On the way up here (Mendo), I thought about wine and my relationship with it, what I see in it and why I keep coming back to my wild writings and personifications of what I sip.  I didn’t reach any kind of resounding conclusion or epiphany, but I kept thinking about wine, and next semester, and the time between this semester and Spring ’16.  And I have to stay in wine’s ebb, everything from the vineyards to those Arista Pinots I can’t get away from.  Not sure what I’m opening tonight, but it’ll be something that’s sure to make me write, and I won’t cite specifically what it is I sip, I’ll just share and convey the energy and connectivity it injects in me–

Going to be in class in 6 minutes, to set up and get ready for this first workshop on their final papers– and then my thinking dissolves to wine, wine, winemaking and vineyard walking and the elements that wait for me in the bottle I open tonight.  And I love the mystery, and the spontaneity of wine.. what I mean: I plan to open a Cabernet, but if there’s a bottle in the cellar which more speaks to me and that moment and what I’m feeling after the drive I dread back to Santa Rosa.. then… then…..  Then I open that.  Wine is moments, moment molding for writers like me and characters that change minute to minute– no plan, no organization conventional and no routine.. only the whim.