my day was very much defined by the visit to Williamson. Stopped by one winery, earlier, close to 11AM, and the guy acted like he was too busy for me, social awkward and pressured, when I told him I was just stopping by to say hello, and maybe do a tasting. His Room wasn’t open yet, so I understand, but there was no call for his disposition. Then I went to Lancaster to pickup my shipment and taste a bit. Walked into the cave with Amanda, a new employee to the estate. Hadn’t been in there since I worked there. She showed me all the corners of the cave and they all looked the same, but now they have a concrete egg, for fermentation (I’m guessing ML, but I could be wrong). Then I went to WW. Had me again thinking that I need to make whatever relationship I have with wine my own, whatever it is and whatever context it takes. Didn’t go to HBG as I wanted to get home, quick as I could, and write the letter to Dawn Williamson, well as the reaction piece to my time there. WAS tempted to go up the street to the golf course as I did my last day at the Sonoma Valley winery, have a beer, maybe a burger. But no. I came straight home. Had lunch, then the meanest most energizing cup of medium roast I’ve had in months. And here I am, writing the last entry for the day with the last of the cab I opened last night. Travel, in the hotel room with a bottle of red, writing, night before I’m to speak the next afternoon, tomorrow, a lecture on Kerouac and his punctuation shunning and embrace (embracing how he shuns conventional punctuation)– Tomorrow’s lectures to be short, as the students in both classes have to arrange their rough drafts, first of term, so after 1A I’ll come back to the condo and start writing my Gorgeous American Grim statement, 500 words at a time I’m thinking– shit, just remembered I needed to backup everything on this monster today, but I didn’t have time and I can say that honestly, I stayed busy, so I can’t be too whip-wavy with my actions, character. I need to just relax, enjoy the connection, or reconnection I made with WW today, and the wines I brought home, that Merlot and Rosé. When should I open them? Maybe this weekend, or Valentine’s weekend. I felt a resurrection in my Sonoma presence today, with wine and my relationship with it, and I realized it was never tarnished, not in the most minuscule of manners. Only have a TR’s worth left in my glass. Damnit, why did I sip it so fast, the St. Francis Lagomarsino Cab? This red is one that forces me to reconsider my own senses and how I interact with wine. And my conclusion, the “result”, if you might: slow down; enjoy; don’t asses, just experience and sip, think… And I finally have time to do just that, now. I can see that others see the New ME, after last Wednesday, how I love, love, love to be in love, with everything and everyone positive surrounding me; the forefront of reflection lies in a smile, or a collection of. I swirl the last sip in the glass, more than likely just over an ounce, smell… chocolate, cherry, vanilla, light oak and damp soil. The palate’s not important. Olfactory’s what adheres most to memory, and that’s what matters to the writer. I couldn’t care less what these winemakers that can barely write their own tasting notes and these sommeliers that can’t write at all would say. I’m noting what shakes me senses and currency, currently. That’s poetic, and to paginated.