In Memory of Patty Wright-Ferrini...
And that is where we are at these days, ladies and gentlemen. George Clooney mused recently to his wife, upon turning 60, “I can still do everything I did when I was 30. But in 30 years, I’m 90. That’s a real number.” Let me tell you, from someone who is midway between those numbers, it’s like a train that’s rushing to its destination. Not an Italian train in the 1970’s – more like a Frecciarossa. Look it up.
Still, we have world leaders who continue to continue to pretend, (their) life will never end, again from that Simon & Garfunkel song. We all know how that will turn out. The train eventually arrives at its destination, no matter how much money, how much power, how much makeup, how much influence.
The last line of “The Brutalist” has a niece eulogizing her architect uncle, the main protagonist of the film, "No matter what the others try and sell you, it is the destination, not the journey." Finally, someone says it. People try and brush the crumbs underneath the carpet, telling you it’s all about the journey – The Journey. Well, let me tell you, that is a smokescreen. It’s bullshit. It is about arriving somewhere and somewhere again. And again, and again. And again. Otherwise, why would wine aficionados lust after the next vertical tasting of DRC wines or tasting a 1967 d'Yquem or any number of anticipated (and yes, desired!) experiences before their train arrives at the station.
But let me tell you, on your deathbed, no one, at least in my world, is going to be regretting not having tasted a vertical of Chateau “You Name It” and wishing , hoping for just a thimbleful, a taste, before they pass over. More likely, they’ll be asking for more morphine.
I’ve been sipping on this 1999 Brunello for the past few days. It was a wine that probably could have taken a few more years, but in its current state, it was just lovely, still powerful, strong and assertive. And this, from a .750ml bottle. Contrasting it with another 1999 Brunello I recently opened, a 1.5 Liter bottle. When I opened it, a winemaker friend (he makes Brunello too) asked me what I thought of it. My answer, "I don’t think it will get any better than it is now.” In other words, drink up.
The problem was, I didn’t care. I’d kept that bottle on it’s side, in the dark, in the cool. And when the time came for it’s opening, it was just there. No journey. Just a muffled destination.
Did I do something wrong to the wine? Did I store it incorrectly? Perhaps. But every wine, like everyone, has its own destiny. The .750ml arrived wonderfully at the station, with aplomb and a band and people waiting, greeting, even applauding. The 1.5 Liter bottle got to the station, with a suitcase and a $5 bill. Enough for a cab to wherever it would take it. No fanfare, no fireworks. The end.
Like us humans, both wines.
I’m writing this way because I feel we are on a precipice in time and we will be judged by how we conduct ourselves, how we age in the cellar, during this time. Do you want to open up like the .750ml bottle or the 1.5 Liter bottle?
In my world the 1.5 Liter bottle is long gone. Forgotten after this screed. There is still a little left of the .750ml bottle. It is still on some kind of a journey. But I don’t think it continues to continue to pretend that its life will never end. It had a good life and there are only a few drops left.
I will savor them. Like I will savor my friendship with my dear friends, living and dead. And I hope to savor the next 15 years, until that real number arrives.
It won’t be long , yeah, yeah, yeah…
