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It should be noted here that, unlike our modern line of imperial presidents, Thomas Jefferson stocked the wine cellars at the White House out of his own pocket. During his first term he spent approximately $97,000.00 (inflation adjusted) on wine for state dinners.
It is Father's Day in the US and this is TWC's dad all decked out for Independence Day (probably 1932).
A copy of this picture, and four other toddler versions of my dad and uncle, hung on the wall at my grandfather's house for as long as I can remember.
The Mean Old White Man (my grandfather) made the frame and then whittled an elaborate pattern into the wood using a single edge razor blade (yes, I'm serious). He also made his own mat board with the five oval openings. This hangs on the wall here at Casa de las Rocas Grandes.
Close Up Look at the Detail of the 80 Year Old Razor Blade Carving
Haven't picked out my Father's Day wine yet, but it will be a good cabernet to go with the thick T-bone steaks Mrs TWC brought home.
Tip of the glass to the fathers out there. May your day be blessed.
Seems like it was on a CONgressionally mandated three-day Memorial Day weekend that my boat sunk in front of Sundance on the Parker Strip. Technically, I guess that's where the prop shaft coupling let go and it was later, after taking on a considerable amount of water over the low freeboard transom, that Jim sunk the dam thing because he didn't listen to what I told him to do. That was eons ago and JIm's been dead for six years. Still holding a grudge, I see.
On a cold, blustery November day I stood contemplating the ghostly figures you see mirrored in the polished black granite wall. The reflected figures are larger-than-life stainless steel statues dressed in full winter combat gear and posed in a chained off garden.
I get what the artist intended with the superimposed figures reflected among the other faces etched into the black granite, but it doesn't have the emotional impact of the Viet Nam Wall. Perhaps because it isn't my generation.
Mrs TWC's evil stepfather was one of many whose life was destroyed by the Korean War. The platoon he commanded was blown to bits of blood and bone, he the sole survivor. He suffered his entire life, gradually devolving into an abusive, chain smoking, wheel chair bound, alcoholic victim of agoraphobia who suffered from PTSD and screaming nightmares. Maybe he would have been crazed anyway, some genetic malfunction or a family history of psychological problems. But I'm betting on the rain of carnage he witnessed first hand, for which he blamed himself.
It is fitting that we remember the tens of thousands of war dead and the hundreds of thousands who were maimed or otherwise injured. It is also fitting to remember that the Korean War arose from bad decisions our leaders made at the close of World War II. Ironic indeed, that America allowed herself to be bullied and browbeat by Uncle Joe into handing over North Korea to the Soviet Union, the ultimate cost in American lives was nearly equal to those lost in the Viet Nam War, not to mention the multiple billions of dollars spent to keep troops on the Korean Peninsula for six decades.
Welcome, welcome. And a glorious Easter Sunday morning it is. Indeed.
Easter celebrates the final and most lasting miracle. This morning, however, we're turning back the page to John 2, verses 2-11. Thankee.
Shortly before Passover that year a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Among the guests at this glorious affair, were Jesus, his mother, and the Disciples. The celebrants, danced, feasted, and drank wine until there was no more wine.
Once the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him,
Son, we have no more wine.
Always the polite son, Jesus responded thus,
Ma, it is not my place..........
As any Jewish mother would do, she tapped her foot firmly a number of times, flashed a demure smile, and admonished the servants to do whatever Jesus might ask of them.
Nearby stood six stone water jars ordinarily reserved for ceremonial washing, each of which held from twenty to thirty gallons of water.
Jesus then said to the servants,
Go to the well and fill the jars with water. Once you have done so, draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.
The servants did so, and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had become wine. Although the servants who had drawn the water knew from whence it came, the master of the banquet did not and when he called the bridegroom aside, he said,
It is to be expected that the choice wine is served first and then the cheaper wine is brought out after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the very finest wine until now.
Thus, Jesus performed the first of his miraculous signs at Cana in Galilee, and by doing so revealed His Glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.
Bow your heads in benediction, please.
Amen. Go in peace, holding Saint Paul's admonition to Saint Timothy close to your hearts.
.....use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.
Just for the record, in the days before TWC was a vagrant yoot, all of those Mardi Gras costumes and masked revelry scared the holy living crap outta me. I didn't understand any of the significance of the event and, frankly, people in masquerade masks were frightening.
Billboard on Canal Street in N'Awlins Across From the Ritz Carlton
Rex Goliath is a non-denominated (no vintage) cheap red wine from California. The winery's schtick is a 47 pound rooster named Rex-Goliath, who was (apparently) quite the circus attraction back in the day. The label promises big and bold in the tradition of big and bold Rex-Goliath. The wine is just okay. It is big and pretty bold but it has a really strange back taste at the finish that I found to be sort of annoying. I still drank the wine and it will be fine for mid-week if you pair it with pizza, pasta, or Mafia Sandwiches.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. What are y'all giving up for Lent?