9:05PM. In nook.

Day over and we had one group, Nate and I.  Nate’s words, describing over-oaked wines, “wood water”, and something else I won’t put on this log’s lappings.  Or maybe I will, as he said it to one of the group members, “Every group has an Amy.” Thought it was funny and worth writing, simply.  Sipping what’s left of the sparkling wine Alice bought the other day, relaxing me and focusing at the time same, how odd and how new, how telling.  So tomorrow, grade quick when at Mendo then print whoso issue.. edit during office hours then to next project– releasing everything, everything, each page.  Not aiming to be “prolific”.  Hate that word.  I want to be inescapable as a writer, everywhere, confrontational but unintentionally.

Tired from yesterday and today just has me in all the curvings of a knot.  Doing more research on winemakers and winemaking and what harvest does to a winemaker, the early morning and late nights and commuting– if they commute– and the stress and demand, even if they are a one man show like my friend Kaz.  2014 has been interesting, both in terms of grape character over drawing board in addition to all surrounding wiring.  And I realize life is too short, too short for worry and nonsense and anything not positive.  It’s night, and the constellations make themselves visible and talk to me, over with a repeated synergy.  And this is a product of the vintage, 2014– now I’m NOT a winemaker, but a writer, but I recognize and observe and see how they, the production team’s reacting and behaving and talking as the fruit comes, came, in– this year’s different.  And it’s enough to make me write, want to report everything, and I think with the dinner Blair and I’ll have on Saturday, 11/1, I’ll ask him about the vintage, how it made him feel– already gathering material for the next whoso issue, 1/2015.  And I forgot what else I was going to write.  I’m making this vintage my own, giving wine another chance in that I’m not letting mySelf get too stressed or at all stressed about anything.  So.. wine.. drink enjoy live love.  Right?  So what am I opening this Saturday night, when home from Blair’s?  Not sure.  I’m thinking a Lancaster.  OR one of my St. Francis artisans.  OR, one of those Washington wines I was given a while back.  Last year?  Can’t remember.

Fruit sorting.  All this new tech with winemaking.  What are my thoughts?  I don’t know.  If in the end I have a wonderful bottle I’m not too sure I care but I never forget about Artistic integrity, nor do I dismiss the integral nature of artistry, creating.  Ever.  But I look deeper into winemakers and what they do and why they make certain decisions and elect certain equipment.  Ugh, I think, now I want a glass of wine, maybe two– but no!  Tomorrow’s the writer’s early day, on the distant micro-campus.  On my way out tomorrow, Mendo, I’ll stop and take pictures of those leaves, the vines picked, see what they say to me, see how they lather my curiosity.

Tasted a PS [Petite Sirah, at lunch, Palooza]; odd nose nice grip and texture but lacking fruit.  I know it’s a Petite Sirah but it should have some subtlety and ballet about its shifts and riffs.