Wine Was Involved

Write drunk, edit sober is good advice unless one’s drunk writing makes sober editing extremely difficult.

There’s really no point to this post except that I’m having TONS of fun (insert eye roll) finding all of the little mistakes and inconsistencies in my manuscript. I can see the finish line, but there are all these obstacles in the way, such as wayward quotation marks, accidental apostrophes, missing words, and redundant chuckles. She chuckled, he chuckled, they all chuckled. Back to back to back chuckles are annoying.

I shall stay the course, though. Let no chuckle go unnoticed.

Peace, people!

Drunk Shopping

Studly Doright has been gone for nearly a week. He’s due home any minute now, and it’s about damned time. I don’t sleep well when he’s gone, so I might’ve had a little more wine than was prudent last night.

The good news is, it worked. Last night I slept deeply and had wonderful dreams. The bad news? Apparently I ordered a pair of tights and a deck of tarot cards from Amazon. I only know this because there are messages to that effect in my inbox.

All I can say is, the future’s so bright I’ve gotta wear tights.

I might need these socks sold by The Sock Drawer.

Peace, people!

An Upgrade

My corkscrew wine opener suffered a debilitating injury on Tuesday night. In my attempt to fix it I might have gotten a little carried away and now it’s what my mom might have called “all cattywampus.”

I bought a new one on Wednesday.

Out with the old!

And it’s PREMIUM. I know because it says so right on the package. By golly, I’ve moved up in the world. Let’s hope my premium product lives up to the hype. I couldn’t handle another letdown.

Peace, people!

A Disaster of Epic Proportions

On election night, I broke my wine opener.

In the process of opening a bottle of red, one of the arms fell off. I found the pieces scattered about on the floor and managed to hammer the broken arm back into place. Apparently, though, my hammering was over zealous, and now the arms don’t move in the same way.

If I didn’t live in a rural neighborhood I’d climb into my car and go in search of a new opener. But it’s dark and my night vision isn’t great, so I’ll have to make do with one bottle of wine tonight. Surely that will be enough. Oh the humanity!

It’s going to be a long night.

Peace, people.

Drinking Wine from a Paper Cup

I’m in a hotel room somewhere in Georgia. I believe the town is named Milledgeville. Why am I in Milledgeville? Because Studly Doright came home from work this afternoon and said, “Let’s go somewhere that’s not here,” so I called a pet sitter to watch over Gracie and we got into our car and drove north for five hours or so.

COVID messed with all of our vacation plans this year, so Studly had several days he needed to take off before the end of 2020. Hence, the road trip.

Tomorrow we’ll push further north to Dillard, Georgia. He visited there last year on a motorcycle trip with our now deceased, and much loved friend, Jim, and it’s held a special place in his heart ever since.

I packed in a hurry, so there is no telling what essentials I left behind. I packed the wine, though. I never forget the wine.

Peace, people!

Wistful Drinking

Pour me another

A full bodied deep red wine

Something slowly sipped

Bring me memories

Of times spent on lazy lakes

Simply holding hands

Give me a reason

To hold on when life’s too much

Pour me another

I became incredibly bored watching the OU-LSU football game on Saturday night. Only a second glass of wine got me through it.

Peace, people.

A Nice Wine Makes it Right

I want to be happier than I was yesterday, but not quite as happy as I’ll be tomorrow

Like that old saying I heard somewhere when I was much younger and had better retention

Only, it had more to do with love than happiness, and while the two are closely related

They can be mutually exclusive. I’ve been happy without being in love and in love without being happy

Damn. Is that as deep as I think it is, or is that just the Cabernet Sauvignon talking?

Thankful for Magic

Does anyone else believe that pecan pies are magic? The first time I baked one, many years ago, I mixed all the ingredients and wondered if I was supposed to arrange a layer of pecans on top. The recipe said to stir them in, but all the pecan pies I’d ever had featured a lovely layer of pecans sitting atop the ooey goodness of the pie filling.

In spite of my misgivings I followed the recipe and didn’t add the extra pecans. Lo and behold, those wonderful nuts rose to the occasion and my first pecan pie was as perfect looking as any I’d ever seen.

Over the years I’ve baked a few pecan pies that weren’t perfect–usually because Studly Doright was supervising and he believes in baking them until they surrender to the heat, shrinking the filling and rendering it almost leather-like in texture.

The trick is always to cook them when he’s otherwise occupied. Tonight I have him running hither and yon on meaningless errands. Oh, and to have a glass of wine or two during the baking process. Then, even if it doesn’t turn out picture perfect, I don’t really care.

Peace, and happy Thanksgiving, people! I’m so thankful for you all!

Update: This pie turned out beautifully; however, Studly found its hiding place and helped himself to a generous slice on Wednesday evening. Sigh.