"Ad Satisfactionem Omni Poscenti Vos " 1 Pt 3:15: Wine. (English 305 Paper #2 -- Last Minute Draft for Class)

Drafts for:"Ad Satisfactionem Omni Poscenti Vos " 1 Pt 3:15: Wine. (English 305 Paper #2 -- Last Minute Draft for Class)

ideas/draft 1

We’d roll balls of dough, ever so slightly sticky, dab them in flour, then placing them in the middle of a wooden cutting board we’d roll them out. Each time trying to make a circle… each time failing.

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About the Author

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ideas/draft 2

Keys. Door. Open. Keys. Desk. Door. Close. Automatic.
It’s the small things that you wonder how they happened, when you get up off the floor.
My knees are all I remember… the thud upon the thin carpet bought by her mom… the rocking back and forth on them as on all fours I was overcome, breathing tears. The lack of pain in them… these knees; sometimes it feels like that’s where I belong, on my knees.

As a baby, I was amazing, I never cried, and was the sweetest and kindest toddler. I loved people and I loved my family. I would crawl on my knees like a little puppy following the family. I was adorable in my brown corduroy overalls that matched my sister’s brown corduroy dress.



When was the last time I was truly joyous… was it really before her? So long ago? What happened to that unencumbered love of life?

My coat is zipped up, its cold. The occasional sips and slurps from my mouth echo into the cavernous church. It’s dark and amidst the shadows I sit as my mouth coordinates the dance of the mint lifesaver. My mind wanders onto thoughts of her, thoughts of how could you God?

There’s no reply, only occasional footsteps from the side of the church.

As I lay on the window sill of the fraternity house looking out onto Welch… I wonder where I’d be without friends. Just a few hours earlier I was in tears on a floor. And depressedly walked to the Church for dinner. Unexcited to go to Jessie’s party. Somberly entering into the middle of a marshmallow fight… duct taping her up, carrying her up and down stairs, and then duct taping her to a mattress… tossing it down some stairs as she rode. Then the rest of us joined… riding a mattress down and then placing mattresses down on the stairs and sliding down a mattress slide. Eventually riding others backs (my finale was riding dolphin style)… then making a padded room where we bounced and wrassled… and a movie… then the uncomfortable and pleasant sleep of a window sill.

ideas/draft 3

Whether there is a God?
Objection 1.
Objection 2.
On the contrary,
I answer that, I was an Atheist. I once met a few girls, they were cute and Catholic, one was a beautiful sassy blonde, tall enough to fit just right in a hug, the other was this spunky brunette who’s personality made you feel alive and as if you actually deserved the adulation of 10,000 more women. They were Catholic with a capital C, and well, I was at least born Catholic… so I started my posturing trying to impress them finding out what really drove them crazy. And the thing is, I couldn’t.
Every few nights I’d notice they’d disappear with a few other friends and come back an hour and a half later. A few times one of their friends asked me to come along, I asked where to, receiving this unintelligible word back… one of those words you really know but in the midst of conversation the person you’re speaking with all of a sudden changes the meaning, dumbfounding and insulting you all at the same moment. The word was “Adoration”. How can you possibly go to Adoration? It’s something you have for someone else; it’s not something you can go to. Moron. As I repressed the dirty look that was fighting to form on my face, I politely turned him down and let him on his way.

was trying to impress some girls.
Reply to Objection 1.
Reply to Objection 2.

ideas/draft 3.5

My feet carry me
I move
About something
Searching for God
Peace
Adoration

About God?
Who He is
How I found Him

Athens
Austin
Ames

Science
Thomas

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Obj. 1
She was my first… Maybe to some ears that implies more than what I mean…
I met her at camp…

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He was my Father

JpII, I never met the man, but he fathered me.

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ideas/draft 4

¬The great thing about wine is that it tastes better the more you drink. Sinatra and Dean alternatively croon through my speakers, as I sip a terrible Beaujolais Nouveau. It has too much bite, and a quite a bit of oxygen… so much that it fizzes slightly in my mouth. When I lived in Austin, this would be unacceptable… I’d complain to my coworkers in the wine department and they’d find me a nice bottle and ask why I was stupid enough to try Primeur… they wouldn’t even carry it at my store… and if they did… none of the wine guys would recommend it… they always had a knack for knowing just the right wine.
A good wine is one that is so good, you worry about drinking more, wondering if you’d fall out of the fantasy and awaken to a bitter biter that obfuscates itself with alcohol content. Its one that you remember hauntingly at dinnertime, when you find its perfect compliment, and realize you drank the last of it the night before as you chatted with friends.
The perfect wine is your wine… no one else’s… its choosing Chianti with a white fish or a Riesling with steak… it fits your personality to a T and it makes your food soo much better. It transforms your food from a meal to an escape.
Americans eat food too fast, without much thought. Perhaps it has something to do with the grade school cafeterias we’re all accustomed to. To living life as if the details don’t matter… We’re always running from one meeting to the next, never having time to breath, and only occasionally having time to shower. My Tuesdays are like that… busy busy busy… from the time I wake until the time I escape I’m doing something… and dinner is one of the things I fit in… one of the after thoughts… one of the moments I have to take to make sure I don’t pass out in my next meeting.
Have you ever lived in time? Let it be your servant, not your punisher?
The gourmet grocery store I worked at has become part of my unicorn… People worked there not because they had to, but because they lived. The life of a foodie is different than the life of everyone else… it’s mystical. We walk differently and talk differently, as if our wildest dreams can come true… and with the sly grin that suggests they have… We walk into a kitchen with expectations of a great meal to come… we scrounge the cupboards and fridge for those forgotten pieces of manna hidden in the plains-clothes of a cucumber or chicken breast. We walk in and taste things never tasted, cook things not yet cooked and dream things never dreamed. We walk with hope.
We even take a bad Beaujolais Nouveau and dream a perfect citrus marinade for a delicious chicken served over angel hair pasta spiked with strawberries and orange slices in a delicate and slight red wine sauce hinted with basil, rosemary and parsley…

Life is never good. It always seems one of those stories people tell with this regret or that, this pain or that… it gets boring and you want to slap the speaker sometimes for even thinking about telling you this all, this all too common story that you’ve heard one thousand times or more from every living being. Its one of those things you wish you could say, yeah I know, I’ve lived, wake up you freakin moron…

I was an Atheist. I once met a few girls, they were cute and Catholic, one was a beautiful sassy blonde, tall enough to fit just right in a hug, the other was this spunky brunette who’s personality made you feel alive and as if you actually deserved the adulation of 10,000 more. They were Catholic with a capital C, and well, I was at least born Catholic…
I started my posturing trying to impress them finding out what really drove them crazy. And the thing is I couldn’t. Every few nights I’d notice they’d spontaneously disappear to this “Adoration”. They invited me, but I made great effort at plausible excuses and convince them that next time I’d go. At one point I risked ruining my credibility; so I excitedly asked when they were going next, thus prompted they said they hadn’t thought about it but would be willing to go tonight. I thus arranged for a ride, and got a group to go.
“Adoration” is this place that Catholics offer reparation to Christ for the Garden of Gethsemane, they pray for an hour to God with Christ present in the Eucharist and they come out different. People have gone in with great burdens and tears, only to come out and rejoice so much that the only thing they wanted to do was to roll down hills. Atheists have gone in, and returned Catholic with that strange capital ‘C’.
I once thought the Eucharist would taste great with a nice raspberry jam and a touch of Nutella, but to much my dismay two cute girls led me to something I didn’t expect.

ideas/draft 5

The great thing about wine is that it tastes better the more you drink. Sinatra and Dean alternatively croon through my speakers, as I sip a terrible Beaujolais Nouveau. It has too much bite, and a quite a bit of oxygen… so much that it fizzes slightly in my mouth. When I lived in Austin, this would be unacceptable… I’d complain to my coworkers in the wine department and they’d find me a nice bottle and ask why I was stupid enough to try Primeur… they wouldn’t even carry it at my store… and if they did… none of the wine guys would recommend it… they always had a knack for knowing just the right wine.
A good wine is one that is so good, you worry about drinking more, wondering if you’d fall out of the fantasy and awaken to a bitter biter that obfuscates itself with alcohol content. Its one that you remember hauntingly at dinnertime, when you find its perfect compliment, and realize you drank the last of it the night before as you chatted with friends.
The perfect wine is your wine… no one else’s… its choosing Chianti with a white fish or a Riesling with steak… it fits your personality to a T and it makes your food soo much better. It transforms your food from a meal to an escape.
Americans eat food too fast, without much thought. Perhaps it has something to do with the grade school cafeterias we’re all accustomed to. To living life as if the details don’t matter… We’re always running from one meeting to the next, never having time to breath, and only occasionally having time to shower. My Tuesdays are like that… busy busy busy… from the time I wake until the time I escape I’m doing something… and dinner is one of the things I fit in… one of the after thoughts… one of the moments I have to take to make sure I don’t pass out in my next meeting.
Have you ever lived in time? Let it be your servant, not your punisher?
The gourmet grocery store I worked at has become part of my unicorn… People worked there not because they had to, but because they lived. The life of a foodie is different than the life of everyone else… it’s mystical. We walk differently and talk differently, as if our wildest dreams can come true… and with the sly grin that suggests they have… We walk into a kitchen with expectations of a great meal to come… we scrounge the cupboards and fridge for those forgotten pieces of manna hidden in the plains-clothes of a cucumber or chicken breast. We walk in and taste things never tasted, cook things not yet cooked and dream things never dreamed. We walk with hope.
We even take a bad Beaujolais Nouveau and dream a perfect citrus marinade for a delicious chicken served over angel hair pasta spiked with strawberries and orange slices in a delicate and slight red wine sauce hinted with basil, rosemary and parsley…

I was an Atheist. I once met a few girls, they were cute and Catholic, one was a beautiful sassy blonde, tall enough to fit just right in a hug, the other was this spunky brunette who’s personality made you feel alive and as if you actually deserved the adulation of 10,000 more. They were Catholic with a capital C, and well, I was at least born Catholic…
I started my posturing trying to impress them, listening and observing closely to find out what really drove them crazy. And the thing is I couldn’t find anything. Every few nights I’d notice they’d spontaneously disappear to this “Adoration”. They’d invite me, but I made great effort at plausible excuses to convince them that next time I’d go. At one point I risked ruining my credibility; so I excitedly asked when they were going next, thus prompted they said they hadn’t thought about it but would be willing to go tonight. I thus arranged for a ride, and got a group to go.
“Adoration” is this place that Catholics offer reparation in silence to Christ for the Garden of Gethsemane, they pray for an hour to God with Christ present in the Eucharist and they come out different. People have gone in with great burdens and tears, only to come out and rejoice so much that the only thing they wanted to do was to roll down hills. Atheists have gone in, and returned Catholic with that strange capital ‘C’.
I once thought the Eucharist would taste great with a nice raspberry jam and a touch of Nutella, but much to my dismay two cute girls led me to something I didn’t expect.
At first it was an addiction, like a great wine that makes you want a new bottle every night… and eventually twice or thrice a day… it was like a costly addiction that promised the hope of the perfect filet mignon or a dreamy champagne sauce for chicken, only this time free. No strings attached, if you didn’t count the gradual chipping away at a cold heart that refused to yield to any warmth.