The coffee’s definitely working,

I’ll tell you.  Hotel room writing.  I quite like it.  And I don’t know when the next time I’ll have a session like this.  When the babies get here, I’ll be leaving in the morning to take one of them to school, then to work.  So this first morning writing I swallow whole.  OH… I’ll be able to write like this a bit after Thanksgiving, when Alice stays in Sonoma with her sister and nieces, parents for a bit.  The whole room to myself now.  That’s what I’m focusing on.  Now.  MY Now.  Here I am, Friday morning with a view of a glowing pool behind me.  My story is Education.  Learning.  I’m learning more about myself this morning than I maybe did in all graduate school.  And it’s musical, and Kerouac said music is the ONLY truth.  So I write from the furthest stretch of my thinking, from when I first started taking myself seriously as a writer, when in high school, right after that shit happened to me.  I’m here, I’m alive, so I write… write about writing, learning, how others learn, how I learn, the act of education and being educated—  Be it in wine or lit’ or any whatever.  This room, this second floor hotel room is a classroom.  The most invaluable of classrooms.  How many others have stayed here?  What did they say?  Why were they here?  For the casino, or to see proximal relatives?  What did they see, learn while here?

The human contour fascinates and emboldens me, this morning.  Why.. ‘cause none of it is definite, and it’s barely defined, or concrete, final.. the randomness makes it ravishing.  And to be curt— wine did this.  Wine has shown me that humanity is a deliciously ambiguous and nebulous tangibility that we’re meant to learn from.  My letters now, and I’m measuring for my life’s forward and surplus, to be predicated upon and necessitated in this daily sagacity, the pedagogy of each hour.  Education.  Learning.  Each word I type, write, entertain, muse, gander, anything, will be with students in mind.  Myself, in mind.  As I AM the forever-matriculant of this world, universe, Humanity and all angles there in and of.

Wine too has taught me that there’s no reason to be anything other than obnoxiously elated in each morning, with each day.  NONE.  Stresses precipitate, sure, but they shouldn’t consume you.  They shouldn’t have the power to juggle your joy.  First four words in today’s page, “Education… Learning… Smile… Now”.  Then I stop to look around, look around the room and know my babies will be here with wife and I tonight.  Can’t wait to see them both.  I love this quiet, but what it teaches me is that as much as I wish for quiet I can’t get enough of their noise.  Their running around and taunting each other, the way Jackie shares his most recent knowledge and understanding of something as simple as rain, like how he lectured me for nearly five minutes driving him to school the other day that it only rains and gets cold in winter.  And little Emma, Ms. Austen, how she points to herself and always wants to be included in conversations, wants what little Kerouac has, and says, “mo’… mo’…?”

All my favorite wineries entail some address of family, family life and family dreams coming to fruitful fruition and that family sharing their success story.  Family…. Like my visit to Calluna last week, with David telling me about his wife and three kids, how they got there and how they found the property and planted the vineyard, their first vintage, the reception of his wines, etc.  Wine also teaches me to trust myself, to trust that what I’m doing is right and the best thing for my family.  Wine has always equated to family, for me.  One of the primary pillars of reasoning for why I’m in “the industry”.  Looking to one day have what David has… my vines, my little tasting room, my label and story of how I got there— behind the bar pouring my own timeline.

Tempted to go downstairs and see the breakfast setup.  Should I?  Or should I, do I, just stay here, keep writing?  I’m thinking about it too much, I know.  And part of me doesn’t want to leave this hotel room… how many times have I fantasized about just THIS— writing in a hotel room with work the next day?  Well, in that vision I’m giving a talk on writing, or literature, or something to do with wine, or something to do with education… but this is a tease of that vision.  An encouraging note from the Story itself, that I’m close.

We’re so much closer to our ideal circumstances set than we realize.  We just have to be tireless.  We can’t pause, we can’t halt, we can’t think too much.  We just have to ACTUATE.  Keep going—  Do more than simply “keep going”.  Light your world on fire.  Create like you have only an hour to do so.  Have a conversation with yourself, how you plan on getting “there”.  To your There.  I’m having that conversation right now, this morning, in this hotel room with my coffee cup empty.  Quelle?  Comment est-ce arrivé?  (What?  How did that happen?). Need more.  But do I get up.  What does the Story want?  Vines don’t think about growing, they just grow.  And they don’t whine in the presence of too much sun, heat, or if it rains right before the clusters are cut.  They grow.  They create.  So “Stay put.  Work.” I self-instruct.  Learning this morning that I’m here, my There.  Just a couple things that need adjustment.  But I’m at where I need to be, with everything I need in my idyllic role.  Which is…. Writer.  Educator.  Writer again… lecturer.  Je ne sais pas.  But I enjoy what I sense, this morrow.

Breakfast.  Downstairs, calling.  Maybe I should at least take a look, see, experience.  Maybe I’ll learn something on the way, and then when there.