Wedge Shmedge

It's a taffy week. Sweet, sure, but the minutes stick and stretch, and last much longer than you expect. Today I toured a college campus. As much as the idea of going back to school appeals sometimes, this was a professional endeavor. I wore my cute wedges that are really comfortable for a few hours. But my tour lasted more than a few hours. So by the time Dante the Dark Gray Impala and I came home, I was doing the arthritic hobble and cursing wedges everywhere.

What's the best cure for screaming feet? Yes, probably a foot massage.  But what's the second best thing? The sweet tang of a cold Riesling from a fancy glass. It doesn't take the pain away, but it makes you not care as much. And as I have a confirmed $10 pallet, it's not a bad deal.

So, today I'm grateful for white wine, the fine people in California who made it, and for fancy glasses. I'm grateful that, while designing the world, God thought up the process of fermentation, and then way back when nudged someone to leave their grape juice sitting out a bit too long and still try to drink it. I'm grateful for bare feet too.