Wine Stained Arms

Here I stand with wine stained arms. Happy, content, and overwhelmed by how much I have learned in the past five years. It hit me today: I’m doing it. I’m following through with a dream. Classes start soon, I’m going to work with someone this Fall who makes wine so well – I could squeal. I’m squealing. I’m standing here squealing so loud maybe you can hear me. Can you hear me? I bet you can.

I don’t talk a whole lot about wine here, and I really should.

Walking in the grocery store with my mom, I would stare down those shiny bottles. Light would reflect off of those labels. I loved it. I still do today. I often walk through the small bottle shop where I work, touching and feeling each and every bottle. I feel connected, like I belong. The soil, the earth, the fruit, everything makes my soul want for more.

It’s weird when something clicks. Wine came full force at me when I took a job as a hostess at a wine, cheese, and beer cafe. I knew nothing, zip, zilch, zero. All I knew was that I wanted to be there. It took a long time to learn. In fact, there were many failed tests and low scores before I got it. It finally made sense. I feel the same way in the kitchen now.

I talk about wine in the classes I teach, at tastings, and to people who just want a bottle for dinner. It’s exciting. It’s fun. It makes people happy.

Today I poured wine for many people. Lots, I mean a ton. In fact, I’m standing here with wine stains up and down my arms, and I like it.




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