His stories, his sense and interpretation of life and life events, how he sees everything, I still see with the same enamor as when I was young. His story about the statue in Mali, how he still thinks about the night I nearly died in the hospital. He said he was taking notes after reading Karl’s work, the Karl had his poised to write, or return to writing ideas, certain fascinations of prose. I offered with told and telling humility, as with my students, “Just write, you can polish later, if you want to.” Honored to even offer that idea to someone like Dad, who’s traveled the world nearly ten or twenty times over. Dad had me thinking about my writing workshop idea, freeness int he journal, in the me-pages and you-sentences. I’m always instructed by him, and I know being as humble s he is that he would say it’s nothing, that he’s not a Bob Coleman and “just an airline pilot”, but this dinner, tonight, has me seeing something in this character that I’d never seen before and wondering why I’m seeing it now at 41.
Quiet in kitchen, everyone asleep upstairs. This Anderson Valley Pinot and I having a discussion, about everything. Being an AE, writing about wine, what’s next in my wine story… should I only write about wine, all the time, everyday… like HST, just chase wine and wine stories, wine people, write wine essays and follow myself to different vineyards. Telling Dad the story of when I realized I wanted out of the industry, walking that SB block on the Roth property, had me seeing the irony or bright poignancy in that walk, that although I knew I needed to leave the industry it was wine that made me see myself and my aims clearer.
Just after 10 now. Time to close day. One more glass after this one, hopefully waking early enough to run. Or write. I keep getting distracted by this goddamn phone. I mean, why. What’s on it that’s so important, so crucial, so pivotal. Is anything in any of these accounts or apps as instrumental or defining as one of Dad’s stories? Fuck no.. so you know what, done. Done with the phone for the night. Or, until I finish this entry anyway. I’ll be honest.
Starting the design of the course.. the journal course… all pen to paper. And FREEDOM…. Liberation remains the aim. Our own words situate self in a new hue when we read and re-read them. Tomorrow morning, page. Actual page. Not a screen on this device, but line. Pen moving. Me writing. Everything that you’d expect from a real— This wine, much more gripping and of rhetoric that I thought it’d be. Makes me miss the winery, being in a tasting room, on Lancaster’s property. Should I write only wine… I’m in this AE project, but that’s what being an AE is.. About Everything, right? And much of my everything IS wine. So, I return to where this was, this is, this ball begin its roll. Not like the other wine “writers”. They don’t write. That have their names, a score, a blurb, then they tour and get free passes to tastings, “press tastings”, get drunk, maybe sign autographs and talk about whatever…. I’ll be more like Dad, dedicated to story, the narration, the book, the travel, the Now… character and scene. Tonality, the next class, the instruction.
Reaction to Now: Zen, quiet, what I need. After dinner, and Dad’s stories and instruction, I use this room to plan the day next. Forget my phone, and even before the next glass, I see the vineyard walk in my vineyard, wanting win to be in every angle, corner, life-step and sow. My poor friend, death so young and me still here. I need to forget about worry, about others’ opinions and estimations, what certain people might think or say. Just write. This kitchen, my church, my kneel, my Light.