Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2004 Trinitas Zinfandel from Bigalow Vineyard in Sonoma, California. It’s a gamble to dabble outside of my Cabernet Comfort Zone, but this wine is darn tasty and it’s only $28 a bottle. The wine offers hints of raspberry and chocolate (a great combination) but it’s not too sweet.
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Midlife Cabernet – Toenails on the Tablecloth
I often experience profound humiliation with a daunting magnitude that would send most people screaming into the forest, never to return. After all these years, I accept the fact that I probably will trip and fall in a busy crosswalk, fart during a massage, drop my passport into a foreign toilet, or sprout broccoli in my teeth while giving a motivational speech. However, I still cringe at the memory of a recent embarrassment.
Due to stress, deadlines, and too much caffeine, I had attacked my fingernails like a crazed wolverine, leaving bloody stumps that were too painful to use even to shampoo my hair. Of course, this was on a day when I had a Very Important Meeting with some Very Important People at a Very Private Club in Boise. Not even my best St. Johns knit suit could hide my tortured hands. It was time to leave, so I frantically pawed through my drawers looking for some fake nails to glue onto my fingers but only found some press-on toenails. The instructions on the box guaranteed that I didn’t need glue because the adhesive would last for a week! I slapped those gleaming toenails onto the ends of my ravaged fingers, picked up my briefcase and dashed to the meeting, feeling smug that I had successfully survived yet another personal crisis.
At the Very Private Club, I was escorted to the premium table and introduced to a sophisticated woman who looked like a model in a Ralph Lauren ad and a man who appeared to possess all the knowledge of the universe. As she shook my right hand, the toenail on my right thumb suddenly popped off and landed on the white linen tablecloth. I mumbled something about “that darned broken nail” and plucked it from the table. After exchanging professional pleasantries, we ordered Herb-infused Tomato Bisque. As I took a sip, the toenail on the left hand snapped off and plopped into the soup. I tried to push it down with my spoon, but it kept bobbing up as if pleading to be rescued. Apparently, toes are wider and flatter than fingernails, and these things wouldn’t last the hour let alone a week. I resisted the temptation to say, “Waiter, there is a toenail in my soup.”
My table companions cleared their throats and started their conversation about how I should diversify my investment portfolio to take advantage of opportunities in emerging markets. As they talked, I held my hands in my lap, working quickly to pry off the remaining nails so they wouldn’t sporadically shoot from my hand and put out someone’s eye. Two of the stubborn nails validated the claim on the box and wouldn’t release until I ripped them off and the wounded fingers started to bleed again. I discretely wrapped the linen napkin around my hand until it looked like one of those bandaged fists from a war movie. By the time the elegant woman was displaying a chart of recommended international equity funds, I was sitting in a pile of discarded toenails, applying white-linen pressure to my hemorrhaging fingertips, and pretending everything was OK.
I want the dignified waiter at The Arid Club to know that I really regret leaving that mess. But, maybe he overheard some good hints about investing and will remove my name from the list of “Guests to Never Allow Back Inside.”
To ease my discomfort, I later settled my nerves with an extremely large glass of Coppola Cabernet. It’s about $35 a bottle and goes down nicely, with or without fingernails.
Midlife Cabernet: Your an Idiot
I often need a good smack across the head to remind me to restrict all public commentary on social media to my favorite topics: writing, wine, and wit. The slightest endeavor into random remarks about politics or religion can cause an exchange of retorts from strangers and casual acquaintances that ends with their inevitable written proclamation: “Your an idiot!” This illiterate insult is wrong in so many ways.
In this brave new world of political correctness, don’t be naïve in assuming you are entitled to your own feisty opinions. Not when there are Social Media Nazis, bored loners, and potential clients around every laptop. Here are five ways to avoid the temptation to type, text, or tweet spontaneous comments you could regret:
1. During political election season, wrap duct tape and electric barbed wire around your fingers so you won’t comment on the obscene orgy of political crap swirling around social media. Be prepared to take the ultimate extreme measure of unplugging your computer. Some hyperventilating and drooling may occur.
2. During religious holidays, be true to your own spiritual beliefs but don’t call others demented spawns of the devil if they prefer to worship the moon or the ocean or Krispy Kreme.
3. If an anonymous person criticizes you on the Internet, don’t spend a week tracing his or her entire online history to create a retaliatory manifesto. That only means the terrorists have won.
4. Go ahead and write a clever and caustic quip, save it to savor the next day, and then delete it.
5. Remember that everything you publish on the Internet will remain there for your great-grandchildren to find and then publish in a tell-all book that will be turned into a horror movie. Then people will pay money to visit and spit upon your grave. Don’t be that person.
This week I was sucked into two exchanges on Facebook that I should have avoided. I knew before I hit send that I shouldn’t respond but I couldn’t help myself. All I wanted in return was a simple, “Interesting point of view.” But, no. My comments made me a corrupt capitalist responsible for the damnation of society. And this was from people I’d never met.
To be fair (and balanced), I enjoy a good debate and am guilty of provoking a compelling argument. I regularly banter about politics on Facebook with a guy named Eric. I’ve never met him, but we’re not vicious. Sometimes I add a happy face emoticon just to say “It’s okay. Let’s not kill each other today.” And, he appears to have a commanding knowledge of basic grammar.
Anonymity on the Internet makes it easier to snarl in seclusion and condemn others with wild abandon. I’m waiting for global inspiration that will instill a passion for unity, issue a clarion call for respect and cooperation among all peoples, and demand an end to illiterate insults. Yes, I’m yearning for that glorious day when people come together to sing in the village square and know the difference between your and you’re. These expectations are perhaps too grandiose to accomplish, but, after all, we are entering the blessed season of miracles.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2010 “O” Fidélitas red wine from Yakima Valley. This smooth, tasty wine is a delightful blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Cabernet Franc. It’s about $35 a bottle and is guaranteed to promote feelings of cheer and good will toward all God’s creatures.
Midlife Cabernet – The Bittersweet Splendor of Spring
Late for a meeting, I quickly drove down the driveway and then saw a vision so breathtaking that I stopped the car and stared. A spotlight of sunshine had emerged from a cluster of pastel clouds resting over the eastern mountains to shine directly onto a flowering plum tree in the front yard. As if on stage following a grand performance, the tree displayed its branches, radiant in the morning mist and completely covered with a crown of pure white flowers. I applauded with gratitude. And, for the first time this Spring I noticed the vibrant azaleas were waving tender new fuchsia blossoms in a tribute to a quote by Robin Williams: Spring is nature’s way of saying, “Let’s Party!”
Spring is my favorite season, and I’m grateful to experience another one. At my age, I’ve seen more than I’ll see again, unless I live to be 120 and that’s not likely no matter how often I floss. Springtime at midlife is bittersweet because the world is abundant with rebirth and new growth but it also brings new aches and pains with each rain shower. And, the only new growth I have is the sporadic eruption of more black hairs on my chin.
Recent rains have washed away the new blossoms on the trees, a reminder that the beauty of youth fades quickly. The gorgeous tree in the front yard also is nature’s way of telling me that while I’m dashing around with my overloaded calendar, I’m missing the splendor that I have right here at home. That morning after I saw the sunlit tree, I cancelled my meeting, got another cup of coffee, and sat on the patio to be serenaded by happy songbirds. Knowing that the world still turns without my involvement is good therapy. Thanks, Spring.
Today’s blog was inspired by a 2008 Dunham Trutina from Columbia Valley. Yes, this wine sponsored last week’s blog, too, but it’s that good. Available at A New Vintage Wine Shop for about $28.
Midlife Cabernet – Hey Punk, Who are You Calling Elderly?
This week I read a news article so irritating that I choked on my Metamucil. The offending story referred to a couple in their sixties as “elderly,” obviously indicating that once you pass 50 you might as well give away the good silver and plan your farewell hike into the forest to sit under a tree and wait for death and/or to be eaten by a bear with a taste for well-aged meat. We old folks should do this to save the younger generation from the pathetic chore of dealing with our old and sorry butts.
I’d like to inform the naive writer that 50 is the new 25, so that makes 60 the new 30. As I’ve written before, it’s a great time to be alive. I don’t need to sunbathe anymore because my age spots just merge together into one darker color on my skin. I can wear white pants without worrying that my period will start early. I’m truly grateful for any construction worker who whistles at me. I’m delighted when I wake up another morning and can focus at least one eye. And, I don’t have to volunteer for PTO carnivals and act delighted when my kids bring home $10 worth of junk. (Hint to school fundraisers: skip the carnival and ask parents to send a check. Better yet, vote in some productive politicians who will take the money wasted on wars and invest it in education. But, I digress. Should this sentence still be in parentheses?)
I truly love being my age. I just coauthored a book (gratuitous plug for Drinking with Dead Women Writers.) I have friends of all ages who still like to laugh with me over a glass or two of wine. I’m bursting with pride about my fabulous children and grandchildren. I can still exercise several days a week to justify my cravings for anything chocolate or wine-related. And, every morning Studley brings me coffee, the paper, and gives me a kiss. I’m considering changing that habit to postpone the crap-laden newspaper and linger longer on the kiss. Midlife love has its own delightful rewards, and we don’t have to close the door.
So for now, I’ll enjoy taking a walk in the forest; however, I intend to return. I just bought a new case of wine and I don’t want it to go to waste.
Today’s blog is fueled by a delightful new wine that my daughter and son-in-law found at Berryhill. It’s 2008 Trutina from Dunham cellars in Columbia Valley, and I love the unique blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah and Merlot. It’s also carried by A New Vintage Wine Shop at Fairview and Eagle. A bit pricey at about $30 a bottle, so buy a case and save 10%. Dunham Cellars is located in Walla Walla, an area that is producing some excellent wines. Dunham also offers Three Legged Dog – a good wine at $18 but I don’t like the label. I’m such a snob.
Midlife Cabernet: Bittersweet Bites from Decades of Dining
Thanksgiving of 1970 brought considerable consternation to the 30 relatives assembled at my parent’s house when my older brother came home from Harvard and bravely announced his liberal political views. My father reacted as if his firstborn child had betrayed the family honor and was responsible for the pending destruction of society. The women huddled in the kitchen until my brother apologized and then they emerged with trays of gooey desserts. I learned from this experience to keep quiet and eat pie.
The following day, after all the womenfolk had washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen, we sat at the dining table to finish the leftovers. My brother mentioned that he had sent a letter to the editor of the Twin Falls newspaper in support of Democratic Senator Frank Church. My father pounded his fist on the table and announced that there would be no more money for college. My brother retracted the letter. I learned from this experience to earn scholarships to an inexpensive, in-state university.
My mother used the same fist-smeared dining table for more than 40 years. It was a round Cushman table that despite all her handmade coverings and best dishes could never create the Norman Rockwell images she craved. My brothers and I learned early to avoid any provocative conversation that could upset our father. I once ate six pork chops just so I wouldn’t need to talk with anyone. My questions, concerns, good news, and typical teenage angst were smothered in mounds of mediocre mashed potatoes.
In my opinion, the dining table should be the foundation of the home. In a perfect world, it’s where the family gathers to break bread, play board games, and read the newspaper. It’s natural to want what was lacking, and I made it an important goal to have a happy family gathered around the table. For most of my adult life, that wish came true as my children grew up and we shared Thanksgiving feasts around a table laden with delicious choices amidst the sounds of laughter. For that, I am profoundly grateful.
This week 16 family members gathered around our dining room table, and I gazed at each one with gratitude. Hours later, after the satiated guests had gone home, I reflected on the hidden blessings of life. Because of past physical and emotional pain, I can truly appreciate the present freedom and joy. I realize that early trauma was the motivational catalyst I needed to survive. When crap was dumped in my way, I pulled on my boots and climbed over it.
My father died 24 years ago and the fractured family broke apart. But his success in business allowed me the opportunity to start my own business and buy a good dining table. I wish he could have joined us this week. We would discuss questions, concerns, good news, and typical parental angst. I’ve learned from this experience that gratitude mixed with forgiveness taste sweet.
Today’s blog is fueled by a 2011 Barbera from Jacuzzi Family Vineyard in Sonoma, California. This inviting wine bursts with vibrant flavors with a hint of vanilla. Share a few glasses with a favorite friend and gratefully celebrate the abundance of today.
