Or is there?
As I mentioned in my last post, my husband and I are coming up on our first Anniversary, and so we’ve been doing some fond reminiscing on the particulars of our magical day: the good stuff, the funny stuff, and the slightly less funny stuff.
As our wedding day was rapidly approaching, I was driving a couple hours almost daily between our home in Sausalito and our venue in Glen Ellen, which also happened to be my parent’s home and winery. Plotting the wine selection for the wedding was highly important to this geekily-wine-obsessed-couple. The selection, however, was a no-brainer: we would be using my parents amazing array of GlenLyon Winery Estate Syrah, Chardonnay, Rosé, Viognier, and (my personal!) Brut Nature and Sparkling Rosé.
(A pretty incredible line up, if you ask me!)
We did, however, want to make sure we had some other special wines laced throughout the wedding events: a classic Veuve Cliquot immediately post-ceremony, a Louis Roederer Stark Brut Nature for the next morning’s brunch, and a magnum of Schramsberg 2007 Sparkling Rosé for the wedding party joining us at the head table.
Schramsberg Winery in Napa has always held a very sweet place in our hearts: after a tour and tasting there three years ago, my husband first told me he loved me! And I told him I loved him back! Then out of a slight panic I took it back the next day…but only for a week! We went back before the wedding for another tasting (this time, our “love declarations” staying put!) and purchased a magnum of Vintage Sparkling Rosé, with the intention of starting an annual tradition.
So, back to my daily treks between Sausalito and Glen Ellen. Among a huge load of wedding-related crafts/crap, I was transporting the magnum of Schramsberg to house it safely in my parents’ cellar. Not wanting the big bottle to get hot in the car, I put her in an ancient Playmate cooler I’d borrowed from my mom, and stacked some cold packs on top of her. When I arrived at my parents house, I was a bit late for a meeting, so I jumped out of my Rav4 to run inside, then realizing I’d better take the pink Schramsy out of the car, just in case she got overheated. As I hastily opened the back door to retrieve her, the Schramsy, ice packs, and Playmate slipped out the car door and cracked all over the pavement.
Having sworn on the white of my wedding dress I would be the most easygoing and unfazed bride on Earth, I hadn’t cried or moaned about anything wedding-related…yet. But as I watched the beautiful fizz wash over the hot pavement, shattered glass everywhere, my heart sank. Little hot tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. “Don’t do it, Fridell!” I warned myself. “Don’t you cry! It’s just…our wedding wine…” Our pricey, delicious, beautiful wedding wine, which now was sizzling and sticky on the hot asphalt.
I crouched down on the ground in dismay, gently picking up pieces of glass as if I could will the bottle back together. And out came some little whimpers. “No no no!” And then then floodgate of tears. “Noooooooooo!” I imagined how disappointed my soon-to-be-husband would be. I decided to blame the evil plastic ancient Playmate instead of my hasty butter-fingers so he wouldn’t divorce me before we even got married. (I attribute this to Warped Reality Bride-Brain Thoughts.)
Just then, my father came outside (he had probably heard the whimpering moans of defeat) and inquired after the streaks of tears. We picked up the rest of the glass together as I recounted the tale of bubbly woe. “Wait here”, he said, and ran back into the house. Moments later, out he came with the nicest possible remedy I could have dreamed of: a 1983 vintage bottle of Schramsberg Blanc de Blanc, signed by Mr. Jack Davies himself!
Well, the floodgates released full-force at the thought of such a thoughtful and special gift from my Father. As he tried to hand it to me, I immediately begged him to hold onto it tightly as I didn’t trust myself to do so. I couldn’t have another butter-finger accident on the same day…and this time with a much more precious bottle of wine.
My husband (of course) couldn’t have been sweeter or kinder about the situation, which reinforced one of the things I already loved about him most: his calm and accepting attitude towards any life-induced-strife. Sometimes I like to think of our relationship in terms of a good glass of rosé: me being extremely high in acid, and my husband bringing the balance of sweetness that tempers the acid. (Please don’t barf and just go with me on this; we are wine geeks so I’m allowed to use terrible wine-related metaphors.)
In the end, we decided not to open ol’ Schramsy during the wedding, but to keep the bottle (safe) for a special occasion. Not that the wedding wasn’t one, but we both wanted to give that bottle of 1983 our full and undivided attention. And open it with my Dad and Mom. It may even be flat by now, but who cares? We’ll still be tasting a little bit of history.
And, regardless of when it’s popped, just opening that ol’ Schramsy with three people I love more than anything will turn that moment into the special occasion.