Denise and Tim invited me over while my family was in the El Dorado Hills, still. They told me I shouldn’t stay in the house by myself and that I should come over, stay the night, have pizza, and relax. Uncle T and I, both wine people, opened a couple bottles, talked about what happened. And then we changed the subject to something else. Can’t remember what, but they were there for me, there to talk. Wine was there, and we barely talked about it. T and I talked about music, his band, his gigs coming up.
I remember one of the reds reminded me of smoke, but not in the blaze sense that took out multiple neighborhoods. Of a fireplace in Oregon, where my family and I vacationed when I was little, where Denise and Tim had come to see us multiple times. Family.. that’s what wine is, when it’s spoke truthfully and not conveniently contorted to suit marketing causes and light.