Two couples again today. Both, new visitors to wine’s path, zone. Tonight’s pour for me, ’08 Cab. Finishing a Kelly short I began a while ago. I believe over a month. Well, I really never “began” it at all. More like a series of notes I made while working at the box. Kelly needs more time from me, as her author. Feel like a bad creator. It’s alright, I tell my Self. It can be fixed. Another thought I had today, while processing orders, finishing wine club signup details, touring, flipping tables: my winemaking, needs quick address. What I mean is, I need to decide if this is something with which I want to continue. Right now, I say yes. But I’m going to force mySelf to think about it. Weigh pluses, cons, neutral strokes.
Weather today, if I was to keep a winemaker’s journal, nice. Higher temps, in AV. No excess cloud cover, and absolutely NO rain. I was glad, to my core, since yesterday I was incapable of staying dry. Even when I was “dry” for a couple minutes, I felt soaked. Annoying. So today, scenic comfort. For me, guests. Optical music in the vineyards. Would have written, if I weren’t ceaselessly mobile.
Travel. Where will the writing, KELLY, send me first? Where would she go? Where does she want me to go?
She sits in her room, wondering what the audience thought of her talk. Or speech. Was it a speech? She didn’t think so. Not a single word prepared. The paper that was under her hands on that podium, notes she jotted on the flight over, just a touch over 24 hours past. But she didn’t read a single breath from that sheet. She just spoke, even though they told her to prepare something. She sipped the sparkling wine that was sent to her room before arrival. Gift from the sponsoring gallery. She didn’t really like it, the notes of raspberry and vanilla. Too sweet, she thought. But she drank it anyway. She read over what she wrote for herself on the plane’s fold-down tray, with the cheap Chardonnay available. “…when painting, you should just paint, not what you’re painting for…” She liked the thought, but felt it false. Preaching not what’s put into practice, she thought.
Advancing towards the bottle’s base, in tempered shuffles, reading the sheet repeatedly, imagining if the speech, talk, chat, lecture or whatever would have gone differently, given her a different settlement in her system. She looked left, saw a napkin by the alarm clock on the desk’s top. One with the hotel’s logo, location, contact info. She pulled it to her, picked up her pen. She wanted to draw on it, as she did the past three hotels’ napkins. Napkin one, a note to self, to draw more abstract wine landscapes. Two, a rushed journal entry before showing some of her work at a wine-food art show/symposium/show, spectacle, something. The 3rd, she drew three empty wine bottles on vineyard ground, between rows, fog struggling to dominate frame. On this one, haikus. She thought of how she used to write them in middle school, on the bus. Only on the way back home, to relax from her day, classes.
tickled of reason
bottle tilt, ether eden
Need a free lead-in
Sleep, idea glass
Listening to fad amass
Too tired, rather pass
hoping the blank begs
more miles necessary, me
tree, three, sovereignly
She stops, to enjoy her night. She thought about turning on the TV, but rose from her seat, opened the sliding glass door, only hearing passing cars, at consciously polite speeds. Kelly wanted each driver, for her painting. She’d paint each on a different shaped glass. Then, sleep.