Shorts- Drinking wine, sand dollars and a little boy in women's shoes

Sunday I took a trip down to Newport with my mom and aunt and a few other post-menopausal women for a wine tasting at Newport Vineyards.

It proved to be a great afternoon with a tour, the tasting and good company. I impressed the group with my vast knowledge of wine, i.e. that I knew the carafes of water at the tasting counter were for rinsing glasses after each taste and the ceramic canisters were for dumping said water. The tasting manager responded kindly to the intelligent questions I posed to him in my quest to raise my wine IQ and my mother lovingly complained that he filled my glass a little more than the others. He also responded very diplomatically when one of the women in our group told him that one of the wines stunk. When the others looked at her aghast, she said, "Well, it does. It has an awful odor!"

The woman conducting the tour taught us much about the wine-making process, including that you shouldn't look down on wines sealed with a screw cap. (If you are buying one sealed in such a way, test first to make sure that it does not wiggle.) Towards the end of September, the public is invited to watch Newport Vineyard's grape-crushing process, and I am thinking that wouldn't be a bad way to spend an early fall afternoon.

I left the winery with two bottles of white, including their delicious ice wine (the tasting manager described it as liquid creme brule), which is made from grapes picked frozen from the vine. Their reds, unfortunately, were a little under par.

Then after the tasting, we adjourned to the home of one of the women in our group, who prepared some delicious grilled chicken, all accoutrements supplied by the rest of the gang, (excluding me because I was rude and showed up empty handed). Fun was had by all, though I felt a little out of my element with all the talk about hot flashes.



My new obsession is sand dollars. I don't know why, but when I spotted a few others collecting them on the beach last week, I too decided I had to collect as many as possible. (Up until now, I have been obsessed with those little spirally shells, but this is a whole new ball game.) So I've been to Plum Island three out of the last four days. Today, in 65-degree weather, we drove down the 6 mile dirt road to get to Sandy Point Reservation. I dragged my toddler up and down the beach looking for the things, which I have decided I will make into Christmas ornaments for people. (If you get one, and don't want it, throw it back into the ocean.) It's not really a hobby befitting a 32-year-old, but nonetheless we spent two hours scouring the beach. When I saw an elderly couple cupping several of the purple-ly fragile shells in their hands, I inquired about them, and they skirted my questions and hustled down the beach, as if I had just asked where their buried treasure could be found. Who knew?

I found one (and I practically had to dive head first into the icy waters to retrieve it) and that brings my grand total up to 8 or so.












And this - well, this is a picture I felt I needed to share. Not something Rich would be thrilled to see. But they are very stylish shoes - even if they are worn with sweat pants!