Monday, February 14, 2011

Doña Paula Los Cardos Malbec.

"Do ya have a wine recommendation?" I asked, clutching my stand-by six-pack of Woodchuck Ciders with my one-downy-gloved hand. The other hand warmed phantom keys in my pocket. A split second of panic...

...then I remembered, they were working on defrost duty. My car had started...barely started. Maybe just a lucky firing, and I wasn't going to test that hypothesis. Sitting at a bus stop parking lot all day in a cold canyon, she seemed a bit pissed. Women...

...we all have those crampy cold days. She needed to run. I understood. And as she conditionally complained to me, I had the fleeting thought that she would not have turned over for a man. I love being a woman.

Speaking of turning over, the canyon-liquor-store man was rolling about my question in his head, mumbling to the slatted wood shelves we were both staring at coldly. Was he asking them, the shelves, their opinion? Maybe it was a bit frozen too, his mind. Frozen, but at the same time warmly welcoming. I sniffed at the air as his thoughts thawed. "Roast in the crock in back -- forgot to put it in on Saturday...got to supper time and there it was, sittin' there cold! Damn though, it's gonna be good tonight. Second try's the winner...smells like it, don't it? It's always the second..." he said, mouth watering into a smile as he handed me a bottle.

Second tries and second chances.

An artist friend has been writing, doing daily posts of something she is grateful for. Yesterday, she was "grateful for firsts." This got me to thinking.

I am grateful for seconds.

Second tries, second helpings, and second chances to remember to turn on the heat (I am notorious for wondering why my water isn't boiling...being confused about why the kettle isn't whistling yet, after 20 minutes? Ah yes, indeed, turning on the heat does help.) Herein lies the rub though: the socket, the receiving end, has to have something to return. Something to fuel. The connection has to work...there has to be a spark...

.....a current.

A continuous swim in a bottomless river you're in over your head for.

The evening began with Smoking Look Pino Noir, and ended with this canyon recommended Argentinian Malbec. It was meaty and grained. Your tongue could feel its edges. It had "a good grip...that never let it become too polished or formal."

Informal, tarnished, burnished by life's second chances. And, second bottles...

...yes, I am grateful for second bottles.

2 comments:

  1. You were "puffing" good thing the canyon police didn't catch you ;-)

    Yes second chances are always a blessing and often the outcome is better the second time around. There are lessons learned from first attempts, ingrained deeply in one's heart to guide you. Keep wearing your red socks and walking your journey.

    Hope the roast was simmered to perfection in your styling "Husker" red crockpot and that the smell was not too torturous for Banjo to smell all day. You did drizzle some savory juices on his dry kibble didn't you?

    sgb

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  2. I'm wearing red. :) Always...

    Oh no, the roast was the liquor-store-man's. Neither Banjo nor I had any. I haven't tried my crock yet...I do feel it would be torturous for Banjo to smell all day.

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