Pleasing memories & a drink to worship

Pick your poison, as we used to say once upon a time in the wild, wild, old West. Scotch, a couple of bottles of Benedictine and a couple of cognac, Southern Comfort, brandy, Kahlua, Amber Cream and a few varieties of wine are available in this batch. There probably are a few more types of whiskey and wine around here, too, on the chance that you care to wait while I look around. In the meanwhile, if you are curious about the meaning of this photograph, read on.

A very pleasing memory

A few days ago, I referenced my blog description of my concept of how an individual meets the "perfect" companion: "I learned romance might exist, but depends upon whether a man and a woman can tread the maze (of living life) individually and reach its center at the same instant in time."

A comment emerged from a reader which brought me back to that thought, and it is one I have had not only in terms of the beneficial intersection of a man and a woman, but in terms of time and place for matters ranging from the trivial to affairs of life and death.

For instance, a trivial event: I am walking down the street with a friend. He looks down and sees a twenty-dollar bill blowing in the wind along the sidewalk. Lucky him for passing this way and looking down at that exact moment. Why him and not me? I could use an extra twenty just as much as he can.

For instance, a life and death issue: I am walking on line with a squad of Marines and a sniper's bullet stops the man next to me literally dead in his tracks. Again, why him and not me? It is an ever-present question in combat that has no answer except among the type who possess a large enough ego to believe god has spared them for some specific purpose.

Being at the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time is the centerpiece of our lives, I think, and not one of us has a single bit of control over it. It is fate. It is destiny. It is life and there is nothing to be done about it.

The comment from the reader was something like this: "Or..when you actually find someone you really love..that person is not ready..Strange? I don’t know.."

While I was in Poland with my mind focused entirely on one woman, two other women displayed more than a passing interest in me. Both were very attractive. Both were well educated and, in fact, although they were Polish, spoke the English language with greater grammatical skill than I do. Both were financially secure and well-traveled. One of them went so far as to invite me (more than once) to go on a holiday with her for a week. I declined.

This episode, of course, is related to what I mentioned two days ago in the post titled, "A theory, a poem, an opera." My comment was this: "I have been wondering lately how many women have shown an interest in me and I walked away from them without giving them much (if any) consideration as a potential companion in life ."

I am not sorry I stopped short of becoming better acquainted with either or both of these two Polish young ladies because I was completely involved with another young lady at the time, but the simple fact that it happened causes me to return to the words of Robert Frost still one more time: "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both." Was it fate or destiny? What caused me to choose the road that I did?

Some people would tell me my "inner being" would have known if either of these two women were right for me, and since it did not, my decision not to pursue either or both of them was the correct decision. As for my own thoughts about the matter, right now I am more inclined to think my inner being is a fool.

Oh, well .... at the very least, these two encounters provide me with a very pleasing memory. Each and every one of us appreciates being wanted by another.

Deo Optimo Maximo

Since returning to America in April, I have developed a taste for the liqueur known as Benedictine.

This is a description of it pasted together from three sources: "Made with a cognac base, Benedictine was born during the Renaissance when a Venetian monk at the Abbey of Fécamp, Dom Bernardo Vincelli, created an elixir from twenty-seven herbs, roots, spices and sugar. Originally used to revive tired Benedictine monks beginning in 1510, the term D.O.M. on the label stands for Deo Optimo Maximo, which translates into 'to God, most good, most great.' One of the best ways to taste the distinct flavors of Benedictine is in a B&B, in which the liqueur is mixed with brandy."

My "usual" drink is brandy, with an occasional cognac. Perhaps, that is the genesis of my new-found taste for Benedictine. Perhaps, I was an Italian monk or a French grape grower in a previous life.

Now, that I really do doubt.

I am not extravagant when it comes to liquor (come to think of it, I am not extravagant when it comes to anything), so the idea that I actually buy and drink Benedictine is somewhat of a shock to my psyche. I literally can buy four bottles of the brandy I drink for the cost of a single bottle of Benedictine.

I wonder what is happening to me.

Windy Nights
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.