvements, but her book touts the theme of “accept how you look and who you are.” When I’m 70, my arms will be flapping in the breeze and my boobs will be dragging on the floor and the skin on my face will have enough spots to play dot-to-dot. But, I’ll be free to be me.
Midlife Cabernet: Redefining “Old Farts”
The good news: I lost a few pounds in a few hours. The bad news: a stranger inserted a camera at least a mile up my butt and then she charged me $1,500 for the privilege. The doctor said not to drink alcohol for 24 hours after the procedure, but I was swilling wine five minutes after I limped into the house, farting with every step.
Because I am over 50 years old and want to live long enough to irritate my great-grandchildren, I advocate regular exercise and preventive medicine. And for middle-aged women that includes having regular mammograms that smash your boobs between the jaws of death, pap smears from a cheerful young nurse who wants to chat while all you can see is her perky head, and now colonoscopies, a probing expedition in search of rear-end damage.
Here are the sobering facts: 1 in 19 people will be diagnosed with colon cancer in their life, and 1 in 45 will die from it. I have 626 friends on Facebook, so that means 13 will die from colon cancer. It’s curable if found early. Do I have your attention now?
The day before the procedure, you need to consume only clear liquids. Red wine is not included on this list. In the evening, swallow a gallon of thick liquid that tastes and looks like buffalo snot mixed with mouse droppings. Then you gather books, cell phone, and computer and retire to the bathroom where you’ll spend the night recreating the bathroom scene from the movie Dumb and Dumber.
This experience will test and/or strengthen your love life. Throughout the Evening of Gurgling Misery, Studley brought me popcycles and hid the wine openers. He offered amazing tidbits of information, such as did I know the average colon is between five and six feet long? Did I know the colon can store up to ten pounds of processed food per foot? After an hour of fascinating facts, I told him where to put his research.
On the Day of the Invasion, I needed a designated driver so Studley discreetly placed a waterproof pad in the passenger seat before he took me to the clinic. But we both knew I would jump out in the middle of congested traffic on State Street before I’d mess up his new pickup truck. And I promise to return the favor when it’s time for his procedure. Love works that way.
At the clinic, I was given a wonderful sedative and wheeled into “The Room.” I was joking with the doctor about getting a bull’s eye painted so it would be easier for her…and then suddenly I woke up in recovery. I was in a room full of cubicles with other post-op patients and everyone was passing gas. That’s because air is pumped inside the colon so the camera can be maneuvered on its incredible voyage of discovery and then the air needs to get back out. I couldn’t stop laughing at the Old Fart version of the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles.
Despite the inconvenience, I encourage all my friends over 50 to schedule colonoscopies. You won’t be photographed at your best angle, but I don’t want to stand up at your funeral and yell, “I told you so!” I need all the friends I can get, so please endure two days of humiliation in order to survive and grow old with me so we can shuffle together into the closest wine bar.
Today’s blog is fueled by a bottle of 2009 Carneros Estate Pinot Noir from the Mondavi Vineyards in Napa, California. I found it on a recent wine tasting tour and love the light and delicious taste. At $35 a bottle, it’s the perfect reward for enduring a colonoscopy.
