Posts Tagged With: Diary

Another Island

IMG_8805 Wine, today was all wine.  But as well, a return to running.  6.2 treadmill miles today, then home to shower before the crushpad, where the Cabernet, the last Sanglier lot as I understand was crushed.  Now the writer’s at home, battling several distractions but here in the homestudy writing about the day and how it only moreso convinced me I’m a writing/running winemaker.  Tomorrow morning, although I’m sure the wine will still be felt, I’ll be writing and journaling, inventorying all.  The run is starting to catch me, a bit, but not as much as I thought it would.  Must still be in a bit of shape.  After the 6.2 I took to the basketball court to shoot a few.  But not many.  I know Glenn would call any minute and ask me to come to the press and I did and he later messaged me to be at this house for the wine club/employee/grower event at his house.  Myself, didn’t sip much, but there at home I have surveyed both the La Rochelle Chardonnay and the Selby Merlot.  Not aiming for any level of effect but just to be in wine’s story– the write can only think of how many weeks are left in the semester and how much longer he has to wait to launch both the startup and the website for ‘mmc’.

Smelling the other fermenting wines in that room, one of the barrel rooms showed me what wine can IMG_8812do to senses and the story, how it’s perceived by a writer like me.  A writer– like me.  Down comes Alice, what haveth she to say– “Where’s my ipad?” Then up she goes, pointing out to the writer how big her stomach gets.  I remind her she’s pregnant which is unnecessary but I do to comfort her and she smiles airingly and I can’t help but imagine my little girl here in this house, crawling around like Jackie used to in the condo.  Wine is family, and a family business.  So I need to push harder with mmc and vvv.  There are universes and solar strokes nearing that I never before pictured.  So here it is, what the writer has always wanted and I can’t be slowed even for a minute– I should be drinking coffee right now no worry I will in the morning keeping my story going and all these short stories and narratives involving and revolving wine and winemaking and wine drinking, what the grape says to me, leaving behind the bloody adjunct de-signification, how they lower us and throw us where they need us and– no matter, this semester, F ’15, will be a bold forward in my wine label’s methodology and bottle titles.  Already have one thought of , the “Adjunct’s Succession Blend”.

IMG_8814Now, for cap, the write sips his Lagunitas bottle.  Then I need bed.  A fine rest for the writer and a sturdy state for the winery, Arista, come morrow, where I know I’ll taste more wines, Pinots, and a Zin– oh and that Chard, maybe two.  The writer’s exhaustion him catches but the book grows and I hope to be on the Road soon with my little pages and whatever pens I can steal from the plane and hotel– simplicity in my saunter and syncopation, my synapses rile in new realizations and thought so going back to Mendo someday soon and confronting that tight-greasy-faced pig that rejected my writing pulse, telling him something like “Oh I’m doing fine, I’m writing.. and what are you doing?  OH.. still teaching English at a community college?” And yes that sounds vindictive and petty, ‘cause it is. It’s warranted.

Then I calm down.  It’s the weekend, if I even get those.  Do I?  The downstairs of the Autumn Walk IMG_8824base, quiet, and me with this laptop on my lap and my family upstairs asleep except for possibly Alice who took a nap only a handful of hours ago.. provides the writer some pause, some collection, and another sip of this Lagunitas Sucks– was tempted to have more of that Selby Merlot, but the writer’s done with Merlot tonight, done with wine.  Beer’s what the character craves.  And another cruise through the day’s stills.  So I deep breathe, hear the back neighbors but ignore them, already fantasizing about the coffee– oh, I should make some now, and I would, but I know that would anger Alice. I should be upstairs now but I’m a writer with a flurry of character quirks.


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The next morning, odd

vibes and vertices about the day’s development.  Just came from the crush pad where Glenn showed me the Syrah pressing, next to the Grenache and Mourvedre add, for their Rosé project.  The first press or “rain” as I thought of it of Syrah was darker than you or anyone would expect from a Rosé effort, nice thick strawberry and cherry, wild berry rile to its presence, while the second rain was IMG_8662lighter and with more wildness to its fruit quality, almost like a (though I hate the word) tartness.  Britt and I went to see what the brix was on the GR/MV co-ferment.  About 24.6, if I remember right.  Then they press that and add to tank, but it seems this vintage there is a concern with juice.. all the more to my winemaking momentum.

At the Starbuck on Hopper, which had the longest line I’d ever seen here, so far, since my consistency of visits, taking nearly 15 minutes to get my mocha and sit here for my morning words and expressions, musings or whatever you’d want them to be tagged– my visions and dreams wander sitting here thinking about the wines I’ll make and how I’ll write about them, what my sister and parents and everyone would think.  What Doug, my lunching friend from yesterday, would think.  And my other projects…  Would love the whole day to just STOP, focus, get done what I need.  But now I head to Arista where for sure there’s only more content.. more and more and more than I can handle but somehow I’ll find a way to press it out like this morning’s Syrah and have it settle in my barreled prognostications, measurements of a literary life and winemaking anchor-theme..  Like I always say, I’ll write everything for the day, everything and show my readers, you, what I see in this wine world, the conversations and what’s said, everything from a worker’s worry of what’s on the schedule, who they have coming in, do we have enough bottles open, to what time does the wedding start and when do we close (if we have a wedding).

The slow nature and character of this coffee hole continues, with people collecting and pocketing just in front of me, mostly with scowls about, wondering what the hell is taking so long and will they be late to whatever.  And many have the day to themselves today, normal people unlike me as it’s Saturday, and they frown and frown, and roll their eyes when name called.  I sit here and laugh below the moving characterization of surface, wondering how the rest of my day’s to go.

Now all these flies fly around me for torment or amusement, I’m not sure, but I’m annoyed and wonder what else the day plans on throwing at me–  Started with the sun in my eyes, so much I had to lean my head out, on San Miguel.  Then again on Hopper causing me to nearly miss the crush pad– 

And now someone sits next to me.  Leaving.

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MOCK SOMM: Taft Street Winery, Alexander Valley, Merlot, 2012

IMG_8603Usually I wait till the next day to write a reaction to a wine that catches me, but this one I have to write in the moment.  Never heard of this producer before but found it at a local wine shop and since my penchant for Merlot is always a-bubble, I bought it.  Opened it just before dinner letting it breathe for not that long.  I was looking for candor, true truth of Merlot and that’s what I found, a certain whirling and whimsical honesty in the wine and what it noted for my senses.  Purest texture and potent palate, from front to summation with darker fruit that you may expect, but maybe that’s the Alexander Valley talon landing.  Either way I’m smitten and swayed by its sequencing.  The type of Merlot that has me remembering travel and a more imaginative me.  And this Merlot does offer what I look for– unique varietal translation and a certain stubborn echo at sip’s close (what most would simplify and dumb to “finish”).

Everyone who knows me knows I want to get back to making wine, and Merlot is the varietal that coerced me to wine’s curve, and I’ve never backward stepped. So I dance forward and jig with this bottle’s janiform song.  Its complimentary duplicity in form and and palate is precisely what punctuates its uniqueness.  I’ll go back to that store, obviously, and walk with a few more bottles.  I measure with the structure of the nose and mid of this Merlot crafting it’ll go at least 7 years.  But there’s no possibility of any wine with this tier of strenuous orchestration lasting so long in my writing base.  So I pour myself another glass and don’t overthink it, and see what new chords the wine wants to play for me.

MM 92

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MOCK SOMM:  Cirq , Treehouse Pinot Noir, Russian River Valley, 2012

IMG_8350Waited to open this bottle, and I wish I would have waited longer.  Just to see what else it would say and sing—or more so, wishing I had another 11 bottles.  But this was a gift from Michael Browne himself and I waited for the right occasion, with family, greeted by a rich and prominent palate, convincing and determined with dark meaty fruit qualities and illuminatingly proverbial tannins.  Usually tannin address doesn’t concern me, as I’m looking for fruit composition and profile, but the methods by which these tannins align themselves with the berried tenacity is admirable, worthy of study and ode, the slow sips where you think about what the wine’s telling you—you listen, you let yourself be instructed and shown, shown and delivered to a higher stretch wine wined reflection.  You do nothing but sip.  And slowly.  Study.  Listen, see feel fall and get lost in the fermented translation ebb

This Pinot screams drama and theatricality, not to get attention or connoting that it’s over-extractedIMG_8349 or any intricacy overdone, but that there’s so much attention-deserving dimensions to every step and syncopation of the bottle.  It’s obvious Michael Browne has a precise aim with this Pinot project, just like with the circus and how it seeks to not only entertain but help you escape the clasps of mundane modes and muffles.  Here you’re being shown something, something with Pinot that hasn’t before been done or perhaps even attempted.  And what is that exactly?  Not sure—or, I am sure but not with any words presently to characterize it.  It was an experience, it was visual and vivacious, credible and coded in flavorful aggression.  Not sure how to get another bottle, or if I can, but if I ever do I’ll note while I sip—and that’s another note to note; this wine had the writer solely in sip sequence, sans scribble.  Which never happens.


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Matured in Vintage (wine/vino/vin principles, code)

cup 1

cup 1

5:54AM and at keys, no not as early as I wanted but I’m here typing, thinking about taking on other clients and if I do that how my own writing will suffer.  But enough of that now, the story for the day outlined and submitted, to ME, and I approve wholeheartedly.  Coffee already accompanying my movements and the wine ideas still very much building and fermenting and catapulting themselves at my thinking down here in this Autumn Walk hut.  Jackie still asleep, and me pressured by the pressure I put on myself and the timeline with my daughter getting here in the Winter, or late Fall (guess that’d be late Fall, early December).  So the end to these means is me writing much more, teaching less (meaning no more Mendo or Solano), and building my business.  I’m never leaving the classroom, certainly not at SRJC anyway.  Have to get deeper– or rather ‘further’ into wine’s story.  And how?  Go out there and get what the consumer or even local wine-inspired figure wants: the visuals, the story, the moment-to-momentness of wine itself.  I’ll find that today in Napa’s downtown.  And one more thing I have decided…  I am starting my own label, I will be making wine, next year.  If I did this year it would only be a hobby that would stress me out and I wouldn’t be able to monitor the fruit and the fermentation as I should, be there at the crush pad with it as Glenn was when the SB arrived last week, at that “Punch Down” facility right down the road from here, actually.

I have it decreed in my Comp Book, and now here, for this semester and forever, that my goal is

cup 2

cup 2

to make my own wine; a humbly organized label, maybe 3,000 css, 5k maximum, and only over a couple types.  I don’t want to make as many different wines as some do.. or maybe I do, that way they all, ideally, sell out.

And this would be a secondary business.  Not a hobby but like what Glenn’s winery is to his larger more mammoth vineyard business.  And my site wouldn’t be a wine “education” site, just a general sharing and through that sharing people would become privy, or “educated” if you will, on wine and what happens behind the scenes and in the trenches as I used to do for that factory winery in Kenwood– entertaining and engaging, all pieces short and to the point, truly using brevity as our boon.

Definitely going to Napa today to acquire material, images, maybe a couple new wines.  but if I can’t taste why would I buy them?  Going to have price and ‘value’ be my aims.  And only a couple bottles.  Have to watch all spending…  Just checked accounts, made CC payment, and I’m equalized, “golden”, more than stable.  In fact, financially I’m doing quite well, with the college checks to roll in at next Month’s beginning.  Need to launch my site sooner than soon.  And I’m thinking have it be a WordPress site and not a Weebly-based one.  Again, to think about, but I’m quite settled on WordPress as it’s a blogging site and I’m very much a blogger, not a web designer.  But…..

Jack still not up and my first cup done.  So next, this writing dad… make cup 2, go up and gently wake my little Beat, and go from there.. don’t plan so much.  And, just a Self-note: max clients, 4.  Not a page of paper or word more.  FOUR, no more.


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Back In Class

IMG_1003And I have to applaud myself for working/writing myself out of a mood which was generated by my email getting hacked, some dimwit sending out a letter saying I was in fucking Turkey.. and needed money.  That, and I have grading for Summer to do, then planning for Fall, then the pick tonight at Old Camp.  But I calm, as it’ll all get done, I know.  I have managed to clear my desk a bit– oh, just remembered I need to charge my cameras, phone.. everything before the launch tonight.  No run today, as I have written on my calendar.  Thought about taking a nap, and that probably would help but I wouldn’t be working– have to stay working and writing.  Have notes typed up for meeting with Chelsea tomorrow.. need to designate notebooks for classes, and don’t EVER overlap.  Simple, simplified.. less is better.

Alice to bring home lunch in a bit.. not much more I can due right now but rightly write freely here at the desk, in the home study.  I now truly embrace the idea of “nothing new”.  No new projects, no new directions, no new anything– well, new clients I’ll take, but with a keen eye, careful and not at all with whim.


While at Costco with Alice this morning, I motioned to look at my phone and she told me not to, “Be free for a minute,” she said, then seconds later disclosing how she intentionally left hers at home, again emphasizing freedom.  And she’s right.  Why should this email hack bother me at all?  AT. ALL.?  Kerouac didn’t have email.. a phone.. neither did Hem, Plath.. I know I’m in the blogging arena, and that comes with emails and social media, and this goddamn laptop.  But I don’t have to be chained.  In my little black book of ideas for mikemadigancrEATive I jot: “plan for tomorrow”, “less is better”, and “nothing new less you have to”.

Enjoying some music here in the study.. go plug in battery/charger for camera.. done.  Mind IMG_1008swirling and I’m having trouble stopping it, which I suppose is a benefit, a boon for me as a business owner, right?  Thinking the content tonight should be 50/50, video and still, but I’ll see.  I have to feel the scene and see what the story tells me to do.  Words come first.  I’ll bring my little notebook but I doubt I’ll be able to see anything out there, in the dead of night/earliest of mornings.

IMG_10097:24PM.  And after the most fierce battle with tech that I’ve found myself engaged in, in months, if not a year (calling what I thought was an IT number but was only a scammer.. luckily I hung up and disconnected internet connectivity), I’m back at the laptop with renewed appreciation, and total embrace of the simple approach to writing, my business, life.  Alice had it right this morning, put the phone down.  It’s down now, believe me, and with under 5 hours, actually just over 4 hours till departure for the vineyard, I’m in the mind state and frame I need.  And to add to today’s attack on the writer, the SF prospect passed, stating her editor didn’t like my revisions.  Of the original sample I sent.  And honestly, I’m fine with it.  She very much tried to help me, which I appreciate.  And who knows what her editor wants.  I don’t care what any editor wants if you must know– well you already do.  I’m focusing on the wine, the winemaking, the vineyards, wine writing, me, my family, building this business so my babies will have the option to share one day the office with me.


Jackie home from swimming lessons, which I took him to, Alice staying home and resting which she needs, carrying little M.  While watching him, in the water, me not looking at my phone and seeing so many parents looking at their screens completely ignoring the processes of their IMG_1013children in the pool.  The instructors were far more attentive that those parents.  But not me.  I watched everything little Kerouac did in the water, sitting on Ms. Ashley’s lap and letting her take his arms to make the stroking movements.  My phone now still in pocket.  There it stays.  And the email that was hacked, letting it die.  Never using it again.  Now only my vinolit address used for business.  And to everyone who tries to contact me through the old address.. well…..  If the story wants us to stay connected we will be.  I’m moving on and distancing myself from this technological terrorism and dependency.  I’m going to continue to be the odd one who doesn’t look at his goddamn phone every five seconds.  I’m going to always be the lunatic watching his son swim in the pool, or the view of the vines or how the tree moves with gusts.  I’m an artist, not a device dependent drone.  I’m alive, they’re not.  They’re less than alive.  They’re devices themselves, with vices about their movements and interactions.  Not this writer.  At present, this laptop not connected to the internet, and I love the detachment!  I love the art of my movements and my breathing, the way I push the keys even feels better, much more richness in the sounds.

IMG_1015Going through the camera I see so many images that I haven’t used, and the video camera I haven’t used has material as well.  And no connection to the internet for these tech pieces, so no chance of getting hacked.  Yes, I know, but still tech.  A compromise you could say.  In the vineyard I’ll go from camera to camera, and if I can write notes, single words not burdening myself with full sentences or any kind of proper grammar as these editors want.

Funny the email said I was in Turkey, as I’d love to go to Turkey, have always wanted to go there and write about the streets and all the merchants, the customs and scents and buildings, wherever I could go.  And the danger that people speak of and warn Americans against, what fuel for the writing. For THIS writer, dodging and hiding from whomever…  I need travel, and this hacking event today, if you could even deem it an “event”, only made Mike more resolute.. nearer to book’s completion, my travels, and more enhancement of life quality for my family.


Still quite a bit of clutter and paper piles around me.. evidence of the battle and how it diversely crushed my day’s routine.  Maybe I won’t go to bed when I get back here at 2-whatever.  Maybe I’ll come to this swiveling chair, to my pages, to this new me for which I have today to credit.


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Products, Production, Productivity, Produced

IMG_7683Haven’t felt this productive and accomplished in some time.  Writings for clients, done and posted.  My check book, BALANCED.  Bills, paid.  I’m feeling very much even this afternoon and now I reward myself with some freeness in writing time.  Just remembered I have two more checks to write but no matter, I can very much handle it.  Have to return to my 3 pages a day, and I will, soon as my schedule in me settles.  Still have to grade Summer papers and prep for Fall, as well as gather the collected poems I put together.  Yes, a lot on the writer’s plate, but that’s how he wants it.  And now, here in this quiet house I very much have to take advantage of my moment at this desk in the Autumn Walk study.  Planner on left, mapping out the morrow.. going out with Glenn tomorrow night at midnight and picking the Old Camp Vineyard at midnight till 2.  Can’t even gather how excited I am about this dark pick, haven’t done such since 2012 when at that other place.  But this will be all the more resplendent and memorable, 1, as it’s Pinot Noir, and, 2, with a man I greatly respect.  Didn’t spend that much time with Glenn IMG_7696today but just in the short time we walked the Old Camp lots and had coffee and the place.. what’s it called….. Blue Beagle in North-North Santa Rosa, I ingested more knowledge of the harvest and this vintage and what it’s like to be one fully living as a self-employed and sustaining wine business figure.

3PM exactly, Alice scheduled to meet me here at 4 to leave and get little Kerouac before his swim lessons.  So much to organize.. already scribbling items on the calendar for morrow, not putting on this goddamn laptop’s datebook as I don’t trust this app or laptop as far as I wish I could throw it.  Busy, busy.. self-employed, love it..  had the chance to visit and old friend, Sophie, at her new base at a RRV winery on Olivette Road.  Bought one Pinot.  Can I write that off?  Poems, don’t forget to type those poems, especially those three you wrote the last days of class– see?  I’m mad with how IMG_7700busy I am, but again I love it more than I can here convey.  So full of vision and life and in no time I’ll be on the Road, traveling and writing and bringing stories and presents home for my babies.  And wife.  Just as Mom and Dad used to when they flew for the airline.

What else can I get done in this efficiency spree?  Sent a sample and a revision to a prospect, and this one seems to be testing me, but I could be wrong.  I should here today whether or not I’ll be let on to her project.  Hope she contacts me soon, as there’s little space left on my calendar.  And in the end, really, I’m the one making the call.  Empowered writer, writing books, running a business, and his blog, and running (11.1 miles yesterday I think was the final count), teaching 3 classes, and .. what else?  Sure there’s something else in their, in here, in this room with and somewhere on this desk in or atop or under one of the piles.


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In the cell, and I sip Coke, not my usual coffee.  Didn’t want those jitters and the tremors I usually find with the cup.  And, to not at all my surprise, no word from SSU, even after two emails saying how much I’d love to come back and teach.  This is a game they play with the adjunct, I know it.  But I’m letting go and forgetting about it, looking to this new semester and all promised by it.  Just did a bit of work for a client now I focus on the last regular session of this Summer “semester”.  Workshopping rough drafts tonight, and doing a little writing.. not sure what else.. maybe a group activity, like the ‘create a character’ bit I do.  That always comes out quite interesting, I think.

Went to Mendocino today to order books and get my respective processes in motion.  I feel now like I have nothing to write and nothing to think, and absolutely nothing to offer this page.  Have more writing to do when home tonight for client 1, then to bed.  Hoping to get a run in, for morning, before meeting with client 2.  Then tomorrow night the Summer semester ends.. have to lock myself in the study tonight, just write and gather myself, organize before this busy impending term.. and collect writings as I’ve been meaning to, the adjunct has to always be more together, more cogent and fluent in his duties as he’s more mobile, more pulled and scattered between campuses than the full-timer.  The adjunct has a challenge that the full-timer can’t appreciate, really at all, as there’s no real connection for the adjunct other than to himself, to his practice and his teaching.  That’s all he has.  He’d love to be on some committee, but he hasn’t the time.  He works another job, two if you want to be honestly honest, aside from the classroom hours.  So he can’t “volunteer” as he’s so urged, as he’s told he has to if he ever wants to be full-time.  He has a family, so what is he supposed to do?  Easy:  MAKE IT HIS OWN.  Own the moments he has and all the talents at his disposal and fire away, keep going and use his life as material as so many of the authors he admires did, still do..

Her in the office thinking of the remaining hours in day, the Chardonnay I put in the fridge before leaving the house, and how it felt warmer outside that I remembered it being when I came back from the car wash, after returning from that long Mendo drive.  The Road, again with me, this semester two days a week, like in Fall ’14–

Reconnection with sitting after retrieving sparkling water from fridge in mailroom.  Don’t want to be interrupted, but I feel’s though I might be in a minute by that adjunct from the other day.  I don’t know what I’m feeling now in this goddamn office but I don’t like it, I should just leave, go home, email the students and be done with the Summer.  And what would that do.  Nothing.  That’s surrender.  The trials and pains of an adjunct supersede him even if he’s under some empowering impression.  Does he have control?  And if so what does it get him?  The adjunct role is about insecurity.. that’s just what they want, and they win for this moment, that’s what I feel but I recognize it and battle with this typed beat of mine, and thinking about the Road, all the forests in which I’ll write, some random bench on a trail, and wherever else.  While on the Mendo campus I had the urge to write in the Comp Book, in that little quad outside the library’s building, in between that an the bookstore’s building, where they have that cafeteria with the most horrendous bites and mochas you could ever hope or not hope to envision.  My plan for tonight, simple:  Edit.  Edit everything.  Perfect.  Perfect everything.  And as I mentioned the other night, the “feel” of the paper.  How do you feel about it, and how do you want your reader to feel.  And I realize I should be asking myself those very questions with everything I write, type.

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type 1

I try this new coffee I was gifted, and I’m not as about its character as I have been in other go-rounds with coffee types.  I wake this morning with the vineyard images still entirely in my vision and more than just ‘in my head’.  And maybe now the flavor of this new coffee grows on me.  Would I have it in the office?  uh…  not sure.  But I will entertain it later I’m sure in one of my typing riles.

This morning I consolidate, and focus myself further as a writer.  Have a couple housecleaning tasks for the mmc shop–  Student this morning, or former student, texted me a picture of a guy next to her on a train either to or from Italy and the book he set down in front of him.  A Kerouac ms, which one I can’t remember but I student expressed that, after being on her Camino Walk for the past 5 weeks or so, or maybe longer, that she can’t get away from Mr. Kerouac.  I know I need travel, and I know it’s on its way, soon, my hustle if you will shall put me in other states and countries and show me and my story dimensions that only this opportunity could’ve.  And I’ll work harder as a writer and write more than any writer out there and each sentence I type or scribble will be released… so…..  I start again, for the whateverth time.

The coffee isn’t that bad actually.  Wish I could stay home, work on student papers and write some lectures for the end of the Summer term and for the Fall which I’m very much looking forward to.

Jackie plays next to me, with his cars and some coins he took from my work bag.  And the day is off, the ‘Mike Madigan, Author’ person is at work, what he would or is doing, in his perfect-ing world.  And whatever the day holds can only contribute.

Month new, habits more decorous.


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Glass Memory

When you learn in the wine world it’s different and much more punctuated I feel, than in other extensions.  The soil, the rootstock, the varietal clone the microclimate the trellising style, the adds (if any).  So much to it.  And listening to him speak of the ripening and the clones of Pinot and everything that’s to be considered as a grower/winemaker, has me considering and reconsidering everything.  I feel tireless, just like him.  Wanting so much to work those endless harvest hours.  but I pause and just watch again, seeing if I really could do that– well of course I can, if I put as much of myself into it as he did, does–


And I walk another block, staring at the hills and again realize there’s so much to this wine story of mine, of ours, all of ours in this world and business.  And the story that’s being told and narrated is not ending, ever.  Back in Bennett Valley, just up the Road from where Alice and I used to live, in that condo, which I find completely Literary in all its suggestive angles, and I still feel tireless, like I could write all night about wine and what I plan to do with it.  I’d pace back and forth, up and down that row if I could.


I follow.  Just a student again.  And I love it.  More than I can here tell you and certainly more than I have time to tabulate.  So I follow Glenn some more around the rows and look at the clusters, and one thing I do notice which he confirms is the uneven ripening, which could be negative or not.  But who knows, I guess.  It all depends on how the juice tastes, right?  So I want to study the business more and see what I can do as a winemaker, maybe, or just a wild wine writer that I already be.  My head’s everywhere, and I credit and blame the day, in those blocks.


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