from vinward jots, book

9/21/17–8 Days till Monterey. Went to bed earlier than I usually do and glad I did, just wondering why I’m still tired. Wife brought home iced coffee for me so I sip quick, wake the writer and student rumbling about my character, and GO — Have some other business dimensions to address this morning, but mostly I just want to write, organize, really turn this room and the neighboring kitchen into a studio for the next few hours and get so much DONE. I see the potential in the day as I dispel what I hope is my last yawn.

Giving self another hour of writing, after finishing my vino letter. Counted cash stash for the first time in a while, and I see it all absorbed by business and family trips. No matter. Everything this morning is music, and like the galactic composition was composed for me this morning. Would love some more coffee, but that will eat into my hour and I can’t afford to rise from this couch, not with the role I’m on.

Putting everything to the blog. Everything. Every minute, every blink, everything my babies say, that I say and think, that occurs. 09:11, now. I can afford a trip to sbux, right? I mean, in terms of time? Can go inside and say I’m there for a refill, being very aware of their “policy”, that it has to be in the same visit to be considered a refill. They can afford it, so I’m not going to worry. Sending out one more copy of letter, then will break for another iced coff’ —

Back from coffee run, and all I can think about is the tasting room and how being away makes me anxious. Will go in early tomorrow to get done what I need to. Need to breathe, focus on the moment as Mom says, urges… and she’s right. Why stress about what you can’t immediately address? And there’s nothing to stress about. All at the winery is grandiloquent.

Yesterday, the new Pinot just released was demanding my senses’ attention. Not as sharp and haphazard in its herbaceous honing as the ’14 — yeah, the new release is ’15, sorry. Also, more massage and bewitch about its general palate statement and fruit-purposed music. I keep sipping jotting more and more words. I couldn’t stop with the writing… actually didn’t taste that much of it, and I didn’t have to… I appreciated the fragrance and little olfactory nudges and teases, repeatedly, and found my musings going in different and self-educating directions… valuable tangents. And from the 2015 vintage which so many of these so-anointed “experts” and “critics”, and my favorite… sommeliers, are nearly eager to dismiss and sweet under some fucking ego rug. Not me. I listened to her… I wrote with her… she kissed in a way other ’15 Pinots are unable.

There’s more than merely “a lot” of Pinot in Monterey, Carmel, surrounding, so I’ll have more than enough material and oenological urgency. Sip coffee… shit, have to get in shower. Have to get new copy of On The Road for class. I’m like the ’14, I think.. spicy and pugilistic, sassy and wandering. Is that why I favor the ’15?