In Georgian toasts, a little story always comes first. I had a dream. I found myself in a graveyard… where all the tombstones were marked in a curious way- 1822 - 1826… 1930 - ‘34. Always like that. always a very short time between birth and death. In the graveyard was a very old man. I asked him how it was that he had lived so long when everyone else in his village had died so young. But, no, he told me this - ‘Not that we die early. It is just that here, on our tombstones, we do not count the years of a man’s life but rather the length of time he’s kept a friend.’
Let’s drink to friendship.
