Tonight Pinot was

seen and felt differently. There was more. I don’t know how else to say it. There wasn’t simplicity, but something like it. Honesty, approachability, something. It wasn’t Pinot, it was more. Not some fashionable name you just say to say it, telling people you drink it. There was love there tonight, at Mom and Dad’s. Love.

How I’m still awake, moving and alive,

cognitively cogent and coherent is miraculous.  Lively radiant, glowing day in Marin.  Opened Krug Chenin Blanc, poured self a glass which could very well be the capping of night, and then soon to bed. Meeting with Lead group in morning, 7am.  Not sure what will be folded into the meeting, the deliverables as much I hate that word, but my story so far on the B2B side had proven more than enriching, elevating, a prognostication and game of its own.  Keep momentum a momentum.

For the day, I felt no signs of exhaustion till I had my meeting with Mark at 2.  I told him what I’d done, wake before 3 and couldn’t go back into any horizontal field as I started thinking about the day ahead of me.  And now I’m here, glass of white, 8:12, and unsure of how much longer this writing runner and daddy, wine light can be lit, literary, in the day.  Feel like HST in his dash for the dream, American or whatever, and me for my wine Room, or tasting quarter.  Everything I write is work as wine is the fruition of work, the butterfly after all her stages.

First sip of the Chenin and far past the crisp or fresh, pristine beam I think of from the tasting room.  Was thinking about opening the Rose I bought for Alice but then no I couldn’t how could I she’ll come home from her trip ‘cross country and want just that, a cold glass of Rose.  Relax.  So I left it alone.  Mom told me to not bring anything to the Pinot tasting tomorrow night which looks like will only entail parents and self.  Bought a ’16 Davis Bynum.  Not a bad point of pricing, and I’m curious to see what’s sung from the bottle.  Have I had one of these before?

from a journal


Friday.  But you know my opinion and stance on Fridays.  So what.  It’s Friday yes and to some that’s something, but I don’t care.  I’m working tomorrow, and the next day, the day after that.  I’m a blogger, writer, writer before a blogger and always noting something, so days off are days of others, not me.

Resolving to not spend any more money, today.  Not one penny.  What about lunch.  I need something to eat at that time, always do.  So what do I do.  Use change.  Yes.  Get as many quarters as I can, that’s lunch.  The quarters don’t matter, today, this meaningless Friday.

At the coffee spot same as yester’, with a 4-shot latte and the back table all to self.  About 40 minutes to self before I have to get to office to be a professional.  Professional.  What.  I’m learning.  Educating myself closer to 40 I get, knowing that all I want is the world, every Road I can find, any wine I haven’t tried, and sip and scribble overlooking a street, a canyon with a river somewhere in Switzerland.  That’s my most vocal and mobile and noble of “goals”.

Every morning should be this, time with self.  Friday or whatday.

The morning,

taking time to conceive and receive the day that approaches. Of course start with writing…

But as well, more. More of me. More recognition that my office is nearing.. my studio, my workspace. Teaching from more than a community college classroom.

More through day… my core’s true say.