Wine Vignette 1
At 6:46pm Seattle is pitch black. The hazy glow of city lights imbue low hanging clouds with a phosphorescent tangerine; filling their bulbous faces with electric neon life. Clustered around the Space Needle like luminous blimps, they watch me approach fast as an arrow, shooting past the expanse of one forgotten brick warehouse block after another. I propel myself forward to sensational speeds atop my long, long legs- gliding through the city night like a ghost train without a sound. He would be waiting for me and as usual, I would be running late.
I turned the corner and felt a quick spike of concern upon seeing the empty street. I was at least fifteen minutes behind for the new movie release of Beowulf. Combined with the undeniable sex appeal of my new friend and neighbor, I was surprised I had still managed to make him wait, except…. where was he? Jean.
“You want to help me smoke this?” I whirled around to meet mischief in Jean’s blue eyes, sparkling beneath the golden curls that fell languidly on his brow. His strong outdoorsy features classic, his smile suggestive and warm, stature tall and athletic- I immediately wanted to skip the movie and go straight to conversation and wine. How could I bear sitting in the dark staring at a screen instead of this gorgeous, smiling man? His relaxed, confident manner was totally irresistible.
“You know, I don’t mind if I do…” I took the joint from his fingers and took a long drag under the flickering fluorescent lights of the overhang outside the theater. I exhaled slowly, the curls of smoke moved rolling as the shoulders of a hunting tiger. They fell moving in tumbles through the space of air between us. This was going to be a long movie. As we smoked, we talked of his recent travels, modeling in Tokyo and Barcelona, and then my mind drifted uncontrollably to Spanish wine. Suddenly captive in thought, I recalled the delightful character in its pour and the delightful notes of oranges from Seville, flowers in Madrid, and figs from Valencia. Jean continued to talk of Spain as I quivered under the spell of her wines…. wrapped in gold netting, the bottles contain seduction. Tantalized by romance, visions of its dark promises sliding over my tongue and into my grateful being- I regarded him with a Cheshire grin and catlike preen, satiating the contemplation of the combining the two.
The movie disappointed…. but, then what could compare to real life tonight? We discuss dinner possibilities and agree upon a new Ethiopian restaurant close to where we both live. Neither one of us had ever been there. The interior was warm and modern covered from ceiling to floor in polished wood and hung with delicate hide skin lanterns. He orders Penfolds Shiraz-Cabernet blend from Australia and I select Axumit: a sweet red Ethiopian table wine. Deep garnet in color, the wine is strong and sweet with little complexity. I ordered the spiciest lamb dish on the menu and extra ingera- the grey flat tortilla like bread ripped off in pieces and used to scoop the entree with your hands. No silverware was anywhere to be seen and the place was filling with young Ethiopian couples- both good signs. I took a sip of his Australian blend and relished in the balance between ripe blueberry and the warmth of black pepper, a sweet leather note to its finish. The Axumit in my glass took command of your mouth at once with its intense and dark sweet flavor. It was only when eating the lamb spiced with Ethiopia’s red hot berbere and awaze that dinner truly became an affair to remember for its bold presence on both the dish and the palate. As I ate and drank, centuries upon centuries of trading civilizations played out in my mind. The caravans, the travel, the Indian ivory, the Mediterranean pirates, the Ethiopian nation of Axumite of 4 century B.C.
“From that place to the city of the people called Auxumites there is a five days’ journey more; to that place all the ivory is brought from the country beyond the Nile through the district called Cyeneum, and thence to Adulis….”
—Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, Chap.4
How many of their voyages were responsible for the taste of the meal I was eating two thousand years later? I tasted the excitement of a good market day and asked myself how our journey through this modern life will affect civilizations a thousand years hence? Regarding my dining companion thoughtfully, I mused. He met me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his and smiled. I tasted a happy ending in the air and it wasn’t going to be just dessert. Eating with our fingers, we laughed as the food slipped between them and any shyness melted in the public licking away of spicy sauces between sips of sweet Ethiopian wine…. the candlelight never felt so good. Tonight will at least have fulfilled its destiny in the finish of our wine glasses. The walk home became symbolic. Like the mercantile nation of Axumite, I vowed to continue my journey of discovery, crossing all borders.
Wine Vignette 2
Glasses in hand, my girlfriend and I laughed indulgently at our efforts in playing badminton. The Rosemount Estate Shiraz sloshed in my wine glass with every lounge and backhand. The late afternoon sun streamed through the plumes of the giant Redwood where we played next to the Russian Cathedral. Sip after ruby red sip of the red Diamond Label Australian wine, the game soon included singing, twirling, and select ballet moves. The wine’s rounded berry essence and defined tannins warmed me against the chill. Suddenly, a familiar face appeared at the bottom of the hill and seen walking next to Jean was another tall, handsome young man. They obviously delighted at the sight of our frolicking, two pretty girls drinking wine and playing badminton on a sunny Saturday afternoon. And who could blame them? I felt as if I had not a care in the world and if ever there was a time for laughing and dancing to your own song- it was now. They approached wearing appreciative smiles on their dashingly attractive faces- both extraordinarily tall, well-muscled and in possession of a courteous, pleasant demeanor. Jean introduced us to Theo and we exchanged several giggling hellos. Marielle and I couldn’t help our squealing and laughing which heightened to a crescendo in their presence, as we continued to volley the birdie back and forth taking sips of the Shiraz. A priest and some elderly women came out of the cathedral and scowled at our bacchanalian sport. We all had a good laugh and decided to go upstairs to my apartment to carry on and besides, we were out of wine.
Paul Jaboulet’s red Parallel 45◦ une produit de France- unleashed new conversation and gaiety with a complex bouquet and dry vintage. The four of us lounged on my thick soft shag carpet by the windows, sprawled across satin floor cushions. We regarded one another admiringly during conversation, between sips of the cherry colored wine. The late sun streamed in through moss green velvet curtains and cast everyone in a rich, golden light…. entranced by the golden clouds of smoke hanging in the sun filled room as we passed around a joint, I asked myself in that very moment if this was not one of life’s most perfect works of art. For the integration of pleasure’s elements have combined so effortlessly in one afternoon, I took another bold sip, abloom with raspberry and spice, and contemplated.
In a world of change, of choice, unlimited options, possibilities, access to knowledge and resources…. is it not in the simplest of moments that we remember what it is like to just be? All else becomes an accessory- the agendas, the job, the hopes, the hurts and the sorrows. The mind stops racing and in the next breath you find the answers to all your questions have been waiting patiently for discovery. There is no greater wealth that recognizing the moment you are in is all there is. It’s the door that leads to a million roads and the window which sees infinity.
I love how a good wine can stop you in your tracks. Like a living angel from the vineyard from whence it came, wine flies to the four corners of the Earth to grace our palates with her natural beauties, our minds lit with the still awareness of one basic truth. For under her spell, the heart cannot help but to rejoice and the mind knows again- the perfection of the present moment. It is in this way that I unlocked the door to the time machine that stopped the rest of the world from moving as I kissed Jean on the carpet. When the radio stopped, time moved forward again and Marielle and Theo showered us in waves of merciless teasing. A card game began, a new bottle opened, and the afternoon played on.
Wine Vignette 3
I inhale the smoke opening my mouth a little wider, forming an “oh…….” and I am instantly turned on by the memory of your taste in my mouth, my body tingling from your hands… from the way you can’t stop touching me. There’s nothing tonight I couldn’t do. Starving in a cook’s kitchen full of only one kind of herb at the moment yet, I could be in Paris for breakfast with a phone call. But, the truth is I’ve never been happier, even though the rent was raised again yesterday. Its true. My lips go “ohhh……” again in the kitchen… thinking of you, wanting you, desiring…. *bam bam bam!! I jump up startled by the loud noise.
Knocking at my door. My thoughts of you cease and back in the present I shake it off while striding across the living room. Who could it be? Lucille who lives down the hall from me would be first guess, except I know she is out. Unlocking the door in…1…2…3… standing on the other side, were two green eyes staring straight back into mine. They were the eyes of a painter, a photographer, a writer, a model: the eyes of Ethan. I opened my mouth to say hello but nothing comes out. He smiles…. and I stand electrified and immobilized until he holds out a gift. A bottle of wine… and then I invite him in.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods tonight? Its quite awful to be outside traveling with all this snow! Its such a blizzard!”
His long brown hair fell in loose tumbles to his broad shoulders. Dark smudges under his eyes and the five o’clock shadow on his face make it impossible not to notice his full, beautiful lips. To look at him is to look upon the face of Romance itself. He moves like a cavalier, dresses like a wandering minstrel. Tall and well-defined, he layers genteel manners over his confidence and ability do just whatever he pleases, however he wishes. Smoldering, his green eyes penetrate through my polite facade and pleasantry. He looks up at me innocently and begins to speak, “I thought of proposing a toast to the first snow of the year. I could think of no one else I’d rather open that bottle of wine with. Its very special. A rare bottle of 2003 Domaine Pousse d’Or Caillerets Volnay. It is a wine to celebrate firsts. Its described as a first kiss of aromatic purple flowers and purple fruits, a shining example of Volnay purity and I know how much you love Pinot Noir. To a night of exquisite firsts…”
I feel myself melt into a puddle on the floor. This was going to get me into trouble. I took a deep breath and looked out the window as I stood holding the bottle. The snow fell heavy and fast, blowing in huge tornados outside my window. It looked like Russia. In fact, it was snowing so hard it made me nervous. Instinctively, I felt a primal part of myself worry if I had enough food, heat, or protection to survive the storm. I already knew there wasn’t a scrap of food in my cupboards. And there’s been no shortage of heat around here lately but, protection…..Jean’s strong arms were not here at the moment. In fact, he was more than likely spinning a pretty girl around on a dance floor at his modeling agency’s party while I, all alone on the top floor of my ancient brick apartment building shaking from wind and traffic next to the highway, am in the company of a living incarnation of Don Juan de Marco. It was a blizzard outside. I couldn’t help myself. Searing hot desire began slowly creeping up my legs, circling me like fire snakes, flickering over every sensitive part until awake, simmering hotter and moving higher. Stop. I took a step back, towards the kitchen. I thought of Jean. “Maintain. Deep breath.” I lit a candle and smiled sweetly at Ethan sitting politely at the table.
“Hey, Ethan. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a corkscrew and some glasses.”
I walked into the kitchen and went to the pantry, pressing myself against the counter and dropped my face into my hands. “Pull it together! God, this is going to be hard.” Did I slap myself? I grabbed the glasses, corkscrew, and wine and walked back into the living room. My heart skipped a beat and I instantly got weak in the knees. Ethan was sprawled across my thick carpet on the satin pillows lying on his back next to the window, looking at me. My mandolin was in his hands and his head was propped up against the boudoir by pillows, the window framing his face with falling snow.
The intricate white snowflakes sometimes would hit against the window, pressed there by the wind, made to watch us in its final moments. I sent my love to the window every time a snowflake met its fate. Thing of irreplaceable beauty, you come to me on arctic winds, press your face to mine. To dissolve in passion’s fire burning from within, know me now…. and know me again as that eternal love which seeks you out, in all your forms. For I love nothing more than to show you my many faces. Come to me, child of light, I have come to wet your face with my kisses on this most winter night. I fell to the carpet in thought, kneeling close to the window and the magnetic presence of my wine-bearing friend. He began to play the obsidian body of the mandolin, holding me with such a look that I hardly dared breathe, such was the unmistakable presence of romance. My heart began to swell and the rest of me shivered deliciously, responsive to the vibration of notes coming from the strings. My ears were pleased, my eyes were pleased, and as he began to sing I opened the wine. Pouring the jewel colored liquid into our glasses I became seduced by the perfume of its bouquet as it filled my sense with visions. Hypnotized by the wine’s presence, I found myself inseparable from its existence. I was twirling in a long silk gown dyed deep purple, in a glass ballroom hung with crystal chandeliers. Dark roses in my hair and violets, too… sparkling at my throat and on my fingers are bright garnets, blood in color. My lips berry red and sweet to taste, spiced with the ginger of my kiss. The perfume I wear enchants and my taste….? My mouth watered as I filled the glasses. The deep burgandy color sparkled with the glitter of colored Christmas lights which lay strung along the floor. Ethan recovered me from my revery with his voice, so deep and golden against the high humming of the mandolin’s strings. I was no longer the wine. Luckily, I was a beautiful girl sitting across from a dangerously charming young man who raised his glass and said,
“Let us toast to love. May we make love beautiful and new as the snowflake that falls, eternal as the Source from whence it came. May our love be as fluid as the Sea, potent as our wine, able to move easily into hidden spaces. For in love, you can withhold nothing. Relishment in relinquishment. Salut.”
We drank. Oh, god the taste…. it was so good…. I knew then I wouldn’t be able to stop with just one sip…. I wanted more. Our eyes locked above our glasses and in the silence, warm cherry ginger purple bouquet kisses in our mouths… I remembered; it was a wine to celebrate firsts. Simultaneously, both our wine glasses were on the floor, the mandolin abandoned face to face on our knees we embraced passionately. His thick arms crushed my delicate frame, enclosing me to him and his hands came to my face tilting it back hungrily. My lips already stained with purple wine, eyelashes fluttering with the tragic romance of samurai snowflakes flung against the glass- he seized my mouth with sex in his kiss, his lips, and tongue… and then nothing could be seen again through window. The outside was forgotten and inside was all of existence. The beginning and the end. The dark and the light. And in our love-making, nothing was withheld.
Jacob’s girlfriend and Ghost Gallery art curator, Laura Kearney plays bass. Phil Peterson, a touring member of Nada Surf, songwriter and string composer in Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground, recording studio owner and producer of The House of Breaking Glass; plays electric cello and will be co-producing Palmer, AK’s premier album. You can also find Jacob and Laurie together in their indie-shoegaze band, Ships. Not to be left out in the cold with only one or two bands to star in, Nate Mooter heads up punk rock sensation Strong Killings along with The Lashes drummer Mike Loggins.
