Thrown Motor

I did wake early.  But went right back to sleep.  No excuses but I’m here on the couch with regret in front of my son who should have a more written father this morning.  I wish horribly for coffee.  Still haven’t gone to store to get some obviously so I’m in a mood.  And one that’s hard to shake, frankly.  But I write on, targeting some short shot of fiction in a minute. 

And I write on after some pause, just staring at the floor and why, what will that do?  Alice about to launch for her run, and Jackie quite content with this one cartoon episode– and Alice reminds me that today’s to be cooler than the last two, high of what– “77,” she says tying her shoe and adjusting the heart monitor around her hosting-baby-two abdomen.  Perfect.  Just what the writer needs, more temperament…..  And coffee.  Why the obsession with coffee?  ‘Cause it leads to words, mercurial manuscripts and that’s what I demand crave order, like the writer I so admire, just type the reality around me and translate it later– and like I told the students, “just write, clean it up later.”  Okay, following my own lecture and counsel, I think.  I should get in the shower but I’m content where I am and in the song of consolidation I inventory everything I have now, or everything that need be inventoried:  SRJC class, bottledaux, mikemadigancrEATive, the novel…  And those be all the professional and mentionable facets to me, at the moment.  What about the tasting room?…..  Well, what about it?  That’s material gathering, and that’s it.. and yesterday so many people from Iowa it seemed.  And what were all they looking for?  Wine of course, but the whole tasting act; swirling and playing with the descriptors and catchy adjectives and feel knowledged.  Fascinating to me and for so many reasons.. “This is our first time out here,” he says.

“Oh, well congratulations!  Welcome out!” I say, putting out two glasses.

“So what do you all specialize in at this winery?  What’s you name?”

“Mike,” I say, hand extended.  “Cabernet.  We’re a big Cabernet house.. well we think we’re big,” I say, showing them it’s okay to joke when wine tasting.  And what did I imply by ‘big’?  I don’t know.

“Big?  How big are you?”

“Oh, well we only do about five to six thousand cases.”

“Is that big?”

“No, that’s pretty small.  Pretty boutique, actually.”

“So what ‘big’, I don’t get it I’m sorry.”

“Oh, not a problem, I just meant we’re big on Cabernet, that’s all.”

We both laugh, I pour the first wine, a stainless SB from all over the valley and he sips, his wife remaining quiet which starts to unnerve me.  Why isn’t she saying anything?  Does she have any questions?  Does she not like wine and was just forced to go/come along? 

“Do you like that?” I ask her.

She smiles with urgent reservation, but only slightly.

“It’s nice, nice, this is a perfect wine for the barn,” he says.

“Oh, you guys have a farm?” I ask, cuing the Chardonnay.

“No,” she says.