4:28pm – Thinking about my winery, beach house, writing.  About wine, being a father, and just driving. Henry not able to be appeased till his mother came home with Jack.  At the desk and hear the barbarian children outside.  Stay in the wine conversations…. Talking self out of this rut and stall, funk and odd angle.

Have some bubbles.  And no, not water.  Sparkling wine….  Emma on a bit of mend, and Jackie moody as he often is, and me in wine dreams.  Syrah from that small producer from Glen Ellen I believe, opened last night.  More what I see myself making.  More body, texture and complexion, but still not enough wild blackberry or that chocolate covered cherry I’ve known to be in Syrah.

Everyone moody.  Escape through words, thoughts, visions, dreams, sight of me at desk looking at the ocean.  No one, just me.

No spending today, so whatever I can find in my small yet bigger than it usually is wine closet, I’m opening.  Not in mood for Blair’s wine, frankly.  Maybe one of those Sebastiani bottles…. Is there something in there I forgot about?

Making wine like a journal page is written, not sure that’ll work…