ice and fruit floating in deep red liquid.

I was lying on the grass in the National Sculpture Garden, people watching. Josh was reading an information pamphlet about the sculptures, and Kate was reading the Post, which seemed to be the in thing to do in D.C. Everyone seems so aware of what's going on all the time. Maybe it's their job to know.

Bad jazz music permeated the air. Or maybe it was good jazz, I don't know. I don't get jazz. This particular band would have be okay, except that they had got an electric guitar player who thought he was in a jam band. I mentioned that to Josh, and he agreed, which made me happy. As a non-musician, every time I'm able to contribute something intelligent to a conversation about music makes me feel like a good girlfriend. Kate asked what a jam band was and Josh explained it while I thought about how my boyfriend knows everything.

But the point of the music was to set a mood, not distract you. You were there to sit with your friends and drink, not pay attention to the music. The music is perfect for that. I once had a friend recommend a band to me, saying they were great to have on at a party, because they didn't distract anyone from their conversations. If that's a big problem at your parties, maybe you should invite more interesting people.

A guy in business casual walked by with a pitcher of ice and fruit floating in deep red liquid. I grabbed my wallet, walked off, and later returned with a pitcher of ice and fruit floating in deep red liquid. I poured out portions into three plastic cups and we said cheers. Kate went back to the paper, Josh back to the art information, and I sat back and thought about other pitchers of ice and fruit floating in deep red liquid.

I love sangria. Is there anything better on a hot day or a cold night or any other time? Wine and fruit juice, good wholesome fruit soaked in alcohol.

The first time I made sangria was in Winston. The recipe called for brandy, so I bought a bottle of the kind that my underage roommate used to make me buy for her. As I cooked the fruit on the stovetop, we took shots of the brandy, because, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. When the sangria was finally ready, we were already at least one sheet to the wind. Nothing happened, except that two friends who had harbored secret crushes on each other finally admitted it. Now that night stands as a turning point in our relationship. I think that if we had not lasted, then that memory would stand as a regrettable night of a friendship ruined, instead of a sweetly intoxicated evening of friendship set on fire.

I remembered next a miserable evening in New York City with Sarah on our first trip. It was cold, it was wet, and I had walked miles and miles in bad shoes. I was unhappy and whiny and showing a side of myself that really ought to be locked away and never allowed out. I was angry at the weather, at my shoes, at the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. We were walking back to our hostel when the lights of Mama Mexico beckoned to us. We'd eaten at this restaurant the night before, the night I'd discovered guacamole. It was still wide open at midnight. Honestly, I wanted to just back to the hostel and go to bed, but I'd been such a rotten traveling companion that when Sarah suggested having a drink I felt obligated to go along just to make up for the burden of my company. We ordered desserts and a pitcher of sangria. A few tables were still eating as the wandering guitar player meandered around the tables and played "Feliz Navidad". I wondered if he minded having his culture reduced to "Ay Ay Ay Ay", as if I were to go to a foreign country and walk around singing "Yankee Doodle". After a while, most of the customers had filtered out and the singer took a seat in the corner with a couple of the wait staff. He began playing other songs that were not part of his business hours repetoire. Beautiful, soft songs that sounded like something abuelitas sang at night to droopy-lidded children. By the time the pitcher was gone, I was revived. Even when I stood up and found that my legs had stiffened, I found the strength to giggle my way down the street with Sarah to the hostel.

And then that late afternoon in the sculpture garden, where the sun was beaming generously on our faces, the bad jazz was easy to ignore, and I didn't feel the need to say anything to my companions. I could just sit there with them, sipping my deep red liquid, eating the alcohol-laden orange slices, and thinking what a great time I was having doing nothing in particular.

Here's to ice and fruit floating in deep red liquid.

Note: This is a strong recipe. I made it for my parents once, and my dad mentioned at least three times how strong it was in the next week. You can always add more juice (or use less rum) if you don't want your parents to think you're trying to liquor them up. Or less juice if you're trying to get them to revise their will in your favor. You can also use whatever fruit you want, really. Apples! Cherries! Pomegranates!

Classic Spanish Sangria
from Allrecipes

• 1 lemon
• 1 lime
• 1 orange
• 1 cup rum
• 1/2 cup white sugar
• 1 bottle dry red wine
• 1 cup orange juice

1. Have the fruit, rum, wine, and oj well-chilled. Slice the fruit into thin rounds and place into a large glass pitcher. Pour in the rum and sugar. Chill in fridge for at least 2 hours to develop the flavors.
2. When ready to serve, crush the fruit lightly with a wooden spoon and stir in the wine and juice. Adjust sweetness to taste.