I recently went to a wedding at the beautiful Silverado Country Club in Napa, California. It was nice visiting with old friends and family members in such a setting. Sunday morning brunch was on a patio overlooking the golf course. 
I felt like I was a character in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Of course, during the 1920’s and 1930’s my family would have been the people in the maids’ and butlers’ uniforms, cooking the food, and doing the laundry and the gardening, not the ones discussing theater, polo, and jaunts to the continent. Amazing.
Napa certainly has changed. It seems more like a bedroom community for San Francisco than anything else. Little boutique wineries and too many strip malls for my liking. I was happy to get back to the little place with the red door. No one told me, however, that a heat wave had hit the coast and instead of the fog, the temperature had soared over one hundred degrees. Headed for the pool, posthaste.
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