Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  “I’m divorced after four years of marriage… he found someone else. It’s been rough on my self-esteem, wondering what I want to do, and how to do it.” I keep my answer short to control my emotions.

  “It sounds like what you’re doing is working. You need friends to help you through the hard times.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I’m just a little dreary at the moment.”

  “Don’t think like that! Here, have one of these,” she hands me another chocolate liqueur delight. “So, what do you like to do?” she inquires.

  “I don’t know, I want to be creative, but no one makes a living at that. Employers want someone with business or computer skills; at least I have some of those. I have enough to get a job I don’t really want.” I pop the chocolate in my mouth. “I want to feel alive. Is that okay, or should I just be a drone and shut up about it?”

  “You can feel alive and get paid. Sometimes you have to dig deep to find the answers,” she advises.

  The bakery door swings open and four women, dressed to impress, crowd in. There goes my brainstorming session, but being in here with them puts me in their same cheerful mood. They are excited about the chocolate samples Monica is handing out. One gal is perusing the jars of jam and spiced preserves. Another is flipping through a cookbook. Each one is encouraging the others, “Get this, you’ll love it.” I’m amazed at the growing collection of goodies each one is taking home. I’m happy for Monica and envious, in a good way.

  One woman leans forward and waves her hand in a ‘come here’ motion to Monica. She speaks in a low tone I can’t hear.

  After they leave, she tells me she makes special order marijuana cookies for people with chronic pain.

  “I’ll pat myself on the back, because it takes skill to hide the taste of marijuana, and it costs a lot to get the best ingredients.” She continues, “I feel virtuous since it’s a natural painkiller. It’s so weird, people will gulp down pain pills from a bottle and think it’s okay. But they won’t touch marijuana, and it’s a natural plant. When you’re in pain and nothing is working, it’s time to reevaluate what you consider forbidden,” she declares.

  “I used to write people a ticket for possession of marijuana. It’s funny how times change. I never knew it had a medicinal use.”

  She continues, “I baked with it because my husband had cancer and he was in a lot of pain. This was a good way of getting a natural painkiller into him.”

  “How is he doing?” What I really mean is, did he make it?

  Slowly she tells me, “He passed away two years ago, and I’m still working my way through it. The bakery keeps me moving forward, it gives me a goal… I need that,” she gives a heavy sigh. “So, let’s introduce you to Liliana. Check into taking her classes, plus she knows everyone, she’s a great networker.”

  “Okay, that sounds like a plan, I’ll call her and see how it goes,” I’m feeling more optimistic.

  This might get me rolling in the right direction. It was a great idea to come to town and get out of the barn. It may be life-changing to have met Monica. That’s the thing about life-changing events… you never know when they are, until you look back and analyze them.

  Monica says she still goes to some of the classes and has a lot of fun while developing herself, “I think you’re ambitious, you can channel that into something productive,” she advises me.

  “That’s what I need,” I laugh. “I want to channel my life and enjoy myself at the same time.”

  8

  Liliana

  I slowly drive home thinking about how to diligently march on. I will overcome my past and make my present, my now, something special. I motor past the grape vines perfectly trained in their rows, in perfect alignment. They too are marching on, and their future is special.

  The horses hear me driving up in the truck. I can tell because the herd that had been quietly standing in groups of friends splits apart in restless anticipation. Horses are unlike a school of fish.

  Preparing the night feeding for the fifteen hungry horses requires me to climb to the top of the new stack of hay and knock down a few bales. The unstacking process is pretty easy once I make a dent in it. The following days will be easier since I won’t have to climb to the top of the stack.

  The horses are making themselves understood… they say I’m taking too long. Some give cute little nickers, and others loudly broadcast their hunger. They charge at each other with pinned ears and bared teeth. Some of them paw the ground or bang the feed barrels causing destruction and a lot of noise with each strike. I know it’s theoretically wrong to feed the troublemakers first, and it’s rewarding bad behavior, but I do it to keep the peace.

  We feed alfalfa and I’ve never had a problem with it. It keeps the weight on and their coats are glossy. Some people think horses don’t need that much protein, but ours seem to manage just fine. It’s a California thing, I guess. The farmers get seven hay cuttings every year, but that hasn’t stopped the steady rise from $8 a bale upwards to $20. It makes horse ownership only for the wealthy, or the dedicated and broke.

  At last, I sit at my table in the barn aisle jotting down ideas. I keep nibbling Monica’s chocolates and looking through the Creative You brochure. I spend an enjoyable ten minutes reading through all the possibilities for learning and fun. I tap in the phone number and get a recording that tells me to “Press 1 for the class list, Press 2 to leave a message for Liliana.” Each class has an intriguing summary. I leave a message on #2 and see what happens tomorrow.

  Liliana is either a good businesswoman or has nothing better to do because she returns my call almost immediately.

  Her cheerful voice on the line states, “Hi, this is Liliana calling for Jessica.”

  “Hi Liliana, this is Jess, thanks for getting back to me.”

  “Yes dear, what can we do for you? Monica is a gifted client, and I’m glad you met her. Tell me what you’re looking for, and let’s see we can find something perfect for you.” Her spiel has a professional polish.

  I give her a quick synopsis, “Briefly, I’m newly divorced, looking for a makeover for my life and career. I’m looking for classes that stimulate my creativity and give me realistic goals.”

  “Goodness, you’re very concise putting your wishes in one sentence,” she jokes. “Life makeovers take a while and are a lot of work. We can start you off with a few classes of your choice. I have contacts throughout the U.S. who are always looking for a good employee.” She describes the classes and I get a whiff of the cost and have to gulp. I’m sure they’re amazing, but I don’t know for a fact that they will change my life for the better. I hate to spend my really hard-earned money on an experiment.

  I back off a little, thinking of my wallet. “I’d like to try something local, maybe the one-night introduction to wine tasting. I’m not sure about the others at the moment.” I think I’ll read and go online to do some of this on my own.

  “The wine class begins next week, that’s the one night class. We also have Monday classes that are wine tasting with appetizers. The Friday classes cover wine tasting with dinner. Then we have career winemaking classes for beginning vintners. I bring in an expert from UC Davis to teach those. Would you be interested in enrolling in one?” she asks, very sales-like.

  “I’d like to get a general overview so I don’t make a fool of myself at tastings, but I don’t need to be an expert. I think the one night class will be a good place for me to start.”

  I know I’m not jumping in with both feet, but I don’t believe she can change my life. From what I hear, life coaches don’t change your life, they teach you to change it.

  She enrolls me for the one evening in town. “When would you like to meet with me to discuss your career path? I will be out of town for the next two weeks. We can schedule a date now since my schedule is a bit hectic,” she chuckles. “I’ll send you a questionnaire to fill in and return to me, so we’ll have a lot of the basics covered before our meeting.”

 
The closest meeting date for her personal consultation is a month away. One month, wow, she is busy. I haven’t asked how much the consultation costs.

  “In the meantime, go to the introductory wine class. If you have a chance, get together with the gals from the class. I rely on a lot of networking to get everyone’s creativity started. There is always someone who can help us on our paths.”

  “I like Monica, she seems to have it all together.”

  “She’s a great gal and she’s very talented. She pulled herself up and is doing well. Go see her again, and load up on some of her fabulous pastry,” she instructs.

  “I’ll become robust if I eat too many of them,” I hedge with a laugh.

  “Yes, I found that as well,” she muses. “Well Jess, I need to let you go, I have a few calls to make.”

  Good, I’ve enrolled in a wine class. That will help with my confidence and knowledge for our wine tasting after the ride. Plus I’ll meet the locals and get to network. I’ll take her suggestion and see about meeting with other people to get out of my funk. There’s an art class that begins in a month and it’s somewhat self-paced. That may be fun though it wouldn’t be much of a career choice. I’d better not go too crazy with classes. I can see becoming a professional student would drain my resources when I need to fill up my bank account. I’m not yet 100% secure in joining the Liliana pep-squad. I have to take things at my own pace. I tend to walk my own path, but maybe I should walk down someone else’s path who has already trodden down the weeds.

  9

  Wine Class at Citronelle

  I’ve had several long, hot days leading trail rides. The riders have been young, and I couldn’t bond with them. We’ve had nothing in common, so I just led them and pointed out various things of interest. I didn’t get to network, which would have boosted my enjoyment. I’ve been spoiled by so many good customers. Oh well, I shouldn’t get upset, my life is pretty good.

  The wine class is this evening at 7:00. My dress is casual because that’s the only way I want to look. My limited wardrobe is stuffed in the horse trailer. I need a few more cute tops, kind of filmy and flowing. But I’d have to drive down to L.A. to get what I have stored at Mom’s. I couldn’t be bothered to drive all the way there just for clothes. I’ve always been told that a smile goes a long way toward dressing a woman. If I use that philosophy, it will save me a trip.

  The wine tasting class is being taught by the owner and cellar-master of Citronelle. It’s just down the road from Monica’s. I park in front, and I’m taken in by the landscaping. I’m passionate about using plants to create emotions. Here, they’re using a hedge of white roses. This variety tends to be casual and they’re not fussy about the weather. They’re growing exuberantly along the front of the property; I can almost hear them commanding the sidewalk to stay back. They’ve done their job well, protecting the inner garden from the concrete and foot traffic.

  I step down a brick path that winds through a small grove of lemon trees. It looks and feels like a real orchard without the acreage. Wood chips are bedded deep around the trees and smell good in the cool evening air. I know farmers use chips to keep the water from evaporating too quickly. They also keep the surface roots from being baked by the sun. It’s a winning combination.

  Lemon trees always seem to be in bloom, and the scent of their blossoms is one of my favorites. I take a minute to stop, inhale, and feel pure emotion enter my lungs. The twinkling lights strung around the trees and roofline of the tasting room welcome me to a well-tended little yellow house.

  The open door is my invitation to step into the colorful room. I accept the invite, step inside, and gaze around. The paintings on the walls are large, with bold depictions of lemon trees. I notice the scent of lemon blossoms that followed me in the door.

  A woman dressed in a yellow caftan comes around from behind the bar. “Hello and welcome to our wine class, I’m Lisa and this is my place,” she says with obvious pride.

  I can hear my other classmates coming up the path. They sound boisterous and it breaks my spell. With them, they bring in a festive mood. All are dressed in a feminine cute-casual style, with gorgeous hair and lots of sparkly jewelry. The room is filled with talking, introductions and air kisses. These women have the time and money to treat themselves and to expand their opportunities. I love this and I feel included; that’s such a good feeling. I’ve been alone far too much.

  “Hi ladies, let’s all have a seat at the bar. I have folders with information on what we’ll cover tonight.” Lisa begins the overview. “This class is for newcomers, so I won’t overwhelm you with the intricacies of how I get my grapes from the vine into your glass. I’ll give you general background information that will help you appreciate the work we vintners go through. Then we’ll cover etiquette. My goal is to make you feel comfortable with your glass of wine and of course, your appetizers.” She speaks professionally, though with a touch of anxiety.

  “Let’s spend a few minutes introducing ourselves. We all take classes from Creative You and benefit from knowing each other. Each one of us is a resource for help, support, and knowledge. Jessica is new to town so let’s start with her brief story.” She stops speaking, and everyone looks at me.

  I stand and move down to the end of the bar. Liliana told me it’s a casual class, and everyone is friendly and would like to get to know me. She said I should make my introduction personal with a bit of humor. She told me that everyone wants to help everyone else, so the more they know, the better.

  “Hi, I’m Jessica and I go by Jess…” I take a few minutes to explain about my divorce, my job search, and my hunt for something that brings satisfaction to my life. I make sure to keep my tone light even though I am talking about heavy topics. I’m on an adventure and a journey, so if I look at life that way, I will flourish.

  The five other women look engaged. I guess I infused enough humor to garner interest. As I start to sit down, their questions begin. “Have you tried… have you thought of… what about…?” Everyone is eager to help me with their advice and ideas. This is productive and some of their ideas actually sound good.

  After a few minutes, Lisa brings us back under her control since this is a tasting class, not a help Jessica class. So I sit, and everyone gives her their attention. “We’d all love to dig into Jess’ life, but I need to stay on time, or we’ll be here until midnight.” We comply, though we wouldn’t mind being here until midnight.

  Lisa keeps her own story short. She explains that she owns the winery and got into winemaking because she visited Los Olivos every weekend. She hated leaving on Sunday night to drive back to the city. She loves the lifestyle in the wine country and the way she feels being immersed in it. She admits to using her entire retirement to fund the winery. It was a big and potentially hazardous step, but she said she’s doing well, and it was worth it to escape from city life to begin her dream.

  I prick my ears when she tells us that her son Jason owns 40 acres near here. That’s where she gets her grapes. Jason also painted the art on the walls and he designs her labels… he’s very talented.

  “Yes, my son is a great guy, and yes I am biased,” she laughs.

  “Married?” I ask.

  Everyone laughs. “Yes, with two delightful little girls,” Lisa replies.

  Darn it.

  We all looked around the room with admiration. Lisa is amazing, she just turned 65 and look what she has created. She is a hard worker, she worked her whole life, and then she took a chance and rolled it into her passion. And me, I’m starting almost from the beginning. I’ve lost a lot of time with my divorce and splitting our assets. Will I look like her at 65? A proud passionate owner of, of… something? I had better get started… fast.

  The other gals go into their backgrounds, which are individual and interesting. Everyone has their own history, dramas and goals. I jot down a few notes on each one, so I can keep them as contacts. I see we all have a common thread—we want to enjoy our work and our life. This is a
good place to start.

  Lisa brings our thoughts back to the wine theme. “Imagine you’re on a date or conducting business over a glass of wine. You don’t have to be an expert, but you do need to complement the wine selection with a few well-chosen words. You should speak with confidence about the aroma, the bouquet, and the mouthfeel.”

  She pulls out 3 bottles of chilled white. “First, we’ll sample three whites.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a rule to serve white wines first,” the older lady named Meg asks.

  “It isn’t actually a rule, it’s a guide because they’re lighter and more subtle. Generally, you should begin with a lighter white wine, and then move into those with tannins.” Of course, you can change things around if you have a reason. For example, if you have a plate with powerful cheeses early in the evening, you can serve a red. Then later, if you have a mild or white meat, you can complement with white wine.

  Lisa is emphatic, “Some people only drink reds and that’s okay, drink what you like, there aren’t any rules.” She laughs. “This isn’t like elementary school where you get dinged for coloring outside the lines.”

  “How do you explain how the wine tastes and smells?” I tell everyone about my wine picnic at the barn with Jack. “I had to dig through my limited vocabulary to find a compliment. I faked it, but I would have been mortified if he caught me,” I grimace.

  The woman in the green silk dress asks, “What are the options to describe the aroma?”

  Lisa begins her explanation into the study of scents. “The reason you swirl the wine in your glass is to release the aromatic compounds that blend with oxygen,” she shows us her gentle swirling technique. “Then you smell the scent it releases,” shoving her nose into the glass she inhales deeply with her eyes closed. “Honeydew melon with a hint of rose,” she smiles.