me pen vin

Starting day waking early with Jack, getting Emma to somehow get out of her bed which now has a tent atop, she demanding to rest in tent. Leitmotif, he stubbornness in the morning. Her refusing to get out of bed. With MAF’s eventual help, was done.

Telling self to slow this morning. It’s Friday.. more music, a little slower pace. People in my department taking off the day, to do whatever. Me only wanting to write, more poems, essays…. Divulge everything. Being 41, wanting more, feeling behind but somehow right on the purposed track.

Drew dropping off a six pack of Westwood wines last night along with sample of single-vineyard Cabernet. A 750ml. Don’t think that’s ever happened. The wine, speaking to me and telling me to make wine, never again break from wine as my topic. To have all essays put in wine foot and meter, beat and easing deed somehow.

My kids and how they play and just whatever they want say, coaxing me to play more with wine. See it as more than an industry. There’s a stem from each sip, from each conversation, from what I tasted last night and writing my ten nuit notes. New practice as a result of yesterday’s 4 miles and breaking the day up into four time-talks. Didn’t wake at harvest hour this morning. Feel like I’m in trouble, like I’m soon to be reprimanded or written up, something.