Decided on the breakroom for lunch, not one of those thinking pods. Not hungry, so I won’t be distracted by food, and I think I’m good on caffeine so no coffee. Chewing gum I took from my neighbor John’s desk. Relax, meditation, thinking of this whole envelope to tasting room, or winery, or vineyard story. Where I am in life and not that I have to plan how I want to be remembered or anything that morbid or depressing, but I’m definitely in the mind of ‘here and forward’. So, here an forward, putting more in that envelope and not be tempted to ever take anything out. Touring with my wines and writing people’s reactions to everything I pour. Other day pouring for those two girls and how their favorites were mine as well and how that one wine brought a decided direction to our interaction. Wine is not only in my story but IS my story.
The ’07 Dutcher Crossing entity with which Jesse and I interacted at dinner the other night, telling me so much and reminding me why I am where I am, what I’m doing with wine. How I want that ferocity and form, character and charisma in the bottles I pour, what I make from my vineyard. Honestly, I expected something to be off, but the Cabernet thieved its own muse, which gave me a book title idea and shoved me into more wined realization. We poured, Jesse and I after the waitress poured just a tasting room amount into our glasses, appreciating the olfactory steps from the bottle to our senses and were startled. One sip, after glass tip where I could only notice a sliver of color decline and I’m still not completely certain I saw any, stunned. We both were. We shortly thereafter talked wine business and what we see in our soon-days of wine life. We talked about wine brokering, but that’s not really what I want of course and I don’t think he does either. The wine spawned new thought, new direction. What’s in that envelope at home, the days onward.
Breakroom where I can’t break. I can’t just read some magazine, or even the book from Father’s Day I was given. But then I think of the title, Destiny Thief, and I notice more intersection. Can barely wait for the tasting room, Sunday. Seeing that Room as mine, how I discuss all wines, my favorite of course but more, more, more wined story and words. And they are MY words, even if people take not kindly to them like my sister the other night when she thought I was referring to one of her wines, the three vineyard Zin blend, saying it was reductive. She said sharply and with stern ire “It’s not reductive.” I corrected her and specified I was addressing the Sbragia Petite Sirah Dad opened. She apologized, but continued to dispute my observation, which is her right. I moved on and examined the wine more. Still, still with that slow musty circular sense. Either way, like with the two girls from Lancaster, there was an interaction from a singular wine. That envelope, at home, will bring more of this. More books, more muse and pages to thieve.