late, 11:37 with nightcap, listening to Delilah by Hutcherson. Relaxing, and something that Mom said to me tonight ripples in my character, about removing self, and if not removing completely then taking a break as I mentioned earlier, and what Dad said about not always answering to impulse, to monitor my reactive behavior, not always jump when you feel the urge. After this entry I’m for the day done, going to relax, sip the remainder of this Racer and think about the day, me on the back bar with the couple I met at K—-, when he proposed to her on the mountain, and me holding the camera/phone 
like a fool, just observing. But today we sipped a bit together, celebrating our reunion and talking again and remembering that time, on the mountain– and the others, the reactions to the Pinots, and the Zin, what they all said with me outside at that back bar, by the lawn, with the view of Mount St. Helena– Relieved I decided to stay here at the Mountain Hawk base, just thinking about the wines and how people reacted to them, how they swirled it in their glasses and just watched the wine do its revolution, they look at each other, the day, the wine, that group of 4, their kids and the wind over those little infant scalps, them quixotic in and out of micro-naps.
Tired but I have to reach 500 words, make it to or near 3,000 words for day. Tomorrow, wake early, don’t forget leftovers from Mom in fridge (which I’m sure I will.. watch.. I’ll wake tomorrow and speed out the door and to Starbucks so quickly that I’ll just forget, not cuz I want to, but because that’s me, the sped writer always with something, something in cue and something to do–)
I’ll set the alarm for 5:30, rise and then to the Road. And tomorrow, meticulous with everything, like Dad, showing me much about how I provide quotes for mmc clients… sent another tonight, and I hope for the best but who knows I’m just trying to do something I never have and have it pay and learn something new about my presence as a writer and how I.. how I…..
I keep writing, and look at pictures from day.. not much new, only the Zin I tried here, with Mom and Dad, from Columbia Valley, 2012. There just wasn’t much there, not much impression or impact; texture lacked as did the overall rhetoric of the wine–
But I don’t slow, I run the trails in Sunriver, then come back to write, talk to myself about writing aims and projects, open a bottle of some Cab from AV or Howell.. I enjoy the quiet, and the jazz, and the snow outside. Have to fly back in a couple days, but in the time now between I’m entrenched to ebb about ten short stories, written over 24-36 hours or maybe less depending on how much coffee I collude– A crepuscular code of sorts, seeing new days and new Beats and new jazz syncopations– reborn, you might say.
(7/4/15)
