I WILL finish the thousand word effort I started last night.  And last night/early morning, a skirmish with both babies, refusing to sleep and Alice and I trying to convince both of sleep’s boons there was no correlation in language.  So I sip coffee now and focus on the keys, the wine I tasted last night (the Ridge), and bottle of my ’12-something once back home.  My story is wine, my voice and patois.

At the kitchen island; brush, flattened cereal box to be tossed into recycling, pizza box… need the Square.  My Sonoma-Paris.  My Oakville table.