Two pages of novel edited. One I didn’t do last night and the one for this morning. I’ll take with me to work, get some writing done at lunch which more than likely I’l be forced to take earlier than I want as that’s what they always do. Not that much sleep last night, as little Kerouac wanted to play, be with “Daddy, Daddy…” I had to tell him that it’s time for bed, and to lay back down. Just want to stay home with him, imagine our new house more– but there’s work, what I have to do. Plan on tasting through the wines today not having tasted them in over a week, or almost a week I meant.
Still feel yesterday’s run, a little over 5 miles to get Jack. Knee, right, hip, also right. Next race, a 10K somewhere close by that Alice booked– oh yeah, in Howarth Park. Trail run? Not sure. I’m a bit hoping it is, need to do more running by trail. The cement will eventually erase my running ability I know– Yes now wine on mind and how the characters have changed but I’m going to take a different approach: no tasting just small sniffs, as to stay somewhat distant and estimate the body and voice of the wine I’m about to pour. Want to give the readers– I mean sippers room for their own impression and reactions. I’m sure the SB hasn’t manipulated that much, and the Chard is probably still just a Chard. But the reds, Zin Cab and the blend have taken on new flights with the palate landings I’m sure. No idea what flies toward me for the day. But I need it to be melodic and completely lacking confrontation and unfortunate collision.