Four buck chuck..

Frank bought 6 bottles of Barefoot Pinot Noir while on his nightly grocery run. He tapped a purple bottle neck. "$4.50," he announced succinctly with obvious pride. 

I think he’s right. I don’t drink enough. I think I need to drink much more to get me through this writing project. Yeah, I am still on fire for it. It is something I need to do. Maybe what I’ve always been meant to do. With each page I read, with every horrific picture or video I look at, with every memory I am working hard to dredge up, I realize more and more what potential is there for a great book. It is like the pure moonshine of possibility. And the body that produced the spunk I was spawned from came into being in the midst of this great stew of murky history. Ok, that’s a bit dramatic and derogatory..but essentially true.

It’s spawned some good talks between Frank and me as well. He’s a wonderful history buff and has been very encouraging. I think he likes that I have come to life, maybe back to life, during the onset of this idea-mongering. I’ve been…"away". Dying, mayhap. Partially his fault, much more so my own, but still. I’d lost any zest for living outside of the gentle joys of parenting my little boys. But now..my imagination has taken a kick start and the technicolor glow has returned to color my psyche. Go me:)

But seriously..every layer I peel back shows me another. There is a lot to this venture. I have the unique experience of being raised by one of the players in the game. Plus, as Frank pointed out, I live in an interesting anachronistic little town when it comes to latent racism, latent suspiciousness and paranoia, and latent blind nationalism. I can see how hard it might be from someone from New York City or LA to understand some out of work drunk lighting a burning cross in the public housing yard of a poor young woman raising a mixed race child. I think I can successfully extrapolate some of that sense into what went on in the little mountainside village my father hails from. Maybe. If I can stop from doubting myself too much.

The biggest problem I see right now is getting all the sleep I need. Once again, I am reading into the wee hours and waking too early from dreams of shadows and men and snow and guns and fear and enough emotion to caste its own flame and heat. 

Maybe a glass of wine..

Kind of glad I bought a cache of stemless wineglasses from Costco last trip. Might last longer than some of my pretty stemmed ones. Think I’m gonna need them.