Beazley’s View

Back when they started counting  the centuries after the birth of Jesus they hadn’t learned about the number “ZERO.”

This has caused more than a little confusion, because if you don’t start with the “Century Zero” you start with a First Century, before you’ve HAD a FIRST Century.

The Romans were running things then and they only used “Roman numerals” I,II,III, IV, V, etc.  They didn’t really care (yet) about the birth of a Jewish radical in Judea. They numbered their years according to their Emperors’ reigns.

I told you it was confusing.

All this history is related to let you know it’s not your fault if you are confused about the end of 2009 being the BEGINNING of a new decade. It might help if you remember it started with the year 2000. Count THAT year on your right hand and by the time you run out of fingers on your left you’ve completed 10, thus a decade.

Whew! And we’re just STARTING this brand new Decade!It’s GOTTA be better than the last one, right?

It’s promising by the look of the changes in old town Napa.

Last Century (1998 to be exact), we started a flood control project which has caused a construction boom which has changed the face of our sleepy downtown. Builders have constructed new bridges, renovated the Opera House, added river front promenades and new landmarks.  There is finally a “there” here, speaking of new Napa.

Over 20 wine tasting rooms have opened. They feature wines which used to be only available to wine snobs. These are boutique wines from tiny wineries who spend all their money MAKING their wines, not distributing it.  Now, without getting in your car (if you stay with us!) you can taste 60-plus wineries and do it all for fraction what it would have cost you in years past.

The restaurant scene has changed the most. There are over 20 Zagat rated restaurants covering the full gourmet gamut, literally from A to Z. There’s Allegria, a place I call all American: Italian cuisine, California style, prepared by Hispanic Chefs with owners from Istanbul, Turkey. All American! The “Z” is represented by ZuZu’s a Spanish Tapas restaurant. Here you can share small plates (they’re finally on to how couples eat!) tasting the full variety of this delicious cuisine.

New restaurants are opening seemingly weekly: Places where you can sample Thai, Indian, gourmet Vegetarian as well as Italian and California style.

With the opening of the OxBow Public Market , Napa joins such foodie cities as San Francisco and Seattle, but Napa Valley style. Before you had to go the the Ferry Building in the City or Pike’s Market in Seattle to get fresh, gourmet regional food.

No more! At the OxBow (named after a bend in the Napa river), you can taste wine, buy aged cheese, fresh veggies, ethnic cuisine, fresh bakery treats, premium beef and fish and maybe the best burgers from Taylor’s Refresher.

Silo’s is Napa’s answer to a nightclub scene with live music matched across town by Uva Trattoria.  For even bigger stars there’s the Napa Valley Opera House, which has hosted Wynton Marsales, Judy Collins, Robin Williams and even Shakespeare.

All this within walking distance of the Beazley House.

Let the fun begin!

As years go, and especially in the context of the DECADE, 2009 was a good year for us all.

Talking in terms of the view from, say low earth orbit, we elected a man who may just be the best President in our lifetimes.  And in the context of the decade, Barack Obama comes to us not a second too soon. Having endured the abject horror of our European friends when we visited England during Bush II’s reign we basked in the brilliance of our collective choice this year.

I’m speaking of our 35^th anniversary sojourn which took us back to England (we’re nearly British subjects we’ve been there so often!) and to Rome, cruising the Med and ending up in Venice. Truly a trip of a lifetime…both in experiences and the paying for.

Actually our timing was quite good. We still had good credit, the Euro was down and the Pound Sterling less than 1 and ½ times the $. Added to this was my obsessive preplanning which paid off in a little gem of a Roman hotel called the San Francesco, a “bargain rate” on the Windstar line (far less than a night in ICU), and Obritz.com cheater rate in Venice. Hey, we spent our 25^th WORKING at the inn…which I vowed I wouldn’t repeat. Carol was amazed I could actually put it all together and she actually LOVED Rome. A non swimmer (ask the kids about taking her to the Water Slide)

Carol was less thrilled about the cruise, but admitted she couldn’t have seen places we sailed to any other way. We both love Venice and even found good food this time, and of course got lost.

To judge by all the Asians, Europeans and various teens we were in lines with in Italy, there is no Recession. The Recession is a California (or US) problem. Maybe it doesn’t exist if you don’t loose your job, your home or your health insurance. Or maybe it’s just our lodging industry, GM, Chrysler, the US Banking complex and the collective hangover from the Bush bash.

If I’ve gotten carried away by relating too much about our trip, it’s because most of the rest of our 2009 pretty much sucked. Sissy died and the cats didn’t.

Okay, WE are healthy. We haven’t gotten Swine Flu, a dread disease, gone Postal at Trader Joes or turned to online Poker to pay the bills, but “things is tough,” as Larry the Cableguy says.

We’re working 100% harder for 20% less revenue. One of our employees is out for months with a broken arm. People keep asking if they can get a discount on our already 40% discounted rooms.

And Timothy Geithner won’t return my calls anymore when I’m checking on our bailout.

But we got love.

Our family is growing up around us with astonishing rapidity. Spencer (11) in his 6^th year at Napa’s Language Academy is continually recognized for his brilliance. Sidney (6) is blazing his own trail there. He’s on the “Watch List” but is doing better now that he realizes they AREN’T speaking Japanese, but Spanish which he’s understanding if refusing to speak. Pheenix (17 going on 27 and living in Sparks) has started appearing in magazines as a model.

Scott has helped us with overnight innkeeping duty and has started what may become a career as a Plumber. He seems much happier than we’ve seen him in years.

We hope you’ll join us in kissing the passing year goodbye and wishing us all a Merry Christmas.

Love to you all,

Jim & Carol

Even Mr. B&B got into the spirit. He soon lost the hat, though.

Christmas comes but once a year.

Too bad it has to come in December.

I come by these sentiments genetically. My father had what the family called “His Christmas Look.”

This look resembled what one might expect from a victim of peptic ulcers.

He wasn’t a Scrouge, not in the true Dicken’s form. He didn’t exactly hate Christmas. More likely he just dreaded it. My father was a worrier and he always worried about money the most. I fear I’ve inherited his outlook.

December is that month that all the money flows OUT: Property Taxes, the Biggest Transient Occupancy Tax bill, Inn Insurance, payroll, Mortgage. Very little flows in because Napa is a couples’ destination, not a family destination. Christmas is a FAMILY holiday. We live on reserves. Not unlike bears, but without the benefit of hibernating.

You, our dear guests help with this seasonal financial disorder: you come back to cheer us up. And you buy gift certificates. And this year you’re buying our wonderful sheets.

You can’t imagine what a joy it is to be given as a gift, and because of your generosity we are part of that giving.

By Christmas the onerous bills have been paid. The annual  Holiday tour has kicked out the winter blues, replacing them with beautiful lights and cherished decorations.

As the Christmas carols waft through the inn mingling with the scent of Hot Mulled wine and Chocolate Chip Cookies even my spirits are lifted.

My father wasn’t an innkeeper, not until the last chapter of his life. By then his feelings for Christmas were too ingrained to change.

I have been an innkeeper nearly half of my adult life now.

While I can’t say I like Christmas (I’m much more of a “Thanksgiving kind of guy”) each year after I’ve seen Dicken’s classic Christmas Carol and Frank Zappa’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” I’m innoculated with the Holiday Spirit.

And I’m ready to welcome you all with a warm smile and Hot Mulled Wine.

Hey, even Scrouge smiled on Christmas!

Mother Nature is a hard ole girl.
If she determines it’s time to send the killing frost to begin Winter’s Slumber, bundle up baby.

No matter if you’re a beloved Begonia or a pretty Princess Plant, you’re gonna freeze…maybe even to death.

It’s not that Mother Nature hates flowers, she just has a schedule to keep. And if you can’t take the frosts of Winter you’re gone. Down to your roots or back to your core.

She’ll do it quick, she’s not sadistic. Over night, under a starry sky she’ll drop the temperature like an icy blanket smothering all that’s tender.
And she’ll do it with style.

In the morning she’ll leave behind a beautiful white wonderland hiding the death in a white shroud of her finest frosty crystals. It takes your breath away, such cold calculus sent to set things in seasonal motion. We are reminded that nothing lasts. That the only constant is change. We are made to understand that it is Mother Nature in charge and she has a plan.

Oh we can try to save a beloved Princess Plant by hiding her under a protective sheet, but it’s about like hiding under the covers from the bogeyman, and about as effective.

All we can hope for is that, come Spring, Mother Nature will choose to bestow the kiss of life on our Sleeping Princesses and the cycle of life will begin again.

Until then we light the long nights with pretty lights, warm wine and roaring fires.

The killing time will be over soon.

We will see Spring signs shortly.

Just about end of January.

Ahhhh, Winter in Napa!

Up until now, let’s just say I’d pretty much lost faith in the promises officials and construction guys make.
Our experience was more of the disappointing, disillusioning kind. Public officials and their bureaucrats weren’t necessarily BAD people. Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to actually BELIEVE them. Especially when they made promises and those assurances involved the phrase “done by Christmas.”
Ever notice how everything will always be “done by Christmas?”
The war will be over. The troops will be home.
The run-away will return. The money will come.

Well, sometimes, it turns out, promises are kept. Take our sidewalks, curbs & gutters and street trees and even our mangled landscape bark…all done. Back in place. Cleaned up. Planted. Swept. Hell, even the inevitable scratchings in wet cement. As promised. Okay, not the graffiti, but you’ll see what I mean.

The 375 people who tromped through the property for the annual B&B Holiday Tour hadn’t a clue that just 24 hours before we were a construction site.

Gone were the huge machines, parked somewhere else. Out of the scene were the mounds of blue base rock. Away were the hundreds of “No Parking” barriers. Left behind were just a manageable few, easily collected and put out of sight. Heck, they don’t work on weekends so parking in the “construction zone”…well there ISN’T a construction zone now. Not at the Beazley House.

Sure, First Street still resembles a Third World byway. And yes there are barriers across and down the street. But OUR little piece of the project is done.

For now.

As promised.

And BEFORE Christmas.

As we near the end of a THREE year construction project to “underground” the utilities on First Street, I’m struck by how much “construction looks like destruction.

First come the no parking baricades, quickly followed by trenches. Next are the armies of workers in their beeping machines. Then there’s the seemingly endless digging up and hauling away. Ending in wet cement and cooling asphalt.Oh right, we shouldn’t forget the cutting down and grinding up of statley street trees.

It’s been like when God kicked Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden: a lot of shouting and shoving and sound and fury. All so we can have streets as smooth as glass, shaded by uniform street trees and abutted by federally approved sidewalks (with ramps!).  And oh yes, not a power pole in sight!

Dear guests, as you read this they’re  done with all the “heavy lifting” and our sidewalks are poured.  One of the two stumps which used to be grown trees has been ground down to, well the ground. It and “Mr.Stubby” the second former Liquid Amber will be replaced by a “large specimen” boxed Red Oak.

In exchange for our mature Silver Leaf Maple (80 to 90 years old) and our 25 year old Liquid Amber we will get  relative youngsters, stout but alive and ready to thrive.    That’s the promise.

We haven’t seen any of these specimen, but they will probably go in after a while.

You see it can’t be long because this will all be over by Christmas. That’s the promise…

and we’ve just had our THANKSGIVING!

Come to think of it,they’ve PROMISED US it would all be tidied up here by next Saturday the FIFTH of December. That’s the day 375 people will be touring our inn on the Annual Napa B&B Holiday Tour.

They promised.

Autumn is my favorite season.

She returns like a long-lost lover: cool at first, but warming to the touch and more beautiful than I remember.

Her true colors are just starting to show; bright yellows, deepening into burnished gold with hints here and there of passionate red.

The harvest is well underway and the perfume of ripening grapes permeates parts of the valley. The talk is of a very good vintage.

We’re trying to keep up on who’s crushing, but it’s hard because there’s no central data base. We check frequently with our friends and send guests accordingly.

Our own gardens are splendid in Autumn. Mature flowers and shrubs show off their beauty shamelessly, knowing after December, Winter will be just around the corner.

Nilda and Gloria have outdone themselves this year. Never before have we had such variety and color.

The Begonias pictured here are 5 feet tall! They share the private garden of the Garden Room with a Japanese Maple which has tripled in size over the last two years.

Our Hydrangias have faded to lovely lavender shades before deepening to their fall reds.

Because we enjoy a “Marine climate” due to our proximity to San Francisco Bay, our Fall is both gentle and long. October is its beginning with leaves just starting to turn.

November will bring shorter days and even cooler nights and those trees which haven’t turned color will be in full fall regalia.

Our vineyards will be bare of grapes, but not leaves. Here the show will be in full form with yellows and oranges and the ocassional red.

Frequently the rains will have begun, quickly turning our hills from “California Gold” to lovely shades of green.

November gives way to a December which is Winter in name alone. The temperatures are still mild and even our roses continue to bloom.

No wonder Autumn comes back. She knows she’s always welcome and can stay as long as she’d like.

Just like you.

For almost 15 years she was the official guardian of the scraps, greeter and love sponge at the Beazley House.  

She took her duties very seriously and never missed a day of work. It was a job description she could have written herself, if she’d only had opposable thumbs. She was perfectly suited to her innkeeping career, having been born with a seemingly insatiable appetite for crackers, a ready, welcoming smile and a starlet’s love of attention.

Although she knew she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, Sissy would deftly position herself between the dining room door and the kitchen counter where the guests’ dishes came to be cleaned off before washing. She had a better understanding of the laws of gravity than an MIT grad student.

Never mind that we all had to step over her, she was on post, on duty. And if we failed to recognize her “cracker count” was short for a given morning Sissy was quick with a cold-nose nudge to set the record straight.

Breakfast done it was time for a mid morning nap between Mom’s computer and the innkeeper’s desk. “The corner” was her snooze spot and we had better remember no naps began without a treat.

When guests began arriving in the afternoon it was “meet and greet” whether they came with a furry companion or, sadly, alone. While these new “family friends” were checking in, Sissy would dutifully stand close or lay at their feet so they could pet her, knowing they were missing their doggy companions.

If her “new best friend” was a particularly good patter he/she would be treated to the privilege of actually rubbing her tummy which would be accompanied by squirms and riffs of auto leg rotations. We called it “doing the Elvis.”

In her dotage Sissy had taken to longer and longer naps in the coolness of the car port , leaving active play with guests and their dogs to sister Autumn, “Tummy.”  This is not to say she completely abandoned the field of play. She would supervise and occasionaly steal the ball to allow her sister to rest and calm down. 

Her end came yesterday after a miserable week with her third attack of Pancreatitis. She still came to work, but hung out alone, sleeping fitfully on the cool cement. She would dutifully raise her head when we came to check on her. But refused to eat or drink, or even move.

After work she was happy to be loaded into her beloved PT cruiser (read den) for the ride home. Still refusing food and drink she accepted a couple of treats as we petted her and cleaned her up for her final performance.

She would parade one last time down the street, checking messages and stopping to look both ways before crossing. She was slow, but smiling. Then it was into her rolling den for the last trip to the vet.

A lady to the end she was released from this world of pain as we gently rubbed her, our tears washing the way. And in a moment she was gone.

Every time friends visit we get the opportunity to become our guests all over again.

We can see our valley through their eyes. We can test our restaurants and taste our Napa Vintners’ wines.

This past weekend was no exception. Dear friends came from near and far. We needed no special occasion, no momentous birthday or anniversary to remind us to celebrate the gift of life.
The first night we went to Uva Trattoria in Napa. This lively, locals favorite is perfect for large and noisy groups like ours. We know we will be treated like favorite family and we won’t offend others when the wine flows and the laughter grows.

Not only is the service great, but the food is excellent and a very good value. Uva waives corkage on the first bottle of wine we bring and charges only $10 there after. And if you buy THEIR wine corkage is waived accordingly.

Uva’s food reflects the Italian influence of its name. The freshest of seasonal ingredients are offered as specials along with dishes for which customers return time and again.

While we didn’t need any help with entertainment, Uva features Jazz and other music Wednesday, Friday and Sunday evenings.

The rest of the weekend we hosted barbecues at Laurel Hill, our residence. This required that we shop at the Farmer’s market and, of course, go wine tasting.

Wine tasting is a bit like kissing a first date: you find out a lot with just your lips.

Grant at Jessup Cellars had graciously invited us to his Yountville tasting room. Even though we are very familiar with Jessup wines (Grant pours regularly at our Friday night wine tastings) we look forward to tasting Jessup wines ANYTIME.

Not only is Grant the consummate host, but he has helpers as beautiful as his wines. And they are knowledgeable without being boring or over bearing.  Andrea Wolfe, a dear friend as well, took over part way through our nearly two hour tasting. She led us through Jessup Zins and ended our visit with Port and chocolate.

The next day Carol ventured out into the Valley after showing off downtown Napa’s new River Front and the Oxbow Market Place. For anyone who hasn’t been in Napa in the last 6 months, there’s been quite a change. Gone are the construction zones which tied up traffic and blocked views. In their place are beautiful new buildings and a river walk all the way from Veterans Park to Napa Mill. Granted most of the new buildings  await tenants because of the soft economy, but they are waiting patiently.

After strolling and sipping at some of our downtown tasting rooms, Carol ventured to Mumm Napa Valley for some of the bubbly. Mumm offers some of the best values in sparkling and still wines and a view to die for. Our guests always find the free photo gallery with a standing Ansel Adams exhibit  fascinating.

My friend Eddie Zale and I visited the tasting rooms of Girard and then Hope and Grace in Yountville on a busy Sunday afternoon. Our welcome was a warm as the Indian Summer and the wines spectacular.

Ahhh, the Good Life!

I only need to smell smoke to feel the heat that nearly killed me 30 some years ago.

I was a young photojournalist working for two daily newspapers in Reno, Nevada covering a wildfire named “the Comstock”.  A writer can conjure a scene after it’s occurred with descriptive phrases, but a photographer needs to witness it.

As the first (and it turned out only) Reno newspaper rep on the scene I was aware I would be responsible for more than just capturing images of burning brush. Because I had graduated from the University of Nevada, Reno’s Journalism department I was expected to write the story as well as shoot the pictures, even if I couldn’t spell.

The fire was roaring up steep hills and box canyons as it climbed Geiger Grade headed toward historic Virginia City, the original Comstock lode.  Firefighters with the Bureau of  Land Management (BLM)  crewed a brand new,  specialized machine dubbed the “Dragon Wagon” for it’s reputed ability to fight fire with invincibility.

The Dragon Wagon was no where in sight so I ran to catch up with an old fashioned hand crew manning a lowly pickup truck.  As I rounded a blind curve,  ahead of me stood the fire crew its path totally blocked by fire and thick smoke.

Deciding I had taken enough pictures after all, I turned and ran back around the curve, only to find another newspaper’s photographer running toward me, choking on the solid wall of smoke blocking the only way out.

We scrambled aboard the pickup as it inched its way further up the canyon. As the smoke folded us in its smothering shroud, I heard my companion scream he was on fire. One of the firemen doused us all and yelled to stay low. As I pressed my face into the hub of a spare tire in the truck bed I wondered if I could stand the heat much longer.

We were stopped now. The driver blinded, suffocating with us;  we could do no more than hold on.

As the cinders burned holes in my wet clothes I gasped greasy air and listened to the tall sagebrush crackle and hiss.  The fire pushed us down like a giant hand.

Just before blacking out I was conscious of being doused again, and being able to breathe without choaking. The smoke was lifting, heat abating as the fierce flames had consumed all available fuel.

The fire had burned completely over us, turning us into sooty scarecrows.  My stinging-shut eyes opened onto a scene of  blacken destruction, 6 foot brush reduced to scrawny tendrils. We inched up the road.

Ahead, off the road and impaled on a still burning clump of sagebrush was the  “Dragon Wagon, ” engine still running, it was abandoned, its doors open. The crew was no where in sight.  So much for invincibility.

Looking over the cab of our fire truck I noticed the heat which had scorched us had deformed our conical red light,  melting it like a gum drop. The view from the truck was of a blacken landscape, still smoldering. In the distance we could see the bedraggled, but uninjured crew from the ill-fated “Dragon Wagon.”

Looking into their sweat-streaked faces as they approach, I recgonized the emotion I was feeling: an overwhelming sense of relief. We had all survived.