Morning writing in nook. Feeling especially musical and beatific this morning. Possibly from the morning being sans Road bumps with kids and their A.M. dispositions. Not sure. But I’m in the mode and mood to do something, today. Lead out, so I sub in taking crew to Richmond District.
Going again regular motions and patterns, perpetuations, today. How every vintage is different, year to year. Even if the block selection is the same and the same oak and yeast and all dimensions contributing are the same, the year will sing a different song, in a different key. Today different but not just for sakes of contrast, new invention or new direction…. I don’t know. The espresso in this latte has me wound and spun, singing alongside it. Thought in thought, birthing more thought.. Much of it from wine, yes, but the rest from the moment around me.
Sonic employees in breakroom getting their coffee and or morning snacks, breakfast, whatever, and I hear some of what they say through the music. But I often write that. What now then… the envelop. Like $150-something in it. For what. Am I just saving to save like an old friend, Chris, said he was doing several years ago. More than twenty past, when we both worked at Sears in the sporting department.
Mike writes down his plan for wine, his winery, him. He does it again, this time with different words, not so much varied emphasis. He teaches himself to write again in writing down his wine aims, seeing the view from a hillside site, Cabernet, some Merlot, Chardonnay. He walks the vineyard with his sister and some vineyard manager expert bloke she connected. Mike knows it’s happening now. His wine story, his winery, wine encompassing his beats and paragraphs. It’s a good day, he says to himself. Closer to wine, closer to a Room, a quarter where others will be with him. This morning, this day, this move and the next, paragraph and the lines composing them, perambulating in possibility, meter and verse from one cordon to next. And all from money he started racking to an envelope.
Next week, to Napa. To taste different interpretation and new characters, voices and rooms and Roads, hills and beats. Mike searches through wine’s denotative and conno’, learns about where he is and what he’s doing, why he’s had all the jobs he’s had—To bring him here, to be with wine for the bliss and grinning percussion to her step, soul, arrangement.
Mike smiles, looking around the Sonic breakroom, seeing that this is making him more HIM—more a writer and more an explorer in the principle pillars and ideologies of wine. Madness, the hilarity of how it all came together. Something people always say but Mike has always shrugged.
Last two day with Field Sales. Next week in B2B boat. Learning, as I did when in wine’s room, those first days. Like life started over and kept going, one story ending all in erratic conversing symphony. More than emboldened this morning, more than with accelerated voltage, but a storm of inquiry and wild exploration, me in a new station and day’s dazin’.