and on a night where I’m set on not having any wine I find myself at a bit of an impasse. And why.. well, I want to explore some of those Pinot bottles Ben gave me, but I’ll wait, and I’ll think, and I’ll imagine myself on the Road, in some New York hotel, sipping one of my wines before doing a winemaker dinner like my friend Hardy. I need to carry around my little notebook more religiously– or more SERIOUSLY, like a real writer of wine; what fruit suggestions I want from my eventual SB and Merlot, and how I want them oak’d, and stirred (yes I want to stir or rotate rather the Merlot barrels, spread those lees around and speed up primary..)
So much in my head and all for wine.. have to budget like a winemaker, figure certain things out concerning the MASTER TIMELINE– M2 on the way, 12/15 the set date, so time just dissolves like the characters around Esther when in the bath.. cleaning off this desk tonight, file stuff away.. like Kerouac said, “The Sea Is My Brother.” And so wine is my lens, my story, my voice and seismology; my scope and sense and push and pull; not “bottled poetry”, but free-roaming poetry everywhere in my character and out of the glass and through my fingertips to this entry..
Wine is everything now, and now seeing myself as a winemaker touring the country and writing while I do, how many bottles I sell I do care but don’t I’m writing a story first, foremost, for most and the rest of my life.
Upstairs my son asleep and he doesn’t know that I’m down here brewing all these thoughts– fermenting them ever onward for him.. that I refuse to nap during the day and won’t sip that Pinot tonight– to bed early and early wake and back to this key colony where I’ll even more storm in brain– and I hear him upstairs, say something like “yum yum yum”.. maybe he’s hungry.
So, a warranted break.
6:57PM– On the couch with Jackie, talking and eating a quesadilla, wondering what wine would pair with a plain cheese quesa’.. That Estate Cuvée Blanc from SFW I tasted the other day for sure– then the idea of incorporating more food address into my wild wine written wanderings.. so this means I have to cook, and when do I have time to prep for that? The obsessive oscillation in my mounts and surmounts, more and ideas fly toward me like buzzards to carcass. And this Master Timeline, like my Master Plan to get out of San Ramon and the insurance agency, and away from my ex-girlfriend.. and that all seems like so long past, distant from my now and this quiet moment with my son. So again I focus.. the blog, the podcast (when I launch it..), the articles I submit if I do– but maybe not as my whole approach to wine and writing is independent, indepenDENCE– the small label, the family-owned luminary business, like Arista… So I think further into wine and food and writing, then I realize I have material in my night out with Ms. Alice the other night, that beef cheek pasta paired with the Hawley Zin.. great, well, that’s one.. now I need more. So I have to prep meals for me, the family.. provide my own material and whenever I’m over at Mom and Dad’s and have a pairing, I’ll leap to and upon it like Kerouac to his Road sights and moment, to his brother The Sea.