Posts Tagged With: wine world

Wine Chap in his Chapters

7:53, and Alice out for her walk, me drafting 450-something words for a spotlight piece on IMG_8175Boekenoogen, that Pinot I last night studied very much still in sensory memory, with the revolving wild berry rumbles and songs…  Could have easily had another glass, but refrained as I wanted to be alert and able for little Kerouac, who’s now on the floor to my distant left (living room, me here in kitchen, at counter/island), singing new songs learned in school.  “How are you today, sir.. very well, I thank you.. run away… run away…” And he repeats, looking over at me and smiling.  I think then immediately of a family business, that is my sole mission with all this, one that will sustain us as a family, provide us what we need and maybe a vacation here and there, and that farm or vineyard, put my babies through college.. and what be.  And maybe this is expanded and emboldened by the Boekenoogen family and story, I don’t know.  But I’m thinking.  About my family and what I want for us, for my kids– or at least to give them the option to come work at the vineyard, tasting room, ranch or what be.  But I need to get the startup off the ground first.. material material more MATERIAL.  The goal today.. take at least one postable picture every hour.. starting here in home then when I get to Arista.

8:02.  Not letting time get to me this morning, and it’s funny I didn’t think I was scheduled for today but I am and I’ll make it work for me and the novel, my books and this business I’m starting for my family– now little Kerouac wants me to watch how he arranges and lines the cars, like he’s on stage and like I’m to offer some sort of feedback but I have no interesting but only to praise and encourage him.

IMG_81868:03–  “Hey, Daddy.. look a’ what I making for you!” See?  How can can do anything but smile and laugh and prompt him to keep going?  Like my friend Chelsea said recently, “Wine business is a family business.” Indeed.  Which reminds me I need to write something for her as well..  Where’s the time to do that?  I’ll find it somewhere, maybe after I drop those cases of Mendo off at the Healdsburg spot.. a restaurant, whatever it’s name is– well, I know, just not how to spell it and it’s not important, all that matters now is the writing and getting through this semester and starting the startup faster than any other startup out there or that’s ever been conceived of being conceived.

This has to stem from my reconnection to the Boekenoogen story, reading their history and tasting the Pinot last night and the new vision I have of everything.. timing, timing.. ah the music and poetic pulse of it all, the iambs and dactyls, trochee and melody sprees…


8:12.  Jackie continues to arrange his cars and I stay with eyes revolving from this screen then back to him.. I can already see him, in the office with me then out in a vineyard, walking as Dad I used to do in Big Basin park just by our Santa Cruz home.. discovery and more poetry, narrative and self-education and the lectures compile deliciously.. need to see what other Bookenoogen wines I have in the closet behind me, but no matter what I count I’ll more order, that much I know, that much I write..


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I wake this

morning to thoughts of a new client, the meetings I have today and how Jack is–  OR was asleep.  Now downstairs with me and me on cup 2 with more thoughts, thoughts of where I want to be, the end.. to these means, around the time when Emma’s born.  Again not the decided name but at least for now a working name, one which I adore frankly.  Today walking a vineyard with Glenn I’m sure, but before that, between our meeting and that with his daughter Chelsea I’m thinking of writing again in downtown Healdsburg.. somewhere.  Perhaps again Oakville Grocery.  Or the bakery.  Just need to collect seriously these standalone pieces, that’s what I’ll sell.  But I’ve said that before, before again again and one more again.

Hot in this house, or at least it feels so.  I came home yesterday, or last night from Mendo to the air conditioning growling at the heated innards of this new house.  Relief, I thought, opened a beer, had dinner, the day done.  A long day, my Thursdays this semester, but that’s what I signed for, only once a week thankfully.  I have a list of dimensions to shed by term’s end, and Mendo and Solano are at the top of such a roster.  Not much else on mind other than the accumulation of clutter so far this term, already, only week two with notes and the Comp Books, submissions already filling my bag, receipts from all the stops at gas stations and breaks at Starbucks like yesterday when I posted at 12 & Mission just for a handful of breaths to post something to client 1’s blog.  More content for someone else.. just for now, though.  This startup idea I have will relieve me of this morning’s angst, and I will work on that when at Yulupa this morning, and Healdsburg later.

Looking over at Jackie, not at all ignoring my little Beat, he’s content with his waffle sticks, watching a cartoon and playing with his cars.  No angst for this character.  And at the end to this Fall I’m vowing to be more of his literary shape.  But just then, he gets moody, upset with me when I ask him to take another bite, or I’ll turn off the show.  He moans and stretches backward over the carpeted toy box, and looks at me, perturbed.  Just part of the morning progression and panning, tilting, camera angles on our own little set and stage, the writing father and little Beat.

Another episode of Jackie’s show, his mood elevated and emboldened by this new episode and how I went to him as soon as I sensed distress or dissatisfaction, however you’d tag it.  7:09AM, and the day already commands me to clean up.  Everything from this laptop, to the desk, to the writing projects, to how I keep track of progresses with clients, my checkbook ledger… everything.  But I calm, charge my camera for transferring pictures, the hard drive Alma gave me, and ready for departure to Jackie’s school then my Yulupa office.  Wonder if that one woman will be there, the one who became agitated when she, walking slower than anyone should after walking through the door (not holding it open for me, or offering), headed buried in her phone typing or texting or strolling through some social media feed.  I walked past her as she was taking up the entire walkway with her sizable size, and I was in a rush.  I heard her groan or grunt, then when catching up to me in line she said, or felt she had to, “That was really rude.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“You know what you did,” she added, or felt she had to.

I could have destroyed her in an argument, but it wasn’t worth the writer’s time.

What’s worth this writer’s time are my students, all campuses.. my son.. my queenly wife carrying little Emma and being so empyrean to get her typing frantically scribbled husband a pizza for dinner, only from our favorite hut in our old neighborhood.

Not in the mood to stop with my types in fact the caffeine depends on the types just as I what’s in the cup.  Would love to taste some new wines today, possibly on the square, before my meeting with Glenn.  Maybe from Hawley, Chelsea’s husband’s label, for which he’s the winemaker and production proctor.  I will, and maybe one other, then to Oakville.  In no way is today a day off but I’ll pretend it is, or do I want to– no, just one like what I’ll have at the end of term; me a s a writer and that’s it just living by and through my words.  My standalone projects, MY CONTENT, my brand if you would.  MY deadlines and my office, my urgencies and MY DECISIONS.

Nearing a thousand words and the coffee showing more vocality than in recent days, I’ve decided to in my little black journal for mikemadigancrEATive make a list of sheds, what I want to be rid of come end of term.  And the first thing: worry.  Any anxiety, any pessimism or doubt, be it toward self or one of my projects.  Terminal optimism, as I told the Mendo section last night, will be my practice–  I’m interrupted by my own laughs as Jackie dances to his cartoon’s introductory song, “Daddy, Daddy, you go’ do this.. I show you…” Hilarious.  And I can’t stop laughing, and join him, then when the song’s over I’m back in my morning thousand and thinking about my “day off”, if that’s what it is.  NO!  A sampling, or taste of what the means’ end.  Just a write, nothing else.  One loving wine and– huh, ‘nother idea for the startup.

Fly buzzing around my eyes, interferring with keys contact.. damnit.. annoying.

Healdsburg rooms targeted.  Know where I’m going and what I’m doing.. charge camera, pack bag.. readying.. the wine startup, closer than we all think.  Another sip, more more write write–

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Barrel and Narrate

The half-marathon done, and I just scraped some time together to post– or write then post, a piece for client 1.  Now I wait for the day to further evolve and progress, the week to start, have to wake early tomorrow if I can, feeling quite tired from the half and not enough time I feel to get anything done.  Lectures to write, blog posts to finalize.. only way to stay ahead I feel and fear is to wake at 5AM, every morning.


Alice leaves for school, to get some work done before her week lifts off and my son still asleep upstairs, very much with Time’s invitation to finish projects and brainstorm, and consider reality.. I’m creating all this content for other people, which I’m more than happy to do, but what if I dumped all gathered content, written and visual, and short videos, to one spot.. my site.. and the purpose?  Wine education?  Not so much.. just a telling of wine life, then maybe sell, I don’t know, ads or ad space, or whatever.  Truly get it monetized and have WILD wine-woven startup.. consumers and DTC and advertising, and blogging and letters and reviews.. everything that wine is and is meant to be, fun and Human and inviting.. if I’m sipping wine, what are the first words that me accost?  The other day I was thinking of odd or obscure words to describe the Arista Zin, that 2012 they’re pouring in the TR, and I wrote “Roman”.  I had to laugh at what I wrote, and I wasn’t sipping anything, it just made me laugh, but there was purpose and pertinence to the words.  Like a Roman soldier, something grandly-themed, something historic and history-shifting/making.

I need to move and write with everything as I ran the half this morning.  My best time ever for a half-marathon.  Not by much, but I did well.  That needs to be my momentum with this site, this startup.. and what to call the idea?  Not sure, but I need to think about it.  One thought was “enoguistix” but I hate that ‘ix’ sound.  And I’ve used ‘eno’, or ‘oeno’ too many times already.

Think I hear Jack upstairs stirring a bit.  Good.  Need to shower before Mom and Dad’s and decide what wines I’m bringing up there, or wine, singular.  Have to drive back, remember, and I don’t want to be slowed or with wandering attention as wine and beer seem to do now with my thinking and scribbled conceptions.  Must be a mark of aging, I don’t know.  But even if it’s not, it still reminds me that so much has to be done and there’s not much allowance for idleness, or even a mere moment of still.  M2’s arrival approaches and everything has to be set, scenic, empyrean.

‘fermentopia’.. no, don’t like the ‘topia’.  UGH!  Then what?  How about…  Don’t want to write it here.  Or at all.  Not now.  Going to let the ideas bounce around with each other till something adheres.

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MOCK SOMM: GReedy Wines, a reaction

IMG_7978Already in love with small producers, I was sure this was to be a label that would contribute to me and my story and transcending wine character in some new encompassing way.  The wines are one facet with me, certainly an important one, but not the be-all of the new presence, whatever I’m sipping and whatever new label I involve myself with.  GReedy Wines, an amalgamation of talents and visions of Greg Urmini and Ross Reedy, shows the approachable more story-told side of wine and the narrative that I’ve always found more inviting about wine.  These two oeno-elevated chaps have travelled and studied impressively, as well as formally studied, and only from a true adoration of and envelopment in wine itself.

The next morning I go to my office, open my Composition Book and look through my notes, which as always I have an arduous and incensing time surveying.. but I started with the Sauvignon Blanc jots.  A ’14, fruit from Alexander Valley, does see a bit of an oak’d motion, but not much, not enough to interfere with varietal integrity or regional translation–  I scribbled (if I’m reading it accurately): “Poetic pulse from intro to conclusion of sip; melon and cream, light herb and pineapple; a jazzed tap of white Bordeaux–” And there are more scribbles from there, but I remember now the revolution of the palate-feel and how the wine itself took to oxygen, developed and peculiar and impressively characterized sensibility to its “palate traffic”, I wrote.  I’m again thinking of their story, Greg and Ross’, and how they merely want to share, display what they can do, yes, but offer something different to the wine lover and translate varietal and region, and vintage in their own way.  I read down in my SB sentences, and see verses, that’s what this bottle made me do, there in my home office; a wine with influence and persuasion, rhetoric, I wrote “…expository, effusive, dactylic…” And this isn’t just one of those sip-before-dinner Blancs.  It’s with the momentum that can walk and recite alongside dishes.  Lighter creamy pasta, or chicken with light pepper and lemon, or a caesar salad, or for lunch with a chicken salad.  It beckons something with flavor punctuation and charisma to match its won.  Another note, “a letter to Sauvignon Blanc as a genre, as a story and song…” Now, I’m not certain what I was inferring or asserting with that scribble, precisely anyway, but the bottle had me encased in thought, a bright awe, and stricken with impression.

Then Cabernet, also from AV.  A 2012.  And Cabernet is that one varietal that I’ll always moniker IMG_7965my own.  But this bottle taught me, contrasted with other bottles out there and ways the grape is handled and then bottled.  Greg and Ross illuminate a more melodic palate beat and presence with this ’12, singing through suggestions of plum, chocolate, light espresso, light and atmospheric oak, or cedar, theses– adored “all minutes and measures of this Cab”, as I have the Comp Book.  Between the two wines, this project catapults the GReedy boys’ story the most prominently– that wine fervor and going our there and living it, the travels and education, the self-education and writing your own story, everything that the small label should embody, PRACTICE, and share.

So is ‘love’ a strong word, when addressing me and my affinity for small production houses?  Not a strong word, but an inaccurate one, surely.  Small producers are my theology, as a wine writer, drinker, chaser and storyteller.  This story can only grow for them and the bottles they produce, are not only inviting and communicative now with their flavor arrangements and ambient textures, but would as well enjoy residency in a cellar.  And wines that visually and immediately demonstrate that degree of agility and proverbial availability, openness, “diplomacy” as I wrote at the page’s lower sector, should be written about, brought home, shared, studied, explored over months, years.

Researching them more, the GReedy assembly, I find they met while in travel, where from a literary disposition can only encourage character growth and provide that story the consumer wants to read– hence my theology in the small producer.  There’s more sincerity, more candor in the narrative, and in what’s bottled.  More pervading intimacy, for sure, and like I scribbled at some point last night, I think while tasting the Cabernet: “Traveling in ideas and interpretations, transformative properties for wine’s character and me as the sipper, scribbler.” Am I lost in the wines, yes but no, more like metaphysically prompted.  And not many wines do so to this writer.  In fact, less than very few do.

IMG_7977So, here this morning with my coffee, I return to my SB notes, on how the first olfactory impression was rich, “beaming” as I wrote, and entirely believable.  Not contrived or conveniently morphed with oak or inappropriate alcohol content.  “More music in this SB than the others, much more sway and swagger.. general sensory magnetism…” And I kept on noting and writing what I encountered.  Wrote more on the SB than its Cab cousin, but I still puzzle and de-puzzle what I sip and what I wrote, being put in the palatable maelstrom of GReedy Wines, its two-bottle and wildly coercing portfolio– in fact, no, they deserve better than such a clinical noun, ‘portfolio’, ugh… a short story, or novelette, one which will keep in its scribe bass and highhat taps; its own song and Art, travel and education, the Road and the growth and the ambrosial madness of wine and its world.  These two produce the same as I in this Comp Book, on these keys, with fervor and tireless reflective urgency.

And quickly back to the Cabernet deconstructions, and one word cages me, “hymn’.  Connection to the theological lean, yes, but beyond that I’m lost.  And I don’t mind.  Consider this morning’s thousand an appreciative epistle to the two.  To travelers, the wine-minded, the urgent artists, to the ever-written story.  Stories.

Link to Their Website:  GReedy Wines

Direct Link to Get on the Mailing List, to Purchase GReedy Wines:  GET ON THE LIST


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MOCK SOMM: Benevolo Wines, Knights Valley, Merlot, 2010

IMG_7546I’m partial to Merlot, and always find myself eager to defend it, but this bottle doesn’t need my ardor, nor my soapbox.  And Knights Valley, no less, one of those I feel under-appreciated AVA’s that when treated properly boasts a vocality that others cannot, and should spastically envy.  This Merlot screams conviction and candor with all its palate elements; poetry and a certain syncopated palate saunter that even those vowing Merlot diffidence would embrace and in which suddenly become confessional and effusive.  This Merlot oration teaches the sipper not just about varietal, but about time, to stop or at the very least slow and enjoy, that life is curt at best and when you meet bottles like this you should throw yourself to its meditative ebb.

Initially, I’m greeted by darker more roaring fruit than I habitually see in the varietal, then a pattering calm that won’t leave, then continues its bewitching sensory jargon.  And as a IMG_7545Merlot follower, I’m smitten.  But even those with the for-whatever-reason aversion would want to listen to, taste, sip again and collect.  I’m at an intersection quite interesting with this 2010 Merlot, and am caused to collect my thoughts and perspectives on wine in general; where am I going and what I see and how I think about the Merlot across intangible and immediate treks.  It forces me to metaphysicality.  I confess to it and myself and the later suggestions that pleasantly confront me later in evening, after letting the full bowl take what oxygen it can, here at the writer’s desk, the glass surrounded by papers and notebooks, and camera cords.  I build a story with this Merlot, that was gifted to me from Liam, owner of Benevolo, and now I look at the bottle and all-the-more tussle with my wined vision, and my past with Merlot, how it was the varietal that brought me into wine’s scape.  And Benovolo has cemented that sensibility; with me, with wine, with Merlot, and at this table writing now with a bowl barren.


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Glenn Alexander on 2015 Vintage Growth

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Only a bit over an hour now till I leave this Autumn Walk base for a rugged vineyard scape.  I know what waits for me but don’t and the notknowing of it all is what’s getting me out there.  Thinking of leaving a bit early to get some coffee, but I don’t want to be kept up when back home.  So this is what the harvest crews go through, I think.  The winemakers, if they’re small producers like Glenn.  And that’s just what I want to be and how I want to be seen, the completely autonomous Artist with wine’s world and all the images and stories, everything there for me to write about.  Yes I’ll have three cameras on my person, armed, but only to aid the writing, for the content, for both clients, and myself– the wine starts here, with nights/early mornings like this.


Could very easily just leave now, wait for them there but no I want to see Glenn and his crew at the ready, and I’ll be ready to capture everything.  Pinot Noir in a block known for its defiant nature, “shrugging its shoulders at bad weather”, as Glenn the other day told me.  I restart tonight as a writer, and wine writer, and winemaker soon.. soon-to-be, sooner with a better understanding and grip on what’s in my glass; Pinot I opened last night and the red I opened a couple nights before that, the Merlot last week from the Christopher Creek boys.  Taking this all with a certain new stride and not too seriously as it’s wine, meant to be a story and written and embraced as someone wants to, not with the pressure of some fluffy publication like Spectator or something rushed and one-dimensional like Enthusiast.  Just Human, and enjoying, Artful, appreciative.. inviting.


10:21PM…  Now what.  Just look at the clock I guess.  What am I after tonight?  The energy of the harvest crew, Glenn, me out there taking pictures, “like a Ranger” as Jerry said of me in ’12 when I was out at the K—- blocks running around mad with my buttons and notebooks.  He said I was in one spot the next, then would disappear for another shot, another vantage.  Those picks were around 4 in the morning, and I remember thinking of how incredible it was to witness and hear, shoot and later about scribble.  Today’s email matter, no longer considered an “event”, prompts me to settle on my life’s topic: wine, wine’s relationship with literature.  I’m the one out in the vineyards just for the high of observation, my insatiable pattern of placement and knowledge gluttony; and those scenes, scents, movements and languages; the obscure phrasings of vineyard crews and winemakers.  I want to record it and be a part of it.  BE it.  ‘IT’ what?  A winemaker?  Maybe.  Just be around wine and writing about my life wined, all circumstances and sequences.


Going to watch the news for a bit, pack, then leave.  Alas here, Harvest 2015.  No more self-doubting, only producing; crush the grapes, watch fermentation, rack, bottle, and let it go.


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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.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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