Hearts, Vines, Families & Wines

Mother’s Day has just past. Happy Mother’s Day to all of the Mothering hearts out there. I took to my van on Sunday for the first time driving it in seven months and the first time rambling down the road in it for no reason whatsoever except to recall the feeling of it. It needed some highway miles to get its juices properly flowing and so did I.

The engine fired up and it ran like a top and all its quirkiness and its long list of minor flaws were quickly remembered. It was like some time with an old friend who hadn’t changed a bit. It only lacked my ole van companion Savvy. I was reminded the van needs a picture of her up on the wall as it just seems weird not to see her face, especially in the van. Amazing the imprint the dog had on me and it never occurred to me until she was gone, coming up on a year now, that she was in fact rather an emotional support dog through many seasons since 2018.

The road had me headed south of Lincoln. To Crete, a small town the crew had landscaped in before came to mind, so it’s the target I picked but not necessarily as a destination. My friend Shelly said to look for a town called Clatonia which was near there but I had no idea why. Clatonia it is then. I went through a town called Wilber before Clatonia and turned left at a corner with a man selling flowers out of his truck and trailer right by the State Historic sign that declared Wilber, the Czech Capital of the state. How interesting I thought, my Step Mom was Czech; a fitting day to roll through the Czech capital of Nebraska. I had to smile thinking about her and hearing her voice in my mind's ear which turned to some tears. I miss her. And I miss my Mom who has been gone so long now but yet the sting can feel fresh on certain days. I miss her but I carry with me the very best of her including writing; something that she so desired to put out but didn’t. She always feels near and that is a truth.

Once in Clatonia, I blinked at the sign that said Population 231 and the next think I knew was that I had just passed Clatonia. I wasn’t sure what specifically my friend had in mind here that I should “swing by” but I did see a sign for a Clatonia Rec Area so I turned around and followed that sign. I came across a hand made looking sign declaring Rec Area so I turned in. All I saw was a tree line off in the distance, one picnic table and a sign or two declaring things about shooting guns. Somehow though, it was perfect because there was not a soul around much unlike probably any other “rec area” in the state on Mother’s Day. I backed the van up for a view of the treeline, I threw open the back van doors and I laid upon my van bed feeling almost sentimental about the whole scene. Torn between being flooded with things to write down and just wanting to lay there and listen to only birds and a breeze, I felt so in the moment of being right where I was. I love those feelings.

I laid there for awhile and contemplated Mother’s Day and all of the situational emotions one could be experiencing on this day of honor and celebration. I spent a lot of time in the make Mother’s Day go away camp due to my Mother’s passing having forever Mother’s Day attached to it. I recalled how I struggled to put my best face forward each year for so many years hoping not to rob myself a Mother’s Day from my son’s perspective but I failed in that several times. I thought of how as bad as that seemed to me, how much worse it is for the Mother’s I know who have lost a child and how Mother’s Day as well as every celebration day is something beyond a struggle. I think of the Mother’s I know who have experienced this deep soul severing and want to declare the admiration and love I feel for them but knowing admiration isn’t even the right word. There are no words. I thought about how many people did not ever get a child they so wanted, Mother’s who were raising children who weren’t their “real Moms” and the Mother’s who have lost their children whose children were taken away from them by someone else. There are so many stories attached to the word Mother that it is mind blowing. At the end of it all, the good, the bad, the ugly and the sad, one thing sprung to my mind. Mothering hearts. The love a Mothering heart can perpetrate from her heart is an incredible power that stacks way outside the genetic box. A love by a woman with a mothering heart knows no bounds and it is a glue that holds many people together outside the genetic mother/child relationship that for many was a source of much pain in ones life until a Mothering heart stepped in and brought salve to a mother wound.

Vines

While in Pinhao, Portugal, Ethan and I got to spend some time with the owner of Cafe Imperio. A kind of man that rather glides around the restaurant as though on a magic carpet vibe rather than walking. Pedro, had both Ethan and I rather smitten early on due to his chief chilly wind demeanor, his intense eye contact, his “speak his mind” without hesitation or filter, and it was easy to want to be in a conversation with him for however long it could be possible. The feeling felt reciprocal as well. We learned Pedro was married and seemingly by the look in his eye upon mentioning her, very happy and grateful for his marriage. We learned that at 39 he left behind the days of drinking too much, staying up too long and generally living the wilder side of life for a simplified life. Doing work he enjoyed and that had purpose and shaving as much time as possible for travel, river sports, hiking with dogs and things that bring balance and peace.

Pedro speaks four languages and is working on more, his wife is an attorney and they have no children. He and his wife met in Pinhao although neither of them lived there. However, she had roots there. And just like that, being surrounded by the magic of what a wine region scenery can add as a back drop, and like the 100 year old wine vines we had seen at the wine tour, suddenly we were being thrown into a story of a place and a family of days past and just like in a book, you don’t know the characters but were transported by them as though you did.

Families

I think the thing that stood out for me in listening about Pedro’s wife’s Grandfather was the fact of how he owned the story like it was his. It seemed another testimony to the love they must have. He beamed with pride in telling how Cafe Imperio was started by his wife’s grandfather and he worked the place like some serious old school hospitality central hang. I envisioned the place being the hub of the village. There are books that were kept by him that were signed by guests coming in from all over the world as well as from the regulars that were probably there on the daily. Pedro seemed in special awe of the ledgers kept on people’s credit he would give to his customers and we spoke of how that is not so common anymore and there was a time people believed in people more. Several items in the Cafe date back to when the Grand Father was running the place with passion and all the while building a future for his family beyond probably those he could see at the time.

Pedro told us of how the wine cellar came to be which was the very place our luggage was stowed for us the first day we were there but we didn’t really see it. I think he said that it was back in 1962 when it was decided that a wine cellar needed to be a part of Cafe Imperio; which considering it’s locale and the hub of hospitality the Cafe was this seemed a must. So, he got C4 or something explosive and blew up a part of the cafe and brought a wine cellar into existence. Grandpa would hold court back there with some favorite people and ports as a small tasting room. Of course, I absolutely loved this story as well as the space as Pedro took us back there, showed us ledgers and gave us a taste from an old bottle of Port. It was a special memory and I could not have been any more at peace when I was there at that moment.

I was so inspired by Pedro’s love of his wife’s family and their story as though it were his own and I thought to myself, it is his own. He is the keeper and the teller of the stories right along side his wife. He holds down the place where hard work, hard times, passion and tenacity built a legacy. He seemed so at peace about his decision to run the family business and had an air of complete gratitude. I could almost feel the smiles and maybe even a tear from a Grandfather of a woman I had never met at the storytelling Pedro tells. I thought, this is what it always comes down to; the stories, and whether by blood or by bond the familial ties are truly weaved together in the story and the storyteller and how we just need more of that and less of ourselves. When we came for breakfast the next morning before catching a train, greeted by Pedro, I felt myself missing a friend I barely knew, yet the feeling was real. When we left, we all hugged and I mean hugged, the hugs your soul feels and I started to cry a bit which he seemed to express no shock over and I greatly appreciated that, it’s like he understood the type of tear it was. We all concocted a small isolated mutual admiration society somehow in a short period of time and time both stood still and went backwards and it was and will forever be a beautiful memory.

Wines

It may come as no surprise that I love wine. I no longer even drink a lot of wine but wine got a hold of me in a way that I can never leave behind. I got to be privy to tasting a whole lot of wine in my time which led to learning about it, to then attending many wine events. Random fun facts weren’t enough as I began to get whole books on wine, subscribed to Wine Spectator, began to offer wine pairings through the catering company and then actually did some Wine 101 seminars. At one time we wanted to launch a wine newsletter that really didn’t take off but I have the layout prototype to this day. When we visited the wine country in California I officially had the wine bug. Wine business ideas were common in many of the 26 years of the catering company.

We talked and even did a video recording of a live wine event that we wanted to pitch as a TV series. That also went no further but the point is, I felt strongly about wine being a part of my life aside from drinking and enjoying it. I understood the romance, the passions and the stories of wine. Every bit of how it comes together is a weaving of an artistic fluid medium. It is no wonder to me how often the Bible, all the way through, uses wine, vines, and grapes as important context for stories. In writing this I now too see how wine is like families. There are old vines and young vines all giving different distinct qualities. There is weather that affects the vines just as trials test families and there is loss. But at the end of the day, there is the love of it and the telling of it’s story. Wine has been woven through the story of mankind as sure as love has.

So, I raise a glass of the grapes and salute the storytellers and every human since we all have a story. And, of course, to love.

L