Thanks for once again making me crave your wide open sky, gorgeous mountains, and the freedom that you dangle in front of me. Your skyline dances across my head during the most in-opportune moments and my questions of “what if” haunt me during … well, all the time.
Until we meet again, Colorado … (or at least until Stranded Dog gets over his ridiculous altitude sickness.)
Since I can’t drink wine anymore, I’m expanding my (currently limited) horizons:
Knockabout Gin from Gloucester and Old Ipswich Rum from Ipswich.
Happy Memorial Day!
Dear Wine,
It’s not you, it’s me.
Sure, we’ve had some good time over the years. Remember when I spent an afternoon at a California vineyard, enjoying your lovely, diverse tastes and munching on ridiculously overpriced cheese?
Or when I spent that infamous Tuesday night, drinking you from a box and singing bad songs with my girlfriends? While donning that slightly crushed cowboy hat? Classic.
And let’s not even begin to reminisce about all those fantastic evenings in my backyard, sipping your flavors from my oversize glass and laughing (arguing) about books, movies, politics and more with my parents, family and friends.
Our love affair has been brief, but intense. And like all good things, this must come to an end. Or at least that’s what my allergist tells me.
But let’s not dwell on the past. Let’s appreciate the fact that we can look back fondly on the good times and move on, embracing the future.
Now go. Get out of here. You heard me, leave.
Love, Amy
PS: I’m leaving you for gin.
