Didn’t get to writing the essay I wanted to over lunch, but not a big concern. Didn’t go out to eat, which was a larger forward step. And now, in one of the writing pods, points and spots of collection for me. Too cold and uncomfortable in the break room for any reasonable or useful writing.
Sonic teaches me to monitor my progress, to self-educate more and self-teach, or even as much I don’t particularly like the word, coach self. Didn’t get to write 1,000 word essay on the Kerouac climbing mountain quote, but I use the time I can after eating those two microwave burritos. Not an exciting lunch by anyone’s standards, think it’s safe to say. Track goals, coaching of self, education and lectures, repeat repeat repeat.
Little over 30 minutes. All to self. In this chair. And I’m collected and composed, in my aims. Not so much goals. Not a fan of that word, either. Aims. Visions I’m convinced will become material and real. Comfortable in this chair. May need more coffee when back at desk. Not focusing on time anymore, or what I should write. I know this all returns and re-connects in some sort of audibility to wine. Last night’s Pinot made by parents’ neighbor, can’t recount his name, but I remember not caring for him too much so when I saw the unlabeled bottle on their counter last night before dinner, that simply read “2015 PN”, I asked what it was. They told me, his Pinot. I poured some, not wanting to like it but I did and Dad let me take the rest home. Once home and after kids were put to bed a little too late, I poured a full glass. More expression and lesson in her laps. The wine wanted me to pay attention to the Now and not think about the work week ahead. To stand there, sipping, thinking of music, jazz or that slow chill ambient station, the one I associate with a play list you’d hear in a wine bar. My wine bar. Now in this chair, taste it again. The wine, the kitchen, the outside air horrid as it might hang.
I repeat my wine words and thoughts and wishes, yesterday in the vineyard and my new wine column ‘vino dharma’, my visit the other day to Stonestreet. Adhered to wine, thoughts and dream about full glasses and bottles on racks, travels to any country where I can taste and write about what’s sipped or spit. Conversations with winemakers and farmers, owners and those that just know the history of where they work to some unusual and admirably obsessive condition.
Aim, writing, till I leave at 4:30— Wine sentences. Not so much descriptive ones, but a wine sentence, of any kind or core. Any wine sentence, of any kind. For what, I don’t know. I have enough to finish my book, or any number of books as I wish with all my observations, in and out of the wine world, or its industry. But I want to focus on wine, what people say and what I say, people I meet for the first time in a tasting room like yesterday that guy from Boston.
More stories, on their way. 20 minutes left on this “lunch”, and I’m an eager storm of saying, observations, wanting to have all wine anythings bound. Don’t even need to sell them, just give them away. Wait, is that a smart marketing plan? Do I need a marketing plan, or some sort of sales map? Another aim, perhaps. That.
11/19/18