Wine pulls me out of the mood, thoughts of yesterday’s Sbragia visit. And strangely, the Chardonnay from Napa.. I think 18 months of new French Oak, which I usually don’t take to, but I did. Wine has me thinking about everything this morning, and now this afternoon on my lunch break… taking tasting notes on the day— “Puzzle-like, codified… rough, but intriguing… trying…” Everything is in wine’s world, and if you’re in its story you tell your own story. Deliciously postmodern and proven.
Deciding which direction to go next. But maybe I have no say. So what next. The wine narrative is positive but not always easy, nor absent of tumult. I press on with pen, listening to what varietals teach me, what I want them to say vs. what they actually say. Wine speaks, instructs, I listen. 12:47pm, and I feel more anxious, about everything. “Calm down. What can you do right now?” The vines say. Nothing, they’re right. So I sit tight, let my wine story develop and do everything I can when I can with what I have.
No wine tonight. Distancing myself from it to know its world and language better— for appreciation but as well writing discipline. We’ll see.
Looking through Sbragia pictures, smiling at what I remember them saying, showing difference and direction in their puddled sentences.