15:03.  Tour went well,

taking them around the property and explaining wine in caves as they tasted what small bites I arranged on the slates we use.  Quite chic actually, the colors and texture and feel right from the fridge.  After my tasting I went to Room, to pour for a few people there and taste through a couple of the wines about which I was curious.  Had a little taste of the ’13 Santa Rita Hills Pinot, just now here in kitchen, and I meditate on its pulse— its charisma and determinate dote on my senses, whatever it wants to say about the ’13 vintage or where its from, educating a Sonoma County sipper about Santa Rita.  Need a new wine for tonight.. something weird, something I’ve never before had, something with the $40 I was tipped from the Tampa couple.  But what.  Will go to Safeway and pick something, stay within budget.  So… $1000, minus the just going to say $180 as I don’t want to wait for my cell reception to cooperate and let me see bank account, leaves me $820 for startup funds.  Will add the $40, and dedicate to tonight’s wild wine writing.

17 MINUTES.  What I have left for “lunch”, and I’m not eating, only writing, only thinking about shop, my store, what I want to sell.  I was again complimented today on the way I speak wines, speak about them, from them.. told the Florida people I hate sales, I don’t sell, but speak with ‘wine’, do her bidding and conform to her tongue.  Even this kitchen has me propelling self in a wine-whirled word storm.  See the fly traps here in the kitchen, those little winged rascals have no desire to stop.  They let us know they’re here, present, wanting to taste wine like the tourists and wine writers.  So when I see such, I feel for them, empathize, they just want to taste wine, I get it—

Another wine with my attention today is the Carneros Chard… shedding much of its oak-oscillating, buttery bravado and speaking in yodels of pair, apple banana, even a bit of lime, lavender.  Wine does what she wants, and I follow and try to keep up writing in a kitchen on my lunch break from the tasting room.  The tasting room isn’t a tasting room but more like a meditative space, a temple, a café.  And your not tasting but communicating, being communicated with.  By Her.  Wine.  The last week or so, really since Thanksgiving when my sister-in-law visited and unintentionally reminded me of what I’m to write about, I onward gallop and galavant with my wine muses and musings and mused manuscripts.

This kitchen, the realness reemphasized.  Winery.. in trenches… this ‘bx project’, about everything at a winery, the winery life… not hitting sales goals, hitting them, wine club members and how they can be like your best friends and the most mammoth assholes you’ve ever met.  Duality, realism, postmodernism, encased.  Right here in the tasting room and kitchen and caves— out in the vineyard on a tour, or just walking out there by myself.  I’,m reminded.

This, am I.

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