Wine, 10/7/17—

Three thousand words today.  No fail.  And forever.  Regardless of mood or what I have going on— obligations, whatever.  Tired from event last night but sipping iced coffee and more than motivated to write today.  Capture everything.  Even being here in cubicle-ville, has me charged and fired up.  Motivation?  Yes, and no.  This is just what I have to do as a writer.. as a writer of wine and literature, life and work, everything.  Feeling freer than free after some revelations last night and this morning, educating self on what needs to be done to further far my life and “career” as a writer.  But not now, no rambles.. focus on harvest.. the fruit in tank at the moment, and I believe all tanks are full.  When I left last night, which was about, I believe, 8:20-something, I ran into Chris the assistant winemaker (after finishing my glass of the Santa Rita Hills Chardonnay, in the tasting room by myself, no music just quiet..) and they were doing one final pump-over.  Just saw Dave the Cellar Master downstairs walking in, he on the forklift and me strolling in eager to write, sipping my iced, didn’t want to distract him so I said nothing, offered no greeting, then unexpectedly hearing “Good morning, Mike!” From behind that lift’s steering wheel.  Made me smile, all the kindness from our production crew, hard as they’re working and as exhausted as I’m sure they are.  Want to record some of their movements today, but don’t want to be in the way, of course.  They always assure me I’m fine, that I’m not a nuisance and that I should record all I want, but I’m still reserved, cautious.

Freedom, today.  Freedom to create.  Freedom to react to the wines.  Freedom to be me, the writer I always have wanted to be.. that I’ve always been.  Can’t help but think of past jobs looking at the cubicles, but I don’t want to think about them.  Quiet in here, and on crush pad.  Don’t hear much happening, now.  Maybe now’s the perfect time to go walk around.  Well, then I wouldn’t be writing.  At lunch, write as well.  Take pictures in between pourings, in between guests.  Surprised how much we sold, yesterday, and how much cash I was offered as gratuity.  Putting all that toward the company.  MY business.  Have to check balances of accounts but I don’t have the urge or composition to do that either, right now.  The winery’s alive and I need to record it—  I’m a writer, working at a winery, wine everything… all around me.  There’s no excuse not to be at, at least, two thousand words before you leave today.  Done.  A goal.  A more-than-attainable goal.

First wine I’m tasting today…. Hmmm…. Thinking the Chardonnay I has last night, from Santa Rita.  Loved its feel and bright sternness coupled with gentility and grace, amour and a movement toward all senses.  She spoke, I listened.  Can’t wait to again with her connect, in a matter of minutes.  08:59 now, can be down there at around 09:15… give self a little longer here to write, collect, go through pictures on the phone which a terrifically MUST do.  More photography, and nothing too serious.. just visuals of what’s around me here at the winery… all the movements and characters, faces and words, the conversation and reactions, maelstroms of contemplation and deconstruction of what’s sipped.  Crowds yesterday approaching me while I waited behind the bar and soon I was a bit overwhelmed but as well motivated and pushed to act and react to requests for shipment pickups, futures pickups, orders, single bottle requests… I was the consummate tasting room/writer-at-a-winery bloke.  I wouldn’t stop moving.  I couldn’t have.  I didn’t want to.

Wine today, and every day.  I don’t want to stop.  Why would I? It’s wine.  Arrant vivacity.

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