wine framing

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Cancelled class this morning, as I had that meeting and another meeting at a winery down the street.  All day been thinking about selling, and how selling should be more artful and genuine.  More on that later, maybe.  Either way, I’m home.. focusing on me in this freewrite which is assured to be short, abbreviated.  I’m on my knees, in front of couch as phone transfers pictures to laptop.  Goddamn tech, Hemingway never wrote like this.  So I stop and move to the kitchen counter, the island where I’ve so many times wrote.  Helping my friend out today at Hook & Ladder had me thinking about wine and wine language, how I talk about wine, and my helixing of the education and literature surfaces… then my tasting this morning at the old Stryker property.  A lot through my head, my character, possibilities all around… ALL around.  Done transferring photos so now I concentrate on this, my “platform”— ugh, hate that word.  And pour myself some of the Hook & Ladder Rosé.  Light of course, but anything but gutless.  I find this bottle—not sure what it’s a Rosé of—ardent in its storytelling— crisp and lively and dexterous in all its moments, or “palate progression” as my buddy Devin today said.

Title for book— ‘inwardoenojots’.  Don’t like the title ‘cuvée kismet’ anymore.  Was just a tentative title but still, was part of what went though my head while pouring with Devin in that somewhat stuffy, cindery room.  Funny with that last modifier, owner being a firefighter, but anyway I’m with wine-purpose today, more than I’ve ever been I think.  Done with Rosé glass, wondering what tomorrow wants from me.  Today the vines get a sincere jolt of heat, brought closer to their self-pollination.  Me getting closer to something, but I’m not sure what.  Well, I am, I’m just not sure what shape it’s to take.  What… what.  “Brand myself, then everything else.” I just said inwardly.  Not so much in jot form, or wine-influenced, but… present.  In my circulation.  In my sight and senses.  Learning from today that there’s purpose in my movements, in how I speak about wine, in how I see wine, how I taste it.. from the Sémillon this morning to the Chardonnay I had at H&L…. I belong with the vineyard.  This is not a negotiable exercise or echo.

20:37, with Pinot from Hook & Ladder and I’ll be honest, I want to throw myself at this wine, and all the H&L wines.  Yes, started from a firefighter’s conception but as well the approachability of it all.  And not just Hook & Ladder Vineyards/Winery.  Wine principally.  The puddle in my glass has me feeling so majordomo, so captain-like, like Dad in that race car around the Vegas track—  “This is a blast!” He said.  And this is.  This, me sitting not he floor with the air conditioning blowing right on the writer but I don’t care… I have my wine and my moment and this floor, hard on my ass which makes it smart but I’m smarter, outsmarting any shot the cosmic cannon darts my way.  MY way… wonder what it is.  It has to be a blast, blasting off, off to the cosmos somewhere as a wine writer, or journalist, or diarist—  Why do I have to have a fucking title?  I write.  About wine, yes, but other existential pillars as well.

Getting cold under this vent.  Take another sip of the Pinot… it’s Pinot I poured, right?  Can’t remember currently.  Oh well.  I’m not like every other wine journalist, every other, some Napa gnat who sees themselves as one working with “luxury” told from their zip code.  Maybe I’m over-analyzing.  I do that sometimes.  Many times.  Ask my students, or anyone I work with.  Deep pull forms his Hook & Ladder Pinot and I feel Earth getting closer.. more dactyls of truth and earthly scope— what, then, me, in this oenological symmetry.  I know nothing, now, and I love it— I’m like one of those tourists from Iowa, or Minnesota, or Nebraska, or anywhere visiting “wine country” for the first time.  I’m enamored, I’m taken, I’m now bold, and emboldened and stage-told.  No need to teach a class who I’m being taught so much.  I’d rather be a student, anyway.  That’s more a ‘blast’ than anything.. learning, selecting and pocketing knowledge to which you’re introduced rather than being the dope at class’ head.  I’m a student, of wine and writing and writing abut wine and this floor.  Aujourd’hui, a semester concluded and catalyzed.  A new inward-oeno-jot stream…

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