4/11/19

Left a ton of writing on work laptop.  Up early tomorrow for quarterly meeting and party.  “Quarterly”, they call it simply.  Allergies killing me, started at run yesterday.  Tired, but sipping wine.  Another bottle of that St. Francis Claret.  How to get back into the wine industry, but in a dimension and sequence, tell and pulse I prefer.  Blogging, writing, photography and video.  Should take a detour to office, tomorrow.  Do I have time, to sneak a couple new shots in, somewhere around here… one of those vineyards on Piner.  I have an idea.. about and in and on, for WINE.

Wine and writing.  Blogging.  Okay, yeah… for me, completely expected.  But… different.  Wine in the glass now gone, sipped glass too fast from excitement from idea.  More red, more sentences, more of the world around us.  And if this is too hard for you to conceive and encapsulate for purposes of retention.  It is wine, it’s always been wine.  Wine for me.  Wine for all days.  And not just glasses contents.  But the life there, the life here, thoughts of my sister on the crush pad watching fruit come in as she did that day in 2011 when our Cabernet landed—the best early xmas present I’ve ever been gifted.  One ton of Cabernet fruit, maybe a bit less, from RRV.  Katie said all I have to do is meet her on the crush pad.  The thoughts were overwhelming before it happened. What if this turns me into some famous writing winemaker, what if this changes everything?–  It did, but now that I look back I see missed opportunity.  I need back in the wine sphere.  Stay far and clear away from industry contaminants.  I’ll take notes, starting here… small room, appointment only—NO, invitation only.  And not to be one of those wineries, but to know the person coming in.  And to not depend on the business but to enjoy it. I just want to break even, I used to tell people about the eventual and envisioned label.

Wine to me has always told vignettes, not short stories or exhaustive novels.  Wine has never been patterns, or paths.  You compose and narrate your own way how you see it played.  It’s jazz, not classical.  Wine is random and unexpected.  Excess order and constriction will shape no listen.

Writing on the laptop at work, addressing wine as well.  I feel wine as all the answers to everything in this writer’s story and I always get fucking distracted.  Why.  WHY, do I let such fuss.  About to pour self another glass, and think of the tasting room days at St. Francis, Dutcher Crossing, then back again to Kunde Family Estate with its incongruent operations and terrestrial functionality in bar presence atop multitudinous garnishing acrimony, then wherever then wherever.  I have to be done with tasting rooms at this intersection.  I am.  I AM.  So I put it here.. wine, wine in everything.  As I was “advised” years ago. Ten, now. Not so much advised as condescendingly urged.  Spare me your counsel, counsel.  Not going to think about that, or anything.  Wine and writing, wine, then write. Me now, what I’m doing.  New story, new business, new Now.  Ox free from bottle to write about current bottled composition and voice, character and place.  I’m peacefully and pleasurably placed.

4/11/19

Mike still feels the exhaustion, but not like earlier.

He has class tonight, and suddenly he’s more eager to teach than on days where he does get 6-7 hours of sleep night prior.  He notes what’s on his mind, exactly and not exactly what’s present in his thinking.

The office starts to calm.  The voices lower and fade in intensity, but his intensity can only compound and compound further in words and complexities, or what he thinks are complexities.  The essay idea forward and forward further in his chair, right where he is.  There’s no lack, of anything, at all.  Like he’s before thought and like his mother has so many times told him with his writing, everything he needs to write about is right in front of him.  “You have enough to right about right where you are.” Mom said.  She was referencing his life as a father, but Mike takes such sight and applies and threads it into other scenes, the one currently right now as he types at his desk.  He’s found an antibody, a compositional vaccine.

1/25/19

Lunch at desk.  Writing everything down as I always do but with more craze, more wild and rich, loving recklessness to my steps.  Pizza here in office.  Pizza Fridays.  Everyone looks forward to this.  The company, so generous it’s nearly overwhelming.  Love it.  Learn from it, I do.  My company will be in this exact track and train of thought, tradition.

May start another blog—no I won’t.  Promised self I wouldn’t do that.  The idea would be something involving client and customer communications.  Not so much “customer service”, but how the work is relayed and worded.  So much in business is done not so much wrong but with unnecessary obstacles.

Brought 2 pieces of vegetarian pizza back to desk.  Saw others doing the same, eating at desk and watching a show, or playing a video game of some type.  I need this time to write.  I don’t need to think, I don’t any longer and I promise my self loudly this, time to think.  Just move.. all around blogging, and I will trap everything here.

I must wake early, tomorrow morning.  And run.  Ten miles, minimum.  Walking hills in Sebastopol earlier with Field Sales team, taking the hills like I were racing.  I walked them, yes, but with the same attitude as one running, like “I am doing this, I am taking this hill, now, NOW.”

Field Sales, an interesting voice and beat, beast.  One of constant motion and depend upon, demanding a tireless momentum in re-writing your presentation, your words and how you deliver the words.  Audience awareness, not so much brevity of speech but containment.

Where you are, what you’re doing.  More value in that than you estimate.  If you take a second, and inventory what’s around you, all the topics and ideas form their own idea den and paragraph lab.  You feel inspired and moved, exhausted and creatively ablaze in a way you’ve never known.  The holy contour of life wraps itself around you, begins instruction.

Need another piece, and maybe another.  Hungry earlier while walking the hills, Mike was.  Now, still hungry.  Mike, eager to go to this event, which is celebratory of past year’s successes and advances.  Like a rally, or gathering at a spot on Rohnert Park.  Not that far away but just far enough where I can enjoy a Coltrane track or five, maybe more.

Two friends from another department but that sit in the same isle as me here in office leave.  Taj and Leah.  Both kind, very inviting and helpful when I need some inquiry quelled, and they both like wine.  Asked both of them if they’d want to have a glass with me at the Rohnert Park spot they both said yes, told them I was thinking about getting more pizza then they tell me, or reminded me, that there’s food there.

 

“What the fuck was I thinking?” I say to them.

 

They both laugh.  Taj tells me my stomach’s telling me to eat.  I agree.  But will wait till RP.

1/18/19

Mike starts with the normal morning tasks.  But he sees them differently.  With more love, more curiosity, more pace intention and momentum.  Mike tells Self that today will be let to go as it will and Mike will step in only when demanded, and by step in he means grab the wheel and steer in direction different.

Mike gets the necessary items for day done with surprising speed.  He does in fact surprise himself.  He says to Self he’ll be more farouche in his creativity and composition habit for day.  And all days forward going.  Misses class, still can’t believe what happened on Wednesday happened.  Well, he can ‘cause it was raining dozens of cats and double-dozens of dogs.  He needs coffee, he needs to walk around, he needs to itemize and inventory everything, be more calculated, or calculating, tally and examine his calculations.

Weather today, not making much impact on Mike’s perspective.  He writes down three aims, visions, for day–  A thousand words, run tonight, shorter sentences.  Quite simple, to the point, contained and contributing to Personhood and character coherence.  More than self-coaching or education, instruction, or even discovery or exploration.  Self-sight.  Being participatory in his read of Self.  Self, always needing capitalization.  You need to see Self as something prominent if you’re to progress, he says to Self.  Mikes smiles.  He finds something.  And that’s another aim… always present tense.  The Now is Godly, is God, is all Gods and Goddesses.

9:04.  Mike gets another cup of coffee.  His first here at office but third for day, morning.  The morning with everyone walking around happy it’s Friday and excited about the Quarterly meeting and assembly, food trucks later, and of course beer.  Mike vows to Self that beer will not be had.  Not only does he not drink beer very much anymore, the marathon was much closer than he estimated.  He needs to get into runner mode, extremely extreme runner mode.  Get new clothes for race, go for run tonight, at the horrible least 7 miles, 10 if he can.  He tells self that he will have sparkling water, and if there’s none in the tubs of ice he’ll buy one from the market, perceive it as a running expense.

Mike remembers that he has Monday and Tuesday of next week off.  He will run both days, over ten miles each run, and NO treadmill.  The morning sings more to Mike, encourages him more, has him centered and centralized in his own eye and poetic abide.

The office, Sonic as a company and character and business poetic voice has him feeling not so much fearless or invincible, but directed, set, assured he will get whatever he sees.  His sight is strengthened by Self, Sonic, the day, the way of ways in the morning and approaching day.  Mike tells Self that he will see his aims for day, that there is no other Road.  The marathon’s closer, 40 is closer, the new year’s been here for now 18 days.  Storm, Mike says, “Storm loudly and make music never before put to sound, to anyone’s ears or eyes, any senses.”

1/16/19

The first thought of the day is a window, a door….  A beacon, a shore.  I’m with voyage out, sailing to something.  Coffee, in office early.  Didn’t wake as early as I’d hoped, no surprise, but I’m not letting that decay the day, or pull at my loudness of yay-saying yodel.  Class tonight.  Maybe I’ll share this, how the day started, how one can shape the day.  Over and over the morning precipitates the like-motions and thought shapes.  Today, something different.  Say that a lot as well, but oh well.

Raining on way in, soon’s I stepped outside.  In office all day.  Take lunch early, go to coffee shop or whatever that café’s called down the street.  Shit, are they open today?  Maybe I should stay in office, or write at Texanita.  Why am I overthinking this, or even thinking about it at all.

Notes to self, they’ll tell you something.  Writing notes to YOU, so you can form and frame another you.  It’s not setting “goals” that on one should fixate, but aims.  True visions.  Seeing something then not merely ‘going for it’, but composing a Road to that There.  You start this morning…. You begin where you are in with what you’re doing.  You see the opportunity in where you sit, at that desk and in that office.  It’s not an ‘I’ address but a YOU singularity.  Seeing you as not you but another You.  The you that you reduce to a dream, or some fantasy, some vision.  More than possible or plausibly, but near, nearing.

Time in its motion disregards us.  But YOU, embrace it.  You challenge it.  You control it, you capture it on page.  There’s nothing in time’s pervasive placement that eclipses what you see for you.  Stop preoccupying in a task list.  Write it again, re-write it.  See the There, leave the shore, rush through the door, always create and You-compose more.

1/14/19

Training a new Rep in a matter of breaths.  Productive day, to say the least, and more than productive but one of significant and exacted character development for me.  Tonight lecturing, know my direction.  Fixation on the story, telling one and writing one, reacting to one.  I must commit to logging everything, this semester.  In and most notably and imperatively outside the classroom.

Starting with a question, tonight.  What’s narration….?  Won’t have them take out notebooks or journals.  Not immediately.  Want them to relax.  Settle in.  Write in as few places as possible, note to this writer’s self.  Two journals to right, Sonic and Germany.  No laptop at moment except for this one, and the computer at home, the one in SRJC office.

Sipping coffee. Had it made extra strong.  The day has soared by me.  Adding Germany journal to stack of materials to take into training room.  Or, meeting room.  Same room in which I meet the Reps, everyday.  In mode, posture and mood and M character of characters—the writer, essayist, and I guess speaker.  Educator.  Idea purveyor.  This coffee is most profitably and pervasively working.

12/24/18

Counting and inventorying everything I do today.  The new year already started in my head and I’m starting my missions not as trite resolution efforts but consideration of my Now, what it wants from me, what I can gain from it.  Everything teaching me.  Doing my budget, seeing how much money I spend in the field on lunch.  Want to count it all, tally it, see what I would have saved but that’d only aggravate me, I’m sure.  So I won’t.  Forward, no lunches in field.  Coffee is fine, and a small bite, but only funded by coins.  Change.  So, carry a bag of with you when going out.  

Thinking about a shop, after and during my run.  I try to get away from wine, but I can’t.  I can sell and narrate wine like no one I know, honestly.  In inventorying everything today, knowing everything in the Now counts, I fixate on me, what I love and what I’ve done for work.  Mostly teaching, wine, blogging, writing.  Why not consolidate.  Would mean I have to start another blog, or restart the ‘vinovinevin’ project.  Going to not think about it, not excessively deliberate.  Just sit on the idea.  Tonight’s wines, writing about each.  The SB, white blend from Imagery I bought yesterday, the Pinot and red blend.  Or should I bring the Malbec….  Just a bit after noon now, and feeling exhaustion from the run.  6.3 miles, where I thought about a wine business and a marketing story, the connection to the Now, how all of this is not necessarily connected by contributing to the momentum of the next frame, place.

Now, everything I need.  More.  The understanding of your reality should always entail celebration.  With each morning and sip, each sight and breath.  The poetry of the Now rises from already-present music.  My music, now, vino scribbles and travel.

Morning Instruction New

Photo on 2-6-17 at 8.04 AM #2After 6.3-something run on treadmill, shooting quick video, and having a healthy post-speedwork snack, breakfast I guess, break, I’m in writing mode, eager for the day to challenge me.  Today, is so peculiar in its gentle and generous fluidity, in what it’s given me not only in terms of time table, but everything— sight and promise, the poetry of getting the babies out the door and into car completely sans problème.  I couldn’t understand it entirely, not then really, but now I see the entire day and I’m like a famished lion in the field with all those herds at my 12.  All I have to do is leap, run…

Wine country and the wine life is about dreams and visions ceasing in their vision stage and sense and becoming something you live.  Wine life to me deals little with actual wine.  Health of the vine should translate to those caring for them, to winemaking, winemakers, people selling… and I’m not just talking about minimizing consumption of wine but being a steward of self.  Caring for your body and thoughts, what you do with your time and where you create and what opportunities you draw for your self.

Time with my babies this morning making me more reflective about where I’m going, and the accentuation this morning was loud, voluminous and enveloping.  Now going back and forth sipping between some cinnamon dolce coffee I bought last night and a bottle of sparkling berry water I just bought on Hopper, at the same store I stop after gym treadmill sessions.  I feel alive this morning, healthy, so free having no papers to rush-grade and encouraged by everything I’ve so far done ce jour.

Wine is the consequence of care, and love.  For the soil, the vines, the clusters once present, monitoring the health of the yeasts and how they progress through their fermentation feed, the wine through aging and once bottled how that glass is stored, kept, and when open how treated.  Wine is a reward, good wine anyway, a result of close attention and as I said, love.

Today.  I love the day and my story more than I ever have.

(5/14/18)