Smoke my Loon: Smoking Loon California Syrah

I'm originally from Vancouver Island. And it seems that every time I go back there, West Coast wines get richer. Like it isn't enough to have coffee that puts hair on your chest. And salsa that makes you burn in that special way. Now they have to kick you in the teeth with wine that tastes like chocolate and blackberries.

Not that I mind. Though last time I went west, I began thinking that rich wine was just another new angle on unoriginality. So you can make it richer.... whooowheee... What else can you do?

Okay -- I take it all back. Friday, I was airlifted to Montreal's Robin des Bois, a wicked little restaurant run largely by volunteers. Get this: not only does Robin have the culinary credentials, he also has a good heart [how often do you find that?]. Part of each bill and tip is donated to local community organizations.

Back on topic. The folks at Robin des Bois served me some kind of magic potion, a West Coast blast of fruity delish: Smoking Loon California Syrah. So rich, it was naughty. And perfect with my nearly raw venison. Say no more...

Don't give up on us!

Truth is, while we've swilled a few bottles and dreamed a few dreams lately... J and I are in heavy production mode, awaiting baby number two in just over a week. And while it makes sense that I would be tired, J seems to have caught sympathetic fatigue. We're just too damn tired to post.

I'm hoping... that this confession will put us back on track: blogging, dreaming and drinking. If the arrival of baby number one was any indication, the wine and dreams went into overdrive not long after. So... We'll be back...

Rescue mission gone waaay off track

We were with a bunch of friends at "the land", where Jason's family has a cabin. Everyone was spread out in different places, doing things. I was on the edge of a field, having some kind of picnic while getting ready to plant a garden.

Suddenly someone came running out of the woods carrying a child in her arms. She said that the little boy had been attacked by an animal in the cabin and was hurt. I ran for help, across the field to where I could see some buildings. The buildings were institutional -- small town schools and town hall-ish structures.

I finally found a woman who would help. She was middle-aged, with shoulder-length blonde hair. When I turned around to find the land, which was not far away, it had vanished. There was a strip mall in its place.

I was disoriented, and told her that we had to get back. We ended up traversing the edge of a swamp, along this man-made wooden ramp/fence thing. Then we got into a monorail-like train that went through the woods. She said she knew where to go, but it wasn't clear, since we were travelling awfully far. The train went faster and faster, over huge bridges high above the forest. It was exciting.

I remember thinking that someone had probably helped the little boy by then, but still felt some urgency to get back and make sure everything was okay.

Casillero del Diablo - fit for the devil

This one threw me for a loop. I dug in expecting the usual punchy Spanish wine, punchy even for a Cabernet Sauvignon. And then I realized it was from Chile... But still... Casillero del Diablo ended up tickling me in a kind of French way. I felt like I should be drinking it at L'Express, over delicious meaty, saucy things.
Castillo del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon 2005, Concha y Toro, Chile

Royal pomp and an ancient stadium

This dream was so insistent, it would resume after each wake-up... taking on a new plot trajectory or new components.

I, Jason and other random people were getting ready to attend a royal ceremony. We lived somewhere else, where there was an old fashioned king and queen. The dream centered around preparing for and arriving at the ceremony; we never actually got to see the event.

The ceremony was happening in a huge stone amphitheater. It was a combination of the stone arena where they do the military tattoo in Edinburgh, and Montreal's Bell Centre (where, freakily, I recently went to a Christina Aguilera concert... long story...). In each version of the dream, we arrived from underneath the bleachers as if entering a soccer stadium. But everything was very old. Like hundreds of years old.

In one version, there was an attractive young prince and all the women were preening to catch his attention. He had greasy, brown and blonde spiked hair. Very tacky. But even I was caught up on the preening.

In another, we were lifted in moving bleachers nearly a mile high above the arena to watch the event from an ancient stone perch.

Early morning double header

This morning brought me a double feature of quickie dreams.

In dream number one, Jason & I were on vacation in some west coast city... probably Vancouver. I was taking him to all my favourite stores. Stores that don't actually exist (but could). We were in a kind of Pike Place Market neighbourhood, where we went to a chocolate shop and were then on our way to the "best place ever to buy coffee." The stores were an amalgam of places I've frequented in various cities. In my world, visiting chocolate and coffee shops with my man = happy dream, just one small notch below sex dream.

Dream number two found me at my first day of work at Jason's office. It seemed that I didn't really have any work to do, nor any specific role there. But Jason's boss constructed a very fancy modular desk for me. Various female colleagues would come over and chit chat with me. They had a lot of expensive art coffee table books that were there for the employees' enjoyment. His boss climbed a ladder and began to meticulously arrange a display of the art books, up high where visitors could see but no one could reach.

Separating the Lego from the chaff

I was at some kind of family gathering. We were all staying in a small house. Not my grandparents' house, but very similar. I had some boxes of miscellaneous junk that I was sorting, taking out Lego pieces before discarding the rest of the stuff in the boxes. I also had some freelance work to do, but couldn't go into my room to do it. Everyone in the house was on their worst behaviour. I tried to explain why I wanted the Lego and why I wasn't wasting my time sorting through the boxes, but no one understood.