I’m not sure why wine tasting has appeared on my imaginary life list for a long, long time. I’m not much of a drinker. Is it the art, the pretty labels gracing sleek bottles? The vision of smiling, earthy young Europeans stomping on grapes in a giant wooden barrel? Or does it have something to do with feeling grown up? “Oh yes, I’d like a glass of pinot noir with my lobster thermidore.” (I don’t even know what that is.)
But I’m not the sophisticated type. Staring at the unusually elegant Artevino/2008 Estate Symphony bottle of wine that I bought last week at the Maple Creek Winery in Yorkville, California, all I can say is the stuff tastes good, and I chose it after tasting around eight different selections.
Brook has advised me not to buy crappy wine so I took her advice. I’m doling out a small glass of the most expensive wine I’ve ever purchased, a little each night of my last week of being 64. (“Birthday greetings, bottle of wine…will you still need me when I’m 64?”)
Money has been an issue my entire life. I’m not saying I need a lot of it, but this year I’ve started to present myself with some quality stuff, starting with a non-thriftstore windbreaker. I indulged in my first colorful works of art to hang over the fireplace in our living room.
If not now, when? Taking this question further, I’m typing this frivolous little blog post on my new MacBook Air. That’s right dear readers. Me, Sheila the tightwad, spent $400 more on what I’m told is a less useful computer than its MacBook predecessor: it can’t burn or play cds for one thing. I don’t care.
It’s light, it’s elegant and it’s silver. It’s a work of art. I like the shiny shocking pink bag specially purchased in Patagonia months ago for my dream computer.
After buying the MacBook Air in Eugene so I could save $100 sales tax, I told Dan that for the first time in my life I felt paranoid about owning something so valuable. I would have that pink bag with me at all times. He rightfully deemed it “The Precious.”
Maybe my writing will flow more readily on “The Precious,” like wine at a California vineyard. But this week, all I know is that I’m worth it.