After St. Jean tasting, I’m sluggish and a bit cranky, not sure why. Only tasted three wines, got lots done today.. put $500 in Schwab account for store, got new journal that will be the ‘shop journal’, blending all aspects of this writer’s life.. wine, lit, education, family, health, everything. In the Starbucks at 12 & Mission. Written here more times than I can remember, times good and not so good. I’m in a good time, now. No, a great time. And I only have wine and its industry to thank, praise for the elemental and avocational and vocational shift. Using the mug mother-in-law, or tumbler sorry, bought the writer for xmas. Free coffee. Yes and yes. Coffee pushes me to write faster, about wine and the shop and everything. Descriptions… how creative can I get? Do I want to invest my creative energies in descriptions?
Lady in tasting room yesterday wanting to be seen as a wine sage, so knowledgable and with so many descriptive descriptives, showing everyone around her that she is with wine, that she knows, she knows… about wine and anything to do with wine. Wine’s never been that attitude, to me. Wine’s always been something mobile, something in the yay-say storm… love and welcome far past anything humans normally activate.
Thought while driving around earlier, as the wine writing bloke I be, about wine’s definition. Does it have one, should there be one, and if I had to define wine what would I say? Often, I think wine is the act of growth, and learning, and love, and questions— the constant inquiry of life, and even if you don’t receive and answer, you’ll keep with your quest. You, I, become addicted to the Road, the trek for understanding, not so much answers or solid definitions. I wouldn’t say I definitively understand wine. I’m learning. I have understandings, but those understandings mature, grow, and at times change depending on what I’m tasting. The Syrah I bought from CSJ, today. Not like most Syrahs I’ve had, and I haven’t had Syrah in some time so I was thrilled to meet one that had something new to say. She was wild and playful, seductive and teasing my analytical abilities, what they be.
Now… wine.. the questions compound… no more of an attitude down. Chardonnay, Pinot, and Syrah, in my own metered Doe-Ray-ME-Lah…. Singing to self in this possibility and belief proclivity. She riles me, now and when sipping, when sipping coffee she, the idea and figure of her, her ever-present apparition has me stuck in scribble, kisses to listen— Stopped. So forever locked. No inclination of changing the station. Why would I. When you find amour, there’s no tempt of another tour. Stare at the puddle and imagine that I don’t have to imagine anything. That I have her there all the time to write about… that she’s all I have to tend to, do. Not a task, or an ask, but a celestial pass. Loving cosmic spiral, wine and her architecture. Nothing theoretical about her…
At the counter, I spent far more time taking in scents, fragrances, and olfactory notes. The pourer, I believe his name was Garrett (checked notes, yes), looked over at me and I think he was a bit startled that I hadn’t kissed her, yet. I took my time. More than anticipation, but measure… lead in. First song in an album, always.. never wanting the concert to halt. ‘Nother sip of the medium roast, looking outside at the 12 & Mission junction, thinking how stunned in I continue. Her. In her smile and story… everything in the music she propels to senses. Wine is more than wine… it’s more than what I offer it is, being more than wine. It’s enigmatic and oddly calculated. And, anymore, I don’t see a way of defining wine. Words have definitions, and even those are subject to be subjects, debated and interpreted how we fit see. Wines are letters, each bottle an expression, emotions and thesis.
Felt nice, going out tasting. A day off, somewhat. And, only one stop. Anymore, I can’t do more than one. This past weekend, a Wine Road gathering, event or party depending on how you see it, people could go to as many stops as they’d like. I don’t know how some of them do it, going to five or six, or more tasting rooms. Wine deserves more than that, if you’d be open to my truly unfettered estimation. Wine tasting, I have no interest in doing it anymore, really. I want wine study… exploration of wine and her metaphysics.
On campus tomorrow, tasting room the next. Going to blend my two lives, this semester. Wine, Literature. Each is the other, whether you’d be open to the idea or not. The Starbucks is cold so I drink the coffee faster and think of my wine shop, all the books I’d have out, the couches, the music playing. Visited a shop today, and the liquor store feel to it talked me out of tasting anything. Went to the bar area, and there was a man there, maybe the bar manager, talking to a rep either for a winery or a distributor. He said nothing to me, not that I needed him to, but I did mildly think of tasting something. That area in the store feels like a bar, not a lounge as I see myself having, like a library or bookstore with a dominant and prominent wine rhythm, character, voice, thesis. Like that place in D.C.
Opening Syrah tonight, have to write about Cab from last night, the Markham which not only show itself as a value wine, but something to think over, write to.. notes on Cab and Napa, you and wine. I see wine as a relationship, not as a job or hobby, business endeavor though it very much is. It’s Art. SHE, is Art. She deserves respect, your time, attentions… words circulation and emancipating their flavor-folded enclosure.