a co-worker has recently relocated to our fair city, from the gulf coast of florida -- hardly a bastion of culture, beauty or historical significance. supposedly he spent the 2005 crush in bordeaux, yet cannot properly pronounce st-estephe or cos d'etournal. so that bit i suspect as the resume-padding of a pup. c'est la vie.he claims to be passionate about both food and wine, yet i've never once seen his eyes light up at the memory of a scent or a description of a taste. friends and i could cross-talk till we're blue in the face (or at least till we finish the wine!) about whether a particular garnacha is more redolent of july or august raspberries, or hazelnuts nuts roasted or raw... truly, i want to give this kid the benefit of the doubt, but disappointingly more and more see a vaccuum, rather than a cipher.
here in the hub of the universe, we have spectacular fireworks displays for the 4th of july. all-day festivities, capped by a concert, cannons and a 45-minute feat of pyrotechnics not seen anywhere else in the country. since i knew he wasn't leaving town for the holiday, i asked if he'd be going. i figured him being new here, he'd think it a fun way to integrate into this city's life. "ah, ya seen one fireworks, ya seen 'em all, " he replied. and that was that. how could a 25-year-old be so lacking in curiousity?
instantly, i was reminded of old people whose faces are maps of their lives. (putting aside the bizarrely disfiguring results of botox freeze and plastic surgery...) the woman whose visage is permanently creased into a bitter scowl and thus shows a life filled only with disappointment and despair; or the woman whose crinkly crows' feet and smiley laugh lines are the outward signs of a joyful heart and a mind still agile with wonder.
when my aarp card comes, i know which old broad i'd rather be.
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