I don’t need a lot to be happy. Maybe seventy two degrees, vineyard-lined hills, a glass of Zin and my honey. Throw in a beautiful condo, balcony, and a Jacuzzi in the bedroom and I’m in heaven.
They were everywhere. 500 priests and nuns gathered in the most luxurious hotel in Napa. It was called the Napa Institute. I know what I called it.
“Let’s finish our job straightening out that horrible ornery Danny-boy.”
I then realized–Here I am in Napa Valley tasting fine wines.
But everything I knew about wine I learned from Catholic school.
My tasty Zinfandel started tasting like that altar wine I used to drink when the priest turned his head.
I dreamed about terrorists and wondered if they realized what was in store for them.
I swallowed my guilt and a lot more wine and enjoyed the week. As I was pulling out of the resort I waved to my eight grade nun and she waved back.