Do I ever sip Rose. Yes. I did last night. Though, I wasn’t wowed. And was it good? I guess, but how good can Rose be? Enough of Ro-zay. How about wines that do capture and convince me… what does that? Pretty much anything but Rose. Kidding…. Sauvignon Blancs and Chardonnays do hold potential to haunt and bewitch. Cabs, Pinots (even though I’m not in the whole Pinot-whoa that began with Sideways)… Not going to just list varietals. That’s not writing. I look for and welcome any wine that tells me something, that instructs me on wine and why I write about it, her. Why do I do this… why has merely writing about wine snapped me out of the mood I was in yesterday and that partially clawed into this morning. What is wine, about it that does this to me, that always convinces me to turn around when I’ve turned around and away from her.
Wine isn’t a symbol, not a metaphor, but a reminder. That I’m only here for so long, and that’s not so long. So snap out of it. I’m not one to write about wine and just slap a score to its name and accompany with some remedial barely paragraph-long narration. This, SHE, is more.
What winery should I write at, today. If I do, if I can. Which. Thinking DeLoach on Olivet, or Hook & Ladder. Something close. Don’t want to drive all the way to Sonoma Valley, St. Francis or Kunde, or St. Jean, ‘cause that’s where my head goes with near immediate inkling.
More than wine, it’s knowing that the time you waste being angry, or low for some unexplained reason, resenting something, you forfeit life. You surrender opportunity to LIVE. And for me, WRITE. Today being one new, obvious invitation to climb, I think of my favorite book, or one of them. Duke looked everywhere for the DREAM. And not necessarily an American one. But FREEDOM, a wildness that would purvey and provide his heaven. His manuscripts. Seeing this as an embrace of what’s at your 12 and not a rejection of it. And in all other directions as well.
Running tonight. Then when back more for book, and blog, both, whatever. Just more than yesterday. No more letting a mood sink me, letting some force or pseudo-force altogether within my control, control and steer, decompose me. That’s no longer allow to materialize.
Enthusiasm, even for what I’d rather not do. That’s what will truly joy ado.