So, with that being said, with feelings of weightlessness now gradually replacing the overwhelming textures I’ve carried for so many years, I now find myself with nothing to write about. Drinking a bottle of wine is a singular experience for the first time in my entire life. I have no one to market to, no one to extoll the vinous virtues to, no one will return an email in praise of prose only to thank me for an offer they will “think about ’till their cellars are less full”. Well, perhaps just a bit of the old textures remain…
So what does a 42 year old man do now that all he has to look forward to are the inevitable calls and letters from the collectors? Ending a business in no way means a man is free, it actually infers quite the opposite. I once woke at 4 in the morning contemplating how my day would progress, how I would endure if yet another email program went unanswered. Now, as with this day’s particular pre-dawn awakening, I stir and wonder how I will handle the mountain, the avalanche of bills and taxes that are due – and that are to continue to amass.
My first goal – long before the idea of a virtual winery comes to pass – is to find suitable employment. Dusting off the resume, adding the attributes acquired over this past decade, was quite a chore in itself. And watching the television late at night, as CEOs find work as pizza delivery boys only adds to the indescribable layers of tension that promise to build as the months pass.
Yet I can’t escape a sense of peace through all of this. There are wine-makers in France waiting for me to return. There is a cottage somewhere between here and the High Plains, or perhaps the other direction, towards the East Texas Piney Woods, replete with peaceful pastures, guest quarters, facilities for my next project, all the trappings required for that next phase. It’s there, I just need the time and energy to hunt it all down.
Something tells me that Texas will remain home for awhile. Big M still dreams of the perfect B&B. I remain in love with thoughts of a limestone cellar, dug deep into a dusty, rolling hill. Perhaps wearing my fedora this week-end past resolved my adoration for the Texas countryside, perhaps it was the open-pit, grilled meats we consumed.
But when this next phase is launched, after the inevitable settling of these difficult issues before me, one thing is certain; I will need a lot of open air and crisp cool nights surrounding me. The wine will be French, from Burgundy, the Rhone and points further South exclusively, and my home and my winery will be my castle and my, well, home. Visitors will be family, guests will be friends, and clients will be both; family and friends.
For now, it’s time for a hair cut, a good shave, perhaps I’ll dry-clean a couple of suits, and let’s see if this ol’ boy can find a job….
Diplome D’Honneur de Sommelier