More Wine, Please

It started with wine. Chianti, to be precise. My dad, in his own inimitable way, ceremoniously announced over the cacophony of a Mulheran (+McNiff) Thanksgiving dinner that he should probably open up said bottle of Chianti, because he and my mom had decided to take us to the Amalfi Coast of Italy to help celebrate their 40th anniversary together. Still reeling from my third heaping plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, and the like, I think I was too dumbfounded to respond with anything other than a garbled, "are you serious?!?!" While the immediate reaction was not what I think my parents hoped or expected (instead of incredulity and adulation, they mostly encountered panicked inquiries about logistics), when it sank in, I'd venture to say that everyone was pretty damn fired up about the opportunity to go somewhere rather far removed from our suburban Minneapolis ennui.


An excited buzz pulsed through the family as we made the trek through Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris (note: French people suck as much as I thought they would...which is to say, a lot) to Naples, Italy. Despite the minor snafu of Colleen and I not really sleeping on the flights (hey Dad, thanks for the Ambien...), and the major snafu of Dan and Katy's luggage not arriving due to the ineptitude of the curbside check-in guy with more consonants in his name than teeth in his mouth, we arrived at a destination of inescapable splendor.


If you've never been to that part of the world, I really can't describe to you the fascinating beauty at every turn. I know that sounds douchey and elitist, and I'm sort of sorry, but not really. And I'm also sorry that, despite my inadequate words, I'm still going to try to set the scene. The entire coast is a rugged series of cliffs, hills, and fjords. Yes, fjords. At least one of them. Mashed into the side of this craggy landscape are a series of small villages and towns, tumbling down the hillsides to the lapping azure shores of the Mediterranean (or, specifically, the Tyrrhenian Sea). Most of the bare land has been cleverly tiered into rows of olive trees or lemon trees, with breathtaking villas, piazzas, and an unbridled tourist economy filling the towns. One of the aforementioned villas played host to our family for the week, and it's hard for me to imaging staying anywhere more spectacular (or somewhere that required the climbing of more stairs. Yeesh.).


If you have preconceived notions about what my family and I did while there, you're probably pretty spot on. We ate like royalty and drank wine as though we'd never get the chance to do so again. We wandered romantic paths and roads through eclectic shopping districts, churches, and villas, lazily pawing at melty gelato with a tiny plastic spoon. We sunned ourselves while touring the coastline by boat, stopping to leap into the glistening salty abyss. Some of us, despite my mom's vehement protestations, leapt with abandon off our rocky poolside platform into the churning waters of the Mediterranean, some 30-40 feet below. However high it was, there was enough time to think, "holy shit, I'm still in the air".


As a complete change of pace, we also visited Pompeii, which was destroyed (and somewhat ironically, preserved) by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD. The size and scope of the place was pretty overwhelming, and the advances they had already made 2000 years ago were pretty astounding. The ruins included advanced sewage systems, crumbling frescoes left and right, a brothel, which I of course found amusing to no end, and a couple of outdoor amphitheaters with stunning acoustics.


I buried the lede. I always do that. Lost in my loquaciousness is the real reason for all of this, one that I attempted to drunkenly acknowledge one night after about my 600th glass of Amarone. Dan and Carol Mulheran, my parents, celebrated forty years of their lives together. Their desire and willingness to bring me (and the rest of the idiots) with them for such an amazing experience is certainly something that I'll never forget, but the far greater privilege in my life has been to see them, know them, and love them every day for my 30 years on earth. They'll both give me some version of "aw shucks" or "you know, we're not perfect" when they read this, but I can't think of a better way to spend my life than how the two of them have managed to spend theirs, and I'm imbued with a great sense of personal responsibility to live up to the lofty standard they have set; in part because I feel that I owe them my best effort in this life, but mostly because I can't think of anyone I'd rather emulate. Mom and Dad, thanks for staying the course through the rest of this rambling entry to arrive at the main point. I love you both, thank you so much for both an amazing trip and all that you both embody.


And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pour myself a glass of wine.