Once upon a time there was a wonderful, sensual Queen who wrote beautiful stories of her life and loves. Her subjects waited with baited to breath to see what new tidbit she would share. She had a wonderful Prince son, whom she loved and a wine cellar filled with the very best vintages. Armies of wine salesmen plagued her with inferior brews, but she chose only the best to reveal to her subjects. And, so they loved her more. The End.What? you wanted something personal? way too daunting!here's a fairy tale: spring is coming.
My Gorgeous Samantha,Ok, how it works is, we come here, and you tell us stories. We're not your inspiration, Love, you're our inspiration. You touch us first, you see, and then we touch you back.Now that I've set you straight, get to it. Inspire us, make us laugh, make us cry, make us wet the bed, and we'll touch you all over. I love you.
Here's a story for you. This Friday I have a meeting scheduled with a farmer who owns a couple acres of vines. It may be the opportunity of a lifetime, or it may be a waste of two hours. But sometimes, just knowing that I'm trying is enough to give me confidence that I will eventually reach my goals.
Gabe,Thank you. I'm growing increasingly weary of hearing my own...erm, fingers/voice and story, am aching to be a part of someone else's if only for as long as it takes to read a few lines. I will wake thinking of you Friday kiddo and thank you for letting me peak behind your curtain for a second....fresh air.
Thanks for the support, Sam! I'll let you know how things progress...
Struggling with this one, Samantha. I really want to spin some yarn that meets your request but.....you set the bar pretty high with your captivating style of storytelling...and everything I think to write - I mean you said PLEASE and everything, seems like I should try - but it feels so pedestrian and pedantic....that said (and apologies) her goes: Two perfect moments in time: The last night of September in Chinon, when Didier was closing his restaurant for the season, heading off to southern France to woo any and all women (and trying desperately to start with the one on my arm), opening his kitchen and cellar until first light of dawn, calling all his friends who might speak an iota of English so that our little party of rapidly becoming best friends would feel more at home; magnum after magnum of well aged chinon and course after course of whatever he could make, to use up his larder of everything that wouldn't survive the six months of vacation he takes every year; a night that I will never forget. Or the time that I was traveling across Alabama in August in an old Buick without AC, just mind numbingly hot and miserable. A car full of jubilant young men passed me going about 80, raising a beer in my direction in salute and then slowing down to my plodding 60, so that the young man riding shotgun could reach across a perilously close distance to hand me an ice cold beer and save me from certain heat related death. Most often, it seems, my stories feel like "you had to be there". Yours, on the other hand, make me feel like I am there. I can understand the need for pause. You give so very much of your soul. That's what I got, kid. All other stories will require a bottle, a booth and a bit of your time. Fondly,WtE
Winey,Thank you love. I adored both stories and your reason for sharing them...for me. I just need to hear someone else's voice for a bit, let it speak to and soothe me while I see if I can find, or want to find mine. I adore you for the implied hug and the stories....both made me smile.Xoxoxoxoxx
No blogs lately? You need to tell us a story pretty soon!
Gabe,Awe, you might make me think you are missering me and some junk.
Sam,Definitely. There are too many practical, analytically wine blogs on these silly interwebs. I want a blog about loving wine. You're the best at that.- gabe
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