Or was it SB.  Every time I’m in the vineyard, I have these sights, these feelings like I’m somewhere else.  And I am, but I’m not.  I’m there with them, in Sonoma County.  I would stop and take pictures however I could and play with how the light would stretch through some slight exposure in the cluster.

I need a vineyard walk.  Badly.  Horribly.  Could have gone for one yesterday while driving around and reaching Olivet Road but decided to keep driving and now I nearly kick myself for doing so.

Nearly the time in the day where I have something, maybe a glass of Chardonnay. Looking at this picture confirms it.  That such is what I ought do.  Stay close to wine, the vineyard even though I’m not there.  Opening the Westwood Chard, I decide.

If I were in the tasting room now, I’d be either on a tour or starting closing, having a glass with one of the girls or outside by myself writing some note, about something someone said in the tasting room.  One of the guests and how they have this very specific insight into a wine that they only tasted for the first time today.

Going to write a definition piece on wine.  Or book.  Wasn’t that what I wanted to do anyway, define winner understand it a bit further through exploration of ideas associate with what I sip and what I see on my vineyard walks?

Last night at dinner with Dad, we did not analyze what we sipped.

We talked, about how it was about time we had a dinner.  How wine was in everything we do, it seems, from Mom getting the on-call gig when they first moved to Sonoma County to Katie and her winemaking and how it’s evolved since she started her trek in production.