Her Cup Runneth Over

My grandmother loves wine. There is not a family get together that I can remember where she did not get tipsy. For years her favorite was Ernest & Julio Gallo Chablis. The empty green jugs are all over her house, verigated ivy growing from the top. Then her taste buds changed and suddenly the Chablis wasn’t sweet enough?!

Four years ago at our Mother’s Day brunch the waiter asked what she would like to drink. She asked for a sweet wine. The waiter brought her what he felt was sufficiently sweet. She took a sip. Smacked her bright pink lips together a few times. Took another sip and declared it not sweet enough. He brought her another wine. No, still not sweet. It was some kind of sommelier version of Goldilocks. Only Goldilocks was more like Silverlocks and instead of beds we were fast running out of options on wine. At last he brought in a bottle of dessert wine. It was thick and sugary. The color of Caro Syrup. One taste however and she was hooked.

Last night we all met for dinner. Aunts, mother, friends, and grandmother. This was a Mexican restaurant without an array of dessert wine so we ordered her the White Zin (why is it not called Pink Zin?). Her first sip she said she thought they might have watered down the wine. My dear, gracious friend tasted it for her and declared it “good”. Bless her heart. I owe her a big one for that. Then grandmother started complaining because they had not poured her a full glass. The waiter had in fact poured the customary amount into her glass it was just that she couldn’t get over all that empty space between the wine and the rim of the glass. Not wanting to listen to her complain all night, Carrie very discreetly met the waiter at the bar as he was ordering her second glass. In no uncertain terms she let him know that no matter the cost he was to fill that glass to the brim. This is the second waiter we have had to coach in this manner. When her second glass arrived she squealed with delight. As in every aspect of her life, my grandmother’s glass is never half full.