The Saga of Pinot: A Short Story
By Stephanie Jeannot
Muddling through a job that is demanding of my devotion can sometimes be overwhelming. I have to learn the rules of the trade to be able to be a good contender in the field and often bring my work home with me when the remnants of the bad sticks with me, even after the day has ended. But I don’t like taking work home with me. The end of the day is for breathing; not a time to linger on my office space away from home. It is meant for relaxing my body and my mind.
I gladly accept my evening solace time after work when day begins to disappear from view. I can’t front; the memory of all the things that could have been resolved better within the day seem to resound in my thoughts as I pound the pavement on my way to my humble abode. But lately, I have come across a deviant attraction with peace of mind which I have found through acceptance that life is not easy. That sense of positivity has impacted my life in the most positive way.
I can still view my life as sweet and wonderful, even when the waves and currents of day did not flow fair and balanced. I can lead a happy day even if the previous activities of my yester or my morning leave me feeling weak and humiliated for the rest of the day. And I can still be washed with moments of optimism even if I make a hurried exit from work only for my horse-drawn carriage to hit turbulence and become a visceral nightmare.
That’s just the perks of the day. It comes with the world that we live. There is no guarantee that life will always give you a smooth sailing ride on the vivid and fresh sea. True, that many moons come with extraordinary beauty meant to be appreciated, though we often march to the rhythm of the world with eyes unable to see, those little goods that are meant to be appreciated.
One night something changed. It was like the dramatic escalation of a classical Beethoven musical chord taking a turn for the melodious leaps of a ballet story. He stood there in the chill of the excitement, with his blue attractive shell that housed his subtle wine. He was pleasant, with his expression of individuality that simply blew my mind. He was the epitome of pulchritude. It was like love at first sight. I had to make my acquaintance.
And so, without fear of what would happen next, I took my shot of shining arrays of light on my interest. What was the worst that could happen after the long horrific journey I took to lead me to this place? His image was of painted masterpieces on the wall of the Smithsonian. His fine lines were captivatingly beautiful. He had the sexiest stance and aroma of woods and of earth; of the hard work put in to make him who he was. His intriguing style made sense of my world and it was obvious; comfort was such a part of our minute connection that I was obliged to take him home with me.
His name was Pinot, of the Grigios from the Bartenura Venezie region of Italy. He was sparkling with personality. He possessed this uniqueness about him that gave him an edge above the rest. His taste for life left a lasting effect. His attitude was not too bitter or strong but rather smooth and just right. I couldn’t help but smile at his admirable presence. There’s something about a nice, clean image and a confident stance that gives me a sweet tooth. He was ready for the world; ready for me. He served as a good contender of the other I saw in my range of view, Moscato of the Sutter Homes. I am so glad that we connected.
It was his signature style that drew me to him. He smiled at me in a way that ignited my heart to rumble like the inside of a ready to blow volcano. I allowed him entrance with festive cheer. With exceeding smoothness, he exchanged critical analysis with me of a life well spent, like I’ve never heard it. My heart was wide open and deeply attentive to his every little detail. It was as if destiny had finally taken its course. The yellow brick road had come with so many obstacles before. But this time, I knew that I had come to this rung for a reason. Pinot was the reason.
For the moment, I am enjoying the fabulous sensation of the pleasantries of Pinot’s charming wine. He’s rich and expressively fruitful. His essence is amazing. I felt joy inside our lingual exchange. He spoke in tongues of Italy’s finest. He touched me with the bittersweet roughness of his history. My heart beat rushed and now the story is timeless. Pinot has made a home in my heart. The helpings of Pinot are so tender that I am always ready for a second helping. He has furnished my mind with thoughts of beauty and splendor to carry with me. I carry Pinot in my spirit as if he was meant to be there. Since the moment of inception, he has never left me dry. He is always full bodied and a treasure that I keep on chill, just for me.
I strongly applaud Bartenura for the magic of the Pinot Grigio that they made, just right and fabulously tasting. It is delicious. Just one glass is enough to build a romance story like this one; one that happened by mistake. It was actually the Bartenura Moscato that I was reaching for. I had tasted it at a wine tasting party in Freeport once and liked the Moscato so much that I wanted a bottle for home; for a rainy day. The Pinot Grigio seemed to fall into my love accidently. But good thing it did because the Pinot Grigio was excellent. As I sipped on it and remembered that I had to do the same routine of pounding the pavement tomorrow, the flavor of the mellow, sweet tasting wine made me realize that life does have its sweet little additives; Bartenura’s Pinot Grigio is just one of them.