Stopped in to see friend, Gary, at Stonestreet tasting room in Healdsburg while waiting for hair appointment. This time, he was there. We said hi and all greetings expected, then began talking about literature and wine as we always used to when we worked at a Sonoma Valley winery, how certain narratives did certain things to a reader just as certain wines would speak, do speak, with certain placement that other wines cannot convey.
He poured some white blend, SB and Sémillon, then to three reds. All Cabs. The one I wanted of course out of budget reach, but the close-second I took. Cabernet, right before a haircut in the middle of the day. I was composed and at peace in the tasting room, around wine and thinking of wine, seeing and feeling wine in a way I haven’t, for some time now. Wine and I were speaking to each other, again, finally. And in a tasting room, no less.
The only tasting I did, today. Now at home writing whilst daughter naps, sipping some coffee much needed. Thinking of the Cabernet, and that white blend. Wine with its grip and reach. Wines speaking to me– telling me to move. Move quicker. Finish the bloody book.
It’s midday now, so I guess that was morning, technically. Late morning. So now in day’s middle, I plan for wine, what I’ll sip tonight and alongside write. Now meditating and think of next everything. Wine and me writing its visions and trips. Think more about days in the tasting room, I’m thinking. The tasting room today, Gary behind the bar pouring for those people from wherever. Wine has always been to me about dreams, and dreaming, doing something you want to and not so much have to. The love in wine and any endeavor associated with wine is the obligatory. You’re with her, what’s in your glass, what in the bottle you’re about to pour not from any coercion. It’s your story, your Road, your everything and you’re right there with it, with her, as fortune would so say it, place it.
Walking into the tasting room earlier and even before seeing Gary and he waving me over, the town, the square, Healdsburg, started singing to me. Telling me to have my office there, with all the tasting rooms and art studios, with the Cabernets of Stonestreet and other varietals and interpretations. Watching friend pour and listening to people deliberate over decision, so strained as to what to let into their homes. What, I thought, am I taking with me. Don’t want to be one of those freeloading industry people that just visits friends in tasting rooms and doesn’t tip and worse or about as bad doesn’t buy at least one bottle. Chardonnay and the first Cab. Done. What I chose.
Look at the Cabernet, on desk of home office and seeing it in my Healdsburg office. Wine writing me again before I start again writing wine. I want today to happen again, and keep happening.