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!

Help...

It's five degrees. My son is sick. My house is basically uninhabitable by humans (though we seem to be managing ok). And I have a shitload of work to do.

To top it off, I've had no sleep - I shared my bed last night with said sick toddler, who flopped like a fish out of water until 4:30 a.m.

As we speak, he is handing me a partially-chewed raisin, which he found on the dust-bunny covered floor, and begging, like a forlorn puppy dog, for more snacks.

I know how today is going to go. He'll ask to construct his jumbo Thomas puzzle, which request I will oblige. But halfway through, he'll pull apart the pieces I have sleepily put together, then dump out his wooden train set. By the time I have that set up, his heart will again be set on Thomas, not the puzzle, but the squadron of various blue trains bearing that creepy happy face that are too big to push on said train track. The puzzle is interesting again. He'll point to the window and ask to see the moon, which is not yet visible. I will wipe his nose. This routine will go on for a good hour or two.

I'll call my next-door-neighbor Sandi, who thankfully will listen to my lament and have a few toddler horror stories of her own. My son will emit screams of displeasure and throw something to get my attention. We'll eat lunch.

He'll nap. I'll search the net, trying to self-diagnose the disease of the week, then when I am finally fully prepared to work, he'll wake. I'll bemoan that I have no time. Sub-zero temperatures persist, so of course we can't go outside. So, the afternoon will go much the same.

But of course, I love all this. It's part of being a parent. And on Wednesdays, at least, we have music class.