One Door Closed

I feel like the small child in the Far Side cartoon, resolutely pushing as hard as it can against the door which, somewhere high over its head, is clearly marked “pull”.  Though I have been accepted to the CFPPA course in viticulture and oenologie, I don’t think I will be able to attend after all – I will spare the details, but it boils down to sordid considerations of filthy lucre.

The night before my interview my Grand Collins Robert French-English dictionary software packed up and announced it wasn’t going to work again until I fed it the original disk – which is buried in a box in deepest Kent.  It did seem a bad omen at the time.

The other image that comes to mind – sorry, I’m visual, things make best sense to me if I can picture them, either literally or metaphorically – is from one of the Matrix movies, when Neo is following orders barked down the phone – “Turn left!”  When he turns right, the operator barks, “No, OTHER left!!”  So, my first left didn’t work, I need to try the other left… I do not doubt I will find my niche in the wine trade, but I guess it won’t be here, as hoped.

There has always been another plan in the back of my mind, and now I need to piece together an approach to that.  Meanwhile, for now, I shall depart Beaune the 16th July and wend my way down to Portugal via Bordeaux.

Clearing out old files from my hard drive, I found one marked Goethe, can’t think where it came from, but found it encouraging:

Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves, too.  All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have otherwise occurred. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets:

‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, magic and power in it’

W H Murray (from the Scottish Himalayan Expedition)

Have been stuck for an image for this posting, till I remembered this one taken 25 June, when I walked to Meursault:  a vineyard just over the line from Beaune into Pommard, past Montrevenots, on a guess from the map, perhaps Les Saussilles or Pezerolles, grubbed up and rough ploughed.  When I walked past it again on the 14th July and they had cleared away all the stone slag to a heap up the hill behind another vineyard, and ploughed again to finer tilth, ready to start again.