Spent I don’t know how much time searching through my bag for the power cord for this little monster of a laptop. Young lady sweeps around me, I ask her if I’m in the way and she tells me fine. And I repeat to myself, “I AM fine.” Relax. Can still hear the people around me talking, over the jazz. Need my own office, more than I ever have. 08:28 in Windsor at a Starbucks, thinking about this month, how it IS the month that gets me to travels, writing about wine in Beaune, Austria… everywhere. Before honing on wine writing for the day, I fixate on me, the one writing, what I have to do today, for the day and what wine. I need to ship out… the wines wife and I had yesterday at Oakville Grocery, Thumbprint’s wines, then day of tasting’s end at J. Now, I’m back on a clock… fine. I’m fine. 3,000 wine words today and each of the remaining days of this month of independence where I EARN my independence from clock-in clocks and long busy tasting room days… where I …
Attitude is everything, for a writer. Too easily can mood and disposition influence and affect what you’re putting on page. Switched chairs, just to the one that was opposite me so I didn’t have that woman at my back, back to back. My attitude this morning, a product and voice of the Chardonnay I opened last night.. considering all parts of her form and soul, how she grounded herself in conversation with me, dispelling all Chardonnay quirks and presuppositions and parallax. Looking through this bag for the cord to the laptop I could only think about if I had my own office, if I did everything would already be laid out, that I wouldn’t have all these people with their lattes and coffees and no-foam-whatevers around me speaking battling with Dave Brubeck and his crew. Wine positions herself more in this month to usher me out of the tasting room, to some hillside in Spain or somewhere where I can sit at a table and write about the vines I’m looking at and how what I sip is what I see, in kaleidoscopic periphery.
Even before tasting though the wines today, I’ll write singular words, and not only adjectives, for wine. Dash, charm, removal, travel, music…. And others. Nouns, verbs, adverbs, lit fragments that decide me more in wine’s tangible quip. Looking at the vineyard in all stages, and where they are right now I’m reminded that harvest pulses only a couple clicks away. Need ready, as if I’m still here and not traveling by month’s end, or into August, I need every camera, notebook, little scribble pad, phone, this laptop, everything ready. I want to see everything. And no… no…. I will not be in the tasting room but ONLY recording wine’s life and construction, elemental and manuscript composition. Kafkaesque, everything out there in the vineyard rows and what happens once the fruit arrives. But nothing menacing, nothing hurtful, or intimidating, just a wondrous woo of senses, sense of where I am and what I’m doing as the one translating wine and wine’s industry, and myself as a wine writer.
I take careful and careless, close inventory of my armamentarium as one writing wine. It’s more than the Chardonnay I sipped last night, more than the rows I walk everyday. Life, all here is a reminder to do what I want to, what I need to, what will make me, us, all of us, happy. I forget all the people around me and they disappear and vanish, relocate to everywhere in the globe where there’s wine, a vine, where there are pages to be put to page with or without a view. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind being locked in some cottage in France with no windows, and only coming out when I was for whatever reason out of sentences.
Found an old picture of a vine in dormancy, which is a bit comical as the vineyards now roar with growth and life, visuals of the new vintage. Feels like me, with my wine paragraphs, stories from the tasting room and about my winemaking past (brief as it be), and meeting people from everywhere that only want to have something in their glass to experience, talk to each other about. No more of the tasting room, this picture professes. Get out in the world as you mother, father, sister just were. Talk to everyone and hear their wine stories and taste what they have on their small circular tables/mock-tasting room. “Get out of the tasting room, if you want to write about me.” The vine in the picture voraciously tells. And the thought goes through my head, again, of leaving early today and going to some winery close by to write. Thinking about Dry Creek… not Dutcher Crossing as I’d only be distracted by old friends, tempted to to them talk, reminisce and tell stories about when I was there, and this wine club event, and…. Time to take risks, and I’ll log everything in the Beaune Journal Mom bought me, also referring to as the “July Journal” as I WILL have it filled by 7/31, and I will see just how in each step I removed myself from the TR.
Part of me feels frightened, a bit guilty, for typing such, my plan to leave the TR, even the winery/wine company for which I work. But, WHY? I want the same thing as everyone else in this industry, in LIFE… a bit more money, honestly… creativity, travel, enveloping satisfaction and happiness, stimulation in production and effort. And, that’s it. I fear NO retribution. What I do now I make work for me, and I write everything. Like today, having to emergency order two 1.5L bottles of AV Cab into inventory to satisfy an order placed over the weekend. Currently we have none, so I have to emergency order it… Boring to most, but to me its a see of placed and valuable writing activity. With everything today, at the winery, and wine anything, this writer’s MORE than “fine”.