My young journalistic roots had grown intertwined with a budding love of wine. It would be a long and fruitful evolution that would last a lifetime.
Remember maps? Those were the big paper things you consulted before the days of “Hey Siri, give me the directions to Walmart.”
Nearly all of us are looking forward to having a career in wine, whether it’s being a floor sommelier, winery owner, or a writer and educator. The latter would be me.
I read tweets and FaceBook inquiries from worried friends asking if I was "okay." Okay from what? I turned on the TV and was unprepared for the horror.
After all, visiting every winery in the SLO AVA means needing a vehicle with great gas mileage and off-road tires. Jeep Prius, anyone?
Closing Note: Despite the memories, there are several reasons why I’d never move to the South, and none of them have to do with racial politics. Too many mosquitoes, a paucity of wine growing, and an abundance of humidity, hurricanes, and tornadoes. No bueno.
I began my foray into the bartending world by starting as a barback. It was easily the hardest work I’ve ever done for less than minimum wage in my life.
The only bad thing – if you want to call it bad – is that I still haven’t quite accepted the fact that I’m not the aspiring HGTV star that I think I am.
I finally found my real estate soulmate and moved in last month after weeks of HGTVing my way into getting it into habitable (for me) shape.
Don't get me wrong; my day-to-day interactions with folks in the wine trade have been terrific and I *feel* the respect once we get started talking about/tasting/studying wine. They know I know my shit and that I'm open to learning when I don't.