|Me, with Elizabeth and Mike from Boston, MA|
Back in the Kaz Room. New friends, sharing their experiences on wine, the wine world, wined journeys. The shades, changing. As am I, as scribe. With my projects, my artistic ardor, I’m thinking, “At this point, it’s really all or nothing.” I know some will suggest I temper my tenacity. But if I start holding back now, for the sake of concern in upsetting someone in this “industry,” where will it stop? I’m not Self-censoring, not at this stage in my life. It’s all or nothing, as Mom said last night over the phone. Tonight, an instance of evaluative contrast with the Particular Palates. Mom and Dad opened a Zin/Petite Sirah blend, 2009 I believe. They found it impressive, concerting with the pulled pork dish. I couldn’t sip it a second time. And, no skirmish. Mom suggested I pull an ’09 blend, not yet formally released by its parenting winery, from one of their wine fridges. That’s what wine should be: civility, enjoyment, occasion. They weren’t at all offended by my reaction, which could have been tempered, I’ll admit. Dad sometimes jokes I’m turning into a wine snob. Jokes. I hope I’m not. The last thing I want to be is someone who self-gratifies in “holding court” over a bottle of wine, when I should be grateful for invitation, Humanistically humble. Or just plain polite.
That’s what I experienced at Kaz today, as always. People are referred to our winery because we don’t have any governance aspirations. We just want people to come in, taste, have a memorable time with their ones loved. Surprised it rained as much as it did, was so brisk. Honestly, I think it made the shift more fecund. Saw the guests wanting to spend more time in the Room with me, Kaz, Kristen. The Cab Franc, 2010, from the barrel, alarmingly impressive at its early stages. Again, what I appreciate, recently especially, about TRUE artistry; Like my sister says, “Don’t second-guess yourSelf.” Kaz doesn’t, has proven to be distinguishably successful in his stance, making wine the way he thinks it should be made.
So what’s in my hand, while typing? Racer 5. Haven’t sipped, scribbled with my favorite beer in a while, I feel. Tomorrow, Monday. But it’s not the usual Monday, as the work week is only 3 days long. Thankful, right before Thanksgiving. No Hallmark honing in my pulses tonight. 2012, I see, as being a beginning of new Literary reign for me. And if not a “reign,” a succession of days. Katie says that we have to wait for our wine, that we won’t be interacting with our inaugural project, our first oenoVoyage till April. Keep asking Self, “Do I have the patience, maturity, to be a winemaker?” I’m more concerned with the experience, not actuality as its sipped by others. I’m the artist, I’m the one creating. Critics, outsiders, those outside my head, don’t sculpt my set. At all. I’ll continue to sip, scribble, the same way my brother Kaz bottles his indecipherably aperitive varietal translations. Me, refusing to ever again second-guess the Self. Because, now, it’s all or nothing. vinoLit 4ever ...