Disclaimer: This blog post is not about old food. And I’m trying not to re-hash Thanksgiving while Christmas is nearly at hand. (But it is true that I stored our leftover pumpkin pie in the fridge long enough that my husband and I joked about resurrecting it for my in-laws’ Christmas dinner.) It’s a collection of shorties that- like so many other things- piled up while my back was turned. Mismatched, varied, nostalgic. Leftovers.

Next year, use a wine bag instead.

In my attic sit two greedy jack-o-lanterns.  The sit there, plastic, grinning, taking up more than their fair share of real estate.  They are useful for two hours a year, after which they do not fold, stack, or bend into any space-saving form whatsoever. 

Despite the personal grudge I hold against those mass-manufactured candy receptacles, my kids love them.  I did not mean to leave them behind when we went trick-or-treating this Halloween; I was honestly at a loss when I realized my error.

Enter the wine bag.  Foldable, reusable, strong.  In this town, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who isn't hoarding a few in their pantry.  At the least, they're  designed to carry a three pound cabernet bottle.  Can it handle a Halloween night's worth of Mars products?  You bet.

In true Napa fashion, on Halloween night my friend handed me two wine bags from her pantry when she learned I'd forgotten my jack-o-lanterns.  One bag, black and glossy, was made for laying bottles longways and stood at the perfect height for my two year-old.  The other, a hideously bright and shiny gift bag, loomed high as a tower, waiting to be filled with cellophane-covered treats.  My kindergartener might as well have custom-designed it himself.

The surprise bonus?  Every kid who toddled up onto Napa's downtown porches looked cute.  Not every kid had a wine bag.  The grown-up ghouls and witches in our zip code cheered every time my Batman and Batgirl presented their locally sourced candy bags.  Many of them asked my husband and me if they could refill our glasses when they recognized kindred Hallow-boozers.  (Yes, trick-or-treating with stemware is common in our neighborhood.)

In the end, my kids scored big.  And when they finally polished off this year's bounty, I didn’t  have to take a trip up to the attic.  My new wine bags are neatly folded and stored in the pantry, awaiting their next incarnation.  So long Jack! This time, I’m the one who's grinning.

Here kid, light your sacred path with my iPhone.

This month, my son's Waldorf school celebrated the coming fall with a lantern walk.  Parents were invited to attend the after-hours ritual, and were politely reminded to turn off their phones and avoid taking pictures for this near-sacred occasion.  After every child's family had huddled together in the kinder classroom, my son's teacher sent us out in whispers, family-by-family.

The votive-lit path through the school grounds and surrounding vineyards looked like something out of a fairy tale: twinkling lights, winding walkways, cool Pacific breeze.  Cool Pacific breeze.  And five year-olds, carrying  candles.  What could go wrong?

I will say this: my family had dutifully picked our way along half of the path before we resorted to 21st century standbys.  We had every intention of following the rules.  But when the San Pablo Bay sends its autumn sprites to blow out your only light source, what is one to do?  My son's candle blew out- thankfully- a good distance from the watchful eye of his teacher, leaving the long strides between path candles decidedly black.  My husband, ever practical, quickly pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and handed it to our son. So there we were, picking our way through a candlelit path while my son proudly brandished ten lumens of consumer culture media solutions.

Ultimately, we found a dry grapevine shoot to light up, using one of the pathway votives. I’m sure it was non-GMO and organic, which hopefully scored us a few Steiner points to smooth out the deficit we created with the iPhone. We try not to be too hard on ourselves though: when Old Mother Winter is approaching, desperate times call for modern measures.

Cherry and cassis, with hints of play dough

Real Life goes on its regular way, no matter what’s in your glass. I’m lucky: the wine in my tumbler is typically enjoyed by people far above my tax bracket, but thou shalt drink what thou hast made. It’s an industry perk shared by (and swapped between) many Napa families.  So we do our normal life things with something in our glasses that most people save for special occasions.  (I have no poetic language for this- it’s awesome.)

It is not uncommon to stick my nose in a glass of Cabernet and pick up notes of tobacco, dried cherry, cassis, and... what’s that off-smell as I get in a little closer?  Something sweet and rubber band-y? Why am I thinking of Target, aisle 11? I’m seeing darkened crimson but I’m smelling neon orange...

Having a winemaker in the family has its glamorous moments. But for the most part, everything else is Regular Life, plus a little something special in the glass. We spend many an evening rolling play dough into snowman balls and little snakes with our kids.  And that means sometimes, just as you’re being carried away by the seductive nose of a premium Napa cab, you’re interrupted mid-whiff by eau de play dough. We’re parents; we’ve learned to sniff around it.  That goes for many of the mundane routines that would otherwise interrupt a perfectly nice glass of wine: making peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, folding laundry, potty training.

Drinking truly fine wine in the midst of Regular Life is a luxurious thing, but it isn’t our only thing. My husband, for example, has won some pretty high accolades for his wine- but it’s a little known fact that his craftmanship of play dough snails is equally as stunning. And our four-part family chorus of Row, Row, Row Your Boat is disharmony at its joyful and cacophonous best. We are also pretty convinced that our son’s swing set skills are advanced far beyond his peers. We know these things because, at the end of most days, we sit back with a glass of wine in hand and declare them to be true. And then we go in for another sip, and savor the rich aromas of cherry, cassis, and freshly-opened play dough.