Tasting over Zoom in 23 minutes.  Got a Pinot from Anderson Valley that I’ve never heard of or even seen on any shelf.  Babies outside playing… better go check on them. 

Oh, they’re upstairs.  How did they do that?  How did they sneak past me?  Was I that wrapped in my own writing, typing these keys and sitting at this desk going over my day in the EOD to Mark?  That tells and teaches me something.  What… that I need to keep doing what I’m doing, going where I’m going.  Write about writing, wine, and retelling the day.  No need to imagine, or even be creative… just be journalistic about – Who what where when, maybe a little why and how.

Jackie taunting his sister, but Emma not backing down, telling him to stop.  I yell up for them to stop, and they for the most part do.

18 minutes till tasting.  Should I look up the winery?  No.  Just taste it as is, something you pulled from the Oliver’s shelf.  Hoping tonight to post two MOCK SOMM pieces, one about last night’s Gruner, and one about one of the handful of wines I’ve tasted over the past week.  Or, I just thought, group them together and write from a comparative station.  Already know which are my favorites… the Westwood bottles, the blends, GSM and the big proprietary bottle.

Can’t forget my fiction piece tonight, short, to the point.  Hemingwayan, but not.  Make the reader work, I tell myself. Yes the same way that Hem does, but in a different circle and surprise.

Wind outside, neighbor’s chimes or gongs gonging.  Don’t think there’ll be another surprise cell with thunder and beating of rain like the other day.  Thought, that would be nice.  Earlier seeing self in Sunriver when this shit is over, writing while one of those angry high dessert storms just sits over the lodge, and I look out at the Southern Golf Course, the river and that bridge, and just sip and scribble.  Soon, I tell self.