Seriously, how is it fucking three o’clock already?  Parents arrived safely at the coast.  Thinking about them, all they’ve done for me, how healthy they are and loving and present.  And my dad with his writing and business/econ sense, unbelievable.

Again nearly choking on gratitude.  Looking at tickets, stable.  May get out of here sooner than I thought.  Gas in Rav, set.

Nothing really to write other than how grateful I am, and humbled.  And the negative leaches that circle me, I’m deaf.

The peace in this room is dumbfounding.  Wine ideas pounding on my thought columns and banisters, every which way and new ways when I don’t expect.

Letting the quiet talk to me through its nothingness.  Rich and clean, a time for me and only me.  This is needed.  Thoughts of wine and walking vineyards, my kids playing between the rows.  I need them involved, I’m doing it for them.  Not that they need to make it their career, but at least visit me and their aunt on the crush pad.

Wishes, warranted.