journal

9:53.

Thankful to Dad for setting up this laptop.  Pictures from my old device transferred, that I haven’t seen in over a year, now excavated and appreciated.  Dad told me long ago, when we had that one dinner at Monti’s, sitting inside and sharing that bottle of PlumpJack Merlot…. He telling me I should focus on wine writing, writing about wines the way I do.

Sitting at the counter, the island in the kitchen in the house that he and Mom helped us buy… and after the death of my friend…..  sipping this Dutcher Crossing Cabernet, from the property, the one we all called the ‘PR’.  Proprietor’s Reserve…. I’m seeing wine and all of this differently.  Think Dad was sending me a message— NO, more than that, with giving me this laptop and having all the wine and barrel and vineyard shots in-tact, here for me to access whenever I need.  What does he suggest I do….?  Quit Sonic and self-divide fully into this cuter-riled and glass-told poetique?  No… Dad is much more pragmatic than that.  Dad is telling me to be a REAL AE… about EVERYTHING.  What I do as an AE is to bridge continents, realize whole hues of the scribbled framing of my Now…. Too codified, my tongue, I know, but my prose pulse is audible and tangibly peripatetic…

Dad sending me a picture of when I was very young, flying a plane, a ‘BA 146’ as it’s called, over Yosemite.  I remember that, more than clearly.. he pulling me out of school to do something that to this day I don’t know anyone that’s done what I did.  This laptop urges me to fall further into memory, what’s been, where I was and where I am with this Cabernet…. Wine begs and quickly reminds what’s narrative is, what is should catapult to any would-reader.

Need another glass.  Wish I could share this with Dad.  Wonder what he’s doing right now.  I remember at this hour when I was younger he’d be in his office, and if he weren’t working he’d be sipping some decaf, eating about 10 M&M’s slowly, playing Solitaire. I would always marvel at his peace, his zen and subtle coipition and placement at that desk, one of two in his study at the Bayview Drive home.

I’m pulled dimensionally into a memory quarry.  How can I not be, my age now 41 and with 2 babies that are more persistent and whip-quipped than me.  Dad has always told me to think for myself or others will think for you.  Think that’s why I’m so pulled into past images and scenes, flights….  I calm, look at glass empty, want another and want a winery for my family, a farm, the kids saying hi to people as they walk in… just to write them as I write Dad, the wine and people reacting, like Dad suggested I do… JUST WRITE WINE.  Forget all this other shit.  And being an AE further focuses me, frankly.

I’m not thankful.  I’m more brightly realized by a life with.