Now, of the moment, I truly am.  Opened the 2012 TR Elliot Pinot I bought at Cellars the other day.  In my mind, after my first run in a while, 3.5 miles, I see only short sentences being read.  The poems, flying from my temples like worshipers shouting at a temple.  I would have run more, but the lunch I enjoyed up the street at the golf course, and the succeeding nap, definitely weighted me, made the writer pounds heavier, it seemed.  Need a glass of the ’12 Pinot now, before I start hurling lines at this book.

Quiet downstairs, alone, thinking of a new house, a place far from here.. more quiet, clean, private.. spacious.  For my son, mostly.  And yes, so I have better writing space.  And this writing, I thought while talking to the ‘100’ section about Glass Castle, needs to be more vivid.. more real…  More confrontational.  And I’ll start with wine’s world, for sure; the workplace, all its contradictions, religion-like demands; falsehood, battery, berating, minimization of the individual– thought about that reality while talking with the 5-ers, on ‘Bell Jar’.

 

Pinot.. Pinot.  Was so nice visiting Cellars the other day, getting out that page, fiction.  The characters around me, everyone from Alice, to Jack, to people at work, to the students, to the clowns coming into the tasting room, for the first time ever, asking wagging questions; or the ones that come into a tasting room for the first time showing themselves as though they know more than me.  And maybe they do, so what.  Now what?  I’d love to ask them.  “You’re better than me, you have an 8,000 bottle cellar, I get it.  Now what?”

Hope there’s another wildlife documentary on tonight as there was last.  On Russia’s wilderness, all the animals and how they not only have to battle each other but the elements natural around them.  Would love to hike through those thick trees, experience that harsh weather, walk through that desert.. just see it.  All.

 

Finished the first glass quite a bit ago.  And its ripples have left my orb.  Jackie’s toys, around me like an approaching storm, story.  Not watching a writing movie or documentary.  TV off, music on.  Soon I’ll be on the Road, recording everything from what people sip in café to the sounds made by cars passing.

 

Thought:  If I had my idealized writing spot, with ocean’d view, would I know what to do with it?

 

Anymore, I don’t believe in writing spots.  You write where you write.  And that’s what I did today, writing at the golf course, eating my mushroom-jack burger, looking out at the green, listening to the older ladies, 4 total [as noted in Comp Book] play mahjong.  And now, I’m where I often am– couch.  I’ll sip the Pinot here, put glass to left, on red end-table, which I never do, as you know [glass usually stationed in counter, kitchen, as to make me rise, make the glass longer last].  -2/19/14