Me home alone, tasting and jotting all notes… descriptors which I often have an aversion to and make fun of, ‘cause they’re often all the same.  But tonight I’m going far outside any box.

Matanzas Creek SB – Must have had this a million times.  No exaggeration.  This vintage though, not so many.  The tropical layers are deserted and pronounced but individualized and confident, vocal.

Missing days in the tasting room when people would use their language, some afraid or embarrassed saying their “palate wasn’t sophisticated”, and then others which I loved that would just say whatever came to their spirit.

One lady from Arizona, in the Dutcher Crossing TR, saying “This reminds me of the fall in Maine, at my aunt’s house… she would always have wine at five o’clock…”

That’s what wine is.  FREEWRITING. And if you don’t write, then exploring, freely.  Curiosity and you follow blindly, see what you see, feel, experience, and then again feel.

La Crema Pinot – Always like a spirit animal to me, Pinot.  And especially ones from Monterey.  Speaking as freely as I write, this little belle.  Light and wild and enigmatic berry chords with the caramel, toffy and cinnamon with subtle spice orbits.  I’m caught, smitten, crazed and chasing her…

I think of my family, all the dinners and wines we’ve tasting.  Like everyone else, yeah I know, but that’s where I am.  My sister texting me, sipping wine, me FaceTiming her, her and her boyfriend getting engaged tonight.

I sip, listen to these loft beats in the Nurse’s house, and say my appreciation and gratitude and humility to the Room.  Taste again, it’s beyond a description… wine, more than a thing.  More than an it, or some pronoun.

Not sure what to say tonight, writing, thinking of the vineyard…. I need to be back.  Katie telling me about he harvest and the levels, what’s in tank… I’m going back.  And singing this #vinovinevin place and space the entire way.