7:26am. Diligent daven this log. Books will read that way as well. Heater on, already. Cold morning. Need 4 shots for day. Recording everything, more details. No fictitious names. Nothing defamatory, just ruthful. Minimal intervention, like with terroir-driven wines. Remember the lady last week, correcting pronunciation of terroir. So annoying, self-coating, obnoxious. Just entered page 486 of this document. How’s that even possible? Phone charged, thankfully. Need stills of breaking buds. If the sun keeps with its song set, we’ll see larger leaflets next week, I’m sure.. espérer.
More French, more.. more. Need to sign up for those lessons I found online the other day with little Jack. From an education standpoint, the instructor’s great, and the lessons are quite easy to follow. Should be conversant before I realize. Bon!
7:11pm. First tour, two sisters living in SF, originally from Boston. One of them citing how I used “monster” as a modifier. The other two, a couple from Chicago. Both duos incredibly nice. And the weather on the mountain, enough to make me want to clock out, start sipping with them. My last tour, 3:30pm. Two couples, together, one set from Studio City, other from Texas. My favorite of day, by large. That group, what keeps me on the estate, what makes me continue in my hunt, gather for material at the winery. One of them, on 3:30, “M” I’ll him dub, complimented me, saying I was a faucet. He later told me how he was a P.E. teacher, elementary, and one of his school’s mottos went something like, “It’s better to be a faucet than a drain.” I was humbled hearing him think I could be associate with such. Nearly didn’t want to take this last group from MT. Would loved to have stayed up there with them, chatted more with M, had a couple glasses. Someone could have picked us up, right?
End day, I’m tired. Need to shove Self in professor mode, for semester’s close. And, I need this book DONE already.. with money tight, notably. Other details from day: 2012 Rosé, getting more palatable by day; 2010 Meritage, becoming one of my favorites; still haven’t visited wines mine. Wonder what they’re doing. Wonder what MKCS is doing. Should text my sister, see if she can give me some numbers on our barrel.
See mySelf in Paris, walking down a narrow road, filming, taking stills, then writing when I get back to my Room, sipping St-Emilion, something from menu. Speaking of, sipping another Merlot tonight. Jack’s new word, this morning voiced, “this, this,” he said, pointing to his puzzle pieces. Letting mind ramble, interiorly, for page’s purpose. Digging into these past entries, I feel like an archeologist, or anthropologist, sociologist. Or even psychologist. I’ve changed, evidently. But then, in this next sip, I realize I really haven’t, that much.
Thought about my typewriter, where I could get it. Haven’t started my research, yet. BUT, I did do some French homework today, at work, with coaching from Alex, my friend, born in Paris. Logged useful conversational tools. When back in my city, I’ll be immersed, already, well before I check into hotel. Looking down my envisioned street, the century-turned edifices, sun lowering. I don’t want to take anymore pictures, rush back to hotel.. just want to live, enjoy. Sit on one of the cement stumps, bordering sidewalk, street, start to scribble. “Don’t want to leave, maybe I won’t, ever. I could live here, I should. This city, its unexpected tributaries, would give me all the books I, my career, would need.” Need another glass, one obnoxiously full, to celebrate day, my guests, what they’ve propelled me to entertain.
Allergies aggravated, did I tell you that yet? Hate this aspect, in this year’s portion. Now, while sipping, I sniffle, rub eyes like I want to remove them, eat both. This imaginary St-Emilion should help. That’s what I imagine sipping, like I’m back at Le Petit Journal, Montparnasse with Mom, Dad, Katie, Alice, just after landing. Remember that shot of espresso, just before a three hour nap, before the hike to Napoleon’s Tomb. How I trouble sleeping afterward. Shock. Katie warned me, “This’ll go straight to your vein.”
Glass to left, more than generous. And this won’t be my last for evening. After this log’s daily thousand, I’m set to transfer from older entries, to book. Finally finish my project, so I can see the Road, travel as my friends do, record everything I see, upon anything which I’m able to write. No blogging, just writing, as I did in ’09. Miss the morning strolls Alice and I’d take down Montp’, right on some street [sure I could research it now on web, but.. too lazy, too into Merlot..] to enjoy our morning mochas.
Not sure how diligent I appear right now, with this swaying sip stream. But am I to be faulted for enjoying my evening, and being active as I so do.. a Literary faucet? Have to thank M, again, for his audible passage.
Just heard back from sister.. she promises to get numbers on MKCS tomorrow, bringing sample here, to condo castle, Wednesday, hopefully. Want my first wine to be my best. I know, other “professional” winemakers will say that’s a poisoned mentality. But, I don’t care. That’s what I always want to “top,” my inaugural glamor. Just like with this first book.
Just had a memory of the VP/GM of the box telling me that he “follows the artist,” in response to a question I forced upon him concerning a winemaker’s efforts versus the winery/label for which he/she works. What would someone like him know about Artistry? He’s a salesman. A moldy rat wart in in wine’s illustrative channel. Not sure why that flashed in my foreview, but it did. I’m planning pictorial torrent for those people, in that office. All here on page. All of them. Lenity, nevermore. Never was. It’ll be humorous, I think, to see how well the book does, realizing much of it was written on their dime. When I should have been making calls, I was writing, noting everything those devils said. Maybe that’s why I was FIRED. Doesn’t matter. I win, either way.