9/30/16 – No real events to speak of

img_7122this morning for the writing father, other than I’m going in a bit later, so he has some time to write and gather self.  While sipping that Chardonnay yesterday, leaning against fence, looking down-valley, I thought of where I am versus where I want to be.  And, what Mom said to me in an email, about working with what I have.  She was concerned that she was presenting the idea as a condescension, or “lecture” as she said.  But I read it as anything but!  Truly what it accomplished, confirming what I’d been thinking for months if not longer, of working with what I already have.  I have everything I need to get to where I want to be, to experience “success”, to be truly self-sufficient as a writer, or blogger, as a figure in business.  Listening to some Thievery and sipping more medium roast (already, almost, drank the whole of what I last night brewed).  For some reason this morning’s brew tastes more vigorous, has more character or dimension, voice, I don’t know, just tastes better (all poetic description attempts aside).  In the house by myself, I have this time to collect, look over what I wrote last night alongside the bottle of ’12 Nicole’s, which I probably shouldn’t have opened, but I remember thinking, “It’s wine, it’s not a precious metal you’re wasting, just enjoy it.” Or something like that.  Sure someone could say, “Oh you need to age that.” But my response would always be, will always be, “For what?” They could say it’ll taste better, or the tannins will be more inline with the varietal character, or fruit, or oak presence, whatever.  But if I want to drink it, I should exercise that right.  The time was right to open.  It was perfect.

I said, “No real events to speak of”.  Why not change that.  Yes, change it, with this article and scribbling in Carpe what I typed last night, sent to social media…  First: “When we/know,/WE know./What/can stop us then?” Then, “Love beauty when you find it—/As it only lasts/a/breath or two—“ Which is true, both of them, returns me to the fence, the lawn, that glass of Chardonnay I sipped while appreciating the placement of the sun in the early autumnal, late-September cielo.  Can’t get too tangled in these thoughts, have to leave soon, drive to Geyserville.  Should be driving to the airport, to catch a flight, for a writing assignment, self-assigned, to take pictures of something, something…  More photography, like yesterday, me stopping on Barnes to shoot a short video and take pictures of those canes, how the sun yelled through leaves, hitting the lens on my phone’s camera just right so that halo could present.  “Freedom”, it instructed me.  Find FREEDOM.  From everything…  And the way you touch such is to stay in your present presents, define your presence by relaying the current reality.  But, of course, I look at the clock and it tells me to pack, hop in the Passat, head to San Miguel, then Barnes, then 101 North.  The clock can have this win, the it will learn loss as this Friday’s unfolded.

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