Home from Kaz. Sitting in chair, immediate scribble. My sips, to “The Mystery Bottle.” Could be a little Pinot, maybe something Rhône. Don’t think there’s Bordeaux blood in this blend. And yes, I do think this bottle’s tenant is collective, concerted. More tasting Room traffic than last weekend. Utility for author, and my winemaker friend. Energetic guests provide material that can’t be explained in entries like this. But believe me, it’s fruitful, engaging, marketable. These character in and out of tasting Rooms I’ve hosted, have provided me books, a career. I just have to focus on the blending of their pages, scattered note sheets in this home wine writing Lab of mine, in this day’s corked close.
This “Mystery Bottle” singing odd chords to me, the page. Or maybe it’s how it’s blending with the Wine Lounge tunes I have in THIS Room. I’ve always addressed and endorsed wine & music ties, but Kaz’s tasting Room/Lab has shown me, lamented such effective collusion. The group earlier today, only an hour or so after my arrival, dancing to some older dance tracks after a couple sips, enjoying themselves, coalescing positive, entirely Human, notes in the Room. That’s what wine is to me, and more consumers than I thought previously, evidently.
Looking through pictures, I dream of my eventual office, offsite Lab, my Room. Winemakers have told me how they envision their wine’s palate presence after bottling, a year or two down the road. I, the same, with my path as a wine scribe, fiction writer, poet, artist. Time isn’t ever-present, oeno-wizards’ll tell you. And writers, we’re faced with even more pressing urgency, I think. This Mystery Blend (I’m now convinced it’s a blend of at least 4 varietals, none DNA’d Bordeaux), helping me solve some of my creative puzzles, blocks. Further indebted to my oeno-brother Kaz, appreciative in each of this sitting’s scribbles, sips.
Was going to simply close this session, but I came across more of the random sessions I mentioned above. Need to organize my sheets of writing. All of them. All the years of rushed pen bounces in the boxes below this desk. Winemakers don’t waste a thing--no fruit, barrels, chemicals, pieces of equipment, NOTHING. All I have for revenue generation: words, their housing surfaces. Tonight, first step in universally organizational melody, with my projects. Finds like this frustrate me, as I know I can’t afford for them to happen, or surface unexpectedly. It disrupts my whole Nowness.
Letting my angst go, with assistance of Mystery sips. More mysteries, question marks before me than I thought, now. Can’t unsettle Self, not 2nite. A whole five days of NWG, commencing with morrow’s candor. About to close this Lab, lower lights, but not before finishing what remains in a stemless bowl to my right. Today, Kaz’s Lab and wine cannon, also put into my thoughts that I should be more random with my bottle purchases, not be so predictable. Meaning, don’t each time I go to a wine shop, or winery, to buy wine shuffle to the Cabs, or Bordeaux blends. What kind of palate does that nurture? That can’t be good for the writing. My characters, diverse. My sipping selections must sequence in suit, as should the scribbles they encourage.