Saturday, September 30, 2017

Crisp and Colorful

It's about 50 degrees and sunny now at 9:30 a.m. I had to put a blanket over my flannel sheet early this morning, but I am not ready to put the electric blanket on. Maybe in another week.

I did buy a mum for the front porch. My husband asked for yellow.

Wednesday while the floor installers were here, I kept out of the way and busied myself by taking the metal wreath I bought at Goodwill store and adding some wired ribbon to fill in the gap where apparently a leaf had fallen off. I've never had an autumn hanging on my door and this was a cheap way to do so.
I really like the ribbon with gilded pumpkins that I bought at Joann's. Not sure how it will hold up on the outside door; I will take the wreath down in about 8 weeks.

I don't often buy novels at the library book sales nor the discount section of Half Price Books unless I have heard of the author. I took a chance on Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. I thought it was pretty good for a first novel. However, when I looked at the reviews, it was panned for lack of character development and being overly sentimental. I would agree that the characters other than Henry and Keiko were flat, but I did care enough about the two leading characters to keep reading. Their thoughts and actions were not age-appropriate at times however for 12 and 13 year-olds, too mature.

This is not the first novel I have read that includes the internment of Japanese American citizens during World War II, though it played a major part of the storyline in this book. 

Henry Lee, a recently widowed Chinese American, reads about the reopening of the Panama Hotel in Seattle and a surprise in the basement. The building has been boarded up and vacant for over 40 years, but now in 1986 it is being refurbished. He joins the crowd to see the items that have sat undisturbed for decades after being stored by relocated Japanese families. As a parasol twirls, Henry thinks of his childhood friend Keiko. He gets permission to rummage in the filled basement and hopes to find a treasured item he and Keiko both loved.

The writing shifts back and forth mostly from 1986 to 1942. The themes include father-son relationships, parental expectations of Asian immigrants for their American-born children, cultural differences and animosities, and the injustice of rounding up Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans and their children with short notice to take them to internment camps in the interior United States. I did not know that Seattle in the 1940's had a thriving jazz community; Henry's older black friend Sheldon introduces Henry to the music.
 
Henry's father closely follows the Japanese invasion and battles in China and works at raising money for the people of China to resist the Japanese. He hates the Japanese. He insists Henry speak only English at home even though he has a poor grasp of the language himself and Henry's mother knows only a few words; yet he wants Henry to finish his schooling in China once it is safe. Contradictory desires which put Henry in a hard place and impairs communicating his pre-teen difficulties with his parents.

Henry works in the school kitchen/cafeteria at an exclusive prep school in order to attend. He is the only non-white student until Keiko joins him under the same arrangement. Keiko who was born in Seattle to American-born parents and only knows a few phrases of Japanese from her grandfather becomes Henry's best friend. This is a friendship that he must keep from his father who insists that Henry restricts himself to Anglo and Chinese Seattle and does not go to the Japanese district. Henry is torn between his Chinese duty of filial obedience and the blossoming relationship with Keiko.

When Keiko's family is taken to an internment camp, the two young people realize they are in love and promise to keep in touch and "wait for each other". As the war drags on for 3 years, their letters grow fewer and though Henry at the end of the war makes an attempt to meet Keiko in Seattle, he loses track of her.

It is Henry's son Marty who plays a role in finding the treasure in the hotel basement and learns of his father's past, forging a bond that had been strained by Marty's departure from the old Chinese traditions and by the death of his mother. 

The ending is fairly implausible but leaves room for speculating a happy outcome.



Thursday, September 28, 2017

Floored

The installers finished the master bath and kitchen floors yesterday. The new flooring looks good, and I think we will be happy with it for many years. The duraceramic tiles should be easy to clean, too.



The "weed" I decided was a sunflower did bloom. The lower branching stalk that was nibbled off has the start of a flower, but since we usually have first frost by the end of October I doubt it will ever flower.
The moss rose plant against the house continues to put out blooms, too.
I may still try to take the seed pods and sprinkle them further out where I can see the new plants (if any come up) thru my window.

A cooler day today though upper 70's and low 80's forecasted for next week midweek. It seems like autumn though.

I saw a gorgeous magenta sunset as I drove home from a funeral last night as though the sky was paying tribute to the departed saint as well. There have been way too many funerals for us to attend the past 10 weeks. At least these acquaintances and friends loved Jesus and are in heaven.


Saturday, September 23, 2017

New Flooring

We finally got new flooring to replace the laminate wood-like floor that was damaged in the flood. The installer thought he had plenty on hand, but when the day of installation arrived we were told he would need to order more to have enough to do both bathrooms and the kitchen. Only the flooded hall bathroom was done Thursday; but because the other bath flooring didn't hold up well and is over 14 years old and the kitchen flooring was gouged when the maintenance men put the refrigerator in place, we are replacing flooring in 3 rooms.

This is Duraceramic which is vinyl but looks like tile. It even has grouting done. It is less expensive than ceramic tile and isn't cold to the feet like real tile. The product was selected by Grace Village, but we were allowed to choose the color. They call the installation "floating" because it is put on top of a kind of paper which makes it easier to take up if needed. We like the one floor that is finished. The tentative date for the other 2 rooms is Wednesday.

It is tremendously hot here (90's) even though the calendar says autumn has arrived. Wednesday is a cool down which will be good for the flooring installation as there is lots of going and coming through the front door. I am cocooning this afternoon looking thru two decorating books I bought at Half Price Books on Tuesday. I think next weekend I will look for a mum for the front porch.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Transition Time

We are having beautiful weather; expect rain tomorrow though. There are hints of autumn. The tree I can see from my west windows has quite a bit of color. It is always the first tree in our neighborhood to change.
But the maple tree behind my house also has some colored leaves.

In the six years that I have lived in this condo, I have never seen so many pinecones on the trees. Maybe because they received so much water in the spring and early summer?

These white pines are maturing so possibly that also means more cones. However, the towering tree in the adjacent yard is much older and it too is loaded with pinecones this year.

An internet search seems to indicate there is no correlation between prolific cones and a harsh winter.

We have a reservation on Hilton Head Island this winter. I am trying to find information on damage on the island. It appears the surge did flood some of the south end. Our rental condo is on an upper story so I doubt there would be flooding, but if lower units are having repair it would be noisy and unpleasant. The evacuation notice was just ended this morning. Also, Savannah and Charleston which we would visit on day trips have flooding. I have until September 28th to cancel and get my whole deposit back. Maybe more news will be coming out now that the evacuation has ended. The owners live in Ohio and won't know until their cleaning service inspects the unit what condition things are in.

My bad luck continues with growing plants. The coreopsis died, but a large "weed" seemed to be growing where I had planted them. I have now decided it is a sunflower plant.
It probably won't have time to develop seeds before first freeze. Yesterday when I looked out the window, the branching stalks had been chewed off, most of the leaves on the ground. I remind myself of Jonah griping about the death of the vine that sprung up on its own. I didn't plant it, and God can do whatever He wants with it. I had some weeds I was going to pull later this week; they are also chewed off.
When I went out to investigate, I realized I had a lone moss rose blooming against the wall. I couldn't see it through the window.

Our bird feeder sunflower seeds must have blown over to my neighbors earlier. She doesn't do anything with her small plot, but now she has blooming sunflowers.

Saturday I bought sweet corn and small tomatoes at the Farmers' Market. However, apples and cider are starting to appear. I keep changing blankets from light to medium weight. I put out a few fall decorations in my house yesterday.

I feel unmotivated to do extra chores. My assistant in the library has gone to help with her new twin grandchildren until October. I am shelving the books, but not much else.

I feel sad. Several friends and associates have died within the past few weeks. My cousin in California did not come through her surgery well and is on hospice. I see photos of Saint Thomas which was the lushest and greenest port we visited on our winter cruise, and it is unrecognizable. We have heard from Florida family members and they are fine though our nephew's family has no electricity. We have Robin Hood neighbors that lived previously in Naples, Florida or had winter homes on Marco Island and can't get hold of their friends. So much suffering. The "bowl" is full of the hard, gristly things.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Another Writing Exercise

This is another writing exercise. What do you remember about your beds?

Beds

As I projected going from my queen bed to a twin bed in a few years, I thought of my beds throughout my life.

Of course I don’t remember what bed I slept in at Aunt Betty’s as my father finished remodeling and putting a new roof on our house. He thought he had another six weeks. Not only was the house not ready, but surprisingly there were 2 babies (twins), and now a second crib was needed.

The new cribs had a blonde faux wood grain and in the center of one end was a storybook sweater-clad golden teddy bear. That’s all I remember and that may be because we used at least one crib in the playhouse later? Even that is fuzzy, and I may be confusing the bear on the chifforobe with the crib.

I can’t picture at all the “big-girl” bed that superseded the crib. The bed that comes to mind was an upper bunk arrangement, though it wasn’t a true double bunkbed as the beds weren’t attached to nor parallel with each other. The elevated bed in which I slept allowed my twin’s single bed to partially tuck under the high raised bed at a perpendicular angle. It left floor room for our toy chests as well. This bed must have been during early elementary school years as I remember two incidents centered around it when I was 6-8 years old. A wart was burned off my little finger with an electric needle. I needed a safe comforting place to cry myself to sleep so I crawled up to my bunk during the day. Another time as I descended, my skirt got hung up on the ladder top without my realizing it until it ripped, dropping me on the floor. I sprained my wrist as I landed.

We went from the bunk arrangement to a trundle bed. Again I had the “upper” bed. I used to lay the top of my head on the mattress sort of somersaulting onto the bed. Not sure of the timing of the bunk-to-trundle transition, but this was my bed until I was 15 years old.

After my oldest sister married, I moved into her former bedroom and used the existing bed, a mattress on a wooden platform built by my father with little sliding doors covering the storage space below. It was tough to make my bed since the platform was against the wall with no way to move it out. I didn’t bring the yellow chenille bedspread but used a comforter in a pattern of squares and stripes splashed with brown, black, gray, and pale green. I called it puddle, and I still have it and bring it out sometimes for a nap.

Nothing remarkable about my succeeding beds: a dormitory twin in the Winona Hotel, a Hollywood daybed (one of two that served as couches) in my studio apartment on Wooster Road, and then my marital queen-sized bed which I am still using with mattress changes through the 40 years.

Because of fibromyalgia and back pain, I don’t sleep very well, but my beds have always been welcoming places of rest. I appreciate them.