Wearily remembering Napa

It’s 7:30am at JFK airport. The crowd, for the most part, looks tired. People are clutching their Starbucks, iced or hot, and mindlessly look ahead. I just stare at this screen, hoping to tell all the stories of my trip.

Before I left for college, my family took a vacation to San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was 1991. I remember going through the Napa Valley wineries and being very frustrated about not being allowed to sample the wine. Seriously, no teenager is going to care about the fermentation process if he can’t sip the results. Rita chided me for being a snot, and I retorted that this was a family vacation, let’s do something that the kids want to do. (This is the vacation when I begged to walk around the Golden Gate Bridge and everyone balked. I had to wait until 2000 before I got to do that.) I remember that this scene between my mother and me happened at the Christian Brothers Winery. This tour was an unusually long one, with interesting information, from what I remember, but I was just pissed off at our countries alcohol laws.

Well, 15 years later, I got to head up into wine country and was legally able to drink. We made reservations for Greystone at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) for Thursday night. After the punch buggy gauntlet was dropped, Hilary got in a good number of slugs while I navigated, and 2 hours later we found our Chateau Hotel to check in. We had rooms across the hall from each other, and Hilary and I claimed the one room at the party lounge. She gleefully jumped from one bed to the other, as she does.

We all change into Bay Area finery – jeans and nice shirts, and head out to the restaurant. The sun was setting over CA-29 and the sky was pink, purple, cobalt and blackening. We pull into the parking lot, and Brigid asks me if I know what the CIA was prior. I looked and it had a distinctive religious look to it. “I don’t know, Bree, a monastery?” She responses, “Close. It’s the old Christian Brothers.” Vengeance is mine! Ha, ha, ha! After 15 years from my minor tantrum, I now can walk into the place and order me up a meal and some wine.

We marveled at the meal. We started with the chef’s selection for an appetizers – the highlights being the figs stopped with honey-sweetened goat cheese and a butternut squash soup. I faux pas-ed when I tried to get my demitasse of soup; it slipped from my hand and the rich buttery sweet warm liquid infused with nutmeg, coriander and cinnamon bubbled up out of its container as I dropped it sending the pumpkin colored liquid all over myself, my plate and my glass of Pinot Blanc. Our server quickly gave me a napkin to clean up, replaced the tray of soups and served each of us our on cup. Hilary pointed and laughed.

We did a wine flight with dinner and mine was called Pinot, Pinot, Pinot, comprised of a Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris and a Pinot Noir from the Napa and Sonoma area. J winery was the source of the Pinot Gris that I went head over heals for. Luckily, I found it in the Castro Wine Shop later in the visit.

We ended our meal with a chocolate soufflé with Grand Marnier crème sauce. To die for, and so rich that the four of us could not finish it! We returned to our Chateau to strategize our winery tour after our spa visit to Calistoga. This was all in anticipation for our visit to French Laundry.

Getting the Band Back Together

After spending an afternoon in San Francisco, it was time to rendezvous with my friends. I walked from the Castro to the Mission on 18th street to get to my final destination of 16th and Mission to take the BART.

I’ve walked up and down 18th Street many times. When Denise lived on Harrison and I would visit her, we’d usually end up walking between the Mission and the Castro via that road. So it was all very familiar – comfortable.

I saw the J-Church line as I crossed Church Street (of course) and immediately in front of my eyes, I saw a huge group of people and volunteers with simple stop signs stopping traffic. It was the Mission High School standing on the steps of the school to take class pictures. I just found it very touching. I had big smile on my face from that moment on.

Traveling does that to me. It makes me giddy, excited and very happy. I love to explore, even if it’s some place that I’ve been before. Until yesterday, I didn’t know that there were any barbers in the Castro, nor did I ever notice the taquería where I got a chorizo breakfast burrito. (I’m still waiting until Sunday or Monday to get my El Farilito’s burrito!)

Back in the Mission and walking from 18th to 16th, I spied the thrift store where Denise and I shopped to find Halloween costumes. (It’s a must to do Halloween in the Castro, if you love Halloween.) It was a more real version of a city – more a mix of Latin cultures. Mexicans, Guatemalans, Puetroriqueños, etc. are the pulse of this area of town.

I hopped on the BART to the airport to meet the others. We were all excited to see each other. It’s been just a high.

We squished into Brigid’s Jetta and took off down the 101 to the San Mateo Bridge since the traffic was horrible. After circumventing the 80 parking lot, we were on our way to Napa Valley.

The ride was a fit of laughter after I unleashed a punch buggy monster, named Hilary. I saw a VW Beetle painted like a cow and the gauntlet was dropped.

It’s a nice juxtaposition: all of us traveling to Napa to eat at French Laundry and three of us, playing punch buggy on and off. Brigid, of course, didn’t play.

Ah, eavesdropping and pensive on my Songline!

I made it. After feeling like I was going to be trapped on the tarmac in Philadelphia and just making my connecting in MSP. (Thank you, Northwest Airlines, my luggage DID make it.)

Brigid and I were excitedly texting and calling each other all through out the day. We jumped for joy when she picked me up at the airport. We just couldn't stop patting
each other saying "I’m/you’re here." I've had a BIG ASS SMILE on my face!

We wisked down the 101 in her Jetta, and I mused about my Songline. Then, I saw a sign for Belmont. My cousins live there. I got to e-mail them…

I’m in the Castro Country Club for the free Wifi (well, I bought a coffee) and I love being able to listen in on the conversation. People are unabashedly willing to say all most anything with a total stranger in the room. I feel sort of Jane Goodall-ish.

(a mobile phone conversation) “You’re still with that crackhead, are you?.... What else does he do for you?”

“I never write the word, alcohol, I always right ETOH.”

“Just because I don’t have lesions all over my face doesn’t mean I’m not sick.”

“When did you get so pornographic at 74 years old?”

“I was trying to think if I should FedEx all my wigs there…”

“I’m kind of excited to turn 30. I’ve been looking forward to turning 30 since I was 16.”

It’s like an aural voyeurs’ wet dream.

It’s always an interesting slice of life.

Brigid dropped me at the Caltrain station as she left for Stanford, and I trained to Milbrae and transferred to the BART. I was smiling the entire time. I had important plans this morning!

I got out at the Powell station and headed for Mission Street. I ended up walking past the San Francisco Chronicle building. I hadn’t ever noticed it before. It looks like what a newspaper building should look like. I ended up in the financial area to get me a cup of Peet's Coffee – my favorite coffee. Someone I know hooked me up with that lovely liquid a few years back, and I'm still endebted! (I subtly mentioned this in an email to said someone and he got the refernce.)

Important plan A was done.

I took the F Market (important plan B) from the financial district down to the Castro to get a haircut and try to plan out my day today. I googled “free wifi in San Francisco” and got a lead of the Castro Country Club. It’s a misnomer, but it’s still a good space. It’s a social place for gay men to meet without alcohol. There are a lot of friends of Bill W here. Good for them. However, I got to hear some of quotes from above, it’s great fodder.

I guess I shouldn’t mention my trip to Napa, eh?

I’m here because I wanted to have a base in the city to figure out what I wanted to do today, but the life that’s unfolding right in front of me is too real to walk away from.

Joie de vivre

Outside of the wonderful things that happened in 2005, two men made my life hell that year. This is a story about the one whom I have yet to allude to on this blog.

My dear (and gorgeous) friend, Nicole, got married this past weekend in Saint Francis Xavier Church in Philadelphia. The ceremony was amazing, presided over by three priests – one of whom was recently ordained a bishop. The music was stunning and I haven’t been to a wonderful wedding like that since... since... since two weeks prior.

I know Nicole through my former job, and those co-workers from there have been a tight-knit group. Therefore a medley of people who were and are still employed in that office were invited.

The reception was held in the Union League, and after their recent renovations there venue was amazing. Rich, dark cherry colored wood and light cream drapes and linens provided an outstanding backdrop for a great time.

Nicole and I, when we worked together, shared the same boss. He made my last few months at my former job intolerable. Though I was not treated like persona non grata, I felt like an abused child.

I got out, and, as many of you know, I’m in a better situation for me.

I had seen him at the church, and I learned that he would be at the reception. I guardedly enjoyed cocktail hour, mingling with friends. At the end of cocktails, he was talking with Melissa and the maître d’ started to ring the chimes. As event planners, Melissa and I have had to ring chimes at many a dinner. I had to crack a joke about that.

I rushed into the conversation and excused myself. I laughed and said “We should go over to her and let her know how to really ring those chimes.” The entire group laughed. Then I acknowledged my former boss standing there and we shook hands. (No, I didn't spit on anyone!) He then introduced his wife. To which I replied, “Oh yes, we’ve met in Paris.” (We did in 2002.)

Everyone who knows of our falling out has asked me if I interacted with him during the wedding. I relate the story.

One person listened and commented, saying, that I live my life just to be able to say one-liners like that.

L'shanah Haba'ah b'London

I'm hatching out a plan to go to London for New Year's Eve. More details to follow.