I'm sitting here in the early morning light of the west coast eating a bag of ham, sliced deli meat. No bread, no mustard, no tomato, no lettuce, no cheese. Well, perhaps some cheese, when I run out of ham, which will be any moment now. Being married is great. My wife buys food that I'm sure she envisions being something I enjoy, like turkey and ham for sandwiches, but I improvise and just eat it right out of the bag, not even in slices, just breaking off big delicious chunks of it.
We have a friend in from NYC. We went to dinner last night. Having her here has made us both, Rachel and I, a little bit homesick. I have been busy with work since moving here so I haven't felt it as much, but Rachel has had more time to contemplate, to let longings gain speed and break into a trot, even an occasional gallop. We drank several bottles of wine last night, our friend and I. Rachel had a single glass. It partially explains my method of pork intake this morning. Laziness, haziness, and late-night craziness.
Now we go to visit some wineries and taste some other wines, flexing our adjectives.... curiously cooperative.... The tasting rooms open at 10am, most of them. It's one of the few places that understand that wine intake is a serious business and should not be impeded by silly societal standards in the way that those same preposterous principles occur and dominate in other places, letting the hour of the day dictate pleasures.
I go now to prove my point.
