Vicky Cristina Barcelona

When's the last time you saw a film that moved you? One that made you question if you truly know what it means to "live". Well, I just did. Sad part is, I only went to this movie because I thought there might be a threesome in it. Imagine my surprise when I went for such a superficial reason, and ended up leaving enlightened. No, not enlightened into the world of menage a trois. But I left that movie more motivated than ever. I have SO much to accomplish before all is said and done. I wish there were more hours in the day. I've led such a sheltered life.

I feel like I do a good job of living in the moment, but different environments make for different moments. Case in point, I'll give you a moment that I've had:

An October day. Leaves are everywhere. Some are bright red, others are more subtle hues of orange and brown. You can't help but kick them as you walk. With each step you hear the rustle of autumn. I take my seat on a black rod iron chair, bottle of wine in one hand, glasses in the other. The wind hits me, there's a slight chill in the air. It's one that I'm familiar to, an illustration of the coming months. Looking out at the rolling hills, I pour a taste of the Norton. My companion defers the honors to me, so I accept. First I swirl the wine, and watch the crimson color stain the glass for a minute, only to run back down to join the rest at the bottom. Next, the bouquet. As it hits my nose, I'm reminded of cherries and leather, with what appears to be hints of dark chocolate. Now it's time to taste. Once inside, the tannins immediately dry my mouth out. It has a velvety feel as it rolls off my tongue and down my throat. I reach forward to pour the glasses, and it hits me. I'm at home, in Missouri, a place I've always known. The flavor lingers, and just like the moment, it is suddenly gone.

Now change the environment, and the moment is not the same:

It's August in Tuscany. The day is too hot, so we drink at dusk. The sound of the sea echos, as I peer into the horizon. The color of the sky is a reddish-purple, and you can already see the moon. There is warmth in the salt air, which makes the anticipation of the wine greater. Sitting at the wooden table I look at the chairs. Both are worn by years of ocean breeze, and incredibly comfortable. I nod to the server as he presents the bottle. I swirl it around and notice the color. It's slightly golden, and very clean. Immediately the aromas of citrus and pear hit me. As I tip up my glass, the cool Pinot Grigio refreshes me. It's a crisp wine, with a little bit of dryness. I nod again to the server and he pours both glasses. It's then I realize I'm at home, in Italy, the place of my ancestors. The taste is a flash in my mouth, then like the moment, it's gone.

So many stones left unturned.