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When I first moved to San Francisco, there was an article that appeared in the SF Chronicle where the writer outlined his perfect day in the wine country. It began by appearing in Healdsburg at 9AM and eating a sticky bun at the Downtown bakery and then beginning the visits to the wineries that he had outlined. I forget now exactly which ones, but I know that it incorporated Sonoma and Napa wineries. Yesterday, we could barely get through two or three wineries before we came home and collapsed in bed at 7pm and never woke till this morning.

Our day began without having to drive all the way to Healdsburg because we were at the Hotel Healdsburg and all we had to do was walk out to the square and into the Downtown bakery where we had our sticky bun then we went to the bookstore and purchased an Alphabet book with creatures even though superstition tells us we should not be buying anything for the baby before it is born and with us. We will hide it outside in the laundry room along with the other things we have amassed – the thoughtful gifts from G, who recently passed as her cancer had advanced, the tiny tee shirt I bought in the French Quarter that says I Love My Two Moms, and the black baby doll we had to prepare Loca for the arrival of Ele.

But I digress, we then got in the car and drove through the lush and gorgeous Alexander Valley and Knights Valley on our way to Napa and St. Clement the first winery on our stop. Once a sleepy Victorian on a hill, now the place was overrun with limos and people a plenty as it has been winning one award after another. Sigh, what price success. We stayed in the smaller Oroppas tasting room and sampled the wares from 2002 to 2006 – all yummy. Then we bought a Turkish cookbook from chefs in Australia. The recipes looked great.

From there we ventured quickly towards Bistro Jeanty, no time to stop at Joseph Phelps or any of the other wineries on our list. We got there and sat outside in the wonderful weather and had a half bottle of Lang & Reed Cabernet Franc – yum. The waiter said that he had just made an agreement with them to purchase their grapes and he and his friend are starting their own wine label. Like in Hollywood where everyone is a director, in the wine country, everyone is a winemaker.

Then we decided to hit PlumpJack which we had missed on the proposed itinerary I concocted. Once a sleepy winery with cool, sort of surfer dudes pouring, it was now hijacked by the Dragon Lady – a woman with Asian eyes who disregarded us as burdensome for having saddled up to the tasting bar and proceeded to instill the air in the tasting room with a sense of hyper chaotic energy gone bad. We left most of the last taste in the glass and quickly scuttled out – but not without a photo shoot of the larger than life agaves.

We went to Auberge de Soleil in an effort to salvage that last tasting experience, but unfortunately got there with the rest of the throngs who have discovered just about every secret that remained in Napa and instead of a quiet, beautiful view over the valley, we found ourselves surrounded by people with more money than charm and decided even after securing a table that we didn’t need to be there.

So we headed to Turnbull and there, right before they closed, found at last again, one of our favorite wineries – the first that Tatjana had been to and the same woman, CJ, whose daughter in law is from Belarus, and who remembered us from last year. We sampled all the wonderful wines and Tatjana, my communist anti yup gf signed up to be a wine club member – shocking.

Then we made our way back up the valleys of incomparable beauty stopping in Calistoga to make a reservation for mudbaths tomorrow (today Sunday) and meandered home where all of our best intentions to do more collided with finding our bed and going to sleep at 7PM not to wake up until 7 the next morning – 12 hours of sleep!

This would work out as a great itinerary for those slightly older wanting to visit as it is the reality of being in the land of plenty and having little reserves – one bite at a time is all you need at this point in life. It also made me think of chucking the itineraries in the future as they only seem to provide a sense of stress to uphold them, a sense of failure in not completing them, and they sort of subtract from the feeling of shared discovery.

I lived for 16 years in San Francisco, going to the symphony, the museums, the liquor store, the grocery store, the cafes – the same places for years and rarely, very rarely running into anyone I knew. I moved back to New Orleans and no one was a stranger. In San Francisco, the cashier at Coit Liquors where I had bought wine and liquor for years always asked for my driver’s license, in New Orleans, my credit was a matter of fact – we still owe for the bread we bought at Swirl a few days ago.

But today, we went to Bistro Jeanty to have lunch and I ran into the bartender Bob who was the singular reason I went to Bistro Jeanty for years – I would sit at the bar and just have the best time because Bob was there and the food was good. Today, we sat outside and had food that was good, but none of it special – the bib lettuce salad was okay, but recently we made bib lettuce at home that was incredible, the sole meuniere was okay but the mashed potatoes couldn’t even compare to the ones my sister in law made at my house a month or two ago. Mashed potatoes that were so delicious, I ate them for the next few days – yum. Well Bistro Jeanty’s mashed potatoes weren’t yum. So what’s up with that?

Okay but back to Bob – he said you changed your hair and I said Bob do you realize that since the last time I saw you I moved back to New Orleans, went through Katrina, spent three months evacuated in Texas, split with Steve, met a woman and we’re here today because her birthday is Tuesday?

Bob said, go eat your food and give me a moment to digest this.

On the way out, he said, “It was so good to see you. And so good to see you are happy.”

Bob is worth the lackluster mashed potatoes.

Having spent many a cold summer in San Francisco, fall was always the most welcome season – there were the Blue Angels during Fleet Week to introduce that it was indeed fall, as there was hardly any trees changing leaf color and it would warm all of a sudden because Indian Summer always comes to the Bay Area in October.

Driving around the Embarcadero yesterday you’d never know this country was, had been, is in a recession because there are people everywhere doing stuff – running, biking, dining, walking, drinking, going here to there with quite a hustle bustle going on. People in the midst of the commerce of life with drive and determination.

I know why New Orleans is my home – because it is peaceful and slow-paced and it is humid. I grew up in the tropics – in New Orleans and Managua and San Salvador and Panama and Puerto Rico. It is that pace, that soul that sings to me.

But even with dry lips and my face already pruned from the desert dryness here – I have to admit after all the California bashing I have done over the past twenty years, San Francisco and up to Napa and into the Alexander Valley is a quite remarkably stunning place with ample beautiful people, cars, houses, restaurants and bars, and vistas galore.

If you are headed to Northern California, make October your time frame.

I met a man the other day who I have been speaking to for many years by phone but have never seen in person. We were at a bustling bar in New York and I was sipping a glass of champagne and we were just chit chatting the way people do who have been talking about a subject for a long time but hardly ever talking about the things that matter most to a person. I learned that he found a little piece of Valhalla 25 years ago and he built himself a getaway house, which had always been a dream of his. I told him about the LaLa and the all the trials and tribulations that led to my Valhalla dream.

I sent him a photo of the bayou as seen from the dining room when I got back to New Orleans and he said he was surprised as it looked so pristine and he had expected mossy trees and spooky shadows.

I said, we have that too but it’s in the park a few blocks down.

But the last email he sent was the one that resonated most. He said, “Rachel, Enjoy Every Day.”

Got up before the chickens – no rest for the weary – pouring rain – no internet – a/c not working – leaving – Loca anxious – Wolfie concerned – planes delayed – rental car a/c not working – segue to California…

Valley of muted colors – reminiscent of the bayou on steroids with greens to musty browns, then suddenly looking at pheasants from all over China in coops at Cline Vineyards – and then driving through the valley, black threads of clouds checkmarked across the pale blue sky, a blazing setting sun then appears and colors in the void with scarlet, umber, fire – from there a full moon…

At last, mood alteration.

3. YOUR DYING

Nothing could stop you.
Not the best day. Not the quiet. Not the ocean rocking.
You went on with your dying.
Not the trees.
Under which you walked, not the trees that shaded you.
Not the doctor
Who warned you, the white-haired young doctor who saved you once.
You went on with your dying.
Nothing could stop you. Not your son. Not your daughter
Who fed you and made you into a child again.
Not your son who thought you would live forever.
Not the wind that shook your lapels.
Not the stillness that offered itself to your motion.
Not your shoes that grew heavier.
Not our eyes that refused to look ahead.
Nothing could stop you.
You sat in your room and stared at the city
And went on with your dying.
…

Mark Strand

and the world seems to be unwinding – my coral ring from Mignon Faget not in my jewelry box, my brown Cambio staple for client visits pants missing from the closet, the a/c suddenly not working as we leave for California, no sleep with the neighbor’s light beaming in my eye like a rushing train headed straight for me, I awake to a thunderstorm and downpour – Louisiana, coming to wash us clean.

in my dreams I hear the doctor saying this is what happens, sorry – broken fragments of conversations – what can we do?- it’s so sad – how can we get her out of that place to just come home and die in her own bed – toss and turn, toss and turn.

in the end it all leads to the same place.

The force is strong in you Luke – I feel that is what my aunt and uncles and others keep telling me. You’re strong. Well this year is aging me more than Katrina, more than my divorce, more than a lot of other things because my mother is dying, I’m trying to adopt a child, my work is all consuming and I can’t seem to stop the world for one moment and take a breath.

I am grateful every day that I look out at the bayou, I’m happy that I am healthy, and I’m grateful for all the support I have around me from T to all of my friends and family.

But anyone tell you that their parent is dying, you better believe there is a deep well of sadness inside of them. Anyone tell you that it is frightening trying to have/adopt a child, you better believe there is fear and excitement that alternate so rapidly you can’t distinguish one from the other.

I’m blessed to have this one moment to say thanks for all the good things BUT can’t we just take a breath here, for one moment?

The other day a neighbor made the comment that his neighbor was carrying around his old dog who couldn’t walk anymore. My neighbor said, “He should put the dog down, he’s a dog after all.”

The next day friends of ours made a decision to put their dog down who declined rapidly, who was the dog they got after their other dog ran into the street and was instantly struck by a car and died. My heart just heaved in sympathy.

I find that it is very hard for me to speak about my mother and this time in my life to the ones I love and to friends – instead I just relay straightforward facts and data as I learn them from the doctors and nurses. But when I look down from my bed at night before sleeping and Loca looks up at me – I feel she knows my pain. When I walk by Wolfie and she turns over and leans her body weight against me just to feel me close – I feel she senses something in me that is sad.

Maybe I’m making this up but I think they feel deeper than most others about sadness.

I went to a staff meeting today to learn about my mom’s prognosis. Not good. They have done all they can for her and are now moving her onto that final resting station – a skilled nursing home – where she gets to live out her final days. I went to visit one of the facilities and although I drove there with a heavy heart, and I have been through many of these places as my mom was director of nursing at many, perhaps even this one, I walked in and experienced a very different feeling than the one I thought I would have.

Yes, it is the final stop for most of the residents but it wasn’t such a bad place. I passed one room where an old man lay in his bed with his daughter (older than me) washing his face, while her brother or husband sat in the chair talking. I passed another where an elderly man lay sleeping while a very frail elderly woman sat near him in a wheel chair.

All around me people were helping other people in their passage. It is Talmudic. This is life, for some of us, the end is lightning fast like my father who surprised us all when he was 62 and never made it to his and my lunch date. My mom’s is more prolonged but she is giving us all time to say our goodbyes and help her with her passage.