Driving south on Dry Creek Road to the General Store at lunch, I arrived seeing a ridiculous extension of cars along the road’s side. The end of which was mine, me thinking, “Are you fuck— no way…” But then I calmed, tried to think of how I could make this into a moment mine. And I did. Walking into the store to get my ‘Poor Boy’ sandwich and Canada Dry Ginger Ale, then returning to my car, jogging down the left side of DCR to the point even with the Passat, crossing the street then realizing a vineyard was right there to the side of my car. “Right fucking there!” I thought. So I put the sandwich and drink in front of the passenger seat, on the floor which was slightly just enough shaded, and I walked into the vine block. Gawki at the vineyard Fall shades and just walking to walk, get my daily vineyard walk in, or as much one as I could since I didn’t walk the Dutcher property as I usually do. I was taught something, instructed by the moment and nature at all the writer’s sides to not get so worked up, simply. Don’t get frazzled, don’t get angry, don’t stress. You only have 30 minutes for lunch? Okay.. well, rather than fight certain constraints, try to mount some resistance, embrace what confronts you. The walk in that small patch of vines told me I need to move slower, that nothing new is needed— I don;t need more time, ever, I have enough, just use it with measure and inner-speak.
Sipping more of the sparkling wine from the glass we has on our wedding day. Nine years we’ve been married, and I can only think about what I have an haven’t done in those nine years, and how old I’ll be in another 9— forty-fucking-six. I suddenly calm in an imminent promontory, here in this home office seat, looking at the stack of papers, then my wallet, the glass of sparkling, books on this home desk. I define what I want and I shoot for it, but more than that, I refocus on the moment. “The” moment, not that there’s only one, but there’s a waterfall and cartwheel to this posture of mine, always in a constellation’s cosmic placement and lost in what I wrote earlier today staring out that open office glass door. Mom messaged me, “How do you get anything done with a view like that?” Well, I do. Just not always the writing I need to print to tangibility for the winery. MY fault, I know, but it always gets done. At one point I was completely alone in that “cottage” and I had to speak to page’s line with versified exhalation. But there I go again, getting worked up. Have a couple loud sips of the bubbles and calm down. Seriously, enjoy your night. Quiet house, no kids. You’ll wish for this again before too long. So, prendre plaisir.