Or, no… sit here and write. Semester starting in only a few days. My last, for sure. I’m going to write the whole thing…. Short prompts, more questions for students and self, and more rejection of their confining course outline.
Watching the news a bit ago, and fell bored quick. Same stories, so back to the chair. Wine thoughts, the blog and what I open tonight if anything. Maybe no, don’t. Sip water, write about wine memories like the Viognier bit, and comb through memory, see what I can use. The Dry Creek winery in ’10 and ’11 working with that wing nut TR manager. How I loved working with my buddy Ronnie until she fired him. Loved the event there, but there was a traffic problem. They couldn’t get any, or not enough to really make the place sustainable. Which is why I think the Terlato family sold it and then it went dead. Under, out of business. Ran into the winemaker a couple years ago. Brian, nice guy. I remember he would always do tastings with me and one in particular where he met me in the tasting room and let me film him going through the flight and explaining each, answering all of my probably annoying oenology questions. Oak, TA, pH, what brix he picked at, that kind of thing.
I’m always returning to wine, and thoughts of. My wines, when I do get around to making them, or my sister making them and me as the sales director. Whatever form it would take, the story would loudly augment itself. Through what I produce, sell. I look to a case I have save on a website. Go ahead and press PURCHASE. Why not. Need more to write…. Need to write last night’s Cabernet.
Only wine in my story, I say to myself again. No more bunkum. Wine does this, center me. Like a teacher whose class I have no choice but to take and I don’t mind the subduing. Giving me prompts, ideas for the semester. Then I come back to her, another bottle, the notes and color, family, walks in vineyard blocks, another tasting room in which I worked, sold, narrated.