Training for #WBC14

Tomorrow is the day!  I’m so excited to be heading out to Santa Barbara county to meet and learn from some of the top wine writers.  But, I’ve got to say, I’ve been feeling a little out of my league.  So what is a girl to do?  Well, some training, of course.  And how does a SAHM find time for training with the littles out of school?  Well, put them to work, of course.

This is how a SAHM prepares for Wine Bloggers Conference 2014. 

WARNING: self-deprecating silliness follows.  No child-labor was exploited.  No alcohol was consumed.  Just some packing procrastination.

 

 

Now, it may be a little late to join my training program, (my trainers are really exclusive) but I won’t judge your techniques if you don’t judge my video production skills.

Thank you again to the sponsors and those who generously donated so that could be a part of this.  I hope I don’t lose my scholarship/credibility.  Santa Barbara, here comes trouble! Cheers!

 

“Congratulations, You’ve Been…”

This morning I heard the news that we lost a woman of incredible valor.   I’ve absorbed her words, envied her confidence, and admired the grace with which she conducted herself.  I had intended to share some news today, but it somehow felt inappropriate.  And then I read this quote shared on Oprah Winfrey’s site.   She said one of the best lessons that she learned from Dr. Angelou was this: “When you learn, teach. When you get, give.”  It was then that I realized this was exactly the kind of news I should be sharing.

A few months ago, I applied for a scholarship to the Wine Bloggers Conference in Santa Barbara County.  A SAHM doesn’t exactly earn a salary, so it would hard to justify the expense, but I knew it was a unique learning opportunity.  I have connected with so many other writers online.  I have found mentors and support, encouragement and inspiration.

In August, I will have been writing for three years.  I have not yet acquired any certifications or attended any seminars.  I have yet to take it to the next level or monetize my blog.  With the changes in Facebook policies it seems my reach has lessened.   At times, it can feel as if what I am doing doesn’t really “count.”  But I want it to matter.  I want to build something of value, monetary or otherwise.  I want to reach beyond, to connect, to be seen.  And although my current schedule allows minimal time for exploration and writing, I see the light at the end of the tunnel.  My children are growing and I want to grow with them.

Yesterday afternoon, I was beginning to write when I saw the email pop up in the corner.  “Congratulations! You have been…”  I couldn’t see the full subject line but I assumed it ended with a “…chosen to take a survey.”  Or “…have a chance to win a Carnival cruise.”  And then I saw the sender: Thea@WBC Scholarship.  Holy Moly!  What?  Me? How?  AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

So, I am going!  I am beyond excited and grateful for the opportunity to meet so many I’ve long admired.  I’m so humbled to have been chosen.  I am so excited to drink good wine…I mean…have a break from my kids….I MEAN learn from all of the talented writers that will be there.  Truly.

Thank you Wine Bloggers Conference Scholarship Committee.  Thank you to all of you that donated so that I can be there.  Thank you to all of you that will be sharing your insight and wisdom.  Thank you for teaching what you’ve learned and giving of what you have.

I will be sharing more about the conference when it is in full swing and as I process.  Right now, I would love to hear from those of you that have been.  Tips?  Water, spit…anything else?  Ladies, what to wear? (Have to ask)  Friends, when and where will you arrive? depart?  Most importantly, when can we toast in person?  Yay!!!!

Many thanks to the corporate sponsors that have made this possible:

Rodney Strong WBC Scholarshiptercerophoto1

 

I Blinked and She’s Gone

I sent my baby to Kindergarten on Monday.

I sent my little girl to Kindergarten.

I sent THIS little bundle of love to Kindergarten.

millybaby

How is that possible?  It was a blink ago, I promise.  It’s not that she is really “gone,” obviously, but it is the first of many steps in letting go.  You hear it all the time.  Cherish each day; it goes so fast.  But when you’re in the middle of it, it doesn’t feel fast.  The lonely nights from 1-5 am, feel like they’re never going to end.  The hour before my husband gets home seems to drag with the kind of steady defiance reserved for acts like putting their shoes on when I am in a hurry or picking up their rooms, one lego at a painful time.  And yet I took my baby to Kindergarten Monday.

She has always operated at her own pace.  Although my body and my midwife told me, “Any day now,” three weeks before her due date, she came twelve days late.  Although the moon was high, the house still and dark, she was hungry and restless.   While all infants were napping, she decided to announce her independence by fighting me for two hours, only to give in for thirty minute nap.

Those were long, tireless days.  Those days looked so different from what I had imagined.  I had a great track record with all babies up to that point.  But despite swaddling, coddling, despite being full, dry, bounced, walked, she would cry for hours in the early weeks for me.  Then her father would come home, pick her up and she was, of course, done.  But that was about all he could do for her, for me, because despite 4 types of pacifiers and 5 types of bottles, she was an “AintNothin’LiketheRealThing” kind of baby.  All mom, all the time.

I was deep in the darkness.   Deep in the fog.  Deep in the “WhatdidIdotomylife?-WhyisMyShirtWet?-WhyDoesn’tMyBabyLikeMe?-WillIEverSleepAgain? Blues.”  And then it was over.  She didn’t fit on my chest anymore.  She wanted to move and explore.  She started to sleep and have opinions and feed herself and then I dropped her off at Kindergarten.

When her brother was born, I held him on my chest, tucked under my chin, as long as he would fit.  I knew how quickly it would change.

When he started to toddle after her, I held him a little longer at bedtime.

When he mispronounces words, I am not so quick to correct him.  He’ll do it soon enough and I love how he says, “Capation” for vacation.

And when he nearly breaks me with his “three-ness,” I remember that I was there with her and that at four I realized that she actually had been listening.

I was talking with husband this summer about the cruel, or maybe kind, parenting phenomenon that allows you to look back fondly on stages that, while you were in them, almost broke you.  When they are infants, it is the lack of sleep.  Everything is foggy and turns into a game of Survivor.  But you always know where they are and they don’t argue about what’s for dinner.  When they are toddlers, there is danger lurking around every coffee table, but they don’t ask you for Monster High junk.  And I am in a pretty sweet spot right now.  They are relatively innocent and sweet.  They are curious and somewhat self-sufficient.  They still think I am great and make me laugh every day.  And just when I want to absorb (almost) every moment, I am sending her off.

I usually try to tie in something about wine, but how could I?  There is nothing I can say about wine this week.   Except that I’ve had some.  And that next week I’ll likely be able to look back and tell you about the ones I enjoyed.  But this week, I am missing my girl.  And I am excited for her.  And I am trying to absorb and enjoy this phase.  Because I am sure I will blink and be sending her to middle school, to high school, to college.  But that is more than I can even comprehend right now.

California 2013 408

Rosé Colored Glasses

When we began planning our trip to Northern California I had visions of my husband and I running off to vineyards, or I would take off on my own for the day. I’d head up the Silverado trail or 37 solo, windows down, music up and not a hair out-of-place when I arrived for my tasting appointment. But apparently I was looking ahead with rose-colored glasses.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. We watched the sea lions on the Lost Coast, hiked in the redwoods, and relaxed on the beach in Tahoe. But that has meant that I have had three, yes, three days to visit wineries. Two brief appointments with the hubs and two while the hubs tried to manage the littles during my brief tour and taste.

In Tahoe, we broke even with the reds and the blacks on our date night. We had better luck with the pinks. Since it is Wine Blogging Wednesday on the topic of dry roses, I’m riding shotgun and doing a quick write-up on our way back from the Sierras.

In a recent post I highlighted a few dry roses from Provence. Here are a couple of gems from Sonoma.

J Vineyards Vin Gris Made from Pinot Noir, this is a gorgeous wine. Pale salmon, but don’t let the color fool you. This wine starts with light red fruit, a hint of tart acid and it finishes long and strong. We paired it with salmon with herbs and lemon and it was delicious. ($20)

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Gundlach Bundschu Tempranillo Rose This one is almost at the opposite end of the color spectrum; think hibiscus tea. Super rich in color and flavor. Ripe red fruit, floral and spicy notes. It is the wine I first wrote about when I kicked off this site with “Punt,” (excuse the pun). Versatile, fun, and delicious. ($22)

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Earlier this summer I wrote about how I was going to put more energy into my family than my writing.  Even though the trip did not turn out like I was planning, it did serve as a test of my resolve to refocus.  It did provide my family with some wonderful memories, challenges, and learning opportunities.  My daughter will start Kindergarten shortly after we return.  I can come back to Sonoma and Napa, but I can’t get this time back.  I’d rather see things through her eyes than through any colored glasses.

We just crossed the Sonoma County line. We may need to make a quick stop at Gun Bun on the way back to my father-in-law’s. All this writing is making me thirsty.

Thanks to Lenn Thompson and Tim Elliot for bringing Wine Blogging Wednesday back with a great topic. Cheers!

Everything’s Coming up Rosés

I feel guilty buying wine when I have a closet full, but my closet is filled with mostly reds.  At this time of the year, I am into pink.  Or crisp, bright whites but that is another post. When dry Rosé started coming back on the scene a few years ago, I was a happy girl.  Love it.  Love, love, love.  A few years ago, it was a little more challenging to find one that was under $20 that didn’t have a bite, but that seems to be changing.  In the last few weeks I’ve had five, all under $20 and four out of five made it on my love list.

If you’ve tried one or two and aren’t sure if you like them, keep trying.  Depending on the region, the grapes, the style, they vary widely.  There are three main style of production.  And because I am writing on borrowed time (sick kids) I am going to quote from an article on Wikipedia.  It pains me, but if you read the previous post, you understand why.

When rosé wine is the primary product, it is produced with the skin contact method. Black-skinned grapes are crushed and the skins are allowed to remain in contact with the juice for a short period, typically one to three days.[3] The must is then pressed, and the skins are discarded rather than left in contact throughout fermentation (as with red wine making). The longer that the skins are left in contact with the juice, the more intense the color of the final wine.[4]

When a winemaker desires to impart more tannin and color to a red wine, some of the pink juice from the must can be removed at an early stage in what is known as the Saignée (from French bleeding) method. The red wine remaining in the vats is intensified as a result of the bleeding, because the volume of juice in the must is reduced, and the must involved in the maceration becomes more concentrated. The pink juice that is removed can be fermented separately to produce rosé.[5]

In other parts of the world, blending, the simple mixing of red wine to a white to impart color, is uncommon. This method is discouraged in most wine growing regions, especially in France, where it is forbidden by law, except for Champagne. Even in Champagne, several high-end producers do not use this method but rather the saignée method.[

Now for the fun part.  I tried three from France and two from Texas.  Here’s the lowdown.

1) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  I really like Chateau de Campuget Costieres de Nimes Tradition Rose 2011.  Good structure and fruit, bright minerality. Fresh, fun, and fruity.  I’ve been feeling like that myself after a few sleepless nights. From the Rhone region, this wine is 70% Syrah, 30% Grenache.

2) From the Coteaux d’Aix in Provence, Bieler Père et Fils is making a lovely Rosé.  As they should.  This blend is 50% Syrah, 30% Grenache and 20% Cab.  Great mouthfeel, both soft and sturdy which I like in my pink friends.  The fruit and minerality is well-balanced.  At around $12, it is a steal.

3) Chateau Paradis 2011 (on sale for $15) This was an interesting one to compare with the Bieler.  I think the higher percentage of Grenache gave it a little more tannic bite.  A great food wine, but it seemed a little harsh after sipping on the previous wine.  I’d buy it again, but I’d serve it with , savory and herbal. Also from Coteaux d’Aix, it is 60% Grenache, 20%  of both Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah.

4) Becker Vineyards in Fredricksburg, Texas recently released their ode to the above region with their 2012 Provencal Rosé.  I really like this wine.  A Grenache, Syrah, Mouvedre blend, this wine has earth and fruit.  Fuller bodied, lively, great for summer barbeques or more refined fare. You can find it in the 10-12 range.

5) The first Rosé I fell for made in Texas was from McPherson Cellars.  It is a little more fruit-forward than the others, but by no means sweet.  This is a great one to introduce someone to the drier style of pink, and Texas wines!  It retails for about $14 and is one of my favorites.

If you haven’t wandered down to the pink aisle yet, this gives to a place to start.  Now I want to hear from you.  Have you discovered any that I need to try?  Share them!

And a little pat on my back and disclaimer.  We’ve been fighting three kinds of funk in the last three weeks around here.  After two nights this week of 3-5 hours of interrupted sleep, I managed to write something, so you can’t get rid of me that easily.  I won’t say it’s my best work, but it works.  And since I wrote half of this with my son sitting in my lap, I neglected nothing.  I think that’s a win-win.  Cheers!

Just Like You, Mama

My dear friend in high school had a nick name for my mother, “Florabunda.”  She named her that because my mom has always had an affinity for flowers.  Many times along our cross-country trips we would hear, “Oh Gene! Look at the flowers.”  It became a family joke, but it is one thing I love about her.  She taught us the names of the wildflowers, the smell of the lilacs.  She taught us to pause and appreciate nature, the unique beauty of the regions, of ourselves.   This has been a crazy week, so I had no time to make it to the card store.  But another thing she taught us is that it is the gifts from the heart that mean the most.  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Heavy green leaves,

Encircle the delicate flowers

Subtle bells, white and pure

Beckon with soft allure

The Lily of the Valley grew

In patch beside our home

“Don’t they smell sweet?”

“Yes, Mama,” I think, “Just like you.”

Crimson and Yellow

The Maples alter their hue

Sharing their beauty

Changing the view

All around us

The leaves are changing

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes, Mama,” I think, “Just like you.”

We stand at the base

Looking up

The Sequoia tower

Majestically above

A growing family

Sprouting each day.

“Aren’t they strong?”

“Yes, Mama,” I think, “Just like you.”

A patchwork of color

The wildflowers spread

Beauty and light

All along their path

We drive along the

Empty road, taking it in

“Aren’t they amazing?”

“Yes, Mama,” I think, “Just like you.”

Being Enough this Mother’s Day

Last week I had the pleasure of chatting with other wine lovers and professionals about the great wines coming out of the Finger Lakes. We tasted Lemberger, Pinot Noir, and two Russian grapes that were new for me, Sapervi and Sereksiya. I always learn something from the producers and writers, but this year, one 140 character tidbit in particular keeps ringing around in my head. Julia Burke, NyWineWench, wrote “Nice of YOU to appreciate it (instead of comparing NY reds to Napa cab)! ” to which Mary Cressler of Vindulge responded, “No way!! NY is NY. CA is CA. OR is OR. Absolutely no need to ever compare to each other. They are who they are!” This idea is one that extends to other areas of our lives, doesn’t it?

If you have been drinking wine for any period of time, you’ve likely come across the idea of terroir, the expression of the land found in wine. Now, there are debates over this, but I’ll leave you to research that for yourself. I am more interested in the general idea of comparing. If you open a Pinot from New York and expect it to taste like one from California, you might be taken aback. If you open one from Burgundy and expect it to taste like one Oregon, you may (or may not) be surprised. Regardless of your expectation, if you don’t take the time to stop comparing, and enjoy it for what it is, you are likely going to miss out on something special.

The other night my brother-in-law made a fish dish, Halibut with Balsamic strawberries. I opened a Pinot from New York, hoping it would work, but it didn’t have the level of acid I was looking for. My husband suggested one of our “flagship” Pinots but I knew that it would be too big, too much black fruit for the dish. We opened the 2010 Stoller Pinot Noir from Dundee Hills and it was just right. Gorgeous cranberry red, red fruit, spice, a bit of fennel. Lovely.

Each Pinot had its own personality and it would be hard to compare them. One was great with fish while the other paired nicely with mushroom risotto. The other wine is big and beautiful, but it would have overpowered the dish. You just need the right wine for the right dish.

After a long day of mothering, a dear friend and I went for a walk last night, after dinner was served, dishes were done, while our husbands gave the children a bath. She was feeling pretty beat up. The worst offender? Herself. You see, she is a fantastic mom, but she doesn’t see it. She only sees that another friend never seems to lose it and she has THREE kids. She wonders how I find time to write and I have TWO kids. She thinks that she is not allowed to have a bad day and that she has no excuse for not get everything done because she only has ONE child. Which is funny, because I look at her super clean house and see how she’s so good and playing with her son and instructing him. I see that she’s in fantastic shape and takes him to the park and museum while I send my kids out in the yard so I can have 30 minutes to write.

Being a mother can, at times, feel like equal parts of joy and suffering. Comparison likes to rear its ugly head in both arenas. Comparing the successes and milestones, comparing the challenges and woes. This Mother’s Day, I challenge you, I challenge myself, to see the coming year through different eyes. How different would our day look if we choose grace, love, and mercy, not only for children but for ourselves? If instead of “doing more” we find peace and satisfaction in the “being?”

Brené Brown talks a lot about comparing in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection. In the book, her friend reminds her that “Comparison is the thief of happiness.” Isn’t it though? She reminds us that comparison is “paralyzing” and prevents us from being creative. If creativity is an expression of self, and we are worried about how we measure up to another’s standard, how can we be fully ourselves? If we try to mother our children in the way our neighbor does, is that really best for our child? There is always more to learn, ideas and inspiration to gain from others. But if we aren’t living authentically and being true to ourselves, living “wholeheartedly” as Brown say, then we are not fully living. You are the best mom for your child. You in your whole, complete self. Your whole and complete self can only be found by giving ourselves the space to be different, the grace to grow and fail.

Motherhood is full of “doing.” There is always more to “do.” But do you also value the being? There is a danger when our focus is on the “doing” rather than “being.” Life becomes exhausting and “it” will never get “done.” Is your value tied to what you accomplish or do you believe that who you are is enough? Being available to question while they explore? Being an example in your career or at the grocery store? Being a constant in their lives? A source of comfort? Isn’t that just as important?

Our children are a reflection of us in so many ways-in appearance, in behavior, talents, and challenges. Sometimes the reflection can be a little hard to take. Sometimes, it reflects something beautiful. It always reflects a unique image, an image that IS enough, just right for your child, just right for you. Do you appreciate its unique beauty or are you too busy comparing?

Addie Broyles of the Austin American Statesman interviewed me this week for pairings with a Mother’s Day brunch. One question she asked was what I wanted for Mother’s Day. In the pre-coffee fog, my immediate response was to not do dishes and to have a few moments of peace. Now, I still stand by that, but with some time to think, I have an additional response.

This Mother’s Day, I wish all of my friends, those that are mothers and those that are not, peace. Peace with oneself, peace in your home. May you come closer to understanding your fullness and not feel the need to compare. Enjoy what you can, let go of what you don’t. Do the dishes, don’t do the dishes, but keep it in perspective. Rejoice in the successes of others and strive to find your own success, with your OWN definition. Love big and with grace. And enjoy what is in YOUR glass, right here, right now.

I need to add a big Happy Mother’s Day to my own mom, a woman who always loved big, who was always there, and has never fully seen all the beauty in her own reflection. Cheers!

Happy Deed Day, Gundlach Bundschu!

Today is Deed Day for the Gundlach Bundschu winery. Last year, in honor of the day, I republished the poem which took first place in their poetry contest in 2011. It was in honor of the family’s history, their growth, and an ode to all farmers, really. This year, I’ll go back to the poem that took third place in 2010. It is a more personal poem written about my experience adjusting to life as a stay-at-home mom and about tapping into the memories associated with their wine. Happy Deed Day, Gundlach Bundschu! The excerpt below was previously published in 2011 as “Poetry in Motion.”

It was about a year and a half ago when I first decided to “put myself out there.” Writing again…publically…as in let-someone-I don’t-know-read-my-thoughts. I hadn’t written anything creatively in years. Not since the tumultuous relationship of my 20s with the distant artist type. But I found the right catalyst.

My 2 yr old daughter was watching Elmo, my 3 month old son was sleeping. Browsing Facebook (a SAHMs only social outlet some days) I came upon a poetry contest that was being held by Gundlach Bundschu, one of our favorite wineries in Sonoma. The history of this estate vineyard is amazing. Some of my best memories in Sonoma are at Rhinefarm so it was easy to find inspiration.

I reflected on our visits there. Newlyweds, no responsibilities, fine wine, blue teeth. Now, we were lucky to get to open a bottle of their wine and remember… I figured I had about 15 minutes so I knocked out a few stanzas (the 152 word limit) and would revisit it when the fog cleared from another sleepless night. A few tweaks later, I sent it off. What could it hurt?

It didn’t hurt anything. Instead, it healed. It reminded me that there was a me before diapers, nightfeeds, dishes, and dustpans. A me that was an okay writer once upon a time. A me that could capture a sentiment in words, even if only for myself. I received third place in the contest, but really I received much more than that. So here it is, an ode to Gundlach Bundschu, to wine, to my kids, my husband…and to me.

Remove a swirl

Of crimson foil,

Exhaling from another day’s toil

A sigh of relief

The cork releases

Oh, what a sound; my joy increases

What is the mood?

Stem or stemless?

My turn to pose a question, endless

One last check on

Children sleeping

No one stirring, no one weeping

A splash of ruby

Zinfandel

Entices with its luscious smell

The lights are dimmed

The table set

Reminding us not to forget

The early days

We frolicked ‘tween

The weighted fruit and rusted leaves

Golden sun, swirling red

We let the warmth

Go to our heads

And now we have

Just our memories,

A taste of days we seldom see

Days of freedom

Days of yore

I smile at the wine he pours

Close my eyes,

Velvet fruit to savor

There is nothing like the Gundlach flavor

So, tonight we will

Cherish our Sonoma escape

Swept away until our children awake

Lamentations

I’ve barely slept this past week. At first, it was because I was sleeping with my son to help him through his pneumonia-induced coughing spells. For the last two nights, I have been so heavy with grief for the families in Newtown that I have not found rest. There is a verse in Romans that says, “…the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” This is a grief that words cannot express, but ironically, I find comfort in writing. So, although this is a wine blog, it is also about my life as a mom. And today, that is about the only thing that seems to matter.

When I came home on Friday, the first things I saw were my daughter’s drawings on the refrigerator. So many families will come home to similar pictures, knowing they will be the last. Before Friday’s tragedy, I found myself frustrated at being awakened yet again. After, I cherished a few extra minutes to hold my sleeping children.

There is understandably more talk about gun-control*.   How I wish that the answer were that simple.  No amount of legislation, gun-control, or metal detectors will stop a broken soul from inflicting horror on others if they are set on doing so.  The only prevention can be to get to that soul before it is too late. This is a generation in which too many have been overexposed to violence on television and video games. They have been under-exposed to loving boundaries and consequences. They are angry and fearful. They are vulnerable and hardened. The mental health problems are multipying; parents are exhausted with nowhere to turn.  This cannot be sustained.

People are looking for reasons, for answers. There are no answers. We retreat from the media or we become obsessed with the coverage. There is no comfort there. We hold our children closer and reevaluate priorities. Oh, that this would continue. Please, talk to your children and their friends. Speak up when you see something. Fight the toxicity we put in our bodies and our brains. Love your children and those in your path. And Pray.

As a mother and a former Elementary teacher, I can imagine all too vividly the horror. Although I was not directly impacted, I have friends that were. Comfort and solace are nearly impossible to come by in a tragedy of this magnitude. There is another verse I have chosen to focus on. In Mark, we are told of people bringing their children to Jesus to be touched. He says, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” The verse following tells us that “he took them in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.” I choose to, I need to, believe that he shielded their minds in this. That he was there to welcome them into his arms. `

May God be near. May he provide a peace that passes understanding. May he restore what is broken and bring beauty from the ashes.

*see comments

Time to Breathe

There are some evenings that just require a little more self-care than others.  After a tough conversation with your boss,  the day your dog ate your favorite boots, the Monday after Thanksgiving.  Or any day with a three-year old tornado.  This evening, I needed a little something extra. So while my husband has my daughter out for a date, I opened a sample I have been looking forward to, a 2010 Wild Horse Merlot.

After a couple disappointing reds this past weekend, I knew good old Merlot would not let me down.  The winemaker suggested a hearty Marinara or braised beef for pairing, so I knew I was taking a risk opening it with my dinner of cheese and crackers.  But I guess I was feeling a little “wild”.   

Baked berries, cedar, and a bit of spice on the nose.  My first sip told me that the wine lived up to its name.  With some time in the bottle, this wine would mellow and turn into something special.  (If you only knew all the horse puns I resisted here.)  For tonight, the best I could do was give it some time to breathe.  I know how that feels.

After about thirty minutes, I tried it again.  Red fruit with a backbone.  Bright cherry, round plum.  Classic Merlot and just was I was looking for tonight.  The spice and cedar added depth and balance.  Sometimes a wine just needs some time to relax into itself.  A little air, a little time, a little space.  Amen. 

It is no wonder why Paso Robles is getting so much attention.  I would love to see where this wine is going.  I know where I am going.  To my couch, with a remote, and a glass of  Wild Horse Merlot.  I promise I’ll be much more enjoyable in thirty minutes.

*{Disclosure: I was provided with this wine from PR Firm, Folsom & Associates. All statements and opinions expressed in this article are my own.}