So I’ve been thinking about Beowulf of late – like you do.

It might be more accurate to say that Beowulf has been thinking me. I’ll be walking along and one of those thought bubbles that start in your sacrum and percolate up through your heart to your head will come rolling on up, “Wine dark whale road” & “the wine dark sea”.

So equally for no good reason that I can yet discern, last night I dreamt of whales. I was traveling the northwest and I kept pulling off to look at the mountains and to watch the whales that were almost parading for me. I suppose I have a three-day swim battling water monsters in my near future, just five days away from unemployment, so I’m gearing up for a little life Grendel.

I must say it will feel good to leave the now stale air of the mead hall and travel far in search of a psychic kingdom worth defense. As to the wine dark imagery, I can’t say. Most of yesterday’s wines were semi-sweet whites bordering on dessert wines. Something about fall and the October Fest flavor of Herman and the Polka band encouraged this lighter choice, crisp and fruity wines to match the air.

If you ever find yourself in Missouri and want to do the scenic drive, it is hard to beat 94 between Herman and St. Charles. You are winding along the Missouri river following the Lewis and Clark Trail, with Daniel Boone historic sites every few miles (coonskin cap on a post), and the rolling hills and long flood plains in contrast to one another combined with the fire bright shades of gold and red in the full Fall is visual bliss on a bathwater day.

After Herman we hit Balduchies (sp?) in Augusta and perfection was so achieved there, nestled into the side of the hill listening to live music and eating prime rib sandwiches followed by a Gouda wheel, that we stayed until they locked the gate behind us. Back in St. Louis, we finished up at V’s with our first red of the day and a wedge of delicious Brie. In a gesture, V sent my glass of wine flying leaving my shirt where we started: wine dark like the ocean, the highway of adventure.

Getting fired can cause ants to panic. I am not an ant. I am a grasshopper. You know how the story of the grasshopper and the ant ends don’t you? The grasshopper eats the ant.