Sipping glass 2, New Dad Cuvée.  Yes, it’s in what’s referred to as “bottle shock”, but I enjoy the thrill, what I’ve always wanted to do: write while drinking my own wine.  I’m independent in this moment– sovereign in waves, from one-dimensional conducting.  I’m free.  And I’ll be even more free at some point this semester.  Spring 2014 is what I’ve anticipated– about which I’ve dreamt, really since high school, since Mr. Sullivan’s class.  Anything happen today, significant, that impacted my character, even minutely?  No.  I was at the winery.  Talking.  Pouring.  Selling.. or trying.  Met a very nice couple from OH, very into wine and their travels.  They shifted my shift with more sense, delight, useful words.  And I appreciated that.  They had impact.  Still do.  So I’ll raise this glass of ’12 NDC to them.  Whoa…  Just to write my wine’s name, as I just so type, gives the writer chills.  But I have to calm, get back to the poems, verses.  This morning, when writing in Kenwood’s Market’s lot, I scribbled a verse I would love to read at one of these many Sonoma County open mics.  Have to book one soon.  Should invite students!  ‘Cause without them, my story stops.  Dead.  But even then I think I’d take some shape.  Now I think of ‘Pit/Pendulum’, what that implied, the danger around all of us; the nearness, the ubiquitous nature of Death.  Now I sip, have more sense about my scribbling frame, knowing that poetry will always save me, hold me– all in this writer’s Life is of poem’s cascade–  How else would I live?  How else COULD I live?  Only have a small sip left.  MY own wine, while I write.  So fulfilling.  Much more so than meeting some measly sales goal.  It’s all so humorous to me– the perfect jester, this industry, how serious these people take wine– or rather, to what they elevate it.  It’s wine.. bloody wine!  It should be fun, enjoyable, no?  Moving on.. I’m writing.  These rest of this story.  Book due just before my 35th birthday.  Yes, before then I’ll be free, but the semester’s novel is the premium project; the apex of my aims.  Glass empty.  Need another.  Yes…  I want the most vicious buzz from my wine, then write along side it.  How do I feel now?  quite relaxed.  Much needed, especially after today’s utter propellant drought.  I always tell students they should walk away from this session with [fill in].  What did I take from today?  How did it make me a better person, father, writer, teacher, wine lover.. even wine seller, or pourer, or teller?  It didn’t!  That’s just the writer’s staple, statement.  Dad always urges his finicky writer son to “make it work for you”.  Not sure I can, anymore, as there’s nothing to work with, not in this industry.  There’s not much more for me, you see…  9:54PM.  Just poured another glass.  This one, much more full.  Impressively so, actually.  And me, the writer, on couch.  Relaxed.  Nothing bothering me now.  Certainly no characters lacking depth, development, direction.  Oh this story, this Spring semester.. promising everything.  Just let me be vainglorious.  The glass, over in the kitchen, as it always is, making it last longer, making me rise from this couch to sip.  The wine, MY wine, catches me, shortly.  It’s Friday night, but not for me.  I’m back to work, come morrow.  Rising to sip.  Want to see if any new notes show.  10:09, it’s in the room with me now.  A nearly-full glass, left.  Not much revealed, but I’ll sip anyway.  Don’t think I’ll give as much away tomorrow as I first formed.  Two bottles per person, that’s more than amiable.  The rest, to Mom & Dad, then mySelf.  Oh, and some to Katie, my little winemaking sister.  Students.. what are they all doing?  What are they all thinking?  This story, still spreading across proverbial pages.  I’ll let it carry me, then.  And yes, it must be a novel.  One with every detail exposed.  All characters, items, scenes, weathers, wines, visitors, students, assignments…  Oh this wine, so ostentatious, a life of its own; wanting to convey its own message, separate from its maker, Mike Madigan.  I love it.  More power to the wine…  And in death lies forum; what we avoid should be invited, coveted.  (1/17/14)