big chill style reunion, lots of folks old and new – sharing houses and meals, homemade napkins, homemade bread w/ bicycles etched into the dough before baking – giant plate of all the leftovers in the fridge thrown together – hugs at the door and five dogs colliding and strangers looking on at the old friends re-uning. boxes of wine and adding the candles to the table
the light casts that orange glow – especially as it reflects of the stained oak of the dining table. through the door the floor is awash with the fuzz of so many dogs i have to pause deliberately to count them. kala is on guard, her faux-hawk on end, she sniffs several butts before deciding some are friends.
there must be 12 folks or so at the table, i don’t stop to count all them. but do notice everyone absorbed in conversation, barely a moment granted me and from some not even a hello. then there are those faces i know well. i don’t need to sniff their butts – i know their embraces.
i unpack my grocery bag and place 3 boxes of wine on the counter. i push the spouts in after ripping off the foil. i am surprised at the end of the weekend that this crowd of subaru-driving eco-lovers don’t consume all the boxed wine. once again taken aback by the snobbery of modern-day hippies. i was so sure they’d go over well. i search the cupboards for a free wine glass with little hope of actually finding one. i figure it’s rare to see good knives, good pans or good glasses in a ski rental. but i do find one in the back of the highest shelf in the cabinet. it does not even have the wine logo on it.
i think of the vineyard back in connecticut, if you can believe that. grapes actually grow in connecticut. they must be a hearty species, grapes, to grow in that harsh environment, 4 seasons of extremities. to think they survive in the relative milds of california as well with such different topography and precipitation. i suppose if i stop to think about it that winery was particularly new england. run by a “retired hollywood” couple. he said he was a famous television chef (it was in his third sentence – you know it must be true). and his wife used to be a producer. but they got tired of the fast life. it was all made of barnboard and old wood – painted that faux whitewash white that city people think is so particularly country. if they only new that in these times country only means poor… all shabby and no chic.
i remember they had the eclectic metal cutout figurines hanging from the ceiling – the kind i bought for grams for her bday – that mom got for brett his first christmas. that was before she got truly broke. the little photographer cutout w/ all the hanging photographic equipment – the ornament really did look like brett. it’s almost as if she ordered it in his image.
so funny to be sitting in a winery with my mother. i asked her later if she brought me there so that she could pick a fight somewhere that it couldn’t get too heated. she was horrified and aghast i would ever think such a thing. all innocence. for some reason i’m willing to think she was being honest with me this time.
this wine is red though, not white. thicker and warmer. not bad for cheap wine.
i carry it in to the other room and pull in a chair next to brett, putting my head on his shoulder.