2009! Bring it on!

San Francisco, with its culture of food, wine and sophisticated fun, is a great New Year’s Eve kind of city. At least I’m pretty sure of it, as I haven’t actually done New Year’s in the city. And this is not the year for an extravagant evening of packing our drunken selves into cable cars for party hopping that ends with a night in the penthouse in the Fairmont. We’ll leave the decadence to the rock stars and heads of state. Instead, we’ll be ringing in the New Year in Napa, opting for a subtle, inexpensive, reasonably quiet but hopefully very fun gathering of friends, clients and even one vendor for a WHITE ELEPHANT PARTY!

Having just done one at the kids’ school that didn’t work all that well, I am determined to make this party memorable. Just like Michael and I used to do in New York!
So, if you like to wait until the very last minute to make New Year’s plans, or you’re in the mood to plan for next month, here’s my way of doing it.

A White Elephant party is simply a silly gift exchange, which, when done correctly, brings out the great humor and crafty strategy of your guests. However, every time I do one of these parties, otherwise intelligent people tend to get it wrong. Be very clear in your invite, State that guests are to bring one gift per person, not per couple. Gifts should be wrapped but not tagged, as no one knows who will be opening them. Tell them their gifts can be anything - except something bought for the event “that everyone would like”. A Red House cashmere scarf for example, would be an inappropriate White Elephant gift. But a sausage in the shape of a teddy bear has great potential. I always have a few extra wrapped gifts in case someone forgets theirs. (This always happens!) Guests should be advised that they will be expected to tell a brief story about their gift after someone opens it. Some guests find this cumbersome for some reason, so emphasize brief.

When guests arrive, they place their gifts under the tree and everyone carries on with drinks, dinner and catching up until it is time for the Real Party. Do not start the White Elephant too late though as it takes time, and those who leave before it’s over mess things up. Find out in advance if any guests need to leave early to relieve babysitters or walk dogs. Ideally, state a planned end time on the invite. For New Year’s, I’ve said 1:00 a.m. That gives us time for a “break” to toast 2009 and kiss.

When it’s time for the party to begin, pass around a bowl with numbers to draw corresponding to the number of people (and gifts.) The person who has “1” gets to choose first. Person #2 can choose any of the wrapped gifts or Person #1’s unwrapped item. The higher the number, the greater the options. As each gift is opened, the person who brought it expounds on its significance, provenance, or in my case reads as much as an entire typewritten page about the gift. (I like to tell a story!) This is maybe why others find the oratorical request daunting. But remember, public speaking is a valuable skill. And I think entertaining doesn’t get any better than this!

Two rounds of White Elephant are typically played. This gives Person #1 the opportunity to “steal” back his or her original gift or dispense with the clunker they have had since the beginning. The more bizarre gifts get traded a lot. And every once in a while there’s a clearly tacky gift that actually appeals to one guest. An example? A box of vanilla/nutmeg bath salts that was represented by the person who brought it as having the option of doubling as a pancake mix. The guest who took it home couldn’t wait to try it. Not sure whether it made it to the bath or kitchen!

That, my friends, is why you should plan to have or attend one of these parties soon. In uncertain times, laughter and good wine are the best medicine. Happy New Year, everyone!

On to the Ho Ho Ho!

I am feeling much better about the holidays. Most work issues are tabled until January; trips, pageants and parties are for the most part done. And shopping has been easier as I have been out there less this year. The key to cutting back is making gifts meaningful, of course. Forget throwaway fashion – the refined classics of Red House will be under the trees of my friends and family this year, and enjoyed for years to come. We are all about quality that keeps its value. And, yes, I know, Ralph Lauren thought of it first. Though I have to say, when I had my nose pressed against the window of his San Francisco boutique last week, it was to admire something a bit more opulent. (Not, however, the $16,000 crocodile bowling bag – Horrors!) Let’s hope for a rebounding economy very soon. Meanwhile, a Christmas morning characterized by less frenzy and mountains of crumpled gift wrap means more time to enjoy each other. Sounds trite, but I’m thinking it will be a memorable holiday.

What really made my mood change for the better was participating in a “Dinner-and-a-Coat” benefit party at Delia and Andrew’s school for Napa Valley farm workers and their families. The students collected outgrown and “out of fashion” (i.e. not classic!) kids’ and adults’ coats. You might not think it gets cold here in Napa but we have our frosty winter days too, and a warm coat offers a lot of comfort. With the help of grown-ups, the coats were cleaned and displayed in the school gym on hangers that were wrapped in beautiful bows. Each was tagged with size and gender. After a healthy buffet dinner of locally grown food (that the farm workers probably participated in harvesting!), the party began. Each attendee pulled a number out of a fish bowl and Number 1 had first pick of coats. A White Elephant theme was meant to make the event more exciting, but some of the attendees were a bit confused at first - as were those of us organizing, as we all had different rules and needed to reach agreement. We did, finally, and tried to make it clear that Number 2 could pick a coat from the rack OR the coat Number 1 had chosen, and etc., etc… As the hours went by we realized White Elephant isn’t the best approach when there are hundreds of people and myriad sizes. Even so, everyone went home with a coat, a full stomach and muddled comprehension of a silly American party game. It felt good to help.

To my clients, vendors, friends, and the complete strangers who might be reading this, I wish you a warm and Happy Holiday, filled with the people you love, enhanced by good food – and good wine. Thank you for your continued business, and I hope you will choose Red House again in the year ahead. Here’s to a joyous 2009! CHEERS!!!

Shame and Suffering Under the Big Top.

Party at Pier 29! In a tent! Dinner-and-a-circus! Every time I come to San Francisco I see the big white spiegeltent (German for “ancient Big Top”) of Teatro Zinzani and the tagline: “Love, Chaos & Dinner”. What’s not to love?! Check it out – www.love.zinzanni.org. It sounded like just the right place for the Red House Holiday Party. Extreme fun for all! The attendees were few in number but large in enthusiasm (or at least that’s what they told me). Just Kerin and her boyfriend Brian, Michael and myself. There were others we’d get to know by the night’s end, but not on purpose.

Anyway, the concept is a raucous, celebratory dinner party staffed by cabaret-loving carnival refugees and former gymnasts. Am I making sense? It is hard to explain. There are Elvis impersonators, actors, singers, comedians – any of whom could also be carnival refugees. The show is a series of breathtaking feats, vaudeville songs and comedy routines. I had heard that members of the audience are sometimes conscripted into roles designed to embarrass them thoroughly. I had also heard that we should dress wildly so I wore my red sequined cocktail dress with a turquoise feather boa and a vintage red velvet hat. Kerin opted for a “70’s glam rock look. I hadn’t seen anyone wear white satin since disco died! Blatantly ignoring my suggestion of festive dress, Brian and Michael wore Red House shirts. While I admire their good taste, they sure didn’t look like they belonged with us. They purposely did not want to attract attention. Instead, under cover of business-casual they hoped to observe others attracting attention.

One of the server/participants, a stunning supermodel-type, announced to our table with Nazi-like inflection that she was 6’4”. She then demanded that each of us indicate our height as she took copious notes. She cracked a whip and announced that she was from “East Germany”. With Teutonic efficiency, she adjusted the salt and peppershakers on our table repeatedly and seemed quite irritated - mumbling under her breath about the “lack of discipline”. At one point she even used a ruler to make sure the condiments were precisely placed. Then, before leaving to torment another table, she told me my dress was too sexy for me. (Ouch! But I got to thinking, maybe she’s right…!)

There was something going on in every part of the dining room the whole evening. Every course was a new adventure. A trapeze artist dangled over tables as our salad plates were delivered by a server who clambered effortlessly over the back of our booth and slid onto the seat. He arranged the plates for us and then slithered under the table and out – all without a word. Bizarre!

Other than the fact that little bits of my feather boa kept getting into my food, the cuisine was really quite good. Our focus though, was on the experience - while being careful to avoid eye contact with the staff. They appeared well trained to spot a victim. Poor Brian, he must have looked too normal in his Red House button-down shirt. He was targeted by a woman (well, not a real woman) who said he was her long–lost Todd! I know he’d be devastated if I told you the full extent of his humiliation, but what happened next was that “Miss Davina” took “Todd” by the hand to center stage. (She was strong!) There, she reenacted the circumstances of their erstwhile romance. They had been marooned together on a tiny tropical island, the only survivors after their cruise ship sank and sharks ate all of the other passengers. She demonstrated that since it was so hot on the island “Toddy” didn’t need his shirt, so the Red House button-down was tossed aside. And of course, she didn’t need her shirt either, so Brian had to fashion a coconut bra and fit her with it. (You can picture this pretty well, can’t you? Right down to his crimson-red face!) So frightened was Miss Davina in recalling this experience that she had to hold Toddy verrrry tightly, just as she had all those years before they were rescued. Now that she had found him again she vowed not to let go, literally. She ended the routine by crowding into our booth with one very large and hairy arm looped around her Toddy. I’m pretty sure it will be a long time before Toddy forgives me, but what a memorable holiday party for the rest of us!

Bah Humbug, for now.

I wish I could be more cheerful about this “most wonderful time of the year”, but I’m feeling like the various Dickens Christmas Ghosts are going to show up at my bedside and tell me everything I’m doing wrong. They’d be right. Meanwhile, I’m sure not having a good time. Michael is scheduled for another trip back to Charlotte before Christmas and could possibly miss Andrew’s kindergarten Posada pageant. I am expected to create a burro costume for the lad and I can tell you right now it’s not going to happen. (The best I can do is to glue fake fur ears and a tail on his ninja Halloween costume.) I promised Delia we’d go see The Nutcracker ballet in San Francisco and finish with hot chocolate and a viewing of the gingerbread cathedrals and castles in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel. Walking past cookies is as close as I’m going to get to baking them!

My shopping so far has been limited to gifts for clients, which I hope to personally deliver to them, or even better: present to them at the parties they’ve been kind enough to invite me to. I look forward to these episodes of merriment and the opportunity to wear my red sequined cocktail dress. (It’s perfect for keeping RED House on their minds as we start a new year!) But interfering with my fun is…everything else I have to get done!

I know I’ll have to get to the toy store as the kids already have several Red House cashmere scarves from last year and are hoping for something they can play with. Aside from shopping, the Red House holiday cards need to be sent (I’ll put Kerin on that!) and a bit more gluing of glitter to complete the handmade cards we do each year for family and friends. This is a tradition that I take seriously as a designer, but no one will see them if they remain in a stack on the coffee table.

Our Christmas goose, and whatever else we may eat Christmas week will be delivered - cooked, baked and basted - by Dean & DeLuca. I am secure in the knowledge that we have sparkling wine chilled and ready in sufficient quantity for anyone who may drop by this season. Now there’s some comfort and joy!

Next time I’ll tell you about our own Red House “company Christmas party” – it’s coming up! Meanwhile, check out this alternative I found to the traditional holiday fruitcake: www.inflatablefruitcake.com. It might just help you finish your own holiday shopping!

Tea but No Sympathy.

I met Mom and Dad for lunch at the Lakehouse restaurant of Calistoga Ranch Resort (calistogaranch.com). It’s such a lovely, private setting, by its own peaceful little lake, with the Mayacamas Mountains in the distance. I could almost forget that I have a lot on my mind. But I skipped the wine pairing and went with the ice tea – a sure sign that I’m on edge. I told my parents about Michael’s bank-lust and mentioned every what-if I could think of. They offered the sort of response you’d expect to hear from retired people with few responsibilities, and who have been ultra-relaxed here at Calistoga Ranch for the past week. They told me not to worry, blah, blah, things have a way of working themselves out. Ugh! That is NOT what I wanted to hear! I wanted sympathy and concrete suggestions for talking Michael out of potentially commuting to Charlotte. They weren’t going there, probably the wisest choice they made that day other than choosing the oyster and sauvignon blanc pairing. I was on my own to sort this out. Oddly, my own parents remind me more of Michael than Michael’s parents do…

So, unable to engage Mom and Dad in my battle, we talked about the kids. Except for Andrew’s episode of dancing around naked at Circle Time - that required many apologetic phone calls - there were no problems, and the clothes stayed on the rest of the time. The kids loved the pool at Calistoga Ranch, despite the chilly weather, but spent most of the time in the hot tub at my parents’ guest lodge and insisted on using the outdoor shower every day (So would I!) They went on long walks, discovering an old orchard and an abandoned summer camp, and Delia even joined in a beading class with my mom.

I gathered the kids’ stuff and went to pick them up at school. They were surprised to see me a day early and were both joyful and sad, as they’d be leaving the life luxurious at Calistoga Lodge. Can’t blame them for that - they were facing a very simple dinner of tortellini and broccoli and most likely an earlier bedtime than they’d enjoyed with Mom and Dad.

Michael and I had a very long talk on the phone tonight. He should have been exhausted, but he sounded very energized and ready for his interviews tomorrow. Though it was already dark when he arrived in Charlotte he said the city looked vibrant. Dang. Napa is plenty vibrant in a different way. And New York is the MOST vibrant, and I am thrilled to be out of the rat race there. I thought Michael was too…

He did tell me that the interviews are preliminary and no decisions will be made for at least a month. Good news!

See ya, Michael.

My brain is still buzzing. Charlotte, North Carolina! Unreal! I didn’t sleep well as I was thinking about his plans, my plans, our plans – everything.

On the way to the airport Michael did his best to calm me down. He said that his top priority is our family. If (and there are a few ifs) he takes this job it would be a gradual transition. He would be one of those commuter employees and only a part-time one at that, as he is committed to the smooth running of Red House. He would also be very involved in the choosing of his replacement. The business would not suffer – this he assured me of. The rest of it – how our ENTIRE LIVES would play out is another issue entirely. He asked that I not get ahead of myself on that one right now - too many unknowns. What is known is that I’m not known for my patience, but I will try. At least temporarily.

I dropped Michael off at SFO and went to pick up the kids, who were staying with my parents at Calistoga Ranch. Good thing I called first as it was morning and my mom reminded me that the kids were in school. Oh, right! She was surprised to hear from me a day early. (Not as surprised as I was to be here a day early.) I made plans to meet my parents for lunch and then surprise Delia and Andrew by picking them up at school.

Back to work and plenty of it. This trip was the first time Michael and I had been away from Red House for more than two days since we launched the business. I have to say, Kerin did very well while we were gone. Not that I expected disasters, but there were multiple orders coming in that she had to deal with in addition to her administrative responsibilities. I wasn’t sure how she’d do under pressure, and it was great to find out that she has the ability and motivation to effectively handle quality control and client contact too. I learned that she also fielded some new business inquiries with professionalism and flair. I see an evolving role for Kerin. She asked where Michael was and I thought about telling her, but we had stitching to check this morning on 78 shirts. I just said he had a family issue. The facts can wait for another day!

Road Trip Day Five: U-Turn

Michael had told me he had a surprise planned for the last night of our trip. Was that why we had to leave quickly? He seemed rushed as he gathered up his things in the room. I asked again. He sat on the edge of the fussy lace bedspread and told me that we were going to go to Ashland, Oregon, to spend our last day touring Rogue River Valley wineries, and our last night seeing a play at the fabled Oregon Shakespeare Festival, but that’s all off now because he found out he had to get back today to catch a flight tomorrow to Charlotte, N.C. Why? FOR A JOB INTERVIEW! I was floored, and suddenly enraged. I wanted to grab something and throw it across the room. There was a china tea set handy but Michael gave me his “think first” look, as I was about to pitch the sugar bowl. What followed was an outburst - me raising my voice and giving the other guests (who were still down at breakfast at least, and not right next door) their own reason to dislike Bed & Breakfasts. Michael suggested I take my rants to an even smaller space – our car. And so I did. For 100’s of miles south it was mainly me talking, well, arguing, about whatever he said. I don’t remember any of the scenery going back, and then we were finally on a particularly bleak stretch of interstate anyway. I had a lot of questions and even more complaints.

Michael said he wasn’t looking for a job, but was approached by someone he knew from his business school network. The opportunity was awesome, and yes, it was in Charlotte, which he said had changed from a backwater to a banking hub. He admitted that with Red House poised to grow it would be difficult to turn the financial aspects of the company over to someone else, but he said he had thought it through and it was do-able. More so now than it would be later.

He had planned to tell me about the interview when we got back home, and that he was sorry that instead he had to cut short (and mess up) our trip, but all the people who wanted to interview him were all going to be in Charlotte at the same time so he had to fly out tomorrow. I ran the gamut of emotion – why did he even need a career outside of Red House? And what about US?! Delia and Andrew?! Life in Napa?! I knew the south could not come close in terms of appeal.

After what felt like forever on the road we were back in Napa. Near perfect Napa. It was late; I’d get the kids tomorrow after taking Michael to the airport. I sat on the deck for a while, just thinking – where would all of this lead…?

Road Trip Day Four, Continued: Eureka!

Eureka means, “We found it!” and we did – before lunch. A quaint city of Victorian homes, it has seen better, noisier days as a shipping port for the many logs felled in Humboldt.

Though Michael knows I dislike Bed & Breakfasts and Victoriana, it was his idea to stay at an authentic Victorian B&B. He thought that the style elements might be a source of inspiration for my work at Red House. He also thought the experience of sharing a bathroom and breakfast with perfect strangers would help me in my quest to acquire patience. Well, it didn’t help that I started out tired, and that I had to stake out some space in the parlor to get some work done while Michael explored Old Town. I’m not used to dealing with distractions such as the public coming in off the street and inquiring about vacancies. And it was nearly impossible to get a wireless signal with all the heavy tapestries and stuffed animals clogging the air space. Being seated at the Victorian séance table was sort of unnerving too. Plus, the velvet chair I had to sit in was precisely a right angle. Better to conjure the undead from a position of excellent posture, I guess. And there was so much clutter in the room that I had trouble concentrating. Stuffed peacock! Antlers! Dolls with tiny teeth that looked like they were taken from real children! And the effect of fringed red silk lampshades is to draw all of the light from the room and reflect back onto me a devilish red pallor. I decided to have a glass of whatever was in the room’s decanter. Wow - one ghastly sip told me it was just for show. Eventually, I settled into a working mode, though when all was said and done Michael accomplished more than I – he found a real gem of a restaurant, Avalon. It’s got to be the only local recipient of the Wine Spectator Award of Excellence. (See it at avaloneureka.com) If you find yourself here you have to go for the pear, bacon and gorgonzola salad - and the smoked quail. Of course, the substantial wine list was a delight after my day in the parlor.

Back at the inn: The bathroom was down the hall and some dark and creaky stairs, but no one was in it when I got there – a plus. We tucked in to what was for us a tiny bed, but it was the rock-hard pillows that made it difficult to sleep. I must have managed though as I was awakened by the sound of talking in the hallway and doors opening and closing. It was 3:14! And again - more of the same at 4:30! Who stays out that late? See what I mean about B&Bs?! Naturally, Michael slept through the noise. I didn’t get back to sleep until it was about time to get up anyway. And I had spent hours thinking about whether to go find the parlor and drain the moonshine from the decanter, but figured I’d crash into one of the priceless antique gramophones en route.

Six normal looking people were seated in the dining room with fruit cups in front of them when Michael and I came down for breakfast. I expected at least two of them to be hung-over 20-somethings, but no. The innkeeper offered us coffee, which we enthusiastically accepted, and then Michael and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance – the coffee was barely tea colored and was flavored with vanilla – GAG! But we learned the story of the nocturnal noise – the poor couple! They came all the way from Alabama for a wedding in the redwoods and their rental car broke down as they were driving back to Eureka. They were by the side of the road for hours waiting for a tow truck. Dazed and confused, they left their cell phone in the truck when it dropped them at the B&B. They fell asleep only to be awakened an hour later by the innkeeper, who had to roust them to the phone in the parlor to take a call from their rental car company. Whoa.

The innkeeper seemed distressed that I hardly ate any of my breakfast, a huge platter of French toast encircled by a string of sausages. There was a good half-pound of powdered sugar there, plus islands of butter adrift on a sea of syrup! I was somewhat ashamed of myself and tried to divert the innkeeper’s attention to a portrait on the wall, which I commented on, saying it looked just like Joseph Stalin. The innkeeper looked as if she’d been kicked in the head, “That’s my great-great Grandfather.” (Ouch!) I wasn’t making any friends here. Michael saved the day by announcing that we had to go. (We did?!)

Road Trip Day Four: Checking Out!

When we got back to the room I started throwing things into my bag. I wanted to leave that instant! Michael suggested I take a deep breath, gather my brain cells and reconsider. Where would we go this late? He had a point. My client was right (at least about one thing!) - it is secluded here. We agreed to stay, and be out before dawn so as not to risk her seeing us. She’s a good client and I plan to just pretend forever that I didn’t see her in a plum silk jacquard dress with a vine pattern lace overlay. (Lace is a major trend this year.) I’ll always remember the details: she had a small, beaded evening bag, and her “date” appeared to be wearing a Red House Textured Silk Polo (RH-10) in Steel Gray. They were laughing and sharing a bottle of Perrier Jouet champagne like they were the only people there. How really shocking! Michael suggested I spend some quality time with the laptop. Guess he wanted to get some rest for our early checkout, and he was probably exhausted listening to me speculate on why, who, blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t sleep of course, and so I typed for hours.

I was up first as it takes me longer to get ready. Michael will take 15 minutes top from leaving the bed to starting the car. And he’ll look great. How does he do it?! I gathered up everything I’d need in the bathroom so as not to wake Michael after my shower. I quietly closed the door, turned on the light, pulled back the shower curtain and after a half second of cognitive dissonance/predawn brain fog I screamed – “BAT!” I dropped my robe and about 30 different hair and makeup items onto the tile floor, ran out and slammed the door. Michael sat up in bed with a look of horror, and I don’t think it was because of the bat. He told me to calm down (grrr!) and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I heard quiet. Then… tooth brushing! I slowly opened the door and he gestured to the empty shower with its little window open, just like I left it last night before I knew about the bats. Mumbling, with toothpaste running down his chin, he said I had scared it good. I know, harmless. (But Michael never watched horror movies like I did…)

We checked out without incident. No client sightings and no citation for my disturbing the peace. There was even coffee in the lobby, for which I was extremely grateful.

It’s beautiful on the coast this early in the morning with dappled, though cool sunlight streaming through the clouds. We don’t have a long drive and will be spending the night in the Victorian Seaport town of Eureka. The coffee is wearing off though so I think I’ll sleep until it’s my turn to drive.

Road Trip Day Three, Continued: Checking In

The desk clerk told me that Reggae on the River was held at Benbow Lake this year – a little too close to the Inn, she said, as they had to chase more than the usual number of squatters off their lawn, and in one case out of an attic. The people we had
seen were real hangers-on, as
the festival happened months ago.

The Benbow Inn was dreadlock-free when we checked in, and my only concern was the giant stuffed teddy bear “having tea” in the lobby, which reminded me of all the cluttered bed-and-breakfasts we’ve stayed in. I need not have worried - our room is tastefully furnished with antiques - no feared Victorian bric-a-brac. There’s even a small window in the shower – cute!

Almost time for dinner, but here’s what I’ve learned: the hotel is on the Register of National Historic Places, built in 1926 to provide distinctive lodging and recreational opportunities for travelers on the just-completed Redwood Highway. (Check it out: www.benbowinn.com.) Its architect was Albert Farr, known in my neck of the woods for The Wolf House, Jack London’s Glen Ellen home. Situated to enjoy views of the Eel River, the hotel was created in the English Tudor style with intricate wood and stonework. Several presidents have stayed here, though probably not Reagan or he’d have come to know some redwoods. Two of the on-holiday-from-Hollywood guests included Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy. Most notably, the restaurant is superb, the recipient of the Wine Spectator’s Award of Excellence for ten straight years. And if it wasn’t awesome there would be a problem as there doesn’t appear to be another place nearby for dinner. My client was right - this place is secluded!

We dined on the terrace with view of the romantic gardens. Though it was chilly, I was comfortable wrapped in my ever-present pashmina. We lingered over a molten chocolate cake baked just for us – heavenly indulgence! I heard a “swoosh” sound nearby and saw a shadow flitting by in the moonlight. Huh. And again. I looked over at a nearby table and asked the equally puzzled-looking woman seated there, “Was that a...bat?!” Sure enough, illuminated by the moonlight in a perfect Hitchcock-ian Halloween tableau, BATS!! Lots and lots of them streaming from the eaves and even some of the attic windows! Were they seeking insects? Chocolate cake? Or had they developed a taste for tourist blood?! Michael was nonchalant about the whole thing but not I; it was time to get indoors. I fled with the cake and stopped at the front desk to share my possible-near-death-by-exsanguination experience, but the night manager was not buying it. She said the bats were harmless and had been in residence for decades. In the 1960’s, sensing the discomfort of “certain guests” (she didn’t have to say it: the namby-pamby Maddies) the hotel owners paid some teenagers 5¢ per captured bat and they nearly went broke. (Eeeew - and what might they have done with all the bat bodies?!) She did offer us a complimentary sherry in the bar, you know, to steady our nerves. We liked that – and the polished wood was lovely, like an English gentlemen’s’ club. I could picture Ralph Lauren kicking back in his own cozy lair. We were trying to picture him swatting at bats with a vintage tennis racket in his signature classic whites when my eye caught something else that made me shiver. This time it was not a bat, but my client, the one who recommended this place to me. She was ensconced in a dark corner canoodling with a man I knew was NOT HER HUSBAND! Unbelievable! We had to get out of the bar – and the hotel – without her seeing us!

Road Trip Day Three, Continued: Naked up North

The redwoods, wow! This is a whole new part of California for us. Does any other state have this much natural variety? I don’t think so. And I’m not sure if I believe President Reagan really said, “If you’ve seen one redwood you’ve seen them all.” At least when seen looking up from a hike they are quite varied in age and appearance. Driving along the “Avenue of Giants”, Michael and I were just in awe of these spectacular trees. There’s something so majestic about anything that can survive hundreds of years of earthquakes, fires, stormy winters, treehouse-building and SHARP AXES to grow to such towering heights – some are 360’! The younger ones really have it easy (like today’s kids!) as there are protections in place to ensure their future. I took a lot of pictures, again finding inspiration that I can draw on for Red House in the forest’s many shades of brown and the greens of the ferns, mosses and rolling farmlands. Grays too - the sky is different here. We are in Humboldt County, which, like Mendocino, is quiet enough to encourage agriculturally-minded counterculturalists to make this their dope growing destination. We didn’t see it but we did see some of them – naked!

Hiking led to hunger and we packed a picnic lunch to enjoy on the banks of the Humboldt River. Drifting down the river was a truck-size inner tube containing four young revelers who were enjoying golden-hued beverages from what appeared to be Mason jars. (Probably not vintage chardonnay.) They waved, and we could see clearly that they were naked! It wasn’t even warm out - at all! Astonishing! We waved back and shook our heads, feeling the fall chill and grateful for Gortex hiking gear and good wine.

Back on the road, and not too far up the highway, we saw what appeared to be some sort of a camp. And a colorful sign, “Reggae on The River”. Tents too, festooned with flags in the Rastafarian green, red and gold. And several more naked people dancing near a campfire! Unlike the inner-tubers, these folks could not be considered young by any stretch mark of the imagination. (So you know - that was Michael’s comment, not mine!) I was reminded of the guy whose robe fell open at the Sonoma spa last summer. Another image forever etched into my brain. Yuck. At least Michael saw this one, albeit from a distance that made the “details” fuzzy.

And sorry to disappoint you but no, Michael and I did not join the party and shed our inhibitions. We are staying, clothed, at The Benbow Inn in Garberville. This is another place you just can’t miss on your California adventuring. It was recommended by a client who said she comes up here all the time. She raved about the secluded setting.

Time to check in!

Road Trip Day Three: Mendocino and Meow

We skipped out on what would have probably been an awesome breakfast, but after the lassitude that followed the waffles and massage of yesterday we decided to get an earlier start and check out Mendocino. It was kind of sleepy in the morning, enshrouded in a lovely Pacific mist. And what a hippie town! At 9:00 in the morning the marijuana smoke was wafting from several storefronts. (Ok, it was closer to 10:00.) At one such establishment I purchased a handbag-of-sorts for Natalie’s upcoming birthday. It was constructed of a recycled seat belt and tire. It’s actually quite useful and she’ll love it. The town also had a fair number of useless souvenir and candy shops, and plenty of tourists to patronize them. The heart of this community though, resides in the venerable Victorian homes, not all of them bed-and-breakfasts either. I loved walking past and looking at the lovingly tended English gardens. The Mendocino motto should be: “Yes, we have time for all of this – and you don’t!” The post office was from another era too. I mailed postcards to Delia and Andrew. (Stay dressed, young man!) We breakfasted on wheatgrass smoothies and some kind of dense brown muffin of twigs and underbrush (!?), and were also able to find satisfying lattes before resuming our adventure.

The staggering beauty of the Pacific Coast Highway makes for the ideal road trip, and led to our discovery of Pacific Star Winery (www.pacificstarwinery.com) north of Ft. Bragg. We had never heard of it, but there wasn’t a lot else going on, aside from the fabulous scenery, and after all - finding wineries is why we are here. And what a pleasant find! An old stone and redwood barn welcomed us to the cellar/tasting room. Here, we felt we were in the middle of it all – and we were. One worker was labeling bottles as we tasted. We met winemaker Sally Ottoson, who is rightly proud of the wines she has created. Some are not typical of what we’ve found in Napa and Sonoma and it’s worth the trip just to try them. Carignane (I love saying that!) is a product of old vines and history, and one of their most coveted wines. The Charbono is a rare find, the grape was nearly extinct due to the difficulty in growing it, but its popularity is definitely on the rebound now. And for everyday drinking, try Dad’s Daily Red. (What a great name! And Sally’s dad is still kicking – and sipping - at age 84.) Michael loves the Coro, a “Mendocino mélange” of zinfandel and nine other varietals. Sally’s viognier is a new favorite of mine, and I enjoyed seeing the tasting room staff patiently explain its pronunciation to some visitors from Utah who had never been to a winery before. (!)

I was very impressed with Sally and the winery she had created. Her attention to quality and detail reminded me of me. Fabrics, button plackets and grapes have more in common than I thought, and meeting Sally reaffirmed that I am on the right track with Red House.

It was time to go, but a cat in residence there decided to be my friend and would not leave me alone - even after I left the tasting room to feed handfuls of clover to some grateful sheep. No pampered indoor kitty, this was a Winery Cat. I’ve seen a few of these in my touring. So as not to have to survive on wine from the pour bucket, they lie in wait for assorted vermin and the occasional dish of proffered kibble. They sometimes show the scars of fights with other cats (or perhaps rats bigger than themselves) to retain the title of Winery Cat. Now and then, everyone just gets along, as you see multiple cats lolling around the grounds and the tasting rooms. This one may have wanted a vacation as he attempted to get in our car. I escaped his claws, but think I might have left with a few of his fleas. Not only that, my hands were gummy with the saliva of overzealous, clover-starved sheep. Yuck. I needed a shower, but it's back on the road with the magnificent redwoods ahead!

Road Trip Day Two, Continued: Dancing Naked

Oh, after that last post I realize I may not have been clear: Andrew, and not the principal, was naked. Still, unbelievable! Turns out that Andrew found Circle Time boring and stripped down because his cousin Natalie had told him, “People should not wear clothing if they don’t want to.” The kids in the circle giggled. Andrew certainly did. Mrs. C did not. Perhaps his behavior was closer to the excesses of the ‘60’s than she’d like to recall. Not only did he strip down, he did a little dance and dashed away when Mrs. C and the assistant teacher attempted his apprehension. At various times this afternoon I talked with Andrew, the principal, my parents and Mrs. C. - and Kerin, who was feeling overwhelmed by the volume of orders coming in – all from the serene setting of our hotel deck. And I worked it all out, a flute of Roederer Brut Rosé in hand. Life is good – if complicated. I’m going to have a little talk with Natalie too, but that can wait…

I shouldn’t even talk about where I am! It’s such a little gem of a hotel, right on the Pacific coastline, but the secret is out, judging from the gushing praise in our room’s guestbook. But all right, I’ll tell you - Albion Inn. It’s in the tiny coastal town of Albion, just a few miles south of Mendocino. (Take a look at albionriverinn.com.) It’s a small and seriously romantic inn, and I was told that it’s usually foggy and cool. We lucked out, especially this time of year. I was entirely comfortable outdoors this afternoon, wrapped in my indispensable pashmina. (If you don’t have yours yet jot down RH-29.) From our deck in Room 19, we can see fishing boats, herons and the waves as they crash over the rocks. Wonderful! The gardens here are delightful, inspiring. The many shades of roses, dune grass, and the surprisingly blue sky could find their way into the color offerings of Red House. The inn’s small restaurant has the same incredible view that our room does, but framed by the gardens. And dinner tonight was truly romantic. If (when!) you come here, try to reserve the left corner table and eat early enough to watch the sunset. You will be enthralled. The inn does weddings, as you might guess, and we watched a sunset exchange of vows. Not that the truly inspired menu (especially the seafood) and extensive wine choices escaped our attention. This is not at all what you’d expect to find this far from SF. And what a coup for chef Stephen Smith to have escaped city life for a lovely setting like this one. I could spend weeks here! After that, I might find it a bit quiet and start to go insane. Napa offers more sun, a medium pace and of course, proximity to SF and the airport. But for a change (and we all need that) I will be back. (And returning guests get a 20% discount!)

Tomorrow – Mendocino and beyond!

Road Trip Day Two: Wild and Craggy Coast

It was another late start for Maddie and Michael. We opted for the Couples Massage after a big plate of waffles and I fell asleep! Must have been good, right? Oh yeah. You really have to put the Farmhouse Inn on your list of must-see Wine Country destinations. There are so many great places here that you can go just about anywhere and say, “This is it, I’ve found my ideal _______ .” (Choose: winery, inn, restaurant, or vantage point from which to savor a glass of wine.) You can find yourself thinking you are in Tuscany, Alsace or Provence. Really, with the variety of climates and soils, and appreciation for the good life, Wine Country could be the culmination of all those places. And this trip has reminded me how lucky I am to be able to run Red House from the heart of it all.

Today we set out to explore more of the North Coast appellations. The Anderson Valley is absolutely stunning and so uncrowded. Here’s why: it’s not exactly commuting distance to SF. I love the windy roads and the openness that changes into serious forest that hugs the coast of Mendocino County. It feels secluded. I heard that lots of marijuana is grown here, but that’s not why we came. (!!) The one winery we had to see was Roederer Estate, maker of - you guessed it – sparkling wine! (www.roedererestate.com) The parent company, Roederer Champagne, has a long history making the real thing. Here, they found the right parcel of land with optimal growing conditions for making exceptional California sparkling wines. They carefully control the process, using only their own lots and even devising their own trellising system. My pick: the 2000 L’Ermitage Cuvée, their Tête de Cuvée. This is France in a flute! Ok, I’m oversimplifying, but the cuvée is a considered balancing of reserves. The best grapes are combined with a dosage of the best years’ wines. The result is more layers and textures on the palate. And the bubbles are miniscule - a sure sign that Roederer knows what they’re doing. This wine has garnered plenty of attention – look for it and taste for yourself. The Brut Rosé was delightful too, with a pale salmon color that would look wonderful against a starched white linen tablecloth celebrating a harvest dinner. Not a bad color for a Red House polo either!

What an impressive place Roederer is. There is an authentic feel to the winery and the valley itself. Maybe it’s the quieter days of fall, but I expected the tasting room to be packed with people and the roads overrun with traffic. We stayed for a couple of hours, tasting everything - but I also had to take an unexpected phone call…

I learned that there are MANY wineries and tasting rooms to visit up here. We will save them for later – and not much later, I hope. I had planned to talk about the incredible place we are staying tonight. Alas, I will have to get to that later as I have to call Andrew’s principal now. The call I got earlier was from my mother saying he stripped naked during Circle Time today!

Road Trip or No Trip?

Mom and Dad just arrived in Napa! They want to experience every season here and we’ve just begun a new one. It’s also the nicest time of year to be in suburban New Jersey. Anyway, they are back at the elegantly appointed, faux-rustic Calistoga Ranch (calistogaranch.com) where they stayed when they came for Easter. Yes, I’m somewhat jealous of their outdoor living room, daily yoga and spa sessions, and of course the wine blending parties in the resort’s own cave. It’s a carefully cultivated sense of relaxation and it holds a lot of appeal for this business owner/mom.

I had a great idea. Why not leave Delia and Andrew with my parents to enjoy the lap of the Auberge Resort’s luxury - the pool, private lake, majestic hills and biking trails? Michael and I would hit the road in search of unexplored wineries, scenic coastline and rekindled romance, oh yeah…! But ---- No. That’s what the parents said at first. They sort of planned on the same sort of rekindling. I finally convinced them (using all of my best negotiating skills) that they could do THAT, with plenty of time for winery stops while the kids were in school. I asked for a week and got five days - deal!

Red House is doing great – double the business that we had a year ago! Several orders will come in next week, though. Kerin, for the first time, will be doing the initial quality control inspection. I’ve told her what to look for in my exacting detail. She also may have client contact beyond taking messages. This is also new for her, and I can only hope nothing major comes up that requires a quick decision. Good luck, Kerin!

But no guilt here. We need this little getaway and will return rested and ready for anything. We are quickly throwing some things in the car - not our best packing effort, but we want to GO!! It’s going to be a late start but we’re almost on our way west!

I never….

Late summer is a great time of year almost anywhere, but even better in Napa, where the sunsets seem to intensify even as they’re disappearing more quickly every night. I had the best of intentions: four wine country couples ditching our kids and responsibilities for a summer night dining under the stars. One couple would leave before dessert.

With Andrew and Delia gone for sleepovers, Michael helped me string lanterns and lights. We set a long table with starched linens (still trying to recreate the French Laundry look) and decorated with lots of white candles and “only-in-Napa” details like a multiple sea salt tasting. I added bowls of olives, vases of peonies and goblets of water with mint from my own Mother’s Day garden. The table could not have looked more romantic.

“Nothing But Napa” was our theme. Each couple was assigned a course: salad, cheese or dessert using local, artisanal ingredients. They had to pair Napa (of course!) wine with whatever they created. As hosts, we prepared the main dish: grilled Niman Ranch pork kebabs with heirloom baby eggplant, chocolate bell pepper, red onion and golden tomatoes. We also did some easy appetizers including a mini Caprese salad of little mozzarella balls and green tomato on purple basil that I also grew – beautiful! Our wine was the perennial festive favorite, Frank Family Rouge. This really red sparkler stands up to barbecue, and just looking at it makes me happy.

With happy in mind, and plenty of good food and wine in circulation, I suggested we play a little game I’d heard about called “I never…” Apparently, I missed Michael’s look of panic. Here’s how it works: one person says something like, “I never… traveled to Spain.” The person who has been to Spain goes next. Or if there’s more than one Spanish traveler then it’s whoever’s seated closest. Then that person makes a true statement. Fun, right? For a while, you bet! Then it was “John Doe’s” turn. He said, rather blithely, “I’ve never…been happily married.” Ooooooh!!! There was a collective gasp, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the backyard. I shot him a glance with a puzzled smile - he was kidding, right? Mrs. Doe didn’t take the time to consider, she ran inside the house. John followed her in, muttering an apology. (To us or to her?) Then, CRASH! The sound of breaking crystal was followed by the silent realization that it was no accident. Some yelling ensued and then a second CRASH! Ok, that was IT! Risking injury or trying to stop it - I don’t know, I ran in like a firefighter. There were lots of little pieces. My infrequently used sherry glasses, I think. I’m no CSI, but it looked like they had been thrown at someone headed for the door. At least I wasn’t using our wedding crystal tonight. No blood, that was good. No bodies – both had apparently fled the scene. Together? Who knows? Michael was already inside sweeping, mindful that the dessert course was next.

Oh boy. All of us were a bit rattled, but with a really good conversation topic to pair with our blackberry clafoutis. Turns out that (and I didn’t know this) when John and Jane got married, Jane said, “I’m his fourth and last wife.” The consensus at our table was that she was probably incorrect, which led to another topic: how many marriages is enough? And, over coffee (which unfortunately had to be sourced outside Napa) we six decided that the magic number is three. If you can’t get it right by the third marriage then it’s time to opt out for the life monastic. Not that the Supreme Court is taking notes from our little dinner party, but resolution is good…

I made another decision over dessert: I never… will do this game again!

Today’s letter is K.

Well, it’s happened. My final child has started kindergarten. Gone are the carefree days of gluing macaroni on cigar boxes, spray painting them gold and hoping they’d dry in time for Mother’s Tea Party Day. Actually, teas were more my own preschool experience than Andrew’s. He had field trips and cultural celebration days. I don’t know if they outfit California Kindergarteners with laptops yet, but I know they are expected to do more than glue and wield crayons. They are supposed to KNOW something, Delia told him so. We’ll see about that, Andrew likes his crayons.

His first day of kindergarten wasn’t like my first day, which involved a brand new back-to-school outfit, Sesame Street lunch box and photo opportunities by the bus. These kids come by parent-driven car, and they are still wearing shorts and flip-flops, as summer likes to linger a bit in Napa. I had to get the lunch box, though, never mind that he doesn’t stay for lunch - it’ll keep his crayons from melting all over my car!

Delia has been beside herself. The prospect of her little brother attending the very same school has just been unbearable, despite the fact that the small kids are pretty much segregated in the yard with razor wire from the “Gen Pop” of big bullies and The Too-Cool Faction. (All right, I admit to exaggerating a little due to watching too many “police procedurals” late at night.) But some things never change and it’s still tough to be the little guy in a vast new field.

I had heard the campfire stories about Andrew’s assigned teacher, Mrs. C, from Delia and friends at caffeine and sugar-fueled sleepovers. Various sources had her visiting from another planet, or a member of the Donner party cannibal family. (Not both? No. The girls seemed puzzled that I’d asked.) Another said Mrs. C is older than dirt, but used to surf (?!) One of the more interesting observations shared was that Mrs. C. wears yellow eye shadow. Really? Chrome Yellow or Pale Butter? (??) When I explained what I meant, using Andrew’s box of 64 crayons, they shouted in unison: “CHROME!” And not only that, but she apparently color-coordinates right down to the shoes, which might also be chrome, turquoise or lime green. This I had to see.

I walked Andrew to his classroom down The Green Mile (ok, I’ll stop), past endless group photos of his teacher with every class she had taught since the earth was formed - or 1977. (She’s been teaching since 1977?! I lost count.) In each shot, she had the same flip hairdo that Marlo Thomas wore in her That Girl TV series! It was no surprise to see the same ‘do now. Mrs. C. clearly favors re-living daily an era I don’t mind having missed out on: the early ‘60’s. Bobby Darin, Annette Funicello and Malibu Barbie must all be the deities in Mrs. C’s pantheon. And today is Nautical Day. She sported white clam-diggers (after Labor Day, even!), and a red, white and blue boat neck sweater. As expected, all accessories carried the theme. And yes, friends, there is such a thing as navy eye shadow! Mrs. C. seemed effervescently happy, and who wouldn’t be? - having chosen to live in a time warp of comfortable sameness and a strong economy. I sort of get it – let the kids enjoy the Disney-fied view of America just a little bit longer. Plenty of time for the unfortunate realities in first grade… Hey, it works for Mrs. C. Maybe the rest of us can learn to defer the hard truths.

I left a somewhat stunned but smiling Andrew to figure it all out while I went to meet with clients.

Hear me?

A restaurant owner and repeat (i.e. favorite!) client invited Michael and me trackside to watch him race his fast and ancient Ferrari. I see him as the Ralph Lauren of restauranteurs, maybe because of his sports car collection or maybe because Ralph now has a restaurant also. Anyway, a day at Sonoma’s Infineon Raceway is not to be missed. (Check it out at infineonraceway.com.) Don’t like noise, dirt and fumes? Give it a shot anyway - think in terms of the list of things to do before you die. Mt. Everest is one, but that will always be last on my own list as it has little to do with the wine country lifestyle and a lot to do with overexertion and frostbite. But while auto racing is not necessarily my first choice for spending a weekend afternoon, it requires neither oxygen nor a sherpa. Well, perhaps oxygen, but let’s think positive scenarios.

Infineon, formerly called Sears Point (but not because of any commercial association with the retailer) is home to NASCAR events, NHRA drag racing and amateur racing, none of which hold any appeal for me. Infineon also has the Wine Country Classic, which interests me a lot. Like the Napa Wine Auction, it happens in late spring – my busiest time of year! Both offer opportunities for Red House that I want to pursue. The Classic includes every type of vintage car you can imagine, some with extensive racing pedigrees. Perhaps Red House should design a sleek drivers jacket – or at least a chamois towel to wipe the drool marks off the cars! Despite our being from New York, Michael has developed a case of California car fever and has decided he wants to drive down to Pebble Beach this summer for the annual Concours d’ Elegance. I think Ralph Lauren and his cars go to this event. If so, I’m going to be there too. I’d try to meet him, and after saying I love his cars, blah, blah, blah, I’d ask if he has any empire-building advice for me.


From the top of the spectator area we watched cars racing around the track as they negotiated harrowing turns and challenging elevation changes. The first few laps are interesting enough, but the mountains of Sonoma and vista of vineyards are even more so. Except to Michael. As my interest started to fade, I wandered down to the pavilion. This being Sonoma, I was able to get a glass of wine, and I also picked up a recipe for Lemon Risotto. Nice!

I put in my earplugs and ventured over to the track to take in the full multi-sensory experience, nothing like the acrid smell of burning rubber, gasoline and cigarette smoke (!). Seeing my client having a great time was worth the risk of conflagration. After he finished his race I ran over and asked him, “Can I sit in the car?” Over the din of engines he misunderstood and gave me a puzzled look, glancing around, and over a suddenly stilled track and with a somewhat disgusted expression he said, “Can we get to a bar?! Uh, no - I think my wife… has something planned.” Then he sort of backed away. I think I might have gasped. I’m sure there are many race groupies wanting to extend the fun off-track but I am not one of them. In fact, I’m not a race groupie at all! I mimed an emphatic “NO! NO!” but before I had to time to explain myself, the cars were on the track again and my client had disappeared into the pit area. I waved goodbye with a look of disappointment that could also have been misinterpreted (!) and went in search of Michael to confess. He hears these things all too often from me and will probably be the one explaining to the client. Sigh.

Greetings from dry ground

It took a full four hours on dry ground to recover from sailing, and I still felt sort of… rubbery, as if the memory of that fateful trip is held fast in every muscle. And, to send my guts a-quiver again, The Natalie News: My niece and her boyfriend Stefan have been spending the summer working at his parents’ boutique winery. I had assumed they were kept busy – it is prime tourist season, after all - but apparently they’ve had enough time to plan the building of an arboreal room where they plan to stay “for a while”. Inspired by the woman who lived in a tree to protest logging, these two have no apparent agenda in playing tree house, other than (I’m guessing) to spy on tourists. They’ve chosen a majestic oak outside the tasting room and received permission from Stefan’s laissez-faire parents. Well, I hope they behave themselves and not turn it into a party platform. Poor tree!

Work at Red House continues to challenge and delight. It’s never boring, but I sometimes wish there was less of it to accomplish during a day. I’m still in partial panic stage, finishing up the last details on fall product lines. I wish that determining quantity was an exact science, and a particular zipper-pull order is currently keeping me awake. I often second-guess myself – did I choose the right shade of blue? Is the button placket long enough? Do I like the grosgrain trim? That’s the downside to being a perfectionist. I am so protective of my brand that I am hesitant to delegate more – and Kerin wants to do more! My clients know that I believe in what I sell. I am an evangelist for Red House and will do whatever I can to keep customers coming back for more. The brand is also deeply committed to the wine country lifestyle and I find myself thinking of ways to stay in that mindset while constantly flying all over the globe. Yet I see the light at the end of the tunnel of overwork and the possibility of a late summer getaway with Michael and the kids (anywhere but the usual NY and China!). Maybe even a Napa “staycation”. The last thing I feel like doing right now is drawing up another to-do list but if the list is all wineries, then I’m all over it!

Sea of Pain, Part III

Once we were actually sailing, I started to feel even greener about the gills. The crew cheerfully mentioned that the currents in the bay are deceptively strong. You’d never know it looking at the surface of the water. I glanced over at Alcatraz, known as “The Rock.” I get it now - why wouldn’t all those escaping prisoners think they couldn’t swim for it? From their cells, they could smell the chocolate from the Ghirardelli Factory. How hard could it be to get there? Well, most of their bodies were never even found. I suppose some of the hardier inmates did eventually taste chocolate again. None of this mattered to me as I was thinking about it, because as much as I love the stuff myself, the thought of chocolate caused my stomach to lurch. Buck up, I told myself!

Was anyone else suffering? Not as far as I could see - everyone seemed to be laughing and drinking. And eating. Ugh, food – uh-oh!…….A moment of reckoning that would soon turn into retching! I knew it was time to act quickly to avoid humiliation. But where did the crew say the facilities were?! Why hadn’t I paid attention? Suddenly, I found myself puking the full 127’ length of the deck! (I had remembered the distance!) Gross! Near the bow, maybe, I just sort of sat myself down, and for a brief moment I thought I felt better. I looked up to see the underside of the Golden Gate Bridge. Cool! And then began heaving again. Michael finally came to my aid (he’d been chatting up a golf buddy) accompanied by the Second Mate. Presumably, the other hands on deck were pushing mops by now. They escorted me down to the bunks and made me eat Dramamine. Not soon enough, I fell asleep in a quasi-coma of shame, desperately hoping no one thought I over-drank and over-ate! And I was fearful that I might have caused the carefully applied varnish to disintegrate, thereby shortening the life of the historic ship. The Second Mate said not to worry. There was some consolation in hearing him say that I wasn’t the first to christen this ship with stomach contents. Some crew members (though not he) had suffered similarly. Some learned in this way that they weren’t cut out for seafaring. I can cross another career off my to-do list! So that was it. No rogue waves. No shark attacks. I was done in by a little pitching and a lot of puking. I missed out on awesome food, wine and potential business, but if the next event is on dry ground, look out!

Sea of Pain, Part II

I decided to postpone my forays to the buffet and bar as there would be plenty of time for that later. I wanted to network with the attendees before I got too distracted by the views and picture-taking.

Soon, the other “sailors” had arrived and we left port. The skipper and mates introduced themselves and told us the history of the ship, which was built in Maine and launched in 1924 - that much I remember. Then the skipper started talking about riggings and using charts for navigation and learning to avoid hazards. Did he mean pirates? No, but he did mention that one of the tall ships was used as the HMS Interceptor in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Wow! The kids would love hearing that. He also said that pirates are still a threat (on the high seas – not San Francisco Bay) and that there was nothing in modern piracy that would in any way be reminiscent of the fun tricorn hats, Colonial apparel, parrots and peg legs of the Disney trilogy. So the movies were wrong!

Each of us was then assigned to a sailing station, from manning the helm (Michael) to hoisting the sail (me). Knowing a thing or two about fabric, I could see that this was some seriously heavy canvas. Hmmm. I guess the work had to be done, and it was a chance to further interact with fellow business owners. Ok, I was in. Would you believe it takes ten people to hoist the main sail? However, on this trip they had to make do with nine. That’s because I started to feel…funny. Sort of dizzy. I was sure it would pass - I just wasn’t used to hard labor. The Second Mate got me some water and I sat down and tried to enjoy watching the unfurling. It really was impressive. But my excitement about the trip was interrupted by the growing realization that all was not right in the vicinity of my stomach. I could handle this, of course. In no time I’d have my sea legs and be swilling fine wine and singing sea shanties. I would not only make important business contacts to benefit Red House in the years to come, but I would relive The Age of Sail!

Sea of Pain, Part I

Presented with the opportunity to join a group of business owners for a meet-and-greet on a sailing ship in the San Francisco Bay, what could I say but YES!!! And this would be no basic boat that we’d be going on but a 53’ wooden schooner that has spent its long life working the west coast. I can’t remember the ship’s name, Fortune Teller? Soothsayer? Aquarius? It’s one of several remaining tall ships used for fishing until steel-hulled contraptions proved more efficient. The wooden ships would probably have ended up as firewood if not for the devoted efforts of preservationists. Now they have new lives as teaching vessels, wedding venues, and in my lucky case - a social excursion similar to what was referred to on my Caribbean honeymoon as “The Booze Cruise.“

Some shopping was in order, but the two things I knew we’d be taking were my Red House Cashmere Pashmina (RH29) and the Silk Twill Jacket (RH28) for Michael. Both in black, because San Francisco is not sunny like Napa, and black is the sophisticated choice for urban denizens year-round. And we sure didn’t want to dress nautical. Don’t you love seeing the returning vacationers in airports, sporting sunburns and crumpled white resort wear? I can’t blame them for trying to stay in vacation mode, but laughing makes my business travel more tolerable.

We arrived at the pier to see a ship even more glorious than I had pictured. This really was a work of living history - lacquered wood, gleaming brass and beautiful design. A relic of The Age of Sail that I hope will endure for future generations to experience. It is wood though, and sits in the water. I wonder how long it will last?

As an added bonus we had the perfect day for a sail – smooth water, and even a little bit of sun. I wondered if I’d have to wear a blaze-orange life jacket over my carefully selected outfit, but no one else seemed to be dressed for a watery rescue. Good sign. The crew was in well-starched sailing whites (not crumpled), and the attendees were all as elegantly appointed as the ship. Oh, and the food! A well-known Napa chef had been hired to create a sumptuous seafood buffet. And the featured wines were exceptional – I saw some that I had only had occasion to taste, and now would have the chance to enjoy by the glass. This was going to be great!

Looking for Annette

Why does the Napa Valley Wine Auction have to take place during my busiest time of year?! I am kicking myself because I haven’t found my place in that tornado of fun and business opportunity. This is THE event of the year here, and it supports critical Napa Valley charities, including Clinic Ole´ (clinicole.org), which serves our latino and other farming families with free or reduced cost health and dental care. The need for this clinic cannot be underestimated. The wine auction has raised more than $78 million dollars to date for the clinic and other local charities, including $10.35 million this year alone. Bravo! Another great reason to love Napa!

I do have an ulterior motive for wanting to be involved of course, as there are many opportunities for Red House apparel to be worn by event staff and volunteers. Everyone from catering people to auction runners would look professional and stylish in Red House polos. I’m thinking the Pima Tonal Stripe Polo (RH07) in coral for the men and the Double-Mercerized Polo (RH05) in turquoise for the women. Auction runners in particular really need to stand out so the auctioneer doesn’t miss calling any bids. It would be such excellent publicity for us to see those shirts literally running around, as the event is attended by so many business owners, growers, local and even not-so-local dignitaries.

Oprah herself recently attended a dinner hosted by Rich Frank in the historic barrel room at Frank Family Vineyards after a cask auction event, which was part of the larger party. Hmmm… I don’t think my house could hold a dinner party large enough to consume an entire cask, but it would be fun to try! I read that the 2004 Frank Family Cabernet won Best Cab AND Best of Class at the Los Angeles International Wine & Spirits Competition. No surprise there. The awards keep coming in for that wine and their 2006 Napa chardonnay too. Oh, and Frank Family wines were served at a dinner held by The American Film Institute honoring Warren Beatty for his lifetime of achievements. I wasn’t invited, but I sure would like to meet Annette Bening.

I’ve mentioned that Frank Family Vineyards is one of my favorites, and now they’re even more beloved. Would you believe that their “Lot 14” brought in a mind-boggling $480,000?! Auction items I bid on tend to be picnic baskets with a bottle of wine and maybe a cheese board, the occasional spa package, and once, a kids’ birthday party with clowns. But Lot 14, my friends, included a private dinner to be created by Mario Batali, a luxurious wine-tasting trip to New Zealand, a walk-on role in Grey’s Anatomy, as well as tickets to the exclusive AFI dinner. All this, plus some Frank wines for the cellar. Had I been able to attend the auction (and had $480,000 in my beaded evening bag) I would’ve had the chance to meet Annette Bening!

Next year I’ll have it all figured out. And I’m starting a bidding fund. I mean, the kids won’t need college money for years!

The Open Robe

The constant travel necessary to meet with vendors and manufacturers to finalize all the details for fall has made me TENSE. And not the kind of tense that goes away after a hot bath back home, even if “Towel Boy” Michael is there for…assistance. (!?) No, at this point I needed a real massage and for that, I learned I need Evelyn. And anyway, it was time for a spa retreat for the hardworking women of Red House. That would be Kerin and myself. So, with female bonding and off-site office problem-solving in mind we set off to try a new spa, Raindance, located at The Lodge at Sonoma, a Renaissance Resort about a mile from the square in Sonoma. It’s not over-the-top like the Fairmont or Auberge properties but it has a full-service menu and fluffy robes, so no complaint here. The first thing we noticed were the roses: they were everywhere on the hotel grounds. I hope I never get so jaded by life here that I fail to notice how much blooms here, and pretty much year-round.

We started the morning with a pedicure. A glass of wine was offered. Why not? It was 10:00! I thought about choosing one of the wilder nail colors. There was even black, which made me think of Natalie, who would be here if she were not the former first intern of Red House. Kerin chose a pale blue and I went with what appeared to be strawberry yogurt with a bit of sparkle to it. We then took a break (!) by the spa pools and used our cell phones to take and send pictures of our feet to our husband/boyfriend. We relaxed in the shade of a cabana. I had brought a small cooler, from which we mixed mimosas in pool-safe plastic flutes. And yes, I remember that alcohol is frowned upon as not conducive to the spa experience but we were not the only ones who brought in a cooler…

We spent a fun hour just talking and laughing - though not as loudly as the women in the adjacent cabana. I learned that Kerin has aspirations beyond answering the phones at Red House and checking dye lots. This is good to know, as there will be opportunity for her to expand. I’ve already started delegating more to her (a trick I learned from the How to Succeed…and Have a Life! book I told you about). We talked about her boyfriend and how Natalie’s amorous overtures nearly derailed their relationship. I had thought it was just the typical flirtation of a bored 19 year old but apparently it went quite a bit farther. Oh boy.

Next, we headed up to the aptly named Relaxation Room. This is where you wait in your fluffy robe to be called for your massage. There are health-related magazines, herb tea, aromatherapy candles and new age music. The recorded wind chimes can be annoying, and the sounds of waves lapping the shore were just phony. I mean, we are 40 miles from the beach! The lights were low but not low enough, however, to obscure some details now forever etched into my brainpan. A man awaiting his own massage was oblivious of others in the room. Well, I hope oblivious is the right word. Let’s just say he was sprawled on a settee with an unlit cigar in his mouth, and that that wasn’t the only visible accessory. Maybe he was so relaxed that his robe accidentally came undone, or he felt constrained by the robe and loosened it. OR, he liked the uncovered look and wanted to share his…enthusiasm!! Worst of all (in my way of thinking) Kerin missed it! Unlike me, she was not facing him and was intently reading an article on yoga. I tried to get her attention, but in doing so startled the man, causing him to shift position and cross his legs without some much as looking up from his Cigar Aficionado magazine. (The spa subscribes to that?) Why am I always the one to see…things?!

Evelyn called me in. She noticed that I was especially tense, but I mentioned only my horrendous travel schedule. And you know what? She was so good that after a few minutes I wasn’t even hearing the irritating wind chimes and waves anymore. By the time she was done I felt as if all my bones had dissolved. That is what a massage is all about. I’ll be back, but first I have to tell everyone I know about the man almost wearing the robe.

Bright Lights, Big City, Bigger Headache

The city that never sleeps is also the city that never calms down. If I ever questioned my choice to leave behind the familiar and supercharged world of NY design, I got a good reminder this trip. I AM SO DONE WITH THIS! Some people here would not even get it if I explained how a viable clothing business could be launched from Napa. Others are seeking exit, or would be amenable to the right escape plan. I am already keeping an eye out for talented seekers-of-a-life-beyond-all-this as potential Red House employees, should we expand in the near future. Might as well multi-task as I suffer my relapse into the cutthroat world!

What really annoys me is that NY’ers make things harder than they need to be simply because that’s how business is done here. For example, thread. A simple item, but a necessary one in the clothing business. I met with several distributors this trip to compare product – the color options, sizes, finishes, general quality and tensile strength - and importantly, to find out for myself what the customer service philosophy was. And you know what? None of them were in any way helpful or friendly or interested in the end-use of their product at Red House. And just getting a commitment on shipping dates that would work with our manufacturing schedule involves hair-pulling. I got to the point that I was ready to stop with my hair and start on the locks of Ms. X and Mr. Y! Nice-for-the-sake-of-nice is a concept that has yet to be embraced here. Hey, I just got an idea for a side business to embark on in my spare time (!): Maddie’s Napa Valley Happy Weekends - Seminars for the Reeducation of Angry Urban Apparel Business Professionals. It would be one of those intense brainwashing events. No Blackberries. No cell phones. And I wouldn’t let them go to the restrooms until they said something kind or helpful, or at least held an elevator door for someone. My fantasy!

Drawn by nostalgia, and because I had very little time to spare, I made a lunch stop at Gray’s Papaya for a hot dog with kraut and a faux piña colada. It’s a grab-and-go spot that’s been popular forever, mainly because it’s cheap. But the people-watching is good too. Restaurant workers, club-hoppers, assorted bus terminal patrons and other sort-of scary NYC people are in and out all night long. As students, Michael and I had many dinner dates/lessons in sociology here. I’m not recommending it exactly, but it’s fast fuel, so store that info in a back corner of your brain for the next time you are in NY and can’t get reservations at Per Se.

I made a last stop – back to Coach, for a pair of orange thong sandals with a flower on top. These are not NY footwear and I’ll wear them all summer. And if I had to justify additional shopping I’d say I needed to be sure I wouldn’t have to resort to the mint slippers to get home – like if I ended up leaving my other sandals in the cab or something. That does that sound logical, doesn’t it Michael?

Shoeless at 32,000 feet

The Natalie News: Well, she did it – got the tattoo! She and Stefan went into SF to meet with a concert promoter for their Skynyrd in the Vineyard idea, which surprised me, as it was their logical next step. There is apparently some interest and the pair was thrilled. They enjoyed testing the limits of the motorcycle’s brakes on the harrowing streets and bridges and finished out their day with pizza in the North Beach, and went from there to the establishment Nat heard about while on work detail. To show their great affection for each other, she and Stefan combined their names and now sport matching upper arm ornamentation: NASTE. Cute, huh? Do you think Michael and I should come up with something? Lots of possibilities with Mad, don’t you think? Uh, no.

This is the busiest time of year for me. I have a year’s worth of responsibilities to deal with right now. Quantities for next year - my toughest decisions! Colors, labels, buttons, taping and zipper pulls all have to be chosen and ordered too. And I’m happy to tell you I’ll be introducing two new styles this fall – more on that later!

The necessary travel is driving me nuts right now. Here’s a perfect example of a brain stretched too far. Last week I had to fly to New York. I was bleary that Tuesday morning, unprepared for consciousness, leaving the house before dark, laden with cases of stylebooks. I stepped out of the car at the short-term parking lot at SFO to find that I was still wearing my slippers! And not the kind of slippers that teen girls often wear to school and the mall. These were mint green scuffs, shearling-lined and with a dollop of dried pancake batter on the left instep. Yuck. The shoes I intended to wear had been smartly (ha) placed by the door to the garage. I couldn’t miss them, and yet I had. This was a 1.5-day trip and I hadn’t packed any other shoes. There are many shops at the airport, but none of them shoe shops. I would’ve settled for some touristy flip-flops adorned with little plastic sourdough baguettes. You can get the bread at the airport, but not the shoes. So it was off to NY, my city of origin, dressed in my sleek Jil Sander pantsuit and feet that said I’d just escaped from a hospital. One of the TSA staffers commented on how comfortable it must be to travel in slippers. (If she only knew my humiliation!) My only personal luggage was my never-leave-home-without-it Redhouse Microtwill/Leather tote (RH33), which held only my overnight essentials, my pashmina (RH29) and the qt.-size Ziploc of travel liquids. And snacks. There was still plenty of room in that bag for a pair of shoes, and I don’t think I’ll make that mistake again. I was pretty comfortable on the plane, though. Once in NY, I had the driver wait outside the Coach store on Madison Ave. while I dashed in for some appropriate footwear. If you consider 3” heel sandals with gold chains appropriate. I literally stepped into my New York persona. I was ready for business - with an edge, if necessary.

The Lunch of a Lifetime, Part Four

The French Laundry really is a Fantasyland for foodies. Valhalla, without the bland Northern food. And yet it was quintessentially real. Too multi-sensorial to have been a dream. I WAS THERE! REALLY!

I said that Thomas Keller had devised some signature dishes with a sense of good old American fun. Would you believe Mac n’ Cheese? I can only imagine, as it wasn’t served the day we were there. There’s also Coffee & Doughnuts and one I’m very curious about: Yabba-Dabba-Doo. What?! I can’t wait for Gilligan’s Island. Ok, I’ve got one for them: Remember Ants on a Log? How about black truffle bits on fennel bulb purée in an endive log. Think they’d go for that? Maybe not, but I might – for a summer party. French Laundry also has an “amuse bouche” that was proffered with humor and seemed like it could possibly be recreated by ordinary mortals - an ice cream cone of salmon tartar and crème fraiche in a black sesame cone. Quirky yes, but it was delectable and fun! I don’t know about making the cone though.

I badly wanted to take pictures of everything to share with you, but I live in Napa and want to come back to the French Laundry. I couldn’t risk ending up blacklisted. I hope you understand. But I did pick up a few tidbits of gossip. The “Top Model” woman, Tyra Banks comes in several times a year. And a U.S. President has eaten there, but which one? I’m guessing it was Bill Clinton and that given his propensity for gastronomic excess he opted for both tasting menus concurrently. I also heard that FL keeps a big book of illustrious clients. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a peek at that? I knew better than to ask. I also learned that as I suspected, the wait staff are not regular humans. This is typical in California: “Hi, I’m Amber and I’ll be your server today, enjoy your meal!” And 20 minutes later, “Are you still working on that?” Ugh. Amber will not be found at the French Laundry. Service must be seamless, like a ballet. And in fact, servers are trained by a choreographer. Wow. And a great résumé won’t necessarily get you in. There’s a “je ne sais quoi” that Keller and company know when they see. So much for my chances. The chronically impatient need not apply.

The longest lunch I’ve ever had was over far too soon. Our server offered to take us through the kitchen, perhaps to make sure we would actually leave the premises. I had read that Chef Keller deemed his kitchen a “mistake-free zone”. And I have to say it did look flawless. You won’t see Anthony Bourdain whipping up a beurre blanc with cigarette in hand here. As the hour was pre-Saturday night dinner, the staff was enjoying their own repast, a beautiful paella that I’d be happy to eat every night of the week. They were relaxed and laughing, a truly convivial group, a family, even - content with having found their Nirvana in Napa. For a moment, I wished I had what it took to join them. At least long enough to read the client roster.

The Lunch of a Lifetime, Part Three

Ok, I’ve told you about the staff, the flowers, the setting – all sublime, but just maybe you’d like me to get to the food and wine. Bear in mind though, the whole mis en scene they create at French Laundry unfolds slowly and deliberately, and one is meant to savor each aspect like, well, the French themselves do. All senses are engaged, and that includes the sense of patience - the lack of which for once did not get the better of me. F.L. is not the place if you have an hour to eat and get out.

Our server was (I kid you not) a dead ringer for actress Charlize Theron. Fresh-scrubbed and beautiful, with a psychology degree she “uses daily (!).” She welcomed us with champagne (the perfect start to any celebration!) and the menu. Choosing is pretty simple. The Chef’s Tasting Menu consists of nine courses, and there is a vegetable-only option. Michael and I both elected to do the carnivore tour, though everything on the vegetable tasting sounded divine too, even if I didn’t know what a “pickled ramp bulb” was. I was told that the menu changes daily, though certain signature dishes will reappear. (As if I needed a reason to return.)

The sommelier was summoned to advise us on wine choices. He was, let’s just say, devoutly French, brisk and professional. If I had briefly entertained the notion of looking into the possibility of Red House apparel for the staff I quickly changed my mind when I saw the sommelier, whose “costume” appeared to be couture. Perhaps hand-sewn by Karl Lagerfeld himself. Whoa. We also deferred to this elegant man’s vast and global knowledge of wines and selected the pairing menu. Interestingly, there was not a Napa wine amongst the nine featured, though there was representation from Sonoma, Santa Cruz and Santa Ynez - appellations I have almost no familiarity with. And this is good! The day was about stepping out of the box and giving ourselves over to people who can teach us something, while of course, enjoying the extraordinary outcome of their education.

Now you might think nine courses is a King Henry VIII kind of meal. You would be wrong. “Tasting,” means just that. And did we each drink nine different glasses of wine in the middle of the day? Mais non! More like 1/3 glass per course. Some were so delectable that more - a lot more - would have been nice to savor. Maybe out in the garden after lunch? Alas, they think three hours is plenty of “experience” and do not currently offer a “lingering lunch plan” for would-be hangers-on like me.

Now pay attention - if you read nothing else today, or maybe all week: here is a morsel of knowledge I found to be worth the price of admission: I now know a wine that can be successfully paired with asparagus! Until now, I thought this an impossibility, but the proof is in the pudding: Our Salad of White Asparagus and Brooks Cherries was expertly paired with an Austrian wine (write this down:) Schloss Gobelsburg, Gruner Veltliner, “Steinsetz,” Kamptal. I have already sourced this from a distributor, expecting it to cost a fortune, but was pleasantly surprised and so ordered a case for asparagus season. I plan to impress at dinner parties alllll summer. Not with that salad though.

Next time, I will conclude this very long and fabulous experience. Hint: we end up in the kitchen! Was the credit card refused? You’ll have to wait and see.

The Lunch of a Lifetime, Part Two

From the moment you pass through the garden and enter the painted door of the French Laundry, there is a hush, as if you are in a very holy place. There is an expectation that a choir of angels might sing thee to thy table. But first comes the brief detainment in the anteroom, which feels vaguely like a funeral parlor. Perhaps it’s the presence of the biggest vase of flowers I have ever seen in my life. Easily half the size of the room. So I start to worry, am I worthy of this great opportunity? Or will I be given a plate of jalapeño poppers and shown the door? The grave Maitre d’/Funeral Director carefully researches what could be a tenuous claim to a reservation. He has seen the pretenders, “Are you sure you have no record of us?!,” they must plead. Maitre d’ and his assistants must sense my apprehension and deep-seated fear. Wait a minute - I’m from New York! – I can handle the pretentious staff member or two. Yet they are anything but surly. Just really, really smart. Rocket science-smart. And hip - seriously so. I am humbled. Strikingly good-looking and flawlessly attired, they are also warm, as if they are welcoming us to their home. I’m guessing this is home to them, their own Nirvana. A near-perfect world.

Michael convinced the Gatekeeper of Great Cuisine that he had made our anniversary reservation before we were even married (!) but these are not people you joke around with. Anyway, it’s an amazing 10 years today. THANK YOU, MICHAEL, for everything, especially putting up with my quirkiness. (How come you don’t have any quirks? I’m going to look into that…) But back to lunch. We are led to the dining rooms, which are anything but funereal. The bouquets are smaller, and the hush is gone – now that the guests have gotten this far there is great relief. The tables are beautifully set with carefully pressed and starched white linens. (The ghosts of the laundry at work?) There is even a wooden clothespin attached to the napkin. The French Laundry’s phone number is on it. I get the sense that now, right now, would be a good time to call to reserve next year’s anniversary lunch.

Next up: food and drink – bring it on!

The Lunch of a Lifetime, Part One

No discussion of wine country is complete without mention of the French Laundry, the ne plus ultra of dining experiences created by exalted chef Thomas Keller. He is perhaps America’s best - and we’ve got him right here in Yountville. But just try getting into the place! It takes patience. Not to mention more money than should be spent outside of Harry Winston. Is it that good? One of those things you should have on your list of things to do before you die, like climbing Mt. Everest? I don’t like snow or altitude so there’s an easy answer: I’d cross everything else off the list to eat there once a week. It’s that good. And I’m going to tell you about it.

The French Laundry (www.frenchlaundry.com) really was at one time a French steam-washing establishment. This makes me think of expertise with red wine stain removal and the spritzing of fine linens with lavender water. It was also a brothel, not that these are mutually exclusive… Before it was either of those businesses it was a saloon in the 1880’s, which is why the structure looks like a set from Deadwood. Then, for about 20 years it operated as a restaurant. It was named, not surprisingly, The French Laundry, and I haven’t yet met a single person who ate there. In 1994, Thomas Keller raised the money to buy it, though this, his first restaurant had a bit of a rocky start. Ghosts of the brothel wreaking havoc, perhaps? Letting T.K. known they liked the previous owners? It got better, a lot better. That’s how it is with successful restaurants, and this one really pushes the boundaries of experiential dining into the spiritual dimension. It is unforgettable.

Thomas Keller is a son of California who lived and worked elsewhere. This is a good thing, as otherwise, the French Laundry might be just another of our ubiquitous wood-fired pizza emporia. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Clearly, his geographic and culinary adventures were transcendent because he came to a very different place, philosophically. In an interview I read, he says that in buying this restaurant he just wanted to create good French Country cooking. Seriously good food, but also fun. Fun? Like balloons and streamers-fun? Waiters in clown suits-fun? Hmmm…What exactly does mean he mean by that? Check in soon to find out. Meanwhile, make your reservation.

Hot water

The Natalie News. Get this – Nat and Stefan have this idea for a concert at his family’s winery. They think they are going to get Lynyrd Skynyrd to perform. They’re calling it Skynyrd in the Vineyard! Now, aside from the fact that I think this band of Southern rockers perished in a fiery plane crash decades ago, why, assuming they are living, would they want to come to Napa - is there a fan base here? Nat and Stefan are hardly concert promoters. There are marketing considerations, tickets to sell, security to hire, a hundred permits, miles of electrical cables and who knows what else. Oh, shirts. They’d like Red House polos for the staff. And they want to start working on the design for these NOW. Well, it will be interesting to see what comes of this. It would be a first for Red House, and not necessarily in a good way. Well, there’s always something interesting to talk about with my niece at the dinner table!

We did a little family outing last weekend to Calistoga. Call it “Yellowstone Light”. No grizzly bears, bison or wolves but there is The Old Faithful Geyser of California and it’s right off Highway 128. (www.oldfaithfulgeyser.com) Someone had told me that Sonoma County’s Geyserville has the largest geothermal area on earth and that seemed like something the kids should know about. You enter through a really tacky gift shop, a relic of the “70’s road trips I took with my parents. Once in the vicinity of the geyser it felt like we had stepped back even further in time, to when dinosaurs roamed the earth. As there are no dinosaurs available, there are instead pens of sheep and llamas to connect you with earlier epochs. (A reach.) Actually, I think the critters are there to entertain kids between blowings, as the geyser is not constantly spewing hot, putrid water. In fact, you wait about 35 minutes to see an eruption of 350-degree water shoot straight up maybe 60 feet for four or five minutes. This is preceded by some gurgling, bubbling up and steam, but it’s not something a five and eight year old want to stand around looking at. (Note to parents: bring quarters for the animal chow pellet dispenser.) We packed a picnic but ended up packing it out because while the setting was fun and educational, it smelled like a combination of petting zoo and the forgotten Easter egg I found just last week in the garage. With a last whiff of hydrogen sulfide and goat pen, we left to eat on the grounds of Cuvaison Winery (www.cuvaison. com). And taste: they just introduced the 2004 Brandlin Cabernet Sauvignon and its big, bold spice will make you think of winters by the fire. As it was over 100 degrees today I preferred the summery 2007 Sauvignon Blanc. Cheers!