When my parents were first married, according to my mother who loved to tell this story, my dad gave her a list of things he could not possibly eat. The list included spaghetti, chili, anything spicy, and anything containing tomato sauce amongst other things. The truth was that he was just used to blander fare. His mother was of German or Polish ancestry, (depending on which relative you believe), and his father came from Ireland. It was a meat and potatoes kind of household. My mother abided by his rules for some time. One morning, she decided to surprise him at the coffee shop he went to with his workmates daily. It was she that was surprised when she saw his breakfast of two coney dogs, dripping with chili like you can only find in Detroit. From that day on, she vowed she would cook anything she wanted, and she did. She made chili, canned her own tomatoes for use in casseroles, and even canned her own spaghetti sauce. My dad had thought that he would not like those things, but that was only because either he had never eaten them, or had them once and did not like them. He loved my mom's chili, he loved Italian food, and in later years, even enjoyed tacos.
I rarely drink alcohol. It is not that I am prude and I most certainly do not have any moral issues with it. I just never really enjoyed the taste. I will have a drink or two to be social, but truth be told, I would rather be drinking iced tea or lemonade. I usually choose drinks in which the taste of alcohol is not overly strong, like vodka and cranberry juice, a bloody Mary, or a mojito. If the drink of the night is wine, then I will choose a sweet white. I just always assumed that it would be more palatable to me without ever investigating other possibilities.
A few weeks ago, I went to visit my sister in our home state of Michigan. On my first day there, she listed off some places we could go. One of the suggestions was visiting local farm stands and orchards. That sounded like fun to me as there really are no farm stands or orchards near me in Texas and I love fresh produce where tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes and apples are crisp and flavorful instead of mealy and bland. Little did I know at the time that farm stands and orchards is apparently a euphemism for wineries. Yes, one of the wineries did have an orchard with peaches, but I think that was more of the exception rather than the rule.
We visited four wineries that afternoon and most offered five tastings for five dollars. One of the wineries also makes spirits, so their prices were slightly higher at $8 for 5 tastings. Many either allowed patrons to keep their glass or they gave discounts on bottle purchases if you bought the tasting. Even though we went on a weekday, there were several other people at each winery we went to. Visiting the wineries is
obviously a popular tourist attraction as there is a bus company
dedicated to it as well as a limo company that specializes in winery tours. The clientele was overwhelming female. There were a few male/female couples, but mostly it was groups of women. One woman actually had a baby in a sling, which reminded me of that scene from Sweet Home Alabama where Reese Witherspoon greets a former classmate by saying, "You have a baby." (pause) "In a bar."
I learned many things at the wineries, one of the most interesting was that I actually prefer semi-dry wines, and I enjoy reds the best, but if I were going to go with a wine to sip throughout an evening, I would go with a white. I could tell you more about what I learned, but I would probably sound pretentious and quite honestly, I know quite a few people who actually know a lot about wine and I would probably come off as foolish with limited knowledge gleaned from a slightly tipsy afternoon of tasting 12+ wines and one rum. The one thing I will share is likely general knowledge but was new to me, and that was the expression of "legs". I have seen oenophiles swirl their wine in a glass and talk about legs, but I had no idea what that meant. When you swirl the wine and then stop, if the wine has sugar, it will make a vertical line or two down the inside of the glass as the wine swirl drips down to the liquid below. These lines are called legs. Dry wines do not typically make legs.
Just like my dad thought he would not like my mom's spaghetti or chili, I did not think I would ever really like wine. He was wrong and I was too. I had a great afternoon. I tasted some wines I really liked, a few I most definitely did not, and I learned that my sweet tooth does not apply to wine. If I had not tried something new and gotten out of my comfort zone, I would have never thought differently than I did before. I think that lesson could apply to a lot of different aspects of life and I'm looking forward to exploring that more in the future.
Always be learning!
(The pictures above are my own. The coney dog was actually my dinner during my layover at Detroit Metro. It came from National Coney Island, which had fabulous dogs that snap when you bite into them and a killer Greek Salad. The vineyard is a pic from Round Barn which was the winery that also has a distillery.)
I have to admit I am a little in love with the idea of being self-sufficient or at least possessing the knowledge and know how to perform the tasks that most men used to know how to do. My dad was one of those men. He could fix just about anything. He knew how to make things with wood, how to paint and varnish, how to change a tire and the oil, he at one time owned a rifle for hunting, he knew how to ski, drive a boat, cook, build a fire, plant a garden, put in a wood floor, hang a ceiling fan, make a whiskey sour, and change out the cord on any electrical appliance.
Many of the items on my 45 New Things list include basic Male 101 know how. Being a woman though, and a self-proclaimed girly girl as a child, I did not learn any of those manly things in my childhood. I have never so much even started a lawn mower, and quite honestly, I have no desire to ever learn that. It is just a slippery slope that would end in me adding lawn care to my list of chores.
Learning to shoot a gun made the top ten on my 45 New Things list. I have always been frightened of firearms and did not see the purpose of owning a gun unless one is a hunter, a police officer, or in the military. Still, I thought that this is an experience and skill that I would like to have in my back pocket, or holster as the case may be. It was serendipity when a few weeks later, Groupon offered a beginning handgun class in my area. For $65, registrants would receive 2 hours of class time, 1 hour of shooting time, use of a gun, ammo, ear protection and eye protection. It was exactly what I was looking for.
I was greeted in the parking lot by Dan, the instructor and owner of the business. He shook my hand and welcomed me warmly. There were only three of us in the class. The other two participants Amy and Joann were about 10 years younger than myself. They each had brought their very own guns. Both mentioned that they were taking the class at their husbands' urging. They had two toddlers each, and talked about the many guns their husbands owned. Frighteningly enough, Amy, asked what kind of gun safe should she and her husband buy. Presently they did not have one, but not to worry, both her 3 and 5 year old know not to touch the guns. Dan, outfitted in a NRA shirt naturally, warned her to get a safe immediately. He explained that it was just boys' nature to look for the guns and touch them no matter how many times they have been told not to.
Since the majority of the class were no strangers to guns, the class shifted to more of a guns 102 class as opposed to 101. I was a little lost on where the safety was on the handguns shown and how to know whether or not it was on. The field stripping portion, which means cleaning your gun, also went by too fast for me. I think Dan assumed that since Amy and Joann's husbands were self proclaimed gun nuts, there was no need to go in depth as the men would likely clean the guns. I listened carefully to the portion about proper gun handling, always point it away from you and other people even if you think it is unloaded, never touch the trigger unless you mean to shoot, and keep it on its side while you handle it. He informed us of the Castle Law in Texas which allows any citizen to keep a gun without a license in any structure that could constitute a domicile, such as a home, car, camper, or tent. Dan had one of those smooth Texas cowboy accents, and I found myself mesmerized by his stories and views on the right to bear arms.
Before I knew it, it was time to practice our stances with unloaded weapons. Amy and Joann aced the exercise with flying colors. Having never held a gun before, I was a virgin in need of guidance. I have a feeling ol' Dan was getting a bit annoyed with me, as he kept repeating, "Even up your feet, bend a little at the waist, press with your right hand and pull with your left." This continued out at the range. The fact of the matter was, I shot just as well, if not better than the other two students, so perhaps my form sucked, but rest assured, I can get the job done as my target shows.
We shot .22 handguns which I really liked. They were not very loud and did not have much recoil. I had worried that the force of shooting would knock me on my ass, but that did not happen. I shot an old school looking revolver, which was fun, but heavy. I tried a .38, but I did not like that at all. The shell casings kept flying out at me. One even went down my shirt and burnt me. I still have a bit of scar from it, which I am quite proud of. Dan unholstered his personal gun for me to try, but that was way too much gun for me and after two shots, I declined to shoot it further.
Shooting the .22 was a lot of fun. I would love to have one just for target practice. Dan advised not keeping one for home protection due to the lack of stopping power. Stopping power refers to the ability to injure a person to the point that they are stopped from attacking you. He said a person should choose the biggest gun and largest caliber that they can comfortably shoot. He went on to say that when choosing ammunition, hollow point is better than full metal jacket because hollow point decreases collateral damage to walls and innocent person's on the other side of a wall, whereas full metal jacket bullets can go straight through a person and hit an unintended target. A hollow point is designed to stay in the body and cause extensive damage to tissue.
I know the world can be a scary and unsafe place, but I am not sure that we are all in such peril that we need to arm ourselves with guns and cop killer bullets. I have always been of the opinion that the 2nd Amendment applied more to arming a militia and not private citizens. Still, shooting a gun although scary, was powerful and I was proud of myself for facing a fear and proud of how well I shot. I don't think I will ever feel comfortable carrying one for protection, but it is good to know that I know how to shoot one if the s**t ever hits the fan.
When my parents were first married, according to my mother who loved to tell this story, my dad gave her a list of things he could not possibly eat. The list included spaghetti, chili, anything spicy, and anything containing tomato sauce amongst other things. The truth was that he was just used to blander fare. His mother was of German or Polish ancestry, (depending on which relative you believe), and his father came from Ireland. It was a meat and potatoes kind of household. My mother abided by his rules for some time. One morning, she decided to surprise him at the coffee shop he went to with his workmates daily. It was she that was surprised when she saw his breakfast of two coney dogs, dripping with chili like you can only find in Detroit. From that day on, she vowed she would cook anything she wanted, and she did. She made chili, canned her own tomatoes for use in casseroles, and even canned her own spaghetti sauce. My dad had thought that he would not like those things, but that was only because either he had never eaten them, or had them once and did not like them. He loved my mom's chili, he loved Italian food, and in later years, even enjoyed tacos. 
A few weeks ago, I went to visit my sister in our home state of Michigan. On my first day there, she listed off some places we could go. One of the suggestions was visiting local farm stands and orchards. That sounded like fun to me as there really are no farm stands or orchards near me in Texas and I love fresh produce where tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes and apples are crisp and flavorful instead of mealy and bland. Little did I know at the time that farm stands and orchards is apparently a euphemism for wineries. Yes, one of the wineries did have an orchard with peaches, but I think that was more of the exception rather than the rule. 
