Why do you think you’re so preoccupied with the death of your father?
It’s Sunday.
On Sundays, I like to make a fancy dinner and today is no exception. Ruth is back in town for a long, languorous weekend, and we have been celebrating each other’s hills and valleys…
Tonight, I made bone-in ribeye with a gorgonzola spread, pan-seared some brussel sprouts, and made mushroom couscous with cinnamon and dried apricots.
The wine is something Ruth brought back from Napa. 2005 Cena Cabernet.
I take several bites of steak, preparing my pallette. The wine has some classic elements.
I picture myself in an old-timey soda shop. I taste anise, pencil lead, eucalyptus (which may be impossible to spell), and cassis . The wine is dark, herbaceous, and it does not lend itself easily to flowery descriptions. I find I’m having a tough time finding the fruit. I bring it around to different parts of my tongue, swish it in my mouth…this wine could probably use 3 -4 years aging and –
“So, why do you think you’re so preoccupied with the death of your father?”
“Um….that’s quite a transition.”
“Well, yeah…I’ve been thinking about it…”
“Well, I guess it’s because he’s always seemed fearful of it. It’s the elephant in the room; he’s always preparing us for his death. I guess somewhere along the line, I’ve absorbed that fear and taken it on as my own.”
“Do you fear your own death?”
“I don’t think so. I feel like if I die, I’ll have lived a good life. If you died young, however, I think, I’d need to be taken away for a little while…”
“I’m not going to die young, I promise…”
“That’s what they all say…”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I guess I feel like, in every facet of my life, I’ve done the best I could. I did all the drugs I could. I laid as many girls as I could. Yes, there were some blue doors I opened when I should have opened red doors, but I knew what I was doing, and I accept what happened to me as a result. I did the best I could, and I can only hope that in every lifestage, I will do everything I can to live it to the fullest. I don’t want to spend my life fearing my inevitable demise…”
“Yeah…”
We look in each other’s eyes. My eyes are moist. I take a sip of wine, and look away.
“Man, this is good wine.”
Cena 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon - 89