Excuse Our Dust
We launched this site more than three years ago, and now it's time for a
face lift. We're just finishing our latest expansion, and now we need to
feature our new restaurant, art gallery and new staff members.
We're adding lots of new content and new features, so be patient.
Thanks! |
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| Bringing
New Meaning to "Laying Down a Bottle"
I've reached the age where I have accepted the fact that I will not live
forever. At 52, I've figured out I am merely mortal, and that the grains of sand
in my personal hour glass are, indeed, numbered. Like Woody Allen, "I'm not afraid
of death, I just don't want to be there when it happens."  Actually,
I do not fear death because I've been present many times when it arrived for others.
The first instance was in 1986, when my father lost a battle with heart disease.
I held his hand while he struggled to take his last breath, and then it was over,
peacefully.
As
a volunteer at Hines Veterans Hospital in Maywood, Illinois, I got to know many
terminally ill veterans who sought to live their last few weeks or days in dignity.
Some hung on for months; others let go quickly. Many died on my shift, and after
a year, it was more than I could bear any longer. Though comforting others brought
me enormous peace, you can only lose so many friends.
Through
it all, I learned that death is simply a natural consequence of life, and life
is totally digital. It's either on or off. The question for me, from a planning
perspective, is what to do when it is over? No
expensive funeral for me. My wish is to be cremated, and up until just recently,
I wanted my ashes to be released from the Forest Hill Bridge over the American
River (if they can jump a Corvette from the bridge for the movie "XXX," why not
my ashes?). Recently, though, after being influenced by two programs I've seen
on TV, I've had a change of heart. First,
I saw a documentary on the History Channel about how different civilizations over
time have treated their dead, from mummification to dumping remains in the Ganges
River to the ancient Nordic custom of a floating pyre that is set afire and adrift,
along with the still living wife. Now that's devotion. What
was really intriguing to me, however, was an obscure tribe (I'm foggy on details)
that annually disinterred family members to be the guests of honor at a huge celebration.
Now that's goofy, but also very sweet in a kind of dysfunctional way. "Sombitch
may be dead, but that don't mean he can't be part of the fun!" About
the same time, I saw part of a movie titled, "Last Orders," starring Michael Caine
as Jack Dodd, a deceased regular of the Horse & Carriage Pub in Bermondsey, South
London. I would have watched the entire film, but the language was street Cockney,
and it was impossible to follow. The basis of the plot, however, is Dodd's wish
was that after his death, his Pub blokes were to meet at the Horse & Carriage
and take his ashes to dump into the sea. The movie is peppered with flash backs
of Dodd and his friends having great times in the Pub, and that got me to thinking.
| Why
not create a way for departed Carpe Vino customers to always be part of the fun?
Digging up dead people seems a bit messy, and Placer County Health Department
officials would likely object. And simply meeting at the wine bar before moving
on to dispose of the ashes fails to create a permanent memorial to our departed
Wine Enthusiasts. I
came up with a stunning idea while seated at the Mary Pickford bar pondering the
problem. . .a solution that will enable the deceased to be forever Wine Spectators.
Surveying the Carpe Vino landscape, I noted two resources of which we have an
abundant supply: empty wine bottles and empty slots in our wine racks. Every
week, we consume at least six cases of wine which we pour at the bar. Why not,
I thought, make these bottles and spaces available to the recently departed? Those
who wish their remains to remain part of the fun, can have themselves creamated
and stored in empty wine bottles that will then rest forever on a Capre Vino rack.
We'll guarantee storage in perpetuity or until our lease runs out. To
make this a truly appealing alternative, we will offer premium bottles, and have
the images of the departed etched on, along with an epitath. Of course, not everyone
will fit in a 750 ml bottle, so some might prefer the roominess of being interred
in a magnum. . .or perhaps even a jeroboam for our larger friends. The petit may
very well fit in a split. Whatever
size bottle is selected, I'll be pleased to write a very snappy limmerick to be
etched on the bottle at no extra charge. As a sample, here's one I'm considering
for my own use. . . someday: |
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