…or, looking for a safe place to buy groceries…
…or, looking for a safe place to worship…
…or, looking for a safe place to go to school…
…or, looking for a safe place to live out my life in peace…
So, it has come down to this. Americans committing genocide upon Americans. Not Russians upon Ukrainians. Americans killing Americans. First the bang, and then the whimper, the endless recitation by our “leaders” telling us it’s a mental issue. Ya think? Starting with the pols. We are watching the killing of our country, in real time, in our lifetime. Not by the commies. Not by the Nazis. Not by the Jews, or by the Blacks, or by the Mexican immigrants or by the Irish or the Italians or the Poles. By Americans. On Americans. We are burying ourselves.
I am finding it increasingly onerous to write about wine. Or watches. Or anything. We are spiraling down a tunnel with no end in sight. We have lost our way, all of us. And our children are paying the price for our reckless abandonment. Who can give a shit about a new way to make an $800 dollar a bottle of Napa Cabernet, when the forest is burning all around us? Or whether or not we should use sulfur in our wine? Or acidify, naturally or industrially? No, I know the difference. But right now, when reality has blurred, so much that I can barely see out the windshield, to find a wine trail, or any trail, I am struggling just to keep moving forward. And I think there are many of us, on both sides of the wall, who are wondering what in hell this is all for? We sure weren’t brought here to watch our babies being slaughtered right in front of us.
I’m watching the social media of the wine community and I see a “business as usual” attitude:
“Hey look at me, I’m
in Burgundy! This is so exhausting” (500 likes)
“Can’t top that (or
can I?). I’m on Howell Mountain, and I call you and raise you a hundred!” (1,000 likes)
“I’m giving voice
to the countless grape varieties that aren’t Cabernet, Merlot, Chardonnay,
Pinot Noir, Sauvignon Blanc and Syrah.” (1,263 likes)
“I’m going up the
Douro to send you all my 2021 harvest report. I’m so blessed to have all of
you, my followers, on this journey with me.” (2,367 likes)
Oh, yeah, that and more. More claptrap and nonsense and bibulous gibberish parading as mastery and influence. And it’s not just limited to the wine world. It’s as if everyone has decided they are GOD and everything they do is compelling, engrossing and fascinating. Because that’s what Gods do.
Meanwhile the blood of infants and babies and innocent children spill into our Zalto’s. And what do we do? We wax on, ad nauseam, about the bouquet and the body and the length and the legs and the finish. Meanwhile, we’re about finished.
I’m ready to take the three-hour tour and find an island to hunker down on and wait for the tsunami. Wait - It’s already hit. We’re underwater. America is drowning in its own blood and bile.
By Amanda Gorman
Everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed and strange,
Minds made muddied and mute.
We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.
And yet none of it is new;
We knew it as home,
As horror,
As heritage.
Even our children
Cannot be children,
Cannot be.
Everything hurts.
It’s a hard time to be alive,
And even harder to stay that way.
We’re burdened to live out these days,
While at the same time, blessed to outlive them.
This alarm is how we know
We must be altered —
That we must differ or die,
That we must triumph or try.
Thus while hate cannot be terminated,
It can be transformed
Into a love that lets us live.
May we not just grieve, but give:
May we not just ache, but act;
May our signed right to bear arms
Never blind our sight from shared harm;
May we choose our children over chaos.
May another innocent never be lost.
Maybe everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed & strange.
But only when everything hurts
May everything change.
