Ozark! The Herald Present Zings

The other day Amy has to go home to take one of the dogs to one of his weekly vet appointments and so is there after the vet when a package comes. She emails me--"you've got a big box of wine." Yes, I have been known to order some wine (I loves me some litotes), but I have it shipped to work since it's good for your employers to know how much you drink you need an adult to sign for it, and although Mookie is 77 in human years, he can't hold a pen and barks at all delivery people, to boot. So it makes no sense to me there's wine shipped to our house. I ask for details. She says it's from Missouri. It's also from the wife of my now deceased dad.

Things begin to make some sense. I'm still fascinated, however, trying to figure out how a woman who doesn't drink wine and lives in New Jersey decides to order wine for a person who drinks lots of wine who lives in California. How does she get to that a-ha moment, "Why, yes, Missouri!" She's not on the internets--doesn't even own a computer. Does the St James Winery (whose website page is titled "Red Wines, White Wines, and Wine Accessories") advertise in AARP's magazine? Still, this Christmas gift choice isn't too far from sending the person living in Idaho potatoes from Alaska.

If nothing else, now I know that Chardonel is an actual grape and not some silly marketing term, not that I would come up with a daft neologism myself (OK, I'm still trying to trademark "diplomarama" as a synoym for graduation, so don't steal it). As for the red, I'm pretty sure it's called a Norton as my step mom didn't want to fork out the bucks to buy the more expensive Kramden. Seriously, Norton is a grape, too, proudly billed the "Cabernet of the Ozarks," which no doubt means its genetic parents were cousins.

Indeed, when I positively swill in these wines, if I close my eyes I can practically imagine I'm in the Tony Orlando Yellow Ribbon Music Theater in Branson. It's a rare Christmas gift that can be so transporting.