Well, okay, technically it’s past Christmas here and all points eastward, but merry whatever anyway!
The pupper was a real doll baby until just a moment ago when she apparently decided that one particular spot on the carpet I just this evening sprinkled with Carpet Fresh (which is truly nasty shit) and vacuumed the ever-lovin’ hell out of, was entirely too dry. The living room was smelling too much like a kennel so drastic measures were in order, thus the nasty chemicals… Then Miss Starr got too busy playing to pay attention to the signals, and splish splash the carpet took a bath. And the pupper got locked up, so here I am.
Here I am with my 2011 Labouré-Roi Pinot Noir Vin de Pays de l’Aude Reserve les Sangliers, which is not nearly so impressive as is its name, and right after the end of this sentence there will be burnt flowers to go with.
Ah, yes. That’s more like it. Because cannabis and wine go together like chocolate and peanut butter, or him parts and her parts, on Christmas especially even if, like us, you don’t celebrate anything at all on Christmas. How many Americans get to sleep in on Christmas? Perhaps only one: me. Amethyst was up early with the pupper.
I’m disappointed in this wine. I decanted it at 5PM, first poured at 9PM, and here it is after 1AM and it’s still puckered up tight as a nun’s asshole. It might be quite nice in three or four years, but I’m not inclined to buy a few to find out. I’m going to be quite amused if it turns out that the California Cabernet Sauvignon is the best of the lot (the four bottles that were my solstice gift). Then again, I just watched Bottle Shock for the 20th time last night…
We called the daughter, and the daughter in law, and spoke with the respective mommas and our eldest grandson, our other (legally, step-) grandson, and all three granddaughters. Amethyst’s father called in the middle of the first call so we got to talk to him, too. It might have been nice to talk to some others, but we got all of the really very important ones in. Almost. A couple of the grandsons were missed, but maybe that’s just the right gift to them, avoiding having to talk to some ancient old people with whom they’ve no interests in common and feeling bound to pretend that it’s not a stone fucking drag. The very last thing I ever wanted when I was eight years old was to get stuck trying to talk to the grandparents or anyone of their generation.
Now, of course, I appreciate that I got to know people who remember the (tail end of the) Wild West, the first automobile they ever saw, the first electrification, and so on. It’s amusing, now, to be that old guy to my grandkids. There’s no way that my stories could be so much as an insignificant fraction of what my own ancient old people spoke of. I got nuthin’ like being born in a covered wagon driven by a father who was a Wild West lawman on his way to Arizona for a new gig and later to become a prison warden, like the great uncle for whom I’m named. That guy grew up in a world without electricity and before he died saw on television the first man on the moon. He saw gunfights on city streets and hangings in the town square… I remember black & white television. In fact, my very first very own television was an old black & white table model from the 1950’s that the very same great uncle gave me. It just ain’t the same.
But that’s okay. I can tell the grandkids when talking on the phone meant being wired to the wall, back when just one computer filled an entire very large room and the only one in town belonged to the biggest bank in town. And they can say wow, that’s interesting, but I really gotta go now, grandpa. 😀
All in all, a darn fine day. Amethyst didn’t even claw the headliner out of the truck when we went out this evening to run an errand after dark in a middling heavy snow storm. 🙂
Whether you had something to celebrate today or not, I hope it was a darn fine day for you, too.