Monday, November 7, 2011

56, 55 ...

56:  11/6/2011, Sunday
Not an overwhelming wave of traffic in the tasting Room today.  Clouds, not wanting to retreat.  But even still, plenty activity for the wine lover.  Helped Kaz out a little with some punchdowns, in half-ton bins.  Everything from a Zin-based blend (Red Said Fred), to Alicante, to Petite SIrah, Pinot.  Harvest, in its concluding scenes.  Did a tasting with Kaz and his family of two barrels housing the same Pinot Noir.  One barrel inoculated with an organic yeast strain from UC Davis, the other with some commercial injection.  Educating, enlightening, to say the least.  Did the same with two barrels of Tempranillo, right by the newly dormant vines.  Shared the experience with two guest from my hometown of Santa Cruz.  Did a little writing while on Kazzy’s grounds, but not much.  Couldn’t get over the drastic change of season occurring, the dampened grounds, alarmingly cold air.  Wine being made, all around me, tells me to mind more my manuscripts.  Kaz and I talked a bit about ideas for a new wine-centered magazine, how to market it.  We also threw each direction ideas involving business, selling wine, the areas of “the industry” not as Romantic, the ones I usually don’t want to hear about.  But from my mentor, Mr. Rick Kaz, I find mySelf more engaged, interested, excited to learn about what usually cause me to inoculate the sand with my skull. 
55:  11/7/2011, Monday - Literary Lunch Scope
A Monday that I wish could replicated over, over, again and again.  The Literary Lunch produced 1351 words.  Crediting the second mocha, partially.  But also, being around the grapes, yesterday.  Doing punchdowns, smelling the aromas from the newly-arrived fruit.  Creative process.  That’s the Literary Lunch’s directive.  Started a new project, laughably.  But, this one, sure to be brought to fruition, sold. 
From NWG, drove to the gym, where I satisfied my personal goal of  running 6 miles in under 60 minutes.  Not exactly olympian, but I did what I set out to do, what I knew I had to do.  Why can’t it be so easy with the book, THE BOOKS?
In bed.  No wine tonight.  Saving the bottle I brought home for tomorrow night’s entry.  This harvest, my wine, watching Kaz make his, has given me renewed superintendence, guidance.  As winemakers do let their fruit away waste, so doth I with the pages.  I’m not letting my wine die, my sister wouldn’t let me anyway.  These manuscripts must be allotted the same reverence.  Consistency.  But, is that possible, true habit, with the Human Condition continually, unavoidably blended?  Something to think about, yes, but not to preoccupy Self, anchor down Literary strides, sprints.  Tomorrow, another Lunch on my books.  Clocking out, now, drained from the run.  Time, 10:47a.  Really should for mySelf to write till the news comes on, but... 

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