08:27

Bodega Bay.

Getting ready to leave our room for a bit, get coffee.

The fireplace relaxes me.  Need to write with the little time before me.  Sun breaking though fog, low clouds.  News on but low volume.

The need to travel is in every thought, breaking my concentration from where I guess you could say it’d be more maturely placed.

Germany only weeks away.  No laptops, only a journal and maybe an iPad….

Write more like Hemingway.  To the point.  No lights or glitz, sparkle.  Just the Now in its antagonizing simplicity.

Nurse packs her suitcase back up with method and measure, pragmatism that I have never deployed packing a suitcase.

Pictures from last night.  Aunt, Uncle, Mom and Dad of course, my winemaker sister doing a fine job describing the wines and elucidating her vision for them.  Wine, again in my writing sight.  The vineyard, Sonoma County of course, the Zin and Merlot we tasted last night alongside the plates, Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay before that.

Why is wine never out of the frame?  Why does it always call me back?  Why on earth did I ever leave?