Climb On!

I have begun the process of scaling. Those who liken me to some sort of reptile will not be surprised, but this is a different type of scaling. This is tying in, being belayed, and climbing the walls.

Earth Treks, a local indoor climbing facility, is the place where this happens.

I've always liked to climb things. There was a red maple beside the house in Indiana that was perfect for climbing. The branches began low enough to grant a young boy access. There was a perfect notch in the crown where I could sit and look all around the neighborhood, including across the back pasture where my best friend, David Buchanan, was likely crossing the fence and coming to visit. Other trees were good too, but nothing to match the red maple.

When I was working as an electrician, my favorite part was climbing in the rafters of houses to wire hard-to-reach places. It was something that one does not associate with more, umm, mature people. But the thrill of climbing doesn't necessarily go away.

Mike C. and I had begun visiting Earth Treks six years ago. Soon afterward, Mike moved to DC and we let our newfound climbing skills dry up and blow away. Now that he is back in town, we've begun going again. With our friend Mark, we passed our belaying tests this evening and climbed unsupervised for the first time. Soon we'll take additional classes and learn to rig our own climbing equipment for outdoor climbs. We're looking forward to it. If anyone wants to join us, just say "Hey!" I met one person at Bill D.'s birthday dinner who climbs. I'm sure there are others. Let's get together and do it.

What other sport will win you friends if you promise to let them down? Belay off.

The Gift: Delivered

My co-worker came to my desk today and presented his token of thankfulness for having delivered him to the automotive repair shop, ferried him to work, and returned him to the point of origin. Woodford Reserve bourbon.

There is something classy about the sloping shoulders of the clear glass bottle. The liquid catches the light and makes it dance, a prelude to the jubilation expressed in anticipation by one's taste buds. With a quick twist and a satisfying pop, the cork pulls free of the bottle, releasing the lovely aroma of fine bourbon.

With a slow-motion tilt, the better to savor the moment to come, the bourbon splashes into the glass, a shimmering cascade dodging the ice crystals as it pools into a treasure trove beneath the surface of the ice. Ahhh. Mmmm.

At Mr. Chuck's prompting, I shared this special moment with my wife. Her opinion, couched in four words and six syllables, elicited a heartfelt three-word, three-syllable response:

Joan: It tastes like Listerine.

Dave: More for me.

Long live the historic tradition of turning grain and limestone water into nectar. This is agribusiness at its finest.