From the fires, from people wanting their voice to only have s one-upping or lowering impact on others, the whamdemic, anything I don’t want in the sentences. Have to write students again, later, as class is cancelled by order of the JC president.
One thing making me think and laugh and write this morning are the two tents in the office. Yes, Jack and Emma have made their invasion seen and strangely official. Jack with his Spider-Man edifice, Emmie with one from the Frozen cartoons or some princess reference. Have coffee, my last K-Cup. Then to Starbucks after.
Sky, still that fire smoke tint but not quite as obvious and foreboding as yesterday. Hear progress was made on fire, which is a relief. Not fearing any danger for us here in Coffey Park, though I did a bit night before last when I could see flames on the hill or mountain to the East, driving up San Miguel to get gas just in case we were evac’d.
Found pictures on camera I want to use, write from… all vineyards. No cheesy wine glass shots. Getting tired of those, honesty. Nothing really literary about them other than I’m drinking wine here’s the glass from an odd angle and there ya go…. The vineyard is where I’m the most me, where I feel the most pages and lines. When at Roth I’d walk the SB lot every morning. That’s where I had the understanding that I had to move on from just working in a tasting room, pouring the same flight over and over, doing the same tour of the property and into the cave dying to find new words to personify what they were seeing.
Department admin sent me some new leads. I’ll be calling on Monday, first thing. Eager to get back into the AE sea…. Line up leads and calls, appointments. PRODUCE, work, speak stories and why I’m doing what I’m doing. Wrote yesterday about the ‘anti’ approach and concept, and Monday I start. Put into work and manuscript motion.
Still waking up, coming to observational power for morning. 8:22am, slept in a little after being up with Henry till a touch after 1am. He in that little swinging, vibrating chair and staring at something. Me watching some predictable and banal ghost hunting show. Should have been writing, but I remember feeling tired. More than usual. Yes it was 1am, but it was more than just that thought. Was seeing my tasting room, walking MY vineyards…. No fires, no overwhelming crowds although I do miss that occasionally, like the ones I’d see at Kunde or St. Francis, Dutcher Crossing on occasion.
Picturing my wines. No Zin. SB, Chardonnay 1/2 oak 1/2 steel or neutral, a Syrah (no I don’t want to make Pinot anymore), and a Cab, then maybe a CS/Merlot blend. Not sure about “invitation only” as I said I wanted to do at first, or even “by-appointment”. And I don’t have to figure that all now, have some plan in place. Just focus on the wine, THE VINEYARDS.
Just checked on little Henry, still sleeping. I see him, Jack and Emma taking over the winery and wine shop or whatever business it turns out to be, later in the story. Looking down at him in his little bassinet I saw it, clearly. He on the crush pad with me as I’ve said before, or helping his Auntie Katie assemble or disassemble a barrel, or helping me stock shelves.
Opened the Duckhorn last night. Not heavy, not passive, just a dimensional and inter dimensional understanding of Napa Cabernet. Oak was detectable but not obnoxious or invasive. It was a like a new song, a new track I needed to hear for my love of jazz, music itself. This morning with this coffee, I review notes I quickly etched in the 1948 page…. “Delicate but with weight, assertiveness, pronunciation and piano approach and play, echo…”