Drink The Wine

With this 100^th blog post, a brief word of thanks to anyone who has traveled with me virtually through my adventures.

Siegerrebe Farewell

To the boredom and apathy of my sons, when we took our epic vacation throughout New Mexico, I made a few stops along the way at some tasty wineries.  From the days of the Spanish monks, wine making in the Land of Enchantment developed into my favorite flowing nectars from Deming to Velarde to Embudo to Tularosa.  And along the way on our family expedition, I sampled many varieties, purchased a few bottles, and delighted in all the mildly delightful intoxication of the experience.  For me, more than one sense comes alive when I open myself to the experience of traveling.  The sights are worth seeing, but the tastes, the fragrances, and the sounds combine to make my adventures extraordinary.

Half a decade later, while skirting another grape-heavy region, I visited several Washington State wineries, and even dabbled in the wines of Western Montana.  On the southern end of the Flathead Lake in Montana a family-owned winery served a wonderful history of its vineyards, while the Glacier Peak Winery packed up Siegerrebe as a parting pleasure from the Skagit River Valley in Washington.  When I finally poured the last glass from the last bottle of the wonderful white wine, I set the tall, thin, green-glass decanter on the corner of my writing table, and there it continues to sit today reminding me of the voyage and the vintage, both of which I cherish.

A Parable

I recall a story, but it’s really more of a parable, about a man and his wife and how they traveled and bought wines from all over the world.  When they would return home, they would shelf these precious souvenirs and save every delectable drop for the most special occasions.  In time, the wife became ill and as her condition deteriorated, so did the collection of wines.  When she finally passed away, the husband found himself alone with a myriad of vintages most of which had lost their flavor, and their joyful sentiments.  His lesson to others: drink the wine.  From then forward, he never gave a bottle of wine as a gift without glasses so that it would be consumed upon receipt.

What did I learn from this lesson?  Drink the wine!  Savor its flavor and watch its color glisten in the glass.  Do not hide it away in a cellar, bring it forth, uncork its fragrance and share it with friends.  When the wine bottle has been emptied and the lulling buzz of its potency has long since faded, memories remain.  I remember the unpaved pathways to the vineyards of Black Mesa, and to the Mission Mountain wineries.  I can still savor the chocolate infused flavors and the deep, rich reds and the soft delicate whites.  I sipped and satisfied my palette with the southwestern delicacies and the northwestern liquid gems.  Not a drop remains to keep as a souvenir.  Besides, that’s why I own wine glasses.

Souvenirs

Bobble Heads

When I travel, and when my suitcase allows for a little breathing room, I bring back souvenirs for Son #2.  Key chains and pens are the most practical keepsakes for a light traveler like me, while t-shirts offer him a “Been There, Done That,” walking billboard plastered across his chest.  Of course, these practicalities cannot be displayed on the shelf in his room quite like his collection of bobble heads.  Yes, those bouncy pre-form caricatures tickle him, regardless of whose face might be bobbing at him.  Abraham Lincoln journeyed from Illinois to his shelf, while his predecessor, Mr. Washington, came from the National Archives.  Bobbles seems to thrive in DC, since Albert Einstein also originated at the Air and Space Museum, but Mr. E=MC² also includes audio enhancements reciting Pi (insert thinly veiled movie reference here).

Fenway Park, Veteran’s Stadium (see “The Vet” from November 2011), Busch Stadium, and Tropicana Field supply plenty of wobbly figures, too.  Baseball seems to be the hometown bobble favorite, including Kermit the Frog crouched wearing a catcher’s mask and Dodger blue as his head freakishly bobs, even for an amphibian. Mickey Mouse accompanies the green character, and Jack Sparrow seems a natural with his rather odd head movements.  In a variety of sizes, all with oversized skulls, every trip brings the possibility of a new addition to his shelf, and so I keep an eye out for these oddities.

Wine Glasses

Souvenirs, when purchased consistently, create a record of the places and moments spent navigating the planet and absorbing its beauty.  Rather than collecting dust, I cherish my mementos and make time to reflect on the memories of each place they represent.  But I prefer to reminisce with a fine wine in hand.  Like my son’s shelf, my kitchen cabinet contains a treasure trove of reminders of the New Mexican wineries, the 100^th anniversary of Glacier National Park, the Food and Wine festivals at Epcot and Disneyland, the bears of Yosemite, the back roads of Missouri, and memories of thousands of miles of journeys.  Pouring a healthy portion of cabernet into any of the goblets I have brought back from my distant destinations reminds me of the places I have traveled, the mental images I retain and the experiences I have accumulated since turning a legal drinking age.

Wine glasses, like bobble heads, present a special challenge as cargo, but unlike the oversized heads in their bubble-packed boxes, a small measure of tissue paper often serves as the only protection between the glassware and the hundreds of miles of my return trip.  These one-of-a-kind purchases from places I may never see again require special handling and care to survive the flight home.  Wrapped in paper, then a simple plastic bag, then gently nestled among my dirty laundry, I have yet to lose a wine glass in transit.  On any given day, the warmest moments of my life flood out of the cabinet, permitting me to remember those adventures spent on the road finding, witnessing and enjoying America’s beauty.  Perhaps my son lives vicariously through me when he opens the door to his room and he watches all the weirdly dancing heads greet him.