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On a recent trip to Italy, I picked up some Italian, especially since I look more like an Italian expatriate than an American of Italian descent. That must be the case, because everywhere I went, Italians kept approaching me and speaking rapidly in Italian or, in other cases, like in the grocery store, when I put my fruit directly in the basket as we do in the U.S. without weighing it and pricing it first, yelling at me.

I don't know about you, but I've never been much for spending a

The mystical element guiding the adventurous drivers on Redwood Retreat Road may be the call of the oak barrels inside the gorgeously designed winery of Martin Ranch near the end of the lane. Last Saturday afternoon, Thèrese and Dan Martin hosted a wine tasting and barbecue on the patio of the barrel room overlooking the California-style change-in-season colors of the withering vines. The harvest is over and the press of juice on the cap is near complete; time to celebrate and clink the glasses of previous year's product.

The other day, I read a disturbing ad. It showed a washer and