Finished a short piece for the first issue of Mise, in ten minutes. A writing exercise, timed as I have the students do. Now here at the Vine Street sbux, I type and notice that the crowd is thin, not much of anyone around me as I like..
Approaching in car, parking spot opens. First idea I touch: “This has to be a sign.” Or something. A promising day of something, something for me and the story I’m writing this semester. The best semester of my career— Have to intensify my energies and meanderings in the texts— And a thought lost, just consumed by the moment of me here on this Thursday at the end of week….. 6. I think. Doesn’t matter. I give time too much power and pull with how much I acknowledge it.
Wine I had last night, a bit light, and for some reason stays with me, what I would have done differently with it, what it was missing, what I want in my Merlot this vintage. I have to put away money, AND NOT TOUCH IT, for my wine. Just one. Indicating and demonstrative of that focus Mom stressed.
More and more relaxed I find my character and Beat, both seen and un’, at this table, listening to a Coltrane solo.. Today has to be wine, it has to be written, and it MUST be poetic/music/truthful. I’ll get a bottle of something from Oakville for dinner tonight. But what.. Mom said enchiladas. But what’s in them? Chicken? Crab, as she does so disturbingly well? Want something red, no white. OR.. maybe I should get a red and a white. More to write about, right?
Done. Decided. Decreed.
More people come in, getting their coffees, either on their way to work or some random day to themselves, their families. I think of this song, jazz, what it says to me; counseling me with my “career”, my story as a writer, as a writer of and with wine. Sonoma.. Healdsburg.. almost 37.. focus, focus… wine, writing about it and how it has its own vernacular and movable tongue, set of songs.
Not sure this caffeine is working. I don’t feel with charge as I usually do.
I hate my age, but I love the fact I know what I want with writing, teaching, wine and travel. I just gawk at the stills my industry acquaintances post, of their lives in travel, selling wine and telling the stories of their estates, the vineyards and the Russian River Valley, Sonoma Coast, Napa Valley, Oakville or wherever. Soon, to be me. Deadline: this semester’s end. I have to not stop and not let moods like the one I felt approaching this morning, take the helm.. EVER.
Put one dollar in the other pocket, wallet. That’s my winery’s first saved dollar.
I will be as thorough and consistent as Glenn with my wined reinvention..
I will still teach, I am still focused! I’m just mapping, more mapping, planning— building!