coffee #2

This time, just a straight black coffee after my visit to the bookstore, drive up/over Fountaingrove.  Thought about drawing, painting, while speeding to the shelves.  Looked through a couple drawing magazines, books on art.  Not leaving the idea, at all really.  Putting it on hold, though.  But maybe I shouldn’t.  What makes me think I can’t paint, draw?  When a child, you just do it, and don’t really have concern for the finished product, if ever.  You just draw, submit to your teacher, or parents, and it’s displayed, be the gallery your classRoom, or refrigerator.  You draw, you leap.  Need to leap all I can, with time’s determination in aging me.  Saw an elderly man on my drive, on Brookwood & 2nd, barely able to walk with his walker’s support.  Right by the hospital.  Ironically, or not.  That’ll be me one day.  Or not.  Either way, I’m fighting time with art, one medium or another.  Or a blend of several.  Maybe that’s the right attitude, attack on several fronts, from multitudinous vantages.

This coffee, beyond strong.  It’s angry, ordering me to continue in types.  “Don’t stop!” it throws.  So I won’t.  Drawing…  What would I draw?  Trees?  Vineyards?  Wine bottles?  Full glasses, empty ones?  Back at my house now, wondering how to spend the day’s rest.  I can’t even covey how gorgeous it is on the other side of this window.  Perfect for drawing, painting.  I often see artists on the side of the road, usually between Kenwood and Glen Ellen, either snapping pictures, or painting.  The other day, I saw two older ladies across the street from the Pagani Vineyard, moving brushes under a shared umbrella.  Think I need to go back out.  Just one more time.  I could drive up the street, into the heart of the Bennett Valley AVA, see what I can capture.

Back in the tasting Room tomorrow, for the first time in weeks.  Eager, I guess.  Nervous, not nearly.  Hopefully my brother sees some traffic, can help him sell some of that amazing purist wine.  Have to temper my sips while behind the counter, keep the pen moving.  I find that many times sips take me away from writing fluidly, focused.  That doesn’t help at all in completing a manuscript.  So, tomorrow, no sips…

Okay, so I’m going out.  Where did I put that camera that camera that Mom and Dad bought me?  Think it’s in this top drawer…found it.  Off to be artistic.  As much as I can be pushing a button, stealing nature’s fruition.  [1/7/2012, Saturday]

8:18p.  Before I post, letting you know I have a beautifully smoky, rich, luminous ’09 Carneros Pinot in my glass again.  It just looks like a dark seductress, ready to be kissed.  What is she thinking, with her returning glare?  I’ll learn, when I sip, with palate swoon.  She’s Literary, cinematic, dramatic.  She tells me to never forget wine, especially her varietal.