6/28 – Started the $1/day.  Decided, it’s for winemaking.  The writing, I can release anytime, and I shouldn’t have to save for my projects, for my Art.  I should have the freedom to release when wished.  But winemaking’s different, I get that.  So far, I have $14.50 in the envelope.  Would have more, much more, if I didn’t put all that money back into my CC’s balance.  It was “responsible,” I know, but not at all fun.

Today, I think I’m on the mountain, which I love.  Hopefully I’ll get a free second, either at day’s start or end-end to scribble something.  Want to be involved in all parts of terroir, to fully grasp what’s around me, the fruit I’ll use for my wines.  Katie, my little sis winemaking professor, still in France.  She’ll be home Saturday, I think.  Need to trap her at some point and talk about ’12.  Need to have this year’s Cab project in motion before too late [even though I’m sure her and I could throw something together at last minute].  Just put $8 more into “Winemaking” envelope.  Have it hidden, in one of the writing capsules in closet.  Not sure why I told you that, but…  Was asked yesterday, quite interrogatively, “What do you ultimately want to do in the wine business?”, as if the directness would somehow arouse cautious instinct; to be censored, careful.  I answered, in simple sequence, “I want to be a winemaker.”

Have to leave, 7 minutes from now.  Should revisit [hate that word, how guests sometimes use it as a sly way to have more wine poured for them] the Sauv Blanc, write more notes on what I like in its character content.  The three Cabernets, going to give them a little time.  But if I do sip them at all today, I’ll write what I can.  Today could be busy.  Hope it is.  For the writing.  And, for my wine[?].

 

 

log — Saturday, 5/19/12

Last night, finally had a chance to taste MKCS, once home from the AV gala–where I tasted some amazing Sonoma County/Alexander Valley Cabernets.  Katie had dinner with Alice, and brought with her a sample of our inaugural production.  I was pleasurably shocked with what I tasted.  Nice fruit up front, with herbal song from nose to finish.  Already a formidable tannic tango.  Found a new winery last night, with which I now find Self strangely obsessed.  Last night, they poured an ’07 Cabernet.  Ordered two bottles today by phone, which are to be delivered to AV Winery early morrow.  I’ll log the name in later entries.

Couldn’t wait to get to keys, and now can’t find any words.  Not sure about transition ahead…  Don’t want to line any specifics, but I’m just at loss.  Think I just need to be on paper.  I do have notes from today, in the little notepad, but am much too lazy to arch and bend vessel to grab it from back pocket, as I just sit on this couch, typing, nursing a Racer 5.  Jack tonight, more than vocal with me.  This little character, aging so fast that I have no reason to believe he’s not taunting me.  Why my writing style’s changed.  Why it’s faster, sloppier.  More Human.  Tomorrow morning, need to wake early, for my 128 sitting.  Didn’t have one today, as I had to be in at 9am.  May have been why I was in such a toxic temperament when I walked through the Room’s doors.

Remember walking through the caves today, thinking how frustrating it is not to write every thought that passes in my perceptive boundary. “What if I forget this thought?” I can remember thinking.  Obviously, I didn’t.  But, I now understand, “So what if I did?” IT contributes to my role as Artist, Writer; Diarist.  Thoughts don’t always have to be written.  Sometimes, that’s the most Literary form of writing, that which isn’t put to paper.  OR screen.  Haven’t sipped the Racer in a clod of minutes, excuse me…

10:39pm.  Monday night, another tasting here at home.  Thinking I need to focus on Sauv Blancs, 1 Cab (one of the bottles being delivered tomorrow).  AND, more importantly than wine, MUSIC.  Treated Self to a $50 iTunes gift card today, when picking up the Su Casa takeout for Alice & I.  But even still, with this gift, I keep stressing in this Writer’s life.  Am I “caught up?” Did I leave anything out?  What if I’ve lost thoughts?  Well, I tell Self, “If anything was worth remembering, you would have remembered it, and it’d be in the journal.  One of them.” Just put it all into verse, song, I’m thinking.  This prose, tiring for me, the reader.

10:49pm.  Thinking about our Cab, Katie’s and mine, MKCS.  Yes, I was tired when I sipped it, but that little bottle woke me up, redirected my attention and irrevocably focusing me on Autonomy.  Wine Autonomy, with Writing logging each step.  Speaking of Winemaking, my research…  Didn’t do any today.  I honestly didn’t have time.  But it was on mind, from 9 to 6:15p, when I left.  And you know what else I entertained, while walking through the cave, about the estate…  Flying.  Airplanes.  Just like Dad.  He said that if that was ever something I wanted to do, I should start with gliders.  Should I?  I’d rather do that than skydive, or rock climb.  And, probably something I’ve never before logged: it’s always been something I’ve wanted to do.  And not just for the writing.  Just to fly.  To experience the magic of flying.  As Dad has, many times over.  I don’t want any “bucket list.” I just want to act, write about it.  Think I may need another Racer.  Then write in its ripples.

re-turn, more learned

4/12/12.  Back at the keys, and I have no idea what to push.  Kept notes all day today, in one of the small mead journalist notepads I have on me from time2time.  The ones I call “flip-pads.” Everything from characters, to situational reactions, to verse.  Thinking verse may be the most lucrative, and conducive form for me now, given all in motion around me.  Today, 3 tours.  All couples.  One gentleman asked me–the man on tour 2–”Do you ever write in here?”, as we walked through the cave.  Told him I hadn’t yet, but I now plan to as a result of his mention.  Why HAVEN’T I written in the caves yet?  Will, next shift.  If I have time.  See Self, clearly now,  writing for 8+ hours a day.  For income, yes.  But, more crucially, for peace.  So many notes in this little notebook.  Don’t have a clue what to share with this log.  And maybe I won’t share anything tonight.    Or ever.  Maybe they’re just meant to be notes, for me.  Will leave it for tomorrow morning’s Martin Eden-esque session.  Setting alarm for 5:50am.  And I will leave bed at that time.  Start coffee, and hit 2k.  Short prose.  Poetry, verse.  SONG.  All I have time for, now, as a new dad.  Well, just as a dad, period.  And I like that I have less time, that I’m struggling to write; that I can only, many times, fit in notes, crazde poetic yawns, spurts, into whatever paper I can get my hands over.

Just finished a glass of ’09 Cab.  Trying to determine which vintage I’m leaning towards, principally.  And I hate speaking in generalities with wine, you might already know.  But that’s the exercise I’ve put on Self, tonight.  Have to say that ’09 has a more uniquely crafted continuum than 2007’s set.  Again, I’m just using the two Cabernets I tonight tasted as evidence, or any validation hint…  But, thinking of other bottles I tasted from these two years, I’m realizing that ’07 was like that pop culture film that everyone loved, kept watching so many times on account it was easy to understand; It was appropriately luminous, palate-friendly, but formulaic, too easy, and often too loud; a ceaseless circle–big fruit, huge tannin, expansive mouthfeel, elevated volume in each taste stage.  2009, sharing fruit that went through struggle, giving us as consumers a unique character; one defiant, seductively evasive, strangely charming; it educates us, our palates; She takes US on a tour, shares stories, doesn’t aim to appease; She’s truthful, tangible, wine’s validity paradigm.  Wish I didn’t wash my glass out downstairs.  Need another pour…

No.  Need to be ready for early rise.  Tomorrow morning’s 2,000 words.  And yes, I’m targeting a word amount.  And that “word count log,” or whatever I have it titled here on the monster’s polluted beach of saved files.  Just pulled the little pages from my back pocket.  Growing quite attached to this little notebook, I realize, listening to some sensuous track on my Wine Bar beats Pandora station.  One note: “Fear of somms”.  As in, sommeliers.  I have no idea why any winery would want to change their habits, tasting flights, tour progressions, verbiage, or anything just because a sommelier’s coming to taste at their facility.  Where’s the individuality, integrity, Autonomy in that?  Certainly no Artistry.  I respect the humble sommelier, not the self-anointed one, thinking he/she’s deserving of some special show.  That’s not Wine.  And it’s certainly not THIS writer.

10:49pm.  Rain, trying to return, like me to this keyboard.  But I think it’s tired.  Wonder what Kelly’s been creating, in recent days.  Haven’t heard from her.  Her character, becoming a challenging equation.  Think I need a tutor.  OR at least a mentor.  Maybe I should just let days’ moments tell me how to involve her frames into my Literary games.  Note symbols, suggestions.  Unintended existential nudges.  Wait, let Her happen.  She’d tell me to pour mySelf another glass of the ’09.  “You deserve it,” I hear her saying.  She’d more than likely urge me to taste that ’07 Sonoma County Cab [didn’t mean to surrender appellation] just to be sure that, and why, I’m siding with ’09.  And she’d do so without assumed instructional tenor.  She’s musical in a way I could only pray to write.

4 minutes till I make mySelf lay.  Tomorrow morning’s session, one for my book.  Historic, hardly morbid.  All victorious, and altogether glorious.  In those 2000 words, I want 3 standalone’s, written with intent to recite.  So if it’s prose, I want to have both ’07 and ’09 attributes.  A non-vintaged dexterous dart.  One more glass before I’m done, or passed, past.

Another Cab, 2005

Tonight’s pour, stronger than I expected.  It’s character, sophisticated, confident, commanding.  Don’t really want to write that much, as I did plenty today.  In the cube, at the café.  Still reflecting over yesterday’s slice into my shell.  Today, I was calm from rise, to commute, shift and Literary Lunch, to return home.  And now, in front of the keys.  Self-publishing, my FINAL resolution.  But, no such funding available.  So, all to these blogs.  Both, their own “brands.” As much as I malign that word, concept.  This is writing, wine.  I’m not a commercial clone.  Never will be.  As Dad once said, I have too much Creativity in me.  Another sip…  Surprised at its flex, this many years past its birth.  It is from Paso, though.  A place where Cabernets can startle you with their strengthened stride.

Even the stand-alone pieces, up on this blog, till I can gather funds to print pages, spread them like BB’s activity.  Miss teaching like I can’t even innumerate.  Lecturing on Orwell’s work, dissecting those pages with my Solano sections.  NVC, still not talking to me.  And that’s fine.  Obvious, within their structure, and spread agenda-smeared system, compiling insecurity.  Lovely, I’ve moved on.  Miss my students, though.  From Napa, Solano, SRJC, SSU.  Stanford, still radar’d.  Sipping to those images, fantasies.  Again.

Didn’t get to read much of my winemaking book today on my written lunch hour.  But, I kept mySelf in ink.  So many characters on that floor today.  Think I saw Jewel writing, which surprised me, as I didn’t know she wrote.  But can I be sure she was writing Creatively?  She must have been, the way she sat in the nook of the coffee house, on that bench, legs extended, looking out at 1st Street’s eastbound expand from that palm-print clouded window.

Want to print some pages.  But what would that do?  Can’t afford to copy them, a manuscript’s worth.  Frustrated.  I want a bloody book out, already.  You know what, I’m printing a page.  Just one.  1.  There.  Decreed.  That deserves a sip.  Spicy licorice, blackberry.  Tannins I’ve never experience before.  This bottle, an experience, honestly.  Would love to make a Cab like this, but Sonoma Valley can’t submit this character form to palates.  Don’t think the climate permits.  I could be wrong, though, mind you.  Should have Katie taste this, see if she agrees.  Maybe it’s this wine’s wise old age giving it such electricity.  Should probably get ready for bed, pound the rest of this pour.  Shame.  Should never rush wine, but time is time; A cruel devil.  10:20p.  Yes, need to get downstairs.  Wagering a lot, I just realized, giving all to these techno-dependent “blogs”.  Disgusted with Self, but I have to do it, given where I am in Life, what I want as a writer.  Oh, have to print my one–1(!!!)–page.

 

[1/11/12 – W]