We have a highly quotable friend. So, full disclosure, this is a phrase of his: “Drink red to be contemplative, white to get wild.”
Knowing John, he does either well. At least he used to. We know each other a lo-ong time. Age has wrought physical changes that constrain wild times for us Boomers. Holy crap!
Actually, back in the day, we seldom drank wine. Now we drink more-or-less. My husband and I are near-native Californians, having lived here close to forty years. We drink wine for health reasons: ours and the state’s economy.
It’s a duty, a necessity, a rite.
I’ve been writing all day, including this post, so you know what flavor my wine is. I haven’t been writing a novel, novella, essay, or short story. I’ve been writing Christmas cards. One hundred of them – my head hurts, as well as my hand.
I know it’s crazy, but my husband and I are resolved. We’ve lived in several states and traveled the world, so we have many connections to honor, at least this once-a-year.
One wouldn’t want to be a Scrooge.
Contemplations abound. There’s the Christmas when I made my beau a monster sock – and filled it with myself, naked and full of glee 🙂 No wine required to get either of us in the mood. Ah, to be young, in love, and svelte. Ah-h. Contemplative. Slug. Slurp. Whoopee!
There’s the many-many Christmases when we flew to the Midwest to celebrate with our respective families, who centered in towns that were not our homes. Residents there are region-centric, set in their ways, and, if we wanted to see them, we had to schlep. One time we flew on Christmas Day: the flights were sparsely filled and the crews were merry. It was great!
There’s this Christmas when we’ll hunker down. And celebrate that my husband is alive – he came within hours of not being so last Christmastime, when his gall bladder condition went days undiagnosed. The gall! God bless the physician and surgeon who were his long-time Bible Study buddies.
God bless God. The one who created grapes.
And sent His only Son to be born human on this date.