Starting day waking early with Jack, getting Emma to somehow get out of her bed which now has a tent atop, she demanding to rest in tent. Leitmotif, he stubbornness in the morning. Her refusing to get out of bed. With MAF’s eventual help, was done.
Telling self to slow this morning. It’s Friday.. more music, a little slower pace. People in my department taking off the day, to do whatever. Me only wanting to write, more poems, essays…. Divulge everything. Being 41, wanting more, feeling behind but somehow right on the purposed track.
Drew dropping off a six pack of Westwood wines last night along with sample of single-vineyard Cabernet. A 750ml. Don’t think that’s ever happened. The wine, speaking to me and telling me to make wine, never again break from wine as my topic. To have all essays put in wine foot and meter, beat and easing deed somehow.
My kids and how they play and just whatever they want say, coaxing me to play more with wine. See it as more than an industry. There’s a stem from each sip, from each conversation, from what I tasted last night and writing my ten nuit notes. New practice as a result of yesterday’s 4 miles and breaking the day up into four time-talks. Didn’t wake at harvest hour this morning. Feel like I’m in trouble, like I’m soon to be reprimanded or written up, something.
I am. By me.
Alarm wasn’t set, so how in any way or practice table did I expect to wake in time to harvest? Has to change, I tell self, and now. With my calls today… businesses in Rohnert Park, and SF (marketing and ad, PR firms), whatever I can find in Marin and Berkeley maybe.
Haven’t checked account balance. Rather abetting commission check landing today as well as the SRJC monies. How do I move funds so I more quickly move closer to the shop and label, to a time where I’m leaving Drew a bottle of my Cabernet that I made with my sister…?
Coffee in my new cup, the one I just bought self with the quotes and literary lines. Deep sip, wishing I took off more time for Henry. He’s asleep, of course. Sleeping well last night waking this morning demanding fuel right before I left and now quiet.
Can’t stop thinking about the Cabernet. What was it. Could tell it’s not ready for selling, or even final bottling, but there was a command and a ponder to its color, sip, feel, music, playful way it greeted then taunted you toward sip next. Day 61 in 365 project. 304 days to get in shop. In office. Run again today, see what ideas lasso themselves around your synapses, your senses, wish cascade, vision storm. Where you see you.
Make fun of wine more, people in the industry…. Not to be mean, not even to be funny. I guess just to do it. Some of them are just asking for it anyway.