ode on a grapevine.

I can't find the post, but somewhere along the line, I noted that I'd like to have a grapevine in a pot on the side porch. I'd linked to Napa Style, where you can purchase a vinifera vine for, oh, a hundred bucks or so. NOT. So I ordered one via Amazon for about $30. It's a Chardonnay. It came neatly boxed; I transplanted it into a glazed pot and stuck it in our west-facing window for a few weeks.

It's gone nuts.

I have some weird kind of affinity for my Chardonnay vine, and also for my Mission olive tree, which made it from here to New Jersey and back, and is absolutely thriving. I simply love it. Like, LOVE it.

I mentioned my recent grapevine purchase (with a kind of, "Yeah, I know it's silly" sort of sheepish look) at work recently, and my colleague Carmen exclaimed: "That's so Italian!"

Exactly. The grapevine reminds me of lovely times spent with Rob in California wine country, and the olive takes me immediately to the grounds of Toscana Saporita in Italy, where Rob and I visited Bill several years ago. Rob and Bill took advantage of a seasonal spring Tuscan day, I clambered up into an ancient olive tree on the estate, where I sat watching Bill and Rob play ping-pong on an outdoor table in the sunshine. Perfect.