When Life Gives You Bagpipes
Life doesn’t just give us lemons. It can dish out any number of things.
You’ve heard the phrase, “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” It’s attributed to American writer Elbert Hubbard from 1915. It was definitely a maxim of its time—the age of Horatio Alger—when anyone could get ahead in life with enough hard work and yanking on bootstraps. But perhaps there’s more to the lemonade phrase. Maybe Hubbard coined the saying after a lifetime of being called Elbert, thinking his parents had a mental wardrobe malfunction when they filled out his birth certificate. It should have read Albert. Or Stebert.
So now we’re stuck with the lemons to lemonade thing. It’s one of innumerable maxims that supposedly helps us navigate the murky waters of existence. In this case, we’re told to somehow make good out of what’s not. And when we get handed a bad deal by that mysterious entity known as life, we’re to stall, assume the stiff upper lip pose, and say what the @#$%? At least that’s my take on it.
But life doesn’t just give us lemons. It can dish out any number of things, from raindrops to rainbows to atmospheric rivers. Just ask all my compadres in California after last winter’s non-stop deluge. I’m sure they weren’t thinking about making lemonade then, but where they could buy more sandbags. And why is it that nothing half-ass ever happens in California? Thirty-three years of living there says anything having to do with nature is full-on biblical. Fires, droughts, flooding, earthquakes—you name it. The only thing missing is locusts and firstborn babies heading to Reno to play the slots.
I remember doing a gig some years ago for a corporate group at the Ritz Carlton in Half Moon Bay. Which, if you know anything about the town, seems like an odd place for a ritzy hotel like the aptly named Ritz. To that point, Half Moon Bay is a small burg with a population of around 11,000 on the coast about 30 minutes south of San Francisco. Other than the fact it has a permanent weather forecast of marine influence and fog, Half Moon Bay has two claims to fame. First, it’s the location for the annual Mavericks, or big-wave surf competition. Second, the town is home to an annual fall classic called the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival. The highlight of the festival has farmers from near and far bringing their giant orange gourds to be weighed and documented. For the record, a pumpkin is also a squash. Be that as it may, last year on October 9th, a certain Travis Gienger won the competition with his mega-gourd called “Michael Jordan.” The enormous squash (note my equilateral use of both terms), weighed an astonishing 2,749 pounds. It broke the previous record by 47 pounds. Call it what you like, but that’s one big-ass pumpkin.
Back to the dinner. The gig had me hosting the evening’s meal for reps from a nationally-based pharmaceutical company. The group was at the resort for their annual sales meeting. In addition to work sessions, free time was provided to play the hotel’s world-class 18-hole golf course, the front nine of which is right on the ocean. It’s tre scénique, if not completely socked in with fog. My job for the evening was to provide light entertainment by talking about the menu as well as the wines from the restaurant’s list that I’d paired with each course.
Just before dinner was about to commence, and guests were enjoying glasses of sparkling wine and cocktails, a shadowy figure appeared outside on the nearest putting green in the gloom. Said character was decked out in traditional Scottish garb, kilt and all. In hand, he carried a set of bagpipes. After assuming what can only be called a rigid military posture, our mystery man took one of the pipes in mouth and the lilting sounds of the highlands quickly followed. In seconds, I reacted as I usually do when hearing bagpipes, thinking, “somebody please help that poor cat!” Actually, what I said was, “Wow, bagpipes. Who knew?”
The idea behind remaining neutral in my comment was to allow the guests to have their own experience and not sully the moment. However, a quick survey of the group, which numbered around 30, found reactions varied across a broad spectrum. Most reacted to the wheening sounds (whining combined with wheezing) by pausing to take in the moment. After all, it’s not every day you’re having a drink in a foggy-ass place and some rube starts playing the bagpipes. Now that’s something to tell the kids about at home.
Others from the group went beyond the pause. A few ventured outside, walked over to shadow man, and stood close as he made his way through a rendition of Amazing Grace. Which was quickly followed by Stairway to Heaven. One woman actually palmed the guy some cash. Maybe she was the one who requested the Led Zepplin. Just kidding.
Finally, there was the third group. They reacted to the sound of bagpipes by freezing in their tracks, stopping all conversation, and scowling. Some even took to quiet muttering. I think that if time had permitted, I would have made some new friends with those in the third group.
Thankfully, the affliction was temporary. Bagpipes man only played for about 10 minutes before retreating back into the fog, no doubt to nab a cocktail of his own. Let’s hope someone stole his bagpipes at that point. Relax, it’s a joke. Otherwise, dinner went without a hitch. The food was delicious, the wines paired well with the menu, and the serving team followed my instructions to the T, which weren’t that complicated: make sure the next wine is poured after the current course is cleared—and before the next course is served.
In the end, the client who hired me was pleased as punch. I guess she liked bagpipes. But I wondered about my peeps, the ones who recoiled at the sounds of the highlands. I guess it’s like life in general, as noted by our buddy Elbert Hubbard. Sometimes, life hands you lemons. And bad things happen, just like Timon said in the Lion King, right before he ate a snoot full of bugs and broke into a strain of Hakuna Matata. But when life gives you bagpipes, you can always shake your head and just say, what the #$%?!
Read more at my wine blog timgaiser.com
