Uncorked

The family across the street had been making wine since 1930 (according to the label) and brought a bottle over to give to us. I can't remember if it was a special occasion -- perhaps the birth of our first baby girl -- or not. The year was 1987. We put the bottle away to save for a time in the future. We moved away. We lost contact with our neighbors. By now, their three young children would be in their 30s -- off living lives of their own, perhaps making wine to share with their friends.

We carted the bottle from our home on Don Allen Road to the one on Natchez, to the one on Rainbow, to the one on Calumet and finally, to Farm Dover. Each time, wondering about the contents of the bottle and when we would finally uncork it.

The decision was made for us. We had placed the bottle on its side in our kitchen wine rack and I noticed a few splashes of wine on the counter. The cork had decomposed, allowing the wine to seep out. It was time -- or perhaps past time -- for the uncorking.

So, on Saturday afternoon, we uncorked the Pregliasco bottle of wine. Out flowed the wine -- along with a flood of memories of our life on Don Allen Road: our dating days (and months and years), raking leaves in the front yard and barbecueing in the back, the early days of our marriage, the birth of our first precious baby, Octoberfest celebrations held in the street, the old couple next door, strolling with other new moms and their babies around and around the block....

I love our new life in the country, but I treasure the memories of our lives in other places, other homes. So on Saturday, Ed and I raised a toast to all those good memories and to the friends who helped make them -- and to those who made the wine. Cheers to the Familia Pregliasco!