Mulled Over (Again)

I have a way of not being able to let things go. My husband (pictured at left) hates this quality, and feels it is bad for my health. I often replay the past, and mull over all of the what if thens and the way we were, thens. I remember them all. They are like my secret candy.

Sometimes, though, my husband enjoys my mulling, as long as it involves an element of vindication.
I have an excellent recipe for that.

Lately, I've run into a string of bad luck with discount table wines and past grievances among friends. Yet, I can't bear to let them simply drift back into oblivion. I want to make my experiences worthwhile. They are part of my past, and therefore part of my identity.

I have poured out a disappointing Pinot Noir into a copper pot. To that pot I add a handful of cloves, a cinnamon stick, some sugar, star anise, a tangerine peel, and a few shots of Brandy. A perfect mulled over concoction, its warmth is encouraging on a snowy day. The wine won't go to waste, and it may even be redeemed in what my husband calls the Persistence of Memory -of Memoree, he means. A little forgiveness, when mixed with time and patience, goes a long way.