me now wine

img_645407:40.  Surprised I’m up this early, but I am.  No 3,000 words yesterday but today that won’t be the tangibility.  Meeting at Chalk Hill tomorrow, with other property managers.  Soon as I raised my lids this morrow, I thought about what I wanted from the day.  Aside from the 3,000 words I’m not sure— well, one thing, MUSIC.  Lots and lots, LOTS of music.  MY own music, poetry, and music from favorite artists.  Wine is entirely musical, especially the two bottles from last night, that Cabernet… oh…  Like a character I’d been hoping for, hoping to meet, and finally did.

Went outside to take some bottles out, beer bottles more specifically, and I could smell the burnt structures, the dead fire of the streets on the tracks’ other side.  I stopped and turned around then hurried inside as if there were a fire ghost chasing me.  Nine days since, and the days don’t matter.  They all blend together, they all are wine country cries and a choir of surprise.  Will need a drive today, when Ricardo and his cleaning crew arrive.  Not thinking about that now, only the quixotic day I have ahead of me— these fires, lighting new fire in the wild wine writer, and seeing life and its fragility and utter guarantee void as something of elevated promise and poise.. poetic like this Coltrane sax number.  Dollar bills at left, what am I going to do with them?  How much do I have in my account?  I was paid, wasn’t I?  See…?  These past days are indefinitely defined in an utter lack of definition.

img_6458

Yesterday with Kevin, talking to me about the winery  where he presently works, how management is vehement in being that typical tyrannical oversee of everything, targeting him and his fellow employees and not motivating neither he nor his team.  I mean, financially.  No experiences that would encourage guests to tip, nor the wine club compensation…. I have to ask—  Why is this such a consistency in the wine industry?  Luckily, the Foley mindset is nothing like that, but most of the industry is.  I’ll never understand it, and I have to concede that one of my first thoughts when out of bed was Kevin’s and my conversations last night…. Wine is about community, right?  These first certainly reiterated that.  And kindness, support, generosity.. general enjoyment of life.

Euphony in everything this morning— in the jazz I have on, this cold coffee I made for myself, the cup I’m about to have in its veritable smolder and comforting blaze… the dollar bills at my left.  Put it toward the business, I tell myself.. my business, my Self as a “brand”.. okay, papa of all bloggers, the most tireless writer in the world.  Three thousand words should prove that, 3,000 a day— why not 5k a day?  Be reasonable, I tell myself… how ‘bout between 3 & 5k/ day?  Sounds fair.  Audited little stack… $33.  Not worrying about what that’s devoted or dedicated to.  Gas, more than likely, but I’m not committing, not yet.  Plus additional $13 in bag, then the change which is an utter pain in the ass and hope to convert to cash today.  Don’t care what cut the market’s coin machine takes, I really don’t.  Enough about money… today, drive around, take pictures of vineyards… where?  Along Westside Road, if I can get there— another reality of these goddamn silly-named conflagrations, you don’t know what road’s going to be open and before you even realize you’re being diverted, going some alternate route.

Wine reasons for me, tells me to keep the story the way it was— me tasting wines and img_6457walking vineyards, see the music, listen to the gusts sing through the cordons, now bare from harvest… Madleine Peyroux-like chime and charm to what I’ll hear out there, today.  Can’t get out to Kenwood, my sister’s winery St. Francis… maybe then up to Dry Creek, see my people at Dutcher Crossing, or Sanglier downtown.  I never have days off like this and yesterday me stressing about what I’m to do and money and how I spend my time— “What?” I thought.  “Wine is telling you to build YOU, right now.  Use this time, use these drives, use these wines you sip at might to build your story, to add to it, to be that father of all who blog, the writer who NEVER tires.” I had this thought while driving back too the house on Fulton and Guernville, by the Raley’s I’ve been frequenting more…. Unforeseen lagniappe in all this, starting with that ham and brie sand’ and the Sauvignon Blanc I paired with the Austin Powers sequel.  Wine tells me to have more moments like that— write about THAT.  You taking time to yourself to collect in all this and have a couple sips of SB or whatever and “pair” it with a movie, something to lighten and better brighten the collective mood-ebb of your character, the county.

I used to dream more regularly about my own winery, ‘whoso cellars’.  And looking at this change bag, a literal sandwich plastic baggie intended for food but now occupied by who knows how many coins from how many ever moments and where’s… could be the seeds to my tasting room, my wines, my label, or wine store… why not both, I think.  Have my store, and sell my wines in my store.  Does NO good to preoccupy or stress, worry about when the winery’s going to reopen, or when campus will let students and staff back on.  I have work to do right now, pushing self like locomotive toward a more grand goal.  Going by Schwab today to put some money in account for wine store/winery…. This morning, with this jazz, this coffee, the air purifier at right making this kitchen’s atmosphere forget what happened early-early 10/8, has a writer encouraged, emboldened, enlivened… aimer la vie!  08:24, and now I feel like I’m waking up.  Finally.  Me, now, here, wine country, new story and sense and aims… sprint.

Like a Horse 

Not wanting to be 

Corralled 

Or controlled, only

Seeing open plain and terrain

So I just run, run and go to 

The next highest point.

And me, running to the other side.

Don’t put your hands on me, don’t put

A rope around my necknor pulling me

One way

Or another.

Just interact, compassion, communication–

The air is my addiction, faster I go, faster

I perambulation down that path..

Write myself a song on a treeside.  Would

That work– think so..

Chasing the air and the dragonflies around

The stable, I’m out here, I don’t want to 

See that place, those rectangles– that’s supposed to

Be home?  I’d rather be in the open lone– nothing

More known.. my mind windblown.  Sitting

For a second, need to rest before the river

Crossing.  How long is that.

I don’t know..  everything stops…

And I just stand, expecting the predator 

Type.  But nothing arrives.

My stage is mine still–  not at all

ill.

Just waiting for next trot.

from book…

…stories and music and poetry— this Bobby Hutchinson song, Camel Rise…. Wine is all of this.  How I can afford coffee, how I only now at my old age “know business”, as is said.  Me, now, at the kitchen counter writing thinking about my day and what I want from all of this, where I don’t want to be versus where I should be versus and blended with where I am.  An equation glorious but as well just as much a kerfuffle scenic.

I look at the word count of this document.  31,822…. And I look at past entries and the day number is off.  Who cares, I say to myself.  Focus on the Now, NOW, right now in this kitchen and the Nicholas Payton notes.  Definitely hungry.  Need breakfast, or should I hold off, see how my character reacts.  Not sure what I’m thinking or feeling this morning but it’s certainly something and I need to not so much find out what it is, define it, but actuate within its congruency, or incongruence—  Again, don’t try to define it.  Me in the morning, thoughts and Philosophy, new approaches to everything already in place….

vin jot

At Mom and Dad’s, enjoying quiet.  Tempted to go out on back deck and enjoy night air and see into nothing I can see.  Miles plays and the quiet is an entrapping intoxicant.  Beer, right–  Tonight’s one of those meditative nights you’ll remember forever.  Dad just went to bed and I’m here with my beer, thoughts intrinsically clear.  My tone and mentality, mellow.  Tomorrow, my Friday, but not really.  Teaching.  Doesn’t matter, I don’t want days off.  I want creation all days, each day, all seconds.  This is a moment– something to capture… me at the bar counter at Mom & Dad’s, sipping my beer slow and I won’t lie I might have another after this, enjoying the scenic mute and stillness, pause and peace of all with chatter and clutter replete.

Earlier tonight had an Albariño, followed by Dutcher Crossing ‘PR’ Cab.  Anymore, wine teaches me that I have so much to learn about its momentum and visual, voracity and musical poses.  Distracted for a second, and I know why–  I’m tired.  From the day even though today could have tested me resoundingly more.  Quiet… a funny thing.  Hank Mobley tells me to find my soul station.  Have I?  If I haven’t now I’m sure I will eventually.  Dad brought up tonight the idea of an ‘end-game’.  Very much know what mine be.  ME.  Mike Madigan selling wine or whatever at his own posture and pace and reality.

Getting tired.  And I’m trying to resist, but I’m unsuccessful.  Will have to wake earlier than early to get home “on-time” and get ready for winery, be on road in time for Windsor writing…  Interesting night, honestly…  wine talked about as well as business, careers, corporate atmosphere, vision and professional selection.  The writer falls to sheets, thinking.  Another sip.  Centered.  Thinking.  More Miles… meditating.  Tired, yes, but awake from my typewritten pace.

6/15/17—  Midmonth? 

Already?  Wow, time truly doesn’t care.  But I do.  So I make the best of what I have here, in terms of time, this first of my last two full days off before Summer Semester starts.  Sinus discomfort going away, may take another Advil… meeting at 10:30 with prospective client… of it feels amazing to write.  Why do I feel like I haven’t written in days when I DID write yesterday on lunch.  Only got out 500 or so words for newsletter and didn’t post anything to blog— well, here I am, readers.  More than ready for my day and for my writing and needing this quiet of the house, my Autumn Walk Studio.  Going for a walk later with wife, run tonight at gym hopefully, get conditioned for planned run on Tuesday with my winemaker friend.  We’re planning on launching from Lancaster and circling the property, one massive circle around the property and the properties around the property.  Can’t wait, really.

Taking a break from the coffee this morning, sipping what’s left of a sparkling cherry water I bought the other night after my speedwork.  Just shy of 7 miles… think I hit 6.98.  “SHIT!” I remember saying in my head and nearly aloud when the belt stopped.  Not bad though, really.  Haven’t got that close in a while.  Not sure why I’m focusing on that right now, should be writing some verse or some poetry since yesterday leaving Lancaster I had this colossal inner push to write more poetry and write more musical and poetical when writing prose— so then naturally I now ask myself, “Am I doing that here?”

No wine tonight.. just running and writing, planning for Summer.  Have a very optimistic taste in the writer’s mouth concerning this Summer.  Why, don’t know.  Maybe from changing as an educator, and how I’ve changed my outlook on life itself, recognizing I’m a father and I need to be a certain way for my babies— I need to be the ‘papa of all bloggers’, and the ‘tireless writer’ I brag I am.  No excuses, not even when I’m sick or have some sinus aches like I did this morning.  Have to say, I’m proud of how I reacted, getting in car and rushing to Walgreens, buying some Advil then coming home, popping one, and getting to writing, getting to WORK.  Oh… this Summer will be life-changing, career-propelling.  The story’s going to change.  I know it…

09:20—  Work isn’t work for me.  It’s just me.  Me for me.  Can’t get enough of me and I don’t care who knows.  That’s probably what bothered me most about the sinus ache, was that I thought it might get in the way of getting shit done today.  But no.  I won’t let it.   I’m a cross now between a leopard and a butterfly, a snack and a hawk… a train and a tulip.  Whatever that means I don’t know I just know that I don’t know about myself as much as I once measured.  But that’s what days like today are for.

09:40.  Took care of a couple things, made a couple notes, sent out VLJ letter.  The 6th.  Proud that I’ve followed through as I have with this effort.  Need to build with it, somehow… keep with it and use as a vehicle.. for sales, marketing, branding, all.

some of day’s poetry/spoke word…

am I

talking about wine so much, and the apparent philosophy and mythology

to grapes fermented?  This is weird.  Think of

how even after a person passes there’s the

longing, the

influence,

the impression of their time here with us, so their

story still sequences and we see and sing ‘there is no end,

there is no destination’.  so my thesis,

inextricable, impenetrable, that’s how convinced I’m convinced of

something, this something, wine helping me make the thing

happen, you know that thing that makes me a good daddy.

what.  immeasurable, untetherable, talk to self

in oeno-syllable.

Maneuver out of anything, bring

a notebook to jury duty— all conversations blurry newly—

centering gem, jewel, amethyst or ruby, of an eye’s eye for me

only slightly see, completely…

Day gets tough, I

out-tough it, direct dozens

of fiery narratives, last poetic

pundit– syllabic pugilism, after

today, new truth has risen..  directly

confront the circumstances given– characters

like me slows nary, and no woe, up turbulent

rivers in the most inclement

I row.. your octave is elementary at best–

Work harder than me?  How’s that possible

when you’re always grieving about lack

of rest?  You’re map’s a mess, I’m in a box-like trot 

of redesign, betterment for eversent.  Journal entries

inventory the dents.  Escape with my again-polished

slate.  Review certain dates, re-plate.  Walk past the cake.