-Tired from last night’s event.  Shorter day, today, thankfully.

-Quite a few rude characters in tasting Room, both wineries.

-No time to write this morning.  Coming back to page later tonight.  -8am

Then, ten minutes presents itself, give or take.  Today, in tasting Room again, thankfully.  Need the material, horribly.  Yesterday, a geologist on my cave tour said, when I mentioned all the volcanic rock around the cave, and how safe it was, he had to say, “Well, being a geologist, I’m aware that it is.” Interesting, I thought.  Why did he have to say it like that?  I did take it personally, in that I became enlivened.  “A new character,” I thought.  Then, at the next winery, for the event, movie and wine, a man interrupted me by saying, “I AM familiar with it,” when I tried to describe the Mourvedre [hope I spelled that right], since we were out of the Zin he wanted.  And he said it without eye contact, as if he were too good for my explanation or attempt to appease him with another wine.  He just looked down at the menu, resting against counter, arms imperially folded.

Now, have to go.  Thinking this blog IS getting me to my desired spot.  I AM closer than I thought.  Praise be to the writing.  The characters.  To Life.  Nothing else.  2 much wine last night demands this morning’s mocha.  Good day, kindest readers…

6:27pm.  Tired, after yesterday’s colossal stretch, then today’s 8.  Saw véraison on property.  Can’t even tell you what it does to me, those shifting shades.  Felt distracted, though, pretty much all day, as I feel behind on this log and the other blog.  I’m obsessed, I know.  But that’s because they’re taking me somewhere, and I need be fluid, persistent.  CONSISTENT.  Tonight, 1000 words.  Mandatory.  Spoken word.  The vineyards order me to ripen, to become more bold with Literary efforts.  Even with camera clicks.  Need 2B more out there, more than I already am.

Music, on the way to work this morning, in my still-slanted state [from last night’s Caro Santo], telling me to relax, sending me away.  Vacation, finally.  Kelly, telling me to just go.  Ignore responsible behavior, “It gets you no where,” I hear her saying.  Tomorrow morning, setting alarm for 5:15am, well before little Kerouac rises.  Told Self I wouldn’t taste that Syrah tonight, but I’m going to.  Need to, for the propulsion.  Hotter today than I expected.  Good, the SB grapes that Kaz and I are set to harvest need it, that’s certain.  Winemaking evermore on my mind, in everything I look at in this valley, and the others.  What do I want from my bottles?  You already know most of my aims, aspires.  But, something new, or just different wording…  To have a relationship with what most just see as an elevated consumable, or shine-on as a beverage.  Wine does so much to us.. and I want to somehow show my appreciation and gratitude to the land giving us the fruit, so I can be a part of the occasions that wine makes.

A writer acquaintance of mine, from SoCal, is set to visit next week.  Exited to have her up.  Could only think, though, “When am I going to get to travel, go taste somewhere else?” Also made me think of Mom, Dad, how they’re up at the Sunriver home, enjoying their summer.  Just want to be more mobile, and I know the writing’s about to give me that.  Just have to be more diligent, less concerned.  Just bloody write, already.  Already closing in on 1k.  The pictures I took today, on both phone and camera [one that Alice bought me, xmas ’09], telling me to take more.  Need to capture everything.  EVERYTHING, no matter how seemingly inane.  It’s not without weight.  It’s experience, part of me.  Why is it valuable, worthy of readership?  Not saying it is, necessarily.  But I do want to share, to let other writers know what one of their own goes through; what he wants, what he sees, believes; that time always chases.

Described the Gerwurtztraminer [Did I misspell that, too?] today as “shyly sweet.” One visitor thought that was “cutely put,” she worded.  Do I like the wine?  Yes, a little, but not more than the SB’s we’re pouring.  That’s why I’d never produce a Gerwurtz.  It doesn’t have the tenacity, intrigue, or versatility of a Sauv Blanc, in my opinion.  Sauv Blanc, I found in recent tastes, across many wineries, has a certain shyness to its palate approach; layers that conservatively reveal themselves.  Interesting for a white.

10:18pm.  The last of the other night’s Syrah.  For being open over 48 hours, it impressively stands its ground.  Was just watching a documentary about some romance, or dating, columnist, stressing about her deadlines.  I understand that, unequivocally.  But, what I don’t get, especially since she considers herself a “writer,” is her universal lack of delight in the writing process.  Her editor demanded she send him four emails a week, since she was experiencing a sort of stall in her composition process, only having typed notes and not yet a full piece, with approaching deadline.  She said that she’d “dread” writing him.  How could any real writer have such resentment, revulsion, for their Craft, what supposedly is their passion?  That’s why I never want to consider mySelf just a “blogger.” Me, an Artist.  Elementally Literary.

This Syrah, soft, losing a bit of its vivacity, but I understand.  Not demanding that much from its swoops.  Comp Book’s upstairs.  Should probably get it before I go to sleep.  Because, for some reason, I feel like I’m going to wake in night’s prime with some note, some reflection that’ll be manuscript-worthy.  Bathroom break…

Tired.. has to be yesterday’s endless stretch coupled with today’s frenzy.  Can’t wait for my friend’s visit next week, to have another WRITER in the tasting Room.  Love being around other writers.  Know I need 2do that more.  Trying to think of there was anything else notable that happened today…  Nothing hitting mind with intent.  Oh, well, I did get to take a bottle of ’09 Red Dirt Red home, as we made our collective wine club goal.  That’s one thing that’ll never get old to me, in “the industry,” all the free wine.  One could say it’s not free, as you all worked for that gift.  True, but no notes left the comfort of my decrepit wallet.  Need to replace that thing, but I don’t know where that is on this writer’s priority pole.  OR if it’s even on it.  Suddenly compelled to write verse.  And I know, I’ve been in the habit of late to resist compulsion, act out of character.  But not in this moment’s web.  Not now.  I need music.  Thinking of Kelly, Risa.  Interesting how alike those 2 characters continue.

So, my alarm…  Ugh, 5:15a?  How about 6?  Much more realistic.  Still honorable.  Still Barelycorn.  Closing session, as I’m well past 1k.  Just scribbled a note in the little pages of this mini-Mead.  About one of the character with whom I work.  This role continues to strangely engage me.  Much like this Syrah.  That I wish I sipped on the patio, in Sunriver.  Miss those bike rides with Nick, by the golf course, river.  Sip …