A Patient Kind of Wine

The best tasting wine is one that has aged. I was bottled in 1952 and shipped from France, to New York where I would begin a life long journey. For many months I sat on a shelf amongst the other bottled wines. I patiently sat, waited and watched as the Merlots, Chardonnays, Zinfandels, and Cabernet Sauvignons were taken off the shelf, one right after the other. Was I too expensive? Too rich? Was my label not striking enough? I was a Vintage Bordeaux, and I would be the perfect object for a nightly glass with dessert, a dinner party, and especially a romantic date.

I’m not sure how long I sat on that shelf. But the small store that I was in, had become a large grocery store, and still no one bothered to even pick me up. It wasn’t until a sweet old lady wrapped her warm hands around the curve of my neck and swept me into her arms that I finally felt at home in America and I would finally be tasted. I imagined myself sitting in the center of a grand dinner party with distinguished guest, or even being shipped to California as a gift. Finally all of my splendid juices would refresh the palate of some lucky wine connoisseur.

The old lady gently brushed the dust that had formed on my glass. She slowly placed me into a white flowered bag with so much ease and care. I knew that she was worth the wait. A few days later I was finally taken out of the bag. However I did not see the face of the gentle old lady, but instead I saw the face of a young couple. The women caressed me in her hands slowly reading over my label. I knew she was impressed by the look on her face. I had a stone colored label with fancy burgundy script writing. I was France’s finest wine, and I was concocted with the most premium handpick grapes.

I waited patiently for the feeling of the corkscrew, the sound of the pop as my cork was taken out releasing my strong aromas. But in never happened, the women handed me to the man, who placed me in front of him, reading my label. I watched as he scribbled something on a white piece of cardstock. “Dear Nana, thank you for the bottle of wine.” He said, smiling at his wife. “We will treasure it always, and never forget all that you have done for us.” I saw a single tear fall from the women’s face, and I watched as the man leaned in to kiss her.

Later I was placed on top of a glass counter where I would spend countless years watching a collection of other wines come in and out of the house. I soon began to realize that as the years went on my taste would become more decadent, and my importance to the couple would only strengthen. I watched as the young couple had children, celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, celebrated birthday after birthday, and I patiently waited for the day that I could celebrate with them. Fifty years later, after moving around a couple of times, I still patiently sat in a silver wine rack. I was occasionally dusted off or picked up by a guest as they read my label. But it wasn’t until the couple’s 50th wedding anniversary that I realized the significance of the wait.

On September 18th 2003 my bottle was opened for the first time. They had taken me off the shelf and placed me into a gold colored bag symbolizing their golden anniversary. We arrived at a fancy restaurant and finally I was at the extravagant dinner party that I had been waiting for. The guests were the same children that I had watched grow up, get married and have children of their own. They had made a banner for their parent’s which said ‘Happy Anniversary,’ in bright gold letters. After everyone passed their anniversary gifts around and made a toast to the couple, I was picked up off the table and carried around the room by a man dressed in black and white. He used a silver corkscrew opener to take out my cork, and he slowly poured my rich burgundy juices into everyone’s wine glass. Afterwards the couple got up to speak.

They dedicated their toast to Nana, who I knew as the sweet old lady who saved me from that grocery store so long ago. The man told their story of how Nana was the only one who had faith in the two of them; she was the only one who had faith in their love. And Nana had been the only one present at their wedding, because no one else in their families approved of two eighteen year olds getting married. But Nana, who had passed away some time ago, knew that people can fall in love, even at a young age.

I realized that I symbolized the forbidden union of this couple. I was able to watch the couple grow up, learn from their mistakes, teach their children, get into arguments, and fall in love all over again. And that’s when I knew that if the greatest wine can last over fifty years, so can the greatest marriage.

“Love is patient, Love is kind” - Corinthians 13:4-8

 

 

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