07:40.  Surprised I’m up this early, but I am.  No 3,000 words yesterday but today that won’t be the tangibility.  Meeting at Chalk Hill tomorrow, with other property managers.  Soon as I raised my lids this morrow, I thought about what I wanted from the day.  Aside from the 3,000 words I’m not sure— well, one thing, MUSIC.  Lots and lots, LOTS of music.  MY own music, poetry, and music from favorite artists.  Wine is entirely musical, especially the two bottles from last night, that Cabernet… oh…  Like a character I’d been hoping for, hoping to meet, and finally did.

Went outside to take some bottles out, beer bottles more specifically, and I could smell the burnt structures, the dead fire of the streets on the tracks’ other side.  I stopped and turned around then hurried inside as if there were a fire ghost chasing me.  Nine days since, and the days don’t matter.  They all blend together, they all are wine country cries and a choir of surprise.  Will need a drive today, when Ricardo and his cleaning crew arrive.  Not thinking about that now, only the quixotic day I have ahead of me— these fires, lighting new fire in the wild wine writer, and seeing life and its fragility and utter guarantee void as something of elevated promise and poise.. poetic like this Coltrane sax number.  Dollar bills at left, what am I going to do with them?  How much do I have in my account?  I was paid, wasn’t I?  See…?  These past days are indefinitely defined in an utter lack of definition.

Yesterday with Kevin, talking to me about the winery  where he presently works, how management is vehement in being that typical tyrannical oversee of everything, targeting him and his fellow employees and not motivating neither he nor his team.  I mean, financially.  No experiences that would encourage guests to tip, nor the wine club compensation…. I have to ask—  Why is this such a consistency in the wine industry?  Luckily, the Foley mindset is nothing like that, but most of the industry is.  I’ll never understand it, and I have to concede that one of my first thoughts when out of bed was Kevin’s and my conversations last night…. Wine is about community, right?  These first certainly reiterated that.  And kindness, support, generosity.. general enjoyment of life.

Euphony in everything this morning— in the jazz I have on, this cold coffee I made for myself, the cup I’m about to have in its veritable smolder and comforting blaze… the dollar bills at my left.  Put it toward the business, I tell myself.. my business, my Self as a “brand”.. okay, papa of all bloggers, the most tireless writer in the world.  Three thousand words should prove that, 3,000 a day— why not 5k a day?  Be reasonable, I tell myself… how ‘bout between 3 & 5k/ day?  Sounds fair.  Audited little stack… $33.  Not worrying about what that’s devoted or dedicated to.  Gas, more than likely, but I’m not committing, not yet.  Plus additional $13 in bag, then the change which is an utter pain in the ass and hope to convert to cash today.  Don’t care what cut the market’s coin machine takes, I really don’t.  Enough about money… today, drive around, take pictures of vineyards… where?  Along Westside Road, if I can get there— another reality of these goddamn silly-named conflagrations, you don’t know what road’s going to be open and before you even realize you’re being diverted, going some alternate route.

Wine reasons for me, tells me to keep the story the way it was— me tasting wines and walking vineyards, see the music, listen to the gusts sing through the cordons, now bare from harvest… Madleine Peyroux-like chime and charm to what I’ll hear out there, today.  Can’t get out to Kenwood, my sister’s winery St. Francis… maybe then up to Dry Creek, see my people at Dutcher Crossing, or Sanglier downtown.  I never have days off like this and yesterday me stressing about what I’m to do and money and how I spend my time— “What?” I thought.  “Wine is telling you to build YOU, right now.  Use this time, use these drives, use these wines you sip at might to build your story, to add to it, to be that father of all who blog, the writer who NEVER tires.” I had this thought while driving back too the house on Fulton and Guernville, by the Raley’s I’ve been frequenting more…. Unforeseen lagniappe in all this, starting with that ham and brie sand’ and the Sauvignon Blanc I paired with the Austin Powers sequel.  Wine tells me to have more moments like that— write about THAT.  You taking time to yourself to collect in all this and have a couple sips of SB or whatever and “pair” it with a movie, something to lighten and better brighten the collective mood-ebb of your character, the county.

I used to dream more regularly about my own winery, ‘whoso cellars’.  And looking at this change bag, a literal sandwich plastic baggie intended for food but now occupied by who knows how many coins from how many ever moments and where’s… could be the seeds to my tasting room, my wines, my label, or wine store… why not both, I think.  Have my store, and sell my wines in my store.  Does NO good to preoccupy or stress, worry about when the winery’s going to reopen, or when campus will let students and staff back on.  I have work to do right now, pushing self like locomotive toward a more grand goal.  Going by Schwab today to put some money in account for wine store/winery…. This morning, with this jazz, this coffee, the air purifier at right making this kitchen’s atmosphere forget what happened early-early 10/8, has a writer encouraged, emboldened, enlivened… aimer la vie!  08:24, and now I feel like I’m waking up.  Finally.  Me, now, here, wine country, new story and sense and aims… sprint.