Love Letter to 2007 Linne Calodo Sticks and Stones ****

Dear Sticks and Stones,

Ever since that night we had together I haven't be able to get you out of my mind. It's true. I'm not playing coy. No more games. I miss you. I miss your husky blackberry concentration, your heady fancy French perfume, your notes of sage and orange rind and clove. In this world gone mad I want you all to myself.

You think I'm playing games -- drinking around -- what can I say? I am who I am. I'm not a one wine kind of guy. I told you this. I never lied. You knew where I stood.

I've been checking you out, behind your back, drinking with your friends from Paso Robles without your knowing about it. Mostly west side wines, where that limestone earth seduces me. Making sure you're for real. Making sure you're legit.

It's true I spent a week with Tablas Creek. And I ordered some old vines wines -- they had nothing on you. But I don't regret it. I can't say I ever will. But I was thinking of you the whole time.

You think I don't mean it. You think I prefer those blueberry-syrahs with their overtly vanilla profiles, but let me tell you something, they've got nothing on you.

I heard from Sine Qua Non not so long ago. That husky tramp with her sexy perfume and wily Moulin Rouge ways. She allocated me two bottles of white wine and told me I was lucky to get just that. Ha! A two bottle allocation is a slap in the face. It's an insult. I told her to get lost. Two bottles. What a joke.

You're the one I want. Come back to me. It can be the way it was.

I promise ...