Henry upstairs crying and I’m writing through it.

Tried holding him, changed his diaper, gave him new clothes.  I just can’t right now.  Yesterday driving on Dry Creek Road with Thievery Corporation or Tycho, or whatever…. What I need now.  He cries that cry now that I can’t take and have no idea how to remedy.  Will try holding him again…

Snuck in room, saw him sucking on his wrist, or palm, part of his hand. Didn’t want him to see me so I didn’t get as close as I could.  His eyes, partially closed.  This is definitely his tired groan and cry.  Intensity has diminished a bit, but it’s still at that point where I am unable to do a thing, or even tolerate it.  So I’m here at the desk writing though it, thinking of the Unti vineyard, my own vineyard one day soon.  Putting 50 more words, or one less, on the vvv blog.


Wine tells us to find something we’ve never seen before.  To keep looking for those supernovae of Newness.  That music that engages us and reminds us we’re present, here to experience it, love those chords and ghostly percussions.

Going forward with this blog and devoting the entirety of my character, to every wine I taste and every vineyard row I walk.


Now, entirely quiet.  He may be asleep.  Not going up to check.  Not turning on — Never mind.  He’s awake, but barely.  Was going to say not turning on music as I don’t want to introduce any new noise.  Just hear crows, one of the neighbor’s stupid fucking dogs, smaller birds, then the fridge makes some weird and light thud.  House settles…. And again.  Crows in distance excited and communicative.  Again summoning the image and sounds of those birds from yesterday, in the moment molding cloud and a color-running voice and face, against green forest hills then blue.

More and more wine is in this room with me, the journal I brought yesterday but didn’t write in till I got home.  Reading the Syrah tech card, the Syrah being my favorite in the flight.  100% in grape identity but from different blocks, and clones so I guess not 100% but close.  All Syrah, though.  I’m biased and incredibly favoring, almost in an irrational way when it comes to Syrah.  From the St. Francis days, and Dad one time saying he wanted to plant Syrah in his back yard.  I still think that’s a fine idea, by the way.  Also, Glenn Alexander of Sanglier Cellars who’s still one of my wine heroes starting his label with a barrel of Syrah I think in ’06.  And there it is… the answer.  To everything.  In the wine and writing about her…. Thinking about my tech cards, and how I’ll write them.  About the Syrah, the SB, Cab… Merlot.

Wine showing me something I’ve seen several times in the past, just now there’s a new translation.  With how old I am, and how I keep getting older.  The kids do, too.  I need to make something for them…. This.  This story, these wines, these books.. everything.  With Henry now quiet, I’m back on that drive yesterday, looking left and wondering what each vine is doing, will do.  How would it feel if I were walking right there, next to her and her neighbors.