It pours out of the bottle into your round glass. Its deep, slightly translucent color catches the light, glowing red through the sparkling crystal. You stir your glass around in circles on the table a few times, allowing the wine to reach up to the rim of the glass before dipping back down again. As you bring it to your nose you smell the fermented grapes, oak, and a tinge of pepper. Everything goes silent as you close your eyes, breathe it in deeply, and tip the glass to your lips. You hold a small sip in your mouth, letting it sink in to your taste buds. The grapes are sweet, the oak is smoky, and the pepper is tangy, a perfect combination of flavors. Swallow. You open your eyes. And then, without any intention, the corners of your mouth begin to turn up....
Happiness.
Friday 23 December 2011
Monday 12 December 2011
The Christmas Tree Tragedy
I woke up to the sounds of my mother hollering.
"GARRYYYY!"
No answer. The water was running in the kitchen.
"GARRYYY!"
"Just a minute!" he replied.
"NO! NOW! THE TREE IS FALLING!"
I jumped out of bed and got to the hall in time to see my father running toward the living room in a desperate attempt to catch the tree, decorations and all, as it slowly fell to the ground. Everything went silent until the crunching sound of our precious ornaments sent my mother, who had been trying to water the tree, into a frenzy. As she yelled at my father for never listening to her and for ruining so many of her Christmas memories, I slowly backed away into my bedroom.
When we horse-people are upset, the only place we know of to take our minds off the dreary things of the day and make us feel like new is the barn. There is nothing like the sound of your horse nickering for you as you walk toward his stall to make you feel better. Needless to say, that is where my mother ran off to for the next few hours.
My father and I stood in the living room staring at the pathetic fallen tree for a minute. He sighed. "I knew I would get blamed for this." I was just glad I didn't get blamed for it.
There was nothing left to do but clean up the mess. We began removing ornaments, broken and unbroken, from the branches before attempting to pick up the tree and put it back in its rightful place. But, as fate would have it, the stand was broken. Time to troubleshoot.
We leaned the tree up against the book shelf and I held it there, hoping my fate didn't include getting crushed by a Christmas tree, while my father went to the garage for some bungee cords. We safely tethered it to the book shelf and my father went in search of a new stand while I finished un-decorating the tree.
"Well, you might as well have music while you do this," my father said as he turned on some cheery Christmas music. It really brightened the mood.
When the tree first fell, I thought only about four ornaments had broken. But as I began searching among the pine needles, I found a few more broken ones hanging in the branches: the front half of a penguin, the top of a bell, an angel with no wings...
"Wouldn't it be great if we could get the tree back up and decorated before your mom gets back? Then we could pretend like it was only a dream!" My father said as he entered the living room with a brand new tree stand.
After much fussing about, we got the new stand on the tree and had it upright in minutes. Now, we were determined. With Bing Crosby singing 'White Christmas' in the background, we began putting the ornaments one by one back on the tree. When my mother walked in the door, there were just a few ornaments left.
I realized that throughout this whole catastrophe, the lights never went out.
"GARRYYYY!"
No answer. The water was running in the kitchen.
"GARRYYY!"
"Just a minute!" he replied.
"NO! NOW! THE TREE IS FALLING!"
I jumped out of bed and got to the hall in time to see my father running toward the living room in a desperate attempt to catch the tree, decorations and all, as it slowly fell to the ground. Everything went silent until the crunching sound of our precious ornaments sent my mother, who had been trying to water the tree, into a frenzy. As she yelled at my father for never listening to her and for ruining so many of her Christmas memories, I slowly backed away into my bedroom.
When we horse-people are upset, the only place we know of to take our minds off the dreary things of the day and make us feel like new is the barn. There is nothing like the sound of your horse nickering for you as you walk toward his stall to make you feel better. Needless to say, that is where my mother ran off to for the next few hours.
My father and I stood in the living room staring at the pathetic fallen tree for a minute. He sighed. "I knew I would get blamed for this." I was just glad I didn't get blamed for it.
There was nothing left to do but clean up the mess. We began removing ornaments, broken and unbroken, from the branches before attempting to pick up the tree and put it back in its rightful place. But, as fate would have it, the stand was broken. Time to troubleshoot.
We leaned the tree up against the book shelf and I held it there, hoping my fate didn't include getting crushed by a Christmas tree, while my father went to the garage for some bungee cords. We safely tethered it to the book shelf and my father went in search of a new stand while I finished un-decorating the tree.
"Well, you might as well have music while you do this," my father said as he turned on some cheery Christmas music. It really brightened the mood.
When the tree first fell, I thought only about four ornaments had broken. But as I began searching among the pine needles, I found a few more broken ones hanging in the branches: the front half of a penguin, the top of a bell, an angel with no wings...
"Wouldn't it be great if we could get the tree back up and decorated before your mom gets back? Then we could pretend like it was only a dream!" My father said as he entered the living room with a brand new tree stand.
After much fussing about, we got the new stand on the tree and had it upright in minutes. Now, we were determined. With Bing Crosby singing 'White Christmas' in the background, we began putting the ornaments one by one back on the tree. When my mother walked in the door, there were just a few ornaments left.
I realized that throughout this whole catastrophe, the lights never went out.
Friday 9 December 2011
Coming Home
The snow falls lightly outside as our fire quietly burns and crackles, keeping us warm while we sit together, each with a glass of wine in our hand, catching up on the past few weeks. Holiday decorations are everywhere: vintage Santa Claus pillows, stocking hangers, nutcrackers, wreaths... Garlands with frosted fruit and pine cones cover the mantelpiece and the large doorway to the dining room. Dad just finished putting the lights on the tree and now it awaits us to decorate it with our wide assortment of ornaments.
Outside, the trees shake with the wind, accompanied by a slight whistle, blowing the snow sideways to pile up against the house. Tony Bennett's 'Winter Wonderland' can drown out the noise.
Back at school my apartment is cold, the only fire being one we can order on TV. We rarely turn on the heat in order to save money. We wrap ourselves in sweaters and socks and blankets to keep warm, but still my hands and feet are icy.
At home, where Mom and Dad are willing to splurge for the heat, I am warm and toasty. Their house is what one would imagine when they hear Christmas songs about going home. It's welcoming, festive, warm and cozy, and has pretty much everything you need: good food and wine.
But really I live in California so the whole snow thing is just in my imagination...
Outside, the trees shake with the wind, accompanied by a slight whistle, blowing the snow sideways to pile up against the house. Tony Bennett's 'Winter Wonderland' can drown out the noise.
Back at school my apartment is cold, the only fire being one we can order on TV. We rarely turn on the heat in order to save money. We wrap ourselves in sweaters and socks and blankets to keep warm, but still my hands and feet are icy.
At home, where Mom and Dad are willing to splurge for the heat, I am warm and toasty. Their house is what one would imagine when they hear Christmas songs about going home. It's welcoming, festive, warm and cozy, and has pretty much everything you need: good food and wine.
But really I live in California so the whole snow thing is just in my imagination...
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