Wine For Life

I'm shaking badly this morning, my fingers wobbling so much as I hold them over the keyboard that I am scarce able to type. Re-type and correct is the order of the day. Slow down, rest between words, take time to breathe, get ready to type again; this is how it's going. I can feel the spasticity right into my core, as if the whole trunk of my body is shaking somehow, only in small vibrations, not the big ones I can see in my hands, nor the wild tremors of clonus.

There is no reason for this shaking today. I went to bed at 10:30 PM last night, finally falling asleep at around 11:30 PM. I slept until noon today, at which point Katherine brought me coffee and breakfast in bed. I am well rested. I was well behaved with respect to food and drink last night, having an excellent dinner with plenty of meat, potatoes, and vegetables. I only had two glasses of wine last night, or three if you measure them in smaller portions, spread out between dinner and bedtime. I had plenty of water to drink; Katherine made sure of that. Yet still I shake.

Since there is little I can do about it, I might as well get on with my day. Today is wine bottling, or as Katherine calls it, my wine harvest day. It would be nice if I could claim to have put in all the work of making the wine, but I have not. It is well beyond me now. Bottling is the same. A group of friends will come over today and help. By help I mean they will take over my apartment, hustle me out of the way, bottle the wine, and most likely make dinner too.

Katherine and I have provided the needed supplies although everyone attending has asked if we need anything for the day. My simple role throughout the day will be to ensure that things are there when needed. I don't even need a plan; Brad and the others will take care of it all. Wine will be racked, filtered, and bottled. Labels and caps will be added. Cases of wine will go into the closet.

I asked Katherine what will happen when I can't do this any more, when I can't contribute to making the wine. She pointed out that I do little already, that others do most of the work. Then, jokingly, she said "You won't have any more wine." That is a frightening thought. I hope to keep enjoying days like this for a long time. When I can't enjoy them, I'll still try to drink my wine. When I can't have anymore wine, what's the point in living? Maybe that's why I'm shaking today. Fear of not having wine. There's no better reason.