Fruit Wines and Blue Plate Specials

caffeine.jpg Let’s see, if the unrequited-love part of my life is over for now, what will I write about? What will get me to sit and write? I know! Eight (8) shots of espresso! Yes. That’s the ticket alright. Now I feel the muse. So I sit down to write, but since my connection is a dial-up one, I must wait. I share the free connection with thousands of others, so it’s not readily available. So, I go back to my project: moving an old silkscreen of pueblo architecture (Taos Pueblo) up and over so I can hang the old storage drawer on the wall as space for netsuke, odd coins, knickknacks and other junk curio. If one is materialistic, one likes to see the acquisitions on display. 030908-05.jpg Check on the computer, which is still redialing until it connects, and eat a few more bites of waffles covered in maple syrup. Only pure maple syrup will do. Ah! the computer connects. I check on my eBay auctions. Nothing is selling yet, but one auction had been looked at 35 times and had three watchers. Maybe it’ll sell. Close window. Go back and finish hanging the drawer/shelf. Finished. Back to WordPress. Lets’ see, where was I? Oh, yeah, sometimes it’s difficult to focus after eight shots of coffee. caffeine-mug.gif Kind of the way Karen often is, full of ideas and plans, and talking in compressed speech that is sometimes hard to decipher immediately. Funny how my mind can interpret the words after a few minutes, even when I didn’t fully comprehend them as they came spilling out. She’s an odd one, my limerent object (of desire, love, and affection), which is, of course, why I like her so much. I don’t know if she will want to see me anymore. Such is life.

logo.gif I went to a “fine wine and fine food pairing party” last night. I had asked my step-daughter to accompany me, but she had a date. I met my neighbor Nancy on Thursday. I had spoken with her on the phone, and waved across the parking lot, but we finally met for a drink across the street on Thursday night. I had it in mind to ask her to the party at the winery, but decided against it. My landlord had mentioned me to her, possibly in an attempt to set us up. I’m not against meeting strange women, so we finally did meet. Talked about this compound we live in, and the boiler problems. She also works at the University where I work and will retire soon. She spoke of the retirement money as being insignificant: nice, but not a big deal. She has this wild curly hair, mottled skin, mottled.jpg and two very small but intensely blue eyes. blue-eyes.jpg Not immediately attractive, but you never know. We talked awhile, and my old girlfriend/neighbor Benay came in. They knew each other and waved. Benay came by the table later with a male friend she was with or met there. As we talked I saw people I know come in: Sue, my friend Mark’s ex-wife, Helene, another ex-wife of someone else I know, and Sally, a coworker from the University who recently retired. Waved at her and she waved back. I didn’t get up and speak to them. I was hungry and had ordered a beer and the petite burger, which in Americanese, is a normal-sized one. I attacked it when it came, and the roll it came with and the little fruit cup too. People come to this place at night more than I thought. Friends of Nancy came in that she wanted to visit with, so eventually she left to use the bathroom and visit with them. I don’t think she was much impressed by me. I told her that I won’t even be able to afford to live here on my retirement income.

Ah! the fine wine and fine food party. I forgot. The caffeine doping of my brain scatters my thoughts. blueplatespecial.jpg The food was incredible! I went by myself. I had also put in two calls to my ex-girlfriend Elaine whom I’d shared dinner with a week ago, but she never replied to the messages I left on her answering machine. Where did the word answer come from anyway? Such an odd spelling. (Turns out she had given me a phone number off by one digit.)  I’m drifting again. The food: I was greeted at the entrance with an individual tray with cheese, and it had a glass in the cutout for one, which was already half full of dry peach wine. tray1.jpg The wine is one of my favorites there. It goes very well with cheese and fresh fruit, of which there was plenty. Where does one get fresh, sweet watermelon and strawberries this time of year? After I tried most of the cheeses I moved on to the jerked-shrimp salad on toast and the venison stew with chocolate and coffee seasoning. Mmm, coffee. The wine, a Merlot mixed with blackberry wine, complemented each appetizer nicely. I’m such a connoisseur. 🙂

Venison is so gamey tasting (by definition) that the Merlot seemed required. The shrimp actually seemed to sweeten after a sip of wine.

Then, it was on to the curried chicken/mushroom strudel and plum wine. Man! was that strudel good! Such food! My ex will be missing out on this kind of fare now. However, it’s a good thing they only do this once a year. Ah! and dessert: a key lime torte! Wonderful stuff! and served with a Chardonnay mixed with apricot wine. Very nice. The owner, meanwhile, while meeting and greeting every guest, also wandered around with a new creation of his. It’s an all-local-grape wine, a new thing for him, and it was delicious! I wanted to buy a bottle, but at $50 a bottle (the club-member price) it was way too rich for me. money.jpg I have never spent as much on any wine, champagne or spirit of any kind. I guess these wines are going to be out of my reach soon. Inflation is running rampant, but no one seems to notice that our spending power is decreasing by the day. Soon we’ll need stacks or money, or much larger bills to buy a cup of coffee. Ah, well. With the ex not in tow anymore (or was I the one in tow?), it is not so important to have such “fine food” or “fine wine”. I think the winery is doing well enough that it no longer needs my membership.

That last point seems to sum up my life. I don’t need the fruit winery anymore. I don’t need the ex-wife anymore, or the ex-girlfriends, or the friendly neighbors, or even Karen, the whole reason I started writing in the first place. I don’t need anything or anyone. What do I want? Well, that’s a different story, and I don’t even know myself.


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