I was born. Writer. Music lover. Literature obsessed. Life lover. Emphatic about family. Years later, seeing wine in a way contrasting, but predominantly syncopated with others’ perceptions. In that, wine means occasion. Family. A smile bundle. Today, 5/29/11’s Sunday, 32 years later, alive. Not merely existing. Today, continue to write life, love, wine. For me, family. No more birthday blues. Just confidence. An assertive Aesthetic. Raising my glass, disengaged from past. Can’t get too reflectively nostalgic on this anniversary. Work ahead. A book to finish. Money to be made. More happiness to sip. Like my friend Sarah said, “another year of vinoLit, a year wiser...”
I’ll be writing4ever. Writing for my life, like Professor Gutierrez urged after graduate school. And this music, my 2nd Reunion with its recipe, who knows where that’ll carry me in these sittings. Keeping the pen moving, I’ll never die. The weather outside, highlighting Sonoma County’s encompassing character, dynamic Nature.
Feeling lyrical. A new Creatively collective fury about me.
No need for recovery, me. Above water, then under like a
submarine. Too many heaping notebooks, that’s another thing.
Like a breeze through palm trees, I respond free.
Momentarily gone, see? Bottles, obscure vertical, I want three.
10:37p. Back from dinner. Birthday jubilee, at end. This one, though, unforgettable. Going forward, all2change. You can bet. The more vinoLit, the more independence, the better4Mike. Tomorrow, pictures, with this new camera. Respond, with scribbled leaps. Books, books, books. On wine, wine, wine. Its world, stage, ways. Back at the desk, now, listening to music, sipping what remains of last night’s ’07 Napa Cab. Staring at the ’93 on my desk. It’s angry, I know. Why don’t I just open it. It’s staring me down. Or trying to. This writer, not shoved by an 18 year old. Thinking of today’s tasting, in Kenwood. How do I sparkle like those pours, with these pages? Bright analogous predicament. Sip, sip ...