Switching to water after plenty coffee.  Kids crazy going back and forth from skirmish to peace, disputed objects and territory then right back to civility like nothing every happened.

Bringing up Henry’s bed and …. Baby lotion?  For his forehead, yes.  Dry skin, like a mitt, or elephant’s shoulder.

Kids civil for the moment.  Me down here seeing this as survival now, sheltering in place willingly to protect little Henry, all of us in here like those fighter fish in the smallest bowl.  It’s not like that but it’s perfectly like that.  Me earlier in the closet recording thoughts into my phone, seeing this as the book, as what singularly will take me to the vineyard, to the winery, traveling the country and world talking about wine and writing, about building a wine business… never losing sight of wine or the writing of it, your story, even when it’s the last thing you want to do.  Like winemakers still on the crush pad after an 18 hour day… they’re done, they’re agitated, snappy, they don’t want to shovel another lot, or sort anything, barrel anything.. they don’t want to do wine anything ever again, or that’s how they feel.  But they do.

Same with writing….

And of course, same with being a parent. There are times when you just want to get on a plane and escape for a week, covid or no.  You don’t, though.  You stay in place.  And if a writer, you write it.  All.  All of it.  All the toys on the floor and no matter how many times you tell your daughter to clean her room, no matter how you threaten or bribe, or praise her from something she did days or weeks ago to give her a different mood, she won’t budge.  “No…” Or my favorite, “You can do it, Dada.”

Think there’ a message in that….  Thanks, Emmie.