Every now and then, a thought crosses my mind… “Maybe, at some point, I should get back to writing about wine.” That is after all, what this blog is (loosely) based on.

The trouble is, when I consider writing about wine, two very significant issues arise.

1) I remember that I know nothing at all about wine.

2) In light of that, I reflect once again on why I call this a wine blog.

And here it is — This blog is about wine. It’s about wine imitating life. It is about the things in life that wine represents: family, friends, history, culture, beauty, food, pleasure. Wine is a vehicle through which we share stories, break bread, celebrate, commiserate, debate, and appreciate, and this is what most interests me to explore in writing.

So, I can say that this blog is about wine, because in a way, it is. It is about the life behind the wine; the thoughts darker than a full-bodied red; the world bigger than a Super Tuscan; the moments, big and small, that are all worth a toast.

I can explain it better. A few months ago, I was sitting at my dining room table when my mother wished aloud that she could remember more about her childhood. That got me wondering: where do the stories go when no one knows them anymore? When they have ceased to exist in our conscious memory? At first, I was inclined to think that they simply disappear, but that answer proved too uninspired and dismissive for my contentment.

Because, there is this richness that surrounds us, a pervading energy that we cannot know or explain, but we feel it. This is where I believe our stories live on. Snow whirling in the illumination of a street light might be the story of my father’s birth. The folds in my winter blanket hold the traditions of my great-grandmother. The buds on trees, the bubbles in champagne, the clouds that streak a sky at sunset… All of these details and moments can mean so much more, if we let them…

And why wouldn’t we?

I had a lot of time to think about my resolutions this year, yet failed to come up with anything concrete.*  (*This opening sentence could also be described as “The Story Of My Life.”).  Now that we are a week into 2012, I feel like I’ve gotten a better idea of the look and feel of the next 359 days, and I’m therefore more confident about what I want to do with them.  The end result — my resolution — is to find the magic in every day. 

The picture above illustrates what I mean, and fittingly, it was taken on the eve of 2012.  On the one hand, you see the everyday details of life – the makeup bag, the curlers, the extremely classy Miller Lite glass filled with tap water.  Just a husband and wife sitting down to dinner.  And yet, look again.  The tux, the wine, the crab legs I am clumsily attacking; the warmth and glow of the room, the animated faces, the anticipation of the evening ahead.  Magic. 

This year, I vow to embrace every day in the same way that I embrace wine and writing and friends and all of the other great things about being alive… Because there is magic in every moment, if I can only teach myself to take that second look.

Today I read an article about a scandal in the art world related to the concept of authenticity (read it yourself here).  My initial reaction was to think that it had all the makings of a fantastic novel – Thomas Crown Affair meets Sherlock Holmes.  I entertained visions of shifty exchanges in dark alleys, lavish lifestyles supported by false pretenses, private jets transporting forged masterpieces and an unfortunate collector swirling his brandy in front of his most recent acquisition.  It was all very Rene Russo and Pierce Brosnan to me, until I considered a deeper layer of meaning.

As a writer (well, and also as a human), I should think more often than I do about individuality.  So much of life is spent following trends or imitating so as to profit personally in some sort of way, be it financially, politically or socially.  More than that — I have always believed in the interconnectedness of life, that every new thing is influenced by what is around it or what came before it.  For those reasons, I assume that ingenuity is rare, but at the same time I sense that it is all around me if I only make an effort to see it.  It shows itself when an individual stays true to his or her interpretation of the world.

Getting back to the story at hand — I struggle to pass judgment on what is worse: imitating the masters and passing your work off as theirs, or stealing the design and passing it off as your own.  At times I’d say most of us are at risk of one or the other, when we lose sight of our own self-worth.  I value all of the people in my life whose actions or qualities assure me that originality is alive and kicking.

— Bridget