vinward jot, 2017

Last day of the year, I’m in a wined mind.  At the wood table with my coffee, knowing just where I am in my wine shop countdown.  Walking the vineyard, I had the thoughts that will get me there.  All was visible right in front of the Cabernet sign.  I need more bolder be, unapologetic as someone recently me insisted.  There will be no abeyance, but constant motion.  Jazz and poetry in everything.  2018 begins today.. and the three wines I’m pushing today will be an enactment of me at my shop.  Have a $20 bill in wallet, I think from a tip either yesterday or day before, from some day… that will be for the shop.  Putting it away when home.

Pushing the Pinot, Cab today mostly.  And to an extent lesser, the Carneros Chardonnay.  I’m in my shop, today here at Roth.  Have to sell $1600.  That should be easy, with Britt and I.  So I start early.  Posting what I can… writing what I can… even writing a different poem for each wine, describe them differently than I have before… The Chard, my Jane Austen.. Victorian and elegant, convincing and luminous.  Pinot, consummate storytelling, conveyor of atmosphere, place and mood, the jazz singer next to you that’s an intersection between a ghostly whisper and a flirtatious hum.  And, mon amour des amours, the ’15 Cabernet.  Gothic, a novel, a cascade of romance and truth.  I write further about each wine knowing I won’t remember much of it but it’s here to blog and I’ll keep my composition echoing in my pages that me follow to the bar when I set out menus, taste through the bottles with Brittany.. my younger and ever-eager and unusually sagacious soeur de vin.

2017 leaves.  Book closed, done, and I’m starting the most layered and rewarding, enriching and educational manuscript of my total narrative so far.  ’18 is the invitation I’ve been waiting for.  From wine, writing, business and teaching, me as a runner, father, thinker… everything.  The year of not just me, but US.  All of us, readers.  We’re here to get what we want, and what we deserve.  I turn the volume up on my jazz.. not sure who’s playing now, but I recite to self— no fruit flies this morning, and I don’t know how I feel about their absence. No time to thank bout them being on-present.  I’m working in and with, for and through, from what I have— a cold tasting room, quiet and empty and filled with jazz at 09:15.  Cell phone charging, coffee getting colder, both are at left, then to left of them and this table is the dark crush pad, or tank room.. one of the production sectors.  None of them here today.  But I’m here, building my own wined story.  And building a wined story is building all the stories— education, teaching, being a daddy, runner… everything.  2018 will see me at Stanford, me running the Big Sur full or half-mara’…. It will see me do everything.  We, are going to do everything, this new year.  Today’s a day of readying… arming Self with ideas and yay-saying talk, thoughts, pulses and poetry.

Wine is everything.  More than just the pour, the spoken word after the one or one-and-a-half-ounce, or two-oz pour.  It’s all our aspirations… our books.  Our words and dialogues.  The stories and characters.  That’s why I’m here.  And that’s what will take me to my shop, and all and any of us to whatever we demand, in ’18.

Here we go….

Et c’est parti….