The Art of Living Lost: Hey Big Boy!

Last week as I was preparing for brunch with friends, I found myself in the local liquor store. As I wandered the aisles lined with wines from around the world, I smiled, remembering the times I’d spent exploring Germany, Italy, and France. While my fingers skimmed the Cupcake and Mommy’s Time Out labels, I felt the exhaustion of parenthood wash over me and was silently grateful to be beyond the diapering phase of my life. It was with this relieved and rested spirit that I raced to find the vodka, but alas, the liquor store wasn’t done with me.

IMG_8765Perched very high-up on a shelf with other surprisingly orphaned bottles of booze, was the largest bottle of champagne I’d ever seen. More astonishing than the size was the brand VEUVE CLICQUOT, or translated from French to English, “Widow Clicquot.” With sweet heart I remembered how Chris and I fell in love with the champagne’s history on a cruise many years ago. Upon hearing the brand’s translation, we devilishly contemplated the details surrounding François Clicquot’s death. We marveled at how the Madam could rise to such prominence in an era where women were not permitted to open a personal bank account.

While I gazed at the bottle, I remembered every-single-popped-cork. Toasting new homes, promotions, and the birth of our children, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot was an iconic character in every adventure I enjoyed with Chris. Inspired, I purchased that exact bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and in the spirit of charity, I auctioned it off at a fundraiser called the Great Pumpkin Ball, with proceeds benefiting a cause very dear to my heart — Good Grief.

Now you know the story never ends there. Don’t you want to know who won such a memorable treasure? Who would they share it with? What would they celebrate? Yes, these were questions that had to be answered! With the universe behind me, I found that the gal who won the champagne was known to my friends at Good Grief, and an introduction ensued.

Over coffee, I leaped into interrogation mode. I learned the bottle-beneficiary had been a widow for over 15 years and that she planned to share the sparking yumminess with relatives visiting from Italy. As I extolled the power of Veuve Clicquot and shared that Veuve was French for the widow, her eyes widened. Cast aside were the Italian relatives to be replaced by, you guessed it — MORE “Veuves”!

Now admittedly, I’m not the fastest with dates, and, as the hamster in my brain hopped back on the wheel, I calculated the timing and asked her if her husband died on 9/11? “Yes,” she replied, “and now that she understood the significance of the champagne,” she giggled, “Ok, this is for my girls. This is for my support group; because we are all still friends! After 15 years of knowing each other, having met at the worst possible time in our lives, this bottle is totally destined to be shared on girl’s night out.”

With this, I thought to myself, isn’t it poetic that a French widow, rising to excellence in the early 1800s, could bring such great JOY to a group of American widows more than 200 years later? What’s even more thrilling are the faithful signs that remain part of the brand today, like the image of an anchor emblazoned on every cork symbolizing hope. I challenge you to look beyond your label and find the symbols of hope, joy, and prosperity emblazoned on your spirit.

Welcome back to The Art of Living Lost!

Happy New Year,

To see more photos generated by The Art of Living Lost team checkout: The Art of Living Lost Instagram Roll

Comments

comments