And lo! I have returned to NYC and yet I have not slain any of the tourists who insist on stopping at the top of the stairs.
The cats are very needy because Rob has been working long hours at the winery. He got home around 8:30 tonight and smelled like grape juice. The grapes arrived today, so harvest has begun. He says that it was very strange to be sorting fruit and see cabs going by.
I’m not sure how I feel about being a wine widow in NYC. I mean, we’ve got this routine down around harvest that involves spending time in a winery surrounded by vineyards. That can at least pretend to be romantic, if you ignore all the plumbing involved in making wine. But the sound of taxis honking? Not so much.
Does it help at all to think of them as magical wine taxis? You know, putting the cab in cabernet? No? Really? You sure?
Damn… I got nothing.