Merlot.

A Gundlach-Bundschu.  Not sure about the vintage.  Could go check but I need timeshare in chair to close day.  Big kids asleep, little HL on his last feeling before bed.  This bottle certainly in the shop.  Why wouldn’t it be.  Everything any wine should be and with a tag that’s human not breaking any bank or wallet or on-the-go pocket book.  This Merlot reminding me that I started with the grape type, to not think, just remember that initial sting of curiosity and love for wine.  Calling Mom from San Ramon and asking her what I should have for dinner with a friend coming over.  22 at the time. And now look at me, 41.  Wine telling me to not think about that. To stop…. Just sip.  Stop writing, even. 

Some smoke, looping cherry shapes and takes, now more into a chocolate insinuation couples with sweet leaves of some kind and a salty air.  I hate “descriptors” as you know, and I have the word descriptor, but the half-full bowl tells me to tell just that, those notes.  To read more musical in my wine writing.. jam session, ‘nother sip, on a trip, somewhere.. where…?