journal, 2/12/13

My blend, finally in barrel.  Was more strenuous physically that I estimated, carrying those 5 gallon buckets of the most floral Grenache that I’ve ever contacted, across entire crush pad.  In the end, I feel the 21.5 gallons of the “3/4” Cabernet serve as the anchoring varietal, even though numerically it’s trumped by the GR.  The whole-cluster Syrah, darker than I expected.  Loved seeing it fall from its keg and into the tub.  And the Merlot, only adding a front-palate dimension, but still significant, with its depth and honesty.

Leaving the winery, I did a quick tasting with winemakers, on a 2010 wine (red) with a mid-palate dilemma.  One of them suggested a small addition of sugar.  Want to research sugar in wine, its relationship with mouthfeel.  Deeper into the winemaking world I wonder, the more motivated my revolution.  Hearing E, the cellar master, talk about barrels, aromas, wine aromatics, tastes, blendings, even sanitizing, has me convinced my topic is there, on the crush pad.  Watching Jack, now, enjoying how he throws the small wooden balls into the kitchen, both the yellow and blue ones.  I can hear them roll to the nook’s table.  He pushes the yellow towards me…  And here he is, trying to collaborate.

Not as prepared as I’d like to be for tonight’s classes.  But I don’t need that much time for what I want to accomplish tonight.  Just turning those brainstormings into paragraphs.  And again, Jack attacks.

Watching him play, just a couple feet away, between little books and a talking alphabet drum, I see a character more complex than I thought I had.  His curiosity, daring nature, enviable.  He just tries, where as we “grownups” ponder and further reason reasons WHY we should hesitate, not simply leap.

A little tired.  Should try to eat, something.  I do have that blueberry scone in the kitchen, from this morning that I never got to.  Going to need another coffee later.  May have straight black.  As the cellar master said this morning, when we were stomping down the production corridor of cave, “I drink black coffee, straight, cause I want to taste coffee.” He later connected the taste of coffee, in the morning, to the wait wines sit on your palate.  E taught me a few kegs worth today.  Couldn’t write it down, but it’s part of my experiential ottoman, where upon I rest part of Self, if that makes sense.  It does to me. I think.

I then thought about my older blog entries, how the blog serves as barrel.  They eventually need their bottle, bottles.  If over a year, they need home, stemming from that question I a couple years ago penned, I think in ’08, “Where do these pages go?”


2:15pm.  Should start getting ready soon.  This morning, though, my newly barreled blend, dominating all cognition.  And, that quick tasting I did with the winemakers in the lab, right before I left, between a ’10 Cab, its predecessor ’09.  Mid-palate, the sugar connection.  Going to research that really quick, one more winemaker step before switching to professor mode.

10:15pm.  8 hours later, precisely.. I’m exhausted.  Both classes tonight took my tank’s remainder.  Sipping a glass of last night’s ’10 Cab.  Will be my only for the night, just bet.  Tomorrow, forgot what time, my blending seminar.  Should be in bed early.  What would that mean?  Any time before 11.  Right now, I’m on couch, right side.  Or left, if you’re looking at it.  Not sure what’s going through my head.  Reflections over today’s barreling of my blend, the cold A.M. temp, what I’m sipping now.. my book.  Life, my son…  Which path does the writer next select?  I’m overthinking, maybe.  Is that what I need to do?  Only 9% in this device.  Mood, falling.  I don’t want to subject anymore would-be readers to this latest inner-skirmish.  Not in mood to write.  Just want to live, leisurely enjoy my night.