Red Red Wine

I've decided to start drinking wine. Red wine, because it's winter, because I prefer it to white, and because it was one of the last things Jack tried to teach me: how to appreciate a Cabernet Sauvignon. He would pour it in a glass and swirl it, and talk about its legs. It was an inside joke. Jack was a leg man.

So I bought two bottles today, both from wineries in the homeland (a Merlot from Open, and a Cab from Peninsula Ridge). My homeland, that is. That strip of sandy soil on top of the Niagara Peninsula where, when I was a little girl, they used to grow Concord grapes and make them into pie fillings and jelly. When Free Trade came into effect in 1988 all the farmers ripped out their Concords and retired, and ten years later the carpet baggers moved in and opened dozens of chichi new wineries with designer labels. Even my home boys Dan Ackroyd and Wayne Gretzky did it.

The other thing I did today was go underwear shopping. It was on my list. It's a long list; longer than what I showed you, and I intend to work my way diligently through it this week while Gilbert, Mrs. Gilbert, Rex, and a couple of their friends are in Cuba at an all-inclusive resort. The all-inclusive includes all the golf you can golf, and they can have it. I'm having a vacation of my own, being alone while they're away.

Don't get me wrong, I love them all, I really do. Gilbert is my second-best friend, after Kay, and Rex is, well, Rex — I've seen him naked, so we're bonded for life — but I spend 90% of my time with them and I need a break. I live in Gilbert's house, and work for his company; and I live with Rex, drive to work with Rex, and work with Rex.

I really need a break.

Gilbert gave me no instructions, no responsibilities, while he's away. Astro is in charge, which is as it should be. Astro is Mrs. Gilbert's son; I've known him since he was a teenager, he's worked for Gilbert just as long, and the company would undoubtedly fall apart without him — still, I thought he, Gilbert, would have given me some responsibility. He didn't. I don't have a key to the office, so I can't stay late.

So I'm making a real effort to not work hard. It's hard for me to not work hard, having been taught by my father that if you're going to do anything, you must give it your all. But I'm trying.

I checked my personal email today, something I used to do all day every day, and something which, since I've been back home and working a real job in the real world, I sometimes go days without doing at all.

There was an email from Rex, sent two days ago (see?), a message from his mother that he forwarded. She wished him a happy new year, and she said "and the same to Sass," which was the first time she's acknowledged my existence since Rex and I were in grade 13.

So I emailed her. Yeah, I know, and this was before the wine.

You can see how this must look to her, can't you? Chronologically, I mean. I'll summarize, and if you want more detail you can read Rex's blog. Two years ago, I found Rex on Facebook. We chatted briefly, and I put him back in touch with Gilbert. Then he started working for Gilbert. Then last Christmas I went out with Rex and Gilbert. I told you about it here. (He wrote about it here.) It was the first time I'd seen Rex in more than 20 years.

In February this year — I mean last year — Rex left his wife and moved into Gilbert's house. And then in September I got kicked out of California, so I came home and moved into Gilbert's house.

With Rex.

You can see how this must look, can't you? To Rex's mother, I mean? And why the memory of her scares the crap out of me?

In the next story, Sass calls her best friend, Kay.