days of wine shop and roses
Jan. 19, 2010 10:58 am
Updated: Jan. 20, 2010 7:57 am
So it’s the new year then. The last of a much maligned decade. The aughts really oughta’ve been better. I can’t exactly recall what I expected from them. For me personally, the aughts got off to a rocky start: I lost my job right out of the gate, a casualty of the tech bust. And the decade was just getting started.
So what to expect from the twenty-tens? By 2021, our iTabs will be running on tiny specks of Unobtainium and new software will allow us to read our thoughts on the computer screen right as we’re thinking them (this will be widely understood as a mixed blessing). Eh, maybe it’s best not to guess.
Who knows what will happen? Actually, when I think about the future, I think about the small things -- the mostly mundane things that I’m doing now that maybe I’m not doing in ten years’ time. Things like cycling to work or stomping around Seattle without a car. (After someone ran a stop sign and totaled our car last February, we decided not to get another one right away.) Sometimes we take the bus or the light rail, but mostly we walk and ride our bikes. It’s fun and has changed our perception of the city…and of time.
But to me the thing that makes being carless doable is the fact that I can zip out the back door of my apartment, dash across the alley, and pop in the back door of my tiny neighborhood wine store. It’s probably more convenient than someone like me -- a carless guy who drinks a lot of wine – could, or maybe should, ever hope for. I love the feel of my wine place: the paint chipping off the walls; a few signs of water damage on the ceiling; the aisles, cramped and narrow; and that musty smell hanging in the air. (It’s probably one inspection away from being condemned.) I like the way the owner scribbles his reviews on 3x5 index cards. (The occasional legible one is helpful.) It’s a friendly, comfortable place.|
I appreciate my little stroke of luck every time I slip back out the door with my box of wine. It’s one of those small things that are easily overlooked in the moment but that I’ll look back on eventually and think, “yeah, that was the life, wasn’t it?” Who knows how many more years this little wine shop has in it? After all, two doors down the indie record store (Sonic Boom) just closed its doors. And a few blocks away, on Broadway, the decades-enduring bookstore Bailey/Coy (beloved, but apparently not beloved enough) closed abruptly. (Incidentally, I’m reading The Wordy Shipmates, by Sarah Vowel, the last of the books I bought from Bailey/Coy.) Nothing is certain.
At any rate, I’m thankful for this little place where I buy my wine. And you can be sure that my liver and I are doing just about all we can to sustain it. Lucky for the wine business, there are no new technologies that can simulate the experience of actually drinking the wine; lucky for us, we still have to pass it between our lips and over our tongues rather than download it from iVines and sip it virtually from a digital e-bottle. For the time being, anyway. Maybe that’s ahead for the 2020s.
Happy Twenty-tens to all.
wine shop and roses