journal

11/14/20

Kids up, coffee.  Cold.  Even with the heater on.  Nothing in head to write, just nothing, no even wine, or running – speaking of, still very much feel yesterday’s 5.07.  Jax complains about the slowness of his iPad, or tablet, and I tell him it must be the battery then he tells me it’s at like 92%, or 96, then I offer the idea that it’s the internet.  He understands I think but is not happy with the speeds what can I do I think but write about it since there’s nothing else to write this morning.

“It works now.” He says, in relief and instruction to me.

“Oh that’s good.” Not sure he gets my tone, it’s okay.  Jack then tells me it’s like how we need oxygen, devices need the internet and wifi to survive.  He laughs at his analogy where I want to write about it, study it, and wonder why he studies things around him in that reel, reality.

I go back to having nothing write.  NOTHING.  And I’m the writer who writes about everything, aren’t I?  Thought I was. Not that the kids are boring, but I’m bored of writing them.  Then what… my winery.  My little production run of four maybe five offerings vintage to vintage.  Glad I don’t have it open now, 2020 not offering much in the way quality fruit I’m told and what an horrible vintage to launch.  Next year, I tell myself again, and the shop… think I want a shop more than my own winery, possibly.  Why not both.  Writing wine in the morning, does in the form of dreams, what. aMonday morning would look like for me… counting inventory, checking account, and registers if I have them and….. May get case from later, to write.  I say that but I’m so behind on wine writing… the H&L SB and Merlot I had last night, Pinot opened night before last.  Wine always brings me back into a certain story, her story…

So, taste more, see my kids helping me in the store, or tasting room.  But maybe I want more than that.  Watching the women talk yesterday about balancing everything, and how the balance is from an imbalance of things…. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?  Me, thinking.  That’s the problem.  This had to be written out, like a therapy session or some type of syllabic self-medication.  Intricate system of sensibility and meditation, here on the couch with a keyboard and coffee and two kids saying they’re bored then suddenly amused by something.  I need to be more like that, not panic when I have apparently nothing to write.  Volte-face, in my attitude and general way.

How to get to my office… the Bottledaux rooms.  From pictures here on the laptop, and everything.. EVERYTHING.  Has to be about everything.  The kids, the apparent blocks or stalls in the writing, the coffee, this laptop given to me as a birthday gift from my dad… the cold, the house, November 2020, 2020 as a year, the pandemic, EVERYTHING.

A-so-E.  About so EVERYTHING… business idea.  What form does it take.  Blogs.  Publishing.  Letters.  Media.  EVERYTHING.  The kids become sillier, as Emma opens a laptop and plays the ABC Mouse game.  Is it a game?  I ask her, she says yes she’s playing the game, and that she’s going to change her brother’s profile.  Learning more from their intuitive inclination and perpetuations.  A modicum of impatience in their movements and activity, but eclipsed by curiosity and an addiction to results, just seeing what happens.

Emma tells Jack not to peak and of course Jack has to peak. Emma threatens to change his profile or avatar, Jack threatens to do the same to her.  This creative battle is a gem den.  Then they’re quiet, I record everything.  They teach me again to include everything, put under one word, in one place, space….  BOTTLEDAUX.  About so EVERYTHING.

Sip coffee.  Read to post to blog.  Stop thinking, just play.  November 2020, and 2020, gifting still.  More pages and more realization of telling, narration.  Now Jack sings, but what.  Laugh.