Blend Pages

12/5–  2nd, and LAST, glass of the Meritage.  1,000 words, well past.  Emailed India my response to the first three chapters of ‘Moveable Feast’, for you book club.  Getting a bit tired.  Alice asleep on couch, heater off.  So quiet in this condo.  And with all of us here.  What have I been doing?  Writing, of course.  I look at this glass of red, at right, and wonder when I get to enjoy such in a hotel Room, writing pen to paper, like I did in Paris, from that high floor [with Alice asleep, in bed, behind me].  Love how I’m annoyed with the book lack.  So tomorrow, my first step in changing direction, Life’s path. 3POEMS, to my co-worker.  See what she thinks.  Maybe I should have others read them, too.  See what they think.  OR, just for the act of having it go around, different readers reading my work.  What could it hurt?  Certainly not me.

Looking forward to reading the texts this semester, especially for the Adv Comp sections.  ‘Bell Jar’.. need to get moving on that, especially for the app.  Want my article done with more than a year left.  What if I could write it in one sitting.  The rest of it, anyway.  Ms. Plath was conducting a self-assessment, or examination, yes.  But to say it was “inconclusive,” is trivial.  She wasn’t out for any kind of conclusion, resolution or finality with her work.  The exploration, the dire diarist diligence, motivated her.  Kept her a-scribble.  I’ll save it for the article, but her ways I’m drying my most dire to emulate.  This wine, starting to sing to me.  And I love it.  Opened the day before yesterday, and still showing luminously.  The texture seems especially echoing, for whatever reason.  10:35p…  Alice told me to wake her at 10:30.  But she’s so quiet.  Hate to wake her.

Just tried waking her up.  She wanted no part.  So I’ll let her there situate.  Need to start thinking of sleep, myself.  Kerouac wakes when he wants, and I need be at-ready.

One of my students, Lisa, a returning student from the 100 section [last semester], writes with sword-like swipes; her accuracy and thoroughness only intimidates, and she still doubts herself, I feel.  Which is is odd, considering how brilliant she is.  I love how she asks for specifics, in terms of what I’m looking for, as the instructor.  Going to miss her, when term ends.

12/7/13–  Finally, the writer has quiet.  No tasting Room, chatter, groups.. no monotone, expectedly banal holiday parties.  Just mySelf, the page, this Pinot.  Mr. Hemingway, I can just hear him: “Write the truth.  If you offend someone, or do damage, even if it’s to yourself, or your career, then you succeeded with what you wrote.  THEN, you’re a real writer.” OH, well in that case, I’m so bored with wine’s industry.  All the social dynamics, “politics,” if you could call it that–  I mean, how could something as simple as wine have politics, of any degree, severity?

Monday, PTO day.  Driving out to Solano, where I’ll order textbooks, turn in paperwork, do some writing.  At that Starbucks down the road from SCC’s main campus.  And on Wednesday’s PTO day: write.  The whole day.  Think I may even drive down to café.  Today’s story, utterly stressful, boring.  Especially at the end, when we had to have all the guests out, rushed, in time for a wine club event.  Then, the writer had to rush home to change, freshen up slightly, drive to the Flamingo for St. Francis’ holiday party.  Not sure why I was even invited, as I don’t work there.  But I went with it, met Alice and Jack in the banquet room.  The whole time I kept thinking of this moment, when I could be in the kitchen’s nook, writing, sipping the rest of this Enkidu Pinot.  Anymore, I don’t want to be social.  I just want to write, get my books into readers’ hands.  And does that make me odd, an introvert?  I hope so.  EH would approve, so I smile, sit here assured.  Who cares what these wine stooges think?  Hardly any of them write.  And if they do, it’s with grammar school acuity, on a fine day…

So many funny questions from people coming into the tasting Room, and now we all seem to be collecting them, sharing.  The newest, most amusing in a while: “Do you know where the bathroom is?” I nearly want to say, “You know what, I don’t, let me find out for you.” DO I know where it is, and one working here?  Hmm, I think…

Another glass of this Pinot.  Think an ’11.  Oh how I waited for this quiet.  Hope tomorrow’s more tempered than today.  Sunday, what I call “Mary Day,” as Mary’s again at helm.  Something about her leadership, so eased, efficient, agreeable, pleasing.  Makes me think of how I can translate such methods to the classroom (her management is that well-received, prolific)– but maybe I don’t need to.  Maybe I’ve finally found my mode, with this semester.  Yes, by far my best, so far in my career.

note: write final letter to both classes; 1 letter, for both; emphasizing Autonomous thought, continuation and maintenance of writing/journaling practice; scribing their own set of conditions.

note: get a little notebook tomorrow; give yourself enough time to get mocha, then hope across street to drugstore.

This Pinot, tasting more carmelized than last night.  Has to be the French oak refusing to be ignored.  Should I make a Pinot?  NO!  Just write about it.

a character, making Pinot in his garage, all by hand, two barrels; one native the other inoculated with a strand his friend gave him; entered into contest, in Sebastopol, won, now seeks to get his bond, sell the bottles, tour, lecture on Pinot production, stylistic variance; happening so fast…