TV Party Tonight!

Five-thirty pm on Saturday night and I clopping up a dusty hillside in order to shut off the last irrigation valve. The sun is beggining to set and I take off my ballcap in old farmer fashion to scratch the back of my head with the same palm thinking to myself, 'I thought today was supposed to be a half day.'

Rewind.

Friday afternoon and I am finishing up delivering a tractor and lightower. Mondo rings me for a status update. The part of me that deep down has begun to hate the ring of my phone wants to respond that, yes I am still working. After touching base he casually mentions we might not even have a pick the following day. My mood improves exponentially and I begin to dream of smiling bottles of beer floating and singing down the Russian River.

An hour or two passes and the Nextel rings again. Mondo again. We just have some irrigation cycles to run but if I can get things squared with my watering lackey I will be scott free or at least only have to put in a few hours.

Pulling back into the office again my work phone rings. The ringtone now sort of beginning to sound like the alarm clock buzzer you had in highschool. You roll over hoping it's Saturday, but it's really Monday. Mondo's on the line once again. Aside from the irrigation cycles he would like my help with a few tractors moves. No problem I respond still envisioning getting out by noon, one pm at the latest.

Exhausted after a few barely pops at the shop I cruise home to the Cro Mag's "Age of Quarrel" and pass out with a layer of sweat shallacking my body.

***

Saturday and all bets are off. Instead of two tractors to move there are now three along with a load of 18 picking bins to be moved in for Monday's early morning pick. Not to mention assisting with the multiple irrigation cycles across the county. Multitasking has begun to make my head spin.

At home Saturday night I'm a bit too beat to cook a beautiful cut of tri-tip weighing in at 2.5 pounds. Simply for fear of overcooking the perfect cut of meat. Instead I opt out for a vegetarian platter of olives, aged gouda, camembert, fresh heirloom tomatoes and avocado alongside a bottle of 2007 Villa Maria Private Bin Marlborough Riesling. And much to my suprise the wine was a ripper, unlike their entry level Vile Maria Sauv Blanc. Notes of white flowers, citrus and mellon nuanced with the signature riesling petrol and incredibly smooth mouthfeel make this wine a crowd pleaser, or populist quaf, any night of the week.

***

Listening to the soothing rants of Mr. Bourdain I passed out by 10 pm, my neck cramed between to plush leather cushions, mouth agape to provide a safe haven for flies. This ageing bag of bones just can't live hard like the old days.