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?