My maternal grandmother recently moved to Calgary, making this the first time in her 90 years to call our fair city “home”. Covid-19 restrictions disallow me from entering her care facility, so when I paid her my inaugural visit this past weekend I waited out front for her to come down. As she emerged, an ambulance pulled up and two paramedics calmly rolled a stretcher into the building.
I've been trying to spend as much time on the bike paths and riversides as possible, finding that it's good for my sanity. There's a particular spot that I make a habit of visiting on my early morning ride. I've spotted a mink there a few times in the last year and there's always the hope that if I'm discreet enough, it’ll scuttle by and improve my day.
The possible existence of a radical school of ancient Chinese poetry was recently brought to my attention. The idea is that even when poetry is reduced to imagistic references, and in ancient China this would typically be in regards to nature, applying words or symbols causes what David Hinton calls a “breach between consciousness and landscape". So a revisionist style emerged in an attempt to transcend this metaphysical disconnect.
There once was a boy with an insatiable thirst. Polydipsia, as it's known, had encumbered him for as long as he could remember. When he was an infant, a suckling session would physically deflate his mother, leaving her exhausted and delirious for hours afterwards. And his kindergarten peers would taunt him mercilessly while he spent minor eternities at the drinking fountain. “Leave some for the fish!” they would yell, pelting him with spitballs as they impatiently awaited their turn.
As an occasional victim of the snack attack, my wife asked if we could make a stop for a frozen treat on our ride home from the river. She disappeared into the convenience store while I minded our bikes, my face towards the evening sun, my heart dreaming of faraway lands. After a few moments, a throaty inquiry startled me from my springtide reverie.
Impromptu dance parties are a lesser known but essential aspect of Metrovino. Some of you have witnessed these unfolding, while others have innocently walked into a session—perhaps it's a customary theme of wine shops everywhere. For us, the propensity to break out into spontaneous dance has endured for many years, even transcending comprehensive transitions in employee rosters. It must be something about the building.
Canadians are prone to thinking that the first nice days of the year might also be the last. When the sun shone assertively this past weekend, we all panicked to spend the hours accordingly, myself included. My four walls closed in on me all winter, and the clement weather coerced me into pursuing the highly unoriginal idea of seeking riverside splendour. I dropped a pair of sunglasses over my dilating eyes and headed down the hill.
Created with the express purpose of benefiting the restaurant industry during Covid-19, SOS is a dry, exhilarating and delightfully complex Riesling… But it’s a restaurant-only wine, so you won’t find it on our shelves or in any other shop in the province.
