Courte Pause

It’s healthy to break from wine, as you might conceptualize.  To just take a break, collect yourself, make your senses miss the wine or to just pause in the sip consistency.. come back to it later with a revitalized curiosity and connection.  I’m beginning one of those breaks, or hiatuses, and for what reason other than to devote more to writing, and yes to tease my senses with thoughts of wine and follow it with the tangible void, then to weeks, or months later return with that rumble, that eagerness to be with wine and sip and further consider what it is I sip.

This morning I woke remembering all the reds I last night tasted (going over the notes internally, hearing that speechy auditorium echo) and wondered who I’d be if I didn’t taste, if I just observed, and wrote?  So is the caesura entirely for the writing, I don’t know.  But I thought about it.  What if I just momentarily separated myself, for un peu, imagine how much sharper I’d be and how much more renewed and reinvented fervor I’d execute and later at this desk typing if I just didn’t sipped.  Wouldn’t everything be heightened?  Would I be LIKE a sommelier with laser perceptiveness and dare I say even a bit more expert with wine?  I’m with wine because I batten and burgeon about all its messages and stories, personalities and inconsistencies, quirks and galaxies…   I want to be a more cemented and present character for the wine itself.

And what would wine have to say, my elected varietals and regions, producers and winemaking teams?  I’m not sure I need to know as this comes from me in such Literary and journalistic movements, pray these sentences more sterling and my narrative and columns more robust and convincing— more alive!  So… I stop.  Just for a bit.

While waking this morning as well I thought of my wife and how during the nine months she carried both Jackie and now nearly 4 weeks present-on-Earth Emma she sipped nothing.  Not a drop.  Not even a nosing of a pour I had on the kitchen island-counter.   Nothing.  And then my inner analysis flew, “Could you do that?” Not sure, as how intense my devoutness to wine is.  But I have to try, in such bashfully tentative leasts, and for wine, for my writings about wine, for all the people I work with in wine’s orbit and material discipline.  Wine coerces and orders me to halt, separate and collect.  So I will.

Today I’ll be in a Healdsburg tasting room, just off the square on Plaza Street, and if I don’t sip a single drop of Glenn’s reds I see my elucidations and vocalized personifications of the wines more appealing, more vivid and voltaged.  Then, I’ll sell more (which IS the goal.. and not just for Glenn’s business but for my wined role and pages).

This break will not tarnish my fealty.

I’m still with wine.

I just need time.  To be better for IT.

The wine.

And after tolerable time, I’ll again tilt a bowl toward my soul.

And write about it.