“Absence makes the heart grow fonder” this little
phrase has always led me to mutter another, “Utter bullshit”. Not only have I
never understood the phrase I have, on several occasions, seen it proven absolutely
false. Absence, in the arena of passionate love, and strictly in my personal experience,
has proven to live up to its name, leave an empty seat. The missing and lack of
physical touch, exchanging of glances, being able to brush your lovers arm as
you walk past, leading over time to anger, resentment, insecurities, blame,
loneliness…lots and lots of tears. The once powerful and strong beating hearts
reduced to swollen and glistening blobs, sore to the touch. Yeah, love affairs
and long distances, for like extended amounts of time, those don’t work for me
and my particular brand of crazy chick. I need the touching, the kissing, the
laughing and the late nights with my face nuzzled into the flesh I crave. Just
a thing, but a couple visits over the past couple months flipped that little, ‘Ahhh
I think I might sort of get it now” switch and while I might still question
that whole “Grow fonder” nonsense, I have to say being face to face with a
great love after not seeing them for a too long a time…I can see some fondness
there.
Last month I was able to spend a few hours with a
couple folks I hadn’t seen in years, hadn’t made enough effort to reach out to
and whose thrilled to see me faces filled a couple deflated places in this
swollen blob of a heart of mine in the most delightful and needed way. One
sweet loving friend launching into ball breaking jokes within five minutes of
our hugging out the missing and the other stepping out from behind a very
private and protective veneer to express a comfort in my friendship, in words
so sweetly saturated with affection, and an openness so out of character that
it took every bit of badass I had to not start blubbering on the spot. Being
made to feel truly loved and appreciated, even when you have been, shamefully
less than present, well yeah, who couldn’t see the fondness in that?
This past Saturday, while fielding “Not sure we can
be friends anymore” emails and snarling comments on my last post, as well as a
zillion Facebook messages from others about the whole thing I got to step away
from my laptop and the ire of others and fondly melt into the arms of a far too
often neglected Great Love of mine, the wines of Alsace. Standing there in the
tasting room, lips tugging at racy Rieslings, luscious Pinot Blancs and wildly
spiced Gewurztraminers, letting the friendly familiarity and reminder of great
love spill across my palate, slip beneath my skin an wash away any little bit
of yuck that had been plaguing me and making my jaw too tight….the fondness for
those wines pumping a little beat back into my tough old heart. Got home that
evening, feet sore and back a wee bit stiff from pouring for the sixty plus
people that turned out, in awe of the fact that we could draw that kind of
crowd, not just for white wine but for Alsatian white wines when we pulled in a
whopping fifteen for Zinfandel, knowing that part of the reason for that was my
years of cooing and nuzzling, sharing my heart and openly talking about the
great love, the fondness I have for the astoundingly versatile wines from that
little corner of France. My heart pretty fond of that feeling, no matter how
long it takes to get there.
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5 comments:
Love is unconditional. Wine can meet that goal. People can too, but not always...
Thomas,
Well on those truly rare occasions when you can find unconditional love with a person over wine...fucking magic, and sometimes worth the bumpy ride right? I mean who would have thought I'd have such as man as you in my corner all these years, loving me without condition and because of our shared love of wine? Well, wine and French fries. Love you kid and thank you so much for being you.
I savor your every word, Samantha. I often wish I had something clever to say to your posts, but I don't, so I just admire you from afar. I love your sassiness (racing acidity) and I love your vulnerability (sensual gevrey)...gotta a serious jones for you going on here; feel it, know it, even when you don't read it.
Most of my friends love the fall for the foods that give them open season to revel in their ninety-nine percent red wine closets/cellars. And while I enjoy that and them on occasion, my autumnal heart most often runs to tarte flambe, choucroute and muenster and the Alsatian wines that marry and carry that food to heights that little else can match. It is a cerebral sensual heaven, if ever there was one. And I love the lacy, delicate pinot noirs from Alsace. They're so seductive and coy and just waiting to let their hair down.
I wish I was there to watch the green gold glints of crispy riesling run through your gaze; or I wish we were in Alsace to do the same. It's cold there now, the apples and pears crazy good and the cheeses...well you know. Yes you know.
Fondly,
WtE
Wow, a somewhat argumentative New Yawker and a sweet, passionate, as of yet, stranger. You guys keep me rising to the top of the fucking spin cycle I seem to find myself in from time to time...
Winey,
You speak of my sassiness and vulnerability and in your aching words, I feel yours. I'm not sure where you live, (for some reason I was thinking Oregon, not sure why) but your friends are much like the people here, a couple of them even saying something at Saturday's tasting in the form of, "Don't you think this tasting would be better in the summer?" even though they themselves had turned out to have their palates stained by those rich, curvy, fall flecked wines. I'm with you love, those wines with their spice, texture, peachy and autumn notes, they belong here in this season with its stone fruits and perfectly ripe, washed rind cheeses....and roasted pork. I think we need a picnic you and I.
Nice Elder. I did forget to mention how much I love Alsatian food and wine--was so wrapped up in that other love.
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