Fine Wine
By Gene Aronowitz
Judi and I also went to Paris on our European trip. We did the usual tourist activities, including the Eifel Tower, the Louvre, and Notre Dame, strolled down the Champs-Elysees, and browsed the book stalls on the left bank. Usually, when we were tired of or from sightseeing, we liked to lounge at sidewalk cafes, particularly in the Montparnasse area. I rarely heard any language other than English at nearby tables, so I assumed we were among the tourists rather than surrounded by the preferred Parisians. However, I imagined myself thinking thoughts and sipping wine like Ernest Hemmingway liked to think and sip forty years before, maybe at the same table.
We settled for whatever inexpensive table wine the servers thought was decent but discussed buying some spectacular French wines for special occasions when we got home. Hoping to start a family, we imagined opening a bottle of superb wine to celebrate the birth of each of our children, after college graduations, and at or after weddings. We thought a case of special wine would satisfy our celebratory desires, so when we returned to Chicago, we bought four bottles each of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, Chateau Lafite-Rothschild, Chateau Margeaux, and Chateau Hout Brion.
By 1970, three of our children, Lisa, Scott, and Cami, were born, and I got my Ph.D., so that took care of four bottles. During that year, we moved from Chicago to Belmont, Massachusetts. Although movers moved most of our belongings, the remaining eight bottles went with us in our car. Our fourth child, Jeffrey, was adopted and arrived from Alaska in 1972, bringing our stash down to seven. We tenderly carried the bottles of wine when we moved to Columbus, Ohio, in 1973, and Westchester County, New York, in 1975, first to Pleasantville and then to Katonah. There, the seven bottles of precious wine were stored in a wine rack in a small dark room in our cellar, still intact after residing in four states and at least five residences.
In 1981, Judi and I separated, and I moved out. Lisa was 15, Scott 14, Cami almost 12, and Jeffrey a little over 10. In time, I forgot all about the wine, but one day, probably when we were selling the Katonah house in 1996, I went down to the cellar, opened the door to the small dark room, and looked at the wine rack. It was empty.
Since then, I have often wondered what happened to the wine, but it was not until I began to write this memoir that I asked my progeny if they knew anything about it. Lisa admitted that the guy she was living with in 1993 said he wanted to take a few of the dusty bottles, and not knowing that the wine was supposed to be for special occasions, she didn’t object. Lisa was remorseful, but the details of her “confession” didn't account for all seven bottles. I interrogated the others, but no one admitted to anything.
The fate of the remaining bottles of the cherished fine wine remains a mystery.
