These past four days have felt like four weeks. After much agonizing, we said good-bye to our beloved Tally on Saturday. Thankfully, Noe’s Grandma and Grandpa are visiting, which gave us room to just unplug and mourn. Thankfully, too, Christopher had set up a mini-getaway on Sunday-Monday to celebrate our anniversary. So the morning after doing the impossible, we set off to Carneros Inn to celebrate our eleven years together . . . and our ten years with Tal.

Our first stop was Dean & Deluca in St. Helena to pick up picnic staples; Christopher had booked us one of the tables at Joseph Phelps, a pioneer producer of high-end cab in Napa. I was in no mood whatsoever to follow around a tour guide while feigning interest in French or American oak (not that I don’t find that interesting, I just had another furry, caramel-colored animal with paws that smell like popcorn on my mind that I wasn’t willing to push aside). But it ended up being perfect. They led us to a secluded table by an herb garden overlooking a beautiful bowl of a valley, with gophers playing tag in the vineyards (much to the disdain of the viticulturist, I’m sure, but it was fun for us to watch), hawks circling greedily overhead, and trees and shrubs covered in a glorious fuzz of springtime green.

There’s something about the simple things when my heart is aching. It’s as if everything slows and I’m more aware of all the details around me; or maybe I’m just more accepting of them. The way each breath feels in my chest, the way the breeze smells like fresh-cut grass, the patch of sunlight that Tally would surely be spread out in if he were there. We took our time, soaking up the sun in silence and in slow conversation, savoring boar prosciutto, jamon serrano, finnochiona and rabbit pate with an inky, teeth-staining Syrah, and by the time we were done, we could breathe a tiny bit easier.

It was late afternoon by the time we traversed the Southern border of Napa, just above the San Pablo Bay in an area of wind-blown hills and pastures called Carneros. One would think that, living in wine country, it would be redundant going to wine country for a getaway. But each appellation up here is so distinct that a visit feels sufficiently “other.”

Our destination, Carneros Inn, is a sprawling property with individual cottages outfit with niceties like decks, indoor/outdoor showers, heated tiles in the bathroom and wood-burning fireplaces. There’s a hilltop pool with views for miles, a spa that’s out of this world and little nooks and crannies all over the property for curling up with a book or a tete-a-tete over a bottle of wine.

If any of you know the Plumpjack brand (San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom is one of the founders), you know they excel in food, wine and creating an incredible ambiance. And, as Carneros Inn is a Plumpjack property, food was not left out of the mix. We had dinner down the hill at FARM, a warm yet airy room where they served meals from a simple menu made from seasonal, farmers market fare and fruit grown on the property.

We went all over the menu, as we love to do. We began with an ahi carpaccio that was studded with baby beets and tiny nuggets of fried potatoes, then drizzled with basil oil. It was a lovely combination of silken and crispy, savory and sweet. The hen of the woods mushroom risotto we split was a standout, mostly because of the surprising addition of lots and lots of a humble little ingredient that was blended into the broth—parsley. That and the mascarpone cheese and truffle oil. For the entree, we broke our “you get this and I’ll get that” rule and both ordered the George’s Bank dayboat scallops, with a sunchoke puree, caperberries (I have a major infatuation with all things caper right now) and Meyer lemon confit.

And what wine do you think we chose to bridge all these disparate flavors? Bubbles (it was, after all, a celebration meal). We went with a 2003 Schramsberg Blanc de Blancs; a little bit of age, but with more acidity than yeast so it would refresh the palate rather than drown out the flavors.

The next day was leisure defined. Breakfast in bed with the paper, an 1–1/2 Royal Thai massage, and a last bit of soaking in the sun (and views) by the pool. Twenty-four hours of deep breaths, bye byes and bubbles . . . just what we needed right now.