Starting bills, with day, or day with bills. Budgeting the winery in my head. Am I getting serious about this, about having my own little label, or wine shop, selling and talking about wine, writing about the Road there. Yes. No need for question marks. Question rhetorical, or if not rhetorical then antagonizing.
Paid credit card, which is all but done. Money aside for tasting room, the Merlot I want to make this vintage…. Two barrels of Merlot, same everything, just to show how each barrel is its own life, voice, world, “ecosystem”. Its own beat. And what better than with Merlot.
Pinot from last night, still some left. Thinking about bringing in, but would rather keep here for my own experiment to see how it lives, survives the 24 hour rest, any oxygen sneaking in through sides of cork and bottle’s neck’s inner face. That’s what I’ll do.
Getting in shower in a bit, then up to Jimtown to write, walk a vineyard…. Start my wined day. Take notes for meeting tomorrow with sales exec guy.
Back to money doc…. How money just flies away, as Dad joked with me long ago. Joked but wasn’t joking. Have always seen my dad as sort of a money master, and he’s proven to be such, as long as I’ve known him. Wanted to move us to San Carlos, build house, he did. The Sunriver home, made happen. I’m 40 now, time to be more stringent and lone with money, singular projects. Why not just have one, be lone. With my wine Room…. Thoughts and thoughts, watching my babies on the couch watching Sandlot, a film that rewinds my mind so many years it makes me harshly realize where I am, at fucking 40.
Wine gives me a second start, a re-start. Focus on her, what she wants, what she’s drawing, what light she discloses and words put to page. Nothing can hurt you with her songs playing, with her scenes queued.