DAYS OF WINE and ROSES

WINSDAY WISDOM 304

It was a cool Saturday morning that I now recall as the Days of Wine and Roses.

Just a passing breeze filled with memories

Of the golden smile that introduced me to

The days of wine and roses… and you

—Days of Wine and Roses (Academy Award Oscar winning Song of the Year, music by Henry Mancini, lyrics by Johnny Mercer, sung by Andy Williams)

I had just purchased a bouquet of a dozen red roses for my wife. It was not a special occasion like Valentine’s Day, just a romantic gesture from a husband needing a lot of grace for his most recent mishap. (Yep, another one.)

As I walked to the parking lot, a man carrying a large bottle of wine came running in my direction. Another man was chasing him while screaming, “Stop that man!”

I was temporarily frozen as I tried to take in the scene invading my space. We live in a time where it is best not to get involved in others’ disputes. However, there is some gallantry to helping someone in desperate need. My deliberation was quickly decided for me. This was unavoidable.

The chasing man continued to yell, “Stop him. He stole my wine.” As the fleeing man with the wine bottle rushed closer in my direction, he glanced back at the wild man in pursuit. Suddenly, he veered off course and slammed into me.

The collision temporarily halted him. He appeared stunned and afraid. There was no doubt he was trying to escape the angry screaming man. As he rerouted his flight around me, I reached out with one arm and grabbed him. 

The wine toting man screamed for me to let him go. As he pushed my arm away, the second man crashed into both of us, crushing the roses. I was definitely involved and very upset at both of them. They invaded my safe zone.

While I surveyed the damage to the flowers, the chaser knocked the first man to the ground in an attempt to wrestle the wine bottle back into his possession. As he stood up to race away with the wine, he was tackled by the first man.

The competing shouts were confusing.

“Give me my wine.”

“No! You stole it. You are a thief.”

“No! You stole it from me.”

“You cannot shoplift.”

“I paid for that wine.”

“You are a thief and a liar.”

The rest of the argument was filled with prolific profanities competing in both volume and vulgarity.

In the wild melee, three roses fell from my bouquet to adorn the two wine wrestlers on the ground of the parking lot. A small crowd of inquisitive onlookers gathered to gawk.

I stood there not knowing what to do. This was not really a fight, more like a sorority scuffle. The flailing fists hit nothing but air. The only damage produced by the leg kicks was the disturbance of the air flow in the parking lot.

Separating the two men struggling for control of the same wine bottle had not crossed my mind at that point. My first concern was for the welfare of the remaining roses. The flowers got the worst of the escalating situation. They had more damage than the two guys rolling around in the parking lot clutching the same bottle of wine.

My second thought wondered if this might be how the Wars of the Roses started in England. (Note for those who are as disinterested in English history as I once was: The Wars of Roses involved two families in a civil war for control of England’s throne in the late 1400’s.

The hometown Lancasters wore red rose badges, and the Yorks dressed in the visitors’ colors with their white rose badges. The red team was led by Henry VI and the advisors he could trust whenever he took a timeout for insanity.

However, the York family had different plans for the control of England’s destiny. The ambitious Richard, the great-grandson of King Edward III, rode the white horse for the York clan.

France got involved because of a woman. Mother Margaret’s ambitions were riding on her infant son, Edward, as her choice for future king.

The result was a horrific, manipulative, scheming, treasonous, bloody, thirty-year battle for the throne of England. Heavy taxation, arranged marriages, corruption (of course), deception, spies, turncoats, meanness, madness, imprisonment in the Tower of London, and beheadings marked the more civil part of the war.

They also fought over stolen wine bottles.

The almost unbelievable chain of events which ended the Wars of the Roses took a page from the legendary Hatfield-McCoy family feud and Shakespeare’s account of the rival families of Romeo and Juliet. Two youngsters from the dueling banjo players of Lancaster and York decided to marry.

Their House of Tudor union began a new royal dynasty. The Tudor team flag ushered in the English Reformation as a religious break from Catholic control, the golden age of English literature (Shakespeare and friends), and the famous reign of Queen Elizabeth I.

The House of Tudor social media marketing strategists superimposed a red rose on a white one for the team colors. Brilliant!

I don’t know whether to say, “Voila!” or “By Jove!” or “Heaven’s to Betsy!” or “What in the Sam Hill?” but I highly recommend a binge watching of the TV miniseries, The White Queen and its sequel, The White Princess.)

Sorry, I digressed from the squabble over the wine bottle, still playing out on the big screen of the store’s parking lot. It was also deserving of some binge-watching television.

My biggest scare came when a large pickup truck turned down the parking lane. The guy was very annoyed at me for blocking his path. He did what any angry redneck would do. He laid on his horn and shouted some curse words for me to move.

That only intensified the chaos as both liberal millennials and conservative senior citizens began to scream at him and bang on his truck. It felt as though we were at a political rally.

I stepped aside so the driver of the truck could see that there were bigger roadblocks ahead. Fast and Furious described the men rolling around in his path, not his truck stalled in its tracks. Blazing Saddles did not generate more chaos.

I guess the loud horn sounds alerted the store security. The armed officer did what our pleas and pulls could not do. He separated the fighting men and stood them upright.

That moment redefined the entire situation.

Apparently, the man running toward me with the bottle of wine was the store manager. He had chased down a homeless man who earlier shoplifted the bottle of wine. The manager was running back into the store for safety but was halted by his run-in with me. The homeless man in angry pursuit claimed he had bought the wine.

The vulgarities continued. Eventually, the accused man agreed to leave the premises to avoid a charge of theft. The store manager sarcastically directed my gaze to his name tag. Was it really necessary for him to point?

I was questioned by security about my interference in the process which caused the store manager to end up with some scratches and bruises. Somehow, I worked into the conversation that my flowers suffered more damage than either of the men in the powderpuff pileup.

Lessons learned. Try not to get involved in other people’s affairs and do not use sarcasm around police officers.

As I drove away from the store, I saw the homeless man sitting under a tree smoking a cigarette. I stopped and asked if he were okay. My mind said not to get involved, but my heart was thinking about what Jesus would do.

I inquired if the man wanted something to eat. He replied that he was just thirsty and asked if I would get him something to drink. I instinctively said, “Surely.” 

(That is correct. I replied, “Surely.” I know that sounds a little weird, but my use of “surely” honors the remembrance of my English teaching mom who preferred the adverb as the formal response. The adjective version “sure” is more of an informal casual expression similar to what might be acceptable common lingo down in the hood.

Both “sure” and “surely” are considered as correct. However, Mom said if we ever met the Queen of England, we should respond with “surely.” 

Well, that bucket-list item is not going to happen. So, I addressed the homeless man as if he were English royalty. Maybe, he was one of the Rose clans. I think he thought I was just uneducated.)

I asked the man with the parched throat if he preferred coffee, tea, or coke. His eyes brightened when I mentioned ‘coke.’ I could read the disappointment on his face as he realized that I surely was not offering the sure thing he was thinking about.

Instead, he answered, “I really need some wine, like the kind that Jesus made out of water.” Then the begging man continued his plea, “Afterall, Jesus was a friend of sinners like me.”

This wine-loving man acted as if he were better acquainted with the Bible and Jesus than I was. Suddenly, my mind raced with the thought this guy might be an angel in disguise.

You have to admit that a homeless wino smoking a cigarette would be a good disguise for an angel! No one would suspect there to be a halo, wings, and harp under those clothes.

Water into wine? Nice try. I will take the bait. Let’s get some water, pray, and see what happens.

Oh, ye of little faith! I am talking about me, not the wino.

New dilemma. I was pretty sure he would surely not listen to my reasons for him to forego the wine. I usually give some money with the understanding that it will probably not go for food.

Since I was no longer a Baptist pastor by trade and not really bothered by the righteous opinions of others, I offered to take him into the store.

My #1 Textbook version says that Jesus was a friend of sinners whose baggage included drunkenness, theft, cursing, and immorality.

Inside the store, I felt a little guilty. Not so much over the wine purchase, but over the price! The homeless man picked out an expensive bottle of wine. I asked him if he thought he could get by with something a little less costly.

He mumbled, “Sure.” I did not think it was an appropriate time for an English lesson. He picked up a different bottle which appeared very similar to the one involved in the wrestling match with the store manager. He mumbled again, “Is this one alright?”

I said, “Sure.” I just thought that was how a friend of sinners might say it.

On the way out of the store, I waved a receipt in the direction of the still angry store manager. Even then, I was not sure I was free from a potential shoplifter shakedown.

It probably did not help the tense situation when I used two fingers to point to my eyes and then back to the manager’s name tag, the old “I’m watching you” gesture.

This was definitely a new approach by me. I am not suggesting you follow my example. There are better ways to help the down and out.

However, I will say that if you had the misfortune to be a homeless wino, I would be the one guy you would hope to meet. I think the word is out on the streets. Every time I drive by a person in that condition, he waves for me to stop.

Days of Wine and Roses was the title of a movie about two souls in love who lost their way in an ocean of booze. One never recovered.

I offered the homeless man some food and housing assistance. More importantly, I pointed him to help and hope beyond the wine bottle.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only beloved Son that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have everlasting life (John 3:16).

I wanted to teach the man about love first and love most. I caught myself second guessing how that might look in his life. He would have to offer me the first sip of wine and then give me most of the bottle. I thought that might be too much information for one session.

I pray and hope he will find the Friend who never abandons us. But for the grace of God, I would be sitting beside the road with a bottle of wine instead of walking into a warm house with some slightly crushed roses for a beautiful bride.

The bouquet was missing the three smashed rosebuds in the parking lot and the one rose I left with the homeless man to celebrate our Days of Wine and Roses.

Those were the days my friend; we thought they’d never end.

I am looking forward with hope to those good days that will never end.

Those were the days, my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days
La la la la…

Those were the Days–(Welsh singer Mary Hopkin, first artist signed by the Beatles Apple Record label. This song was produced by Paul McCartney)

Those were the days of wine and roses… and you.