4:48p. Not sure I could say I was busy today, but I definitely kept moving. No morning mocha. No money spent at all, today. Want to send off a battalion of manuscripts, but I can’t cover the postage, presently. The gas, for the commute to NWG, ridiculously impacting my already frail budget. Maybe I shouldn’t kill the blog at year’s end. Don’t know. In one of my writer moods. Glass of Sauv Blanc? Nine minutes till five, will in a bit. Went for a little swim in the complex’s pool, about an hour and a half ago. Saw children, just infatuated with the water. Jumping in it, retrieving certain items from eight feet deep, who dashes from A to B quickest. Why can’t life be such, always? Maybe it already is. Perhaps I’m stressing too much with these self-enforced deadlines. Quite possible that the optimal action is just, like I used to say when teaching, “WRITE WRITE WRITE.” Something has to happen.
Was fun wine tasting for the second day. Was surprised how gorgeous Chateau St. Jean stood. I’d been there before, but didn’t catch mySelf so agape as I did today. Busy, ‘cause of the holiday weekend. As I walked up the driveway, before the main path delivering a visitor to the tasting Room, a bus full of Philadelphia folk touched down. They rushed out. Eager, curious, ready for the whole “wine country thing,” as I heard one of the ladies say. Made me think of when I was a tourist in Paris, in ’09. I know I keep writing about my Parisian excursion, but I have to do it again soon. Or, explore another stage. Getting too used to all around, on this wine stage. Terrified of true wine boredom. Quite sure it won’t descend to my bend, but envisioning such completely horrifies me, and it should any writer, of wine or anything else.
This weekend, passing me with true malice. Not in the mood to write, right now. Sudden, actually. Bored of my theme, subject, rhythm, syllabled nuance. They serve me now as annoyances. Time for that 2010 Sauvignon Blanc, a hefty glass. Won’t let this weekend pass without me enjoying mySelf, MY time.
5:32p. SB in hand. Sip...calm. Crisp notes, a tryst slow. Vacation in glass. This morning, writing spoken word. As I said in yesterday’s session, I need to be more wine-like. Literarily artisanal, Picasso-esque. The truest Cubist. On this morning’s run, now that I remember, so many around that lake. A bit surprising how many were congregating around that lake, that man-made water character, that attracts more than plenty characters. Barbecues, rafts, other inflatable necessities, snacks, coolers, laughs. One couple I saw, sipping on what I’m quite sure was some Chardonnay. One side of me said, “A bit early?” The other said, “Good for you! Cheers!” Mike Madigan, no surprise, sides with the latter.
Excited to open up the Merlot I was given yesterday. Should pair nicely with the pizza I have cooking downstairs. How could it not? Good food, with ever better wine. Simple. Tomorrow, morning mocha, surely. Hoping I wake up surprisingly early, so I can have the longest of last days, this holiday weekend. Taking session downstairs. Dinner ...
The pool felt amazing earlier. Maybe a night wade’s in order. Loved that apartment in San Ramon. The pool, hot tub. Remember how I used to look out my bedroom window, at night, no light, to be sure no one else was in there. Only went in when the waters were isolated, for me. Occasionally I would take a beer, or glass of Merlot down. At that time, ’02/’03, Merlot was all I sipped. And, humorously, now my preferred varietal spur appears 2B Merlot. The one I tasted today, that ’07 at Chateau, speedy with its intentions, notes, succeeded by a stubbornly following finish. Feeling vacationed, with this tropical Sauvi Blanci. Sorry, needing fun, fermented freedom.
Was just looking at a couple car websites. If I had some wine writing cash, in elevations stashed, what would I buy? Thinking a Porsche, like Dad. Love that make, most models. Don’t want it for status, appearance, I just love the cars Porsche makes. See Self taking Calistoga Road to Napa, no top on my new little car, riding to chill wine beats. Lots on my wish list, at 32. This SB tells me to keep writing. Be crazier, like those dogs up the street from the San Carlos house. Missing my old neighborhood, over the past couple weeks. Probably ‘cause I had that guest a couple weeks ago in the tasting Room, from Palo Alto. That downtown, Nola’s, those other bars, one of which is a reputably noted wine spot.
7:22p. Want to stay in a nice hotel. Local or distant, don’t care. I write well at hotels, I think. I enjoy such sequences, I know that. Will never forget that one late night sitting in Paris, looking down at sleeping streets, sipping some European beer, writing in the Green Mead. When I recall that vacation, I also think of the Burgundy visit, that lunch we had with the omelets paired with Rosé, wrapped up with real French espresso. Going back soon. Have to.
Now, the Blanc is relaxing me, placing me on a hammock, at the side of waves. Hot, even downstairs. Definitely going to the pool tonight. Putting this author on a vacation. This was the Sauv Blanc’s idea. The cruise we took in late ’07, at the end of that seven class semester, on mind. I remember one day, sipping champagne on the deck, looking at nothing but sea. Loved that isolation, the ocean’s subdued performance. Need another sip, or six. No, peace Mike, peace. Need to launch early on the 4th, to indulge in the day’s totality. Just checked the temperature outside. 76 degrees. Just like that cruise to Mexico. The 2010 SB succeeded in placing me on a page. Interesting. Deliciously delusional. The water, calling me. Need to get off this couch, out from the castle. Another pour, please. Tonight, only pen2paper. Solely spoken word. Sip, sip ...