Gary Moffat is a writer, former publishing executive and 2000 transplant from Chicago whose family launched one of Old Town Auburn’s favorite entertainment venues, Carpe Vino, in 2002. Moffat, who now has a print outlet for his opinions in a regular Sentinel column, has written for the Chicago Tribune, national shelter magazines, telecom industry publications and two self-published Internet newsletters. And, oh yeah, he wrote more than 100 columns on wine for the Auburn Journal. Carpe Vino, his latest venture, is a local magnet for lovers of fine wine, fine dining and fine art.
I just love getting mail, any kind of mail. . .US Postal Service mail, e-mail and even outraged letters from readers.
Last week, Auburn resident and Past Master of the Eureka Lodge #16 Free and Accepted Masons, Robert Spindler, slapped me upside the head in a letter to the editor for a column item I wrote about the $5,000 donation his fraternal organization made to the Auburn Police to purchase five Taser stun guns.
Two weeks ago, I wrote that rather than fund the purchase of potentially lethal stun guns for our police department, the Mason’s largesse would be more humanely deployed through gifts to groups displaying a higher level of need, such as the Boys & Girls Club, shelters for the homeless or refuges for abused women. If the police need new weapons, I argued, they should be sourced and paid for with public dollars. At the same time, I opined, non-profit organizations should refrain from purchasing weapons for police organizations that minimally will hurt people, and worst case, have the capability of extinguishing life.
This is the week when many people take the time to take stock of their lives and contemplate the reasons why they should be thankful. My personal Thanksgiving inventory is lengthy, but truth be told, I’d be really thankful. . .
. . . if the people who are offended by this column actually read the thing.
. . . if the cost of flushing toilets in Auburn was not pegged to the price of a barrel of oil.
The longer I live in this small town, the more I learn of its back story and the personalities who comprise our Wild West village on the transcontinental highway. And as life unfolds one day at a time, I am mystified as continuing stories are peeled back, one membrane at a time. Here, then, is a selection of quirky layers, isolated episodes offered for both your amusement and bemusement.
One last time, using the voices of others, Ann Davies-Nesbitt entreated her family, friends and neighbors to make every minute count. Life is precious, fleeting and oh so sweet, she reminded everyone, so make every minute count.
Hundreds of mourners gathered last Saturday at Lassila Funeral Chapel to celebrate Annie’s life, which she lost October 21st after a long, frustrating and painful battle with cancer. You could have called roll and every city council member and every city staff person—from city manager to chief of police—would have answered up. Annie’s husband, Keith Nesbitt—self-dubbed as “Mr. Auburn”—is a city council member and in the on-deck circle to be our next mayor.
It’s easy to spot a hardcore winemaker this time of year. All you need do is look at his or her hands, and the evidence is in the purple stains that just won’t budge, no matter how hard one scrubs.
Come September and October, you know exactly where to find people in the wine business. They’re out in the vineyard supervising the harvest, often in the early morning hours before the sun creeps over the Sierra. Or, they are on the crush pad, crushing grapes, pressing juice, punching down macro bins, or muscling barrels around the winery. It is hard, brutal work—physically challenging and potentially hazardous labor—with killer hours spent behind the controls of a fork lift, teasing gingerly to lift untold tons of fruit.
