Merlot in a paper cup.

What the writing father of wine and other topics sips when coming home to the house, post 1 year-old celebration.  On the floor, back to couch, xmas tree right, lit, night before dead week.  Week before finals.  Strangely, the Pope Valley Merlot tastes better from the paper cup.  Could just be my exhaustion but that’s my present feeling, how I feel in this finally-still present.  ‘Nother sip…  the writer has his time, his moment to let wine speak to him, listen for those jazzy chords and motivating narratives to ready him for the week off-bow.  More music from cup, the night to me.. kind, forwarding, telling, promising.  May have a couple more of those mini-quiches wife put out for her guests.  My daughter’s going to be ONE.  How.  Why did this happen?  Yes, I enjoy watching her grow like every other parent on the planet, but… not easy.  Done with first glass– I mean ‘cup’, with this topic.  My little girl, shedding her littleness.  And me, just the writing parent, observing with an empty Dixie.

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