Late Afternoon

My first and only BMW

Yangon

Rice bowls upside down

Rain drenching their saffron robes

Monks call for Aung San

The Visit

In his nursing home

we speak of remembered trips --

chilly autumn air

Gravity

For someone who has always prided himself in being well-balanced and upright, I was rudely humbled two days ago just outside my front door.

I had ventured forth to pick up the newspaper. The morning was fine with a slight chill in the air (which incidentally reminded me of a scandalous 1913 painting titled ‘September Morn’ by the French artist Paul Émile Chabas) and hardly a cloud in the sky. click here

The newspaper comes delivered in a plastic bag, presumably to protect it from dew or wet walkways (this detail adds nothing to the story, except to give it an element of veracity), and is then picked up gingerly by a corner of the plastic to avoid wetting the newsprint inside, which can happen after a heavy rain or by long exposure to the automatic lawn sprinkler system, when the paper is soaked through and rendered absolutely unreadable until it is later dried out in the oven, and even then acquires a strange crinkled texture that makes the whole thing rather unpleasant to unfold for reading. As an aside, sometimes the plastic bag has an extra sealed pocket in which has been inserted a sample of one kind or another: a foil package of instant oatmeal (dry, of course); a packet of laundry soap; enough instant coffee for one small cup. The sample is more of a nuisance than an incentive for the newspaper reader to go out and buy the large version of the product advertised.

But I am digressing here. Time to get back to my story.

While I was walking back to the house, my foot must have caught on some small obstruction on the edge of the lawn (it could have been a sprinkler head that had not returned to its position of rest, or a bit of aggregate concrete walkway lifted up by a centimeter or so by the underground root of a birch tree, betula alba being the correct botanical term for the European white birch of which our lawn has several, I’m not sure which it was).

One moment I was upright, walking, and in full awareness, not to say complete charge, of my bearings, and a split second later I was face down on the ground, my chin no more than an inch above the concrete surface, which by some stroke of good fortune or automatic reflex at the instant of my heavy and precipitate descent, had been spared injury of a sort that it makes my flesh creep just to imagine.

Somehow my left hand had reflexively broken the fall, and so became the main casualty of this plunge. Glasses, teeth, and bones were all accounted for and undamaged. The left palm bled a bit, having been abraded in several places, but that was a small price to pay for what might have proved to be a much more serious matter.

I might add as another aside that a stroller had just walked past my house when this whole episode took place, and so she was not a witness to it. Had she been half a minute later in her walk, and seen the tumble, I would have been mortified no end.

My pleasure

It really wasn't necessary. They needn't have done it. But they were so kind to show their appreciation for what I did, and now in turn I acknowledge their kindness, which they expressed through a gift of fine wine shipped by express mail to our house.

What I did was to make a video of a reunion of my wife's schoolmates. This reunion is an event which occurs every few years. It is organized by dedicated and hardworking women from all over the world who at one time attended a prestigious Catholic school in Hong Kong. This particular reunion of about three hundred former students was unusual in that it took place aboard a cruise ship over three days, sailing from southern California to Mexico and back.

The organizers, my wife among them, were remarkable in their skill, and in their enthusiasm for making the event a success. The affection with which they hold their old teachers, the nuns, and each of their fellow students never ceased to charm the menfolk who were with them on this excursion.

So what I did for them was no more than what they truly deserved for their own hard work.

And, ladies, for me it was a pleasure besides.

New Arrival

Today one of my wife's nieces announced the good news that she is pregnant, and that the baby is expected in the spring. Our best wishes to her and her husband as they prepare for the new arrival.

* * * * *

I’m working at my PC while listening to Dvořák on the iMac next to it. For some reason, the music from the small speakers of the iMac sounds much better than that from the larger PC. (I’m sorta proud of myself; got the correct accent marks into Dvořák.)

Shopping

This afternoon I paid a visit to our local warehouse store. It is not a particularly big one as warehouse stores go. The ones down in the South Bay are much bigger, and seem to have a bigger selection of merchandise. Still, what we have at our local store can satisfy the buying impulses of your average consumer.

I was a little late, which meant that many of the ladies who hand out free food samples were getting ready to clean up their stations. I did however have a sip of some energy drink or other, from a tiny paper cup. Not bad. At another station there were veggie burgers which smelled okay, but did not look appetizing enough on the pan. I passed on the proffered sample.

I got what merchandise I had come for, and a few other items that I had not even thought I might need. You have to buy in bulk at these stores, you see? Not very practical for a household of two. Sometimes the seemingly reasonable prices can tempt you into getting stuff that will invariably end up in your closet, never to be used.

In a plastic blister case, a set of small tools, exquisitely designed, a pair of folding pliers that incorporated many tools in one, very pocketable, a tiny flashlight that didn’t need batteries, and other items. I thought the set might make a nice Christmas gift for someone. The brand name SwissTech suggested skilled Alpine craftsmen in Basel or Zurich. I looked in the small print to learn where the tools were actually made. Hidden way in a corner on the back in print so fine you needed a magnifying glass to find it: Made in China.

There was a 68-piece craft and hobby knife set, ideal for an aspiring sculptor, woodcarver, model maker, whatever. Under twenty bucks. Beautifully set out in a fitted wooden box. Made in China.

Everywhere you look, from leather couches and armchairs, exercise machines, clocks, heavy armoires and dining room sets, metal storage racks, mirrors, ceramic space heaters, they were all made in China.

Only in the apparel bins were there items made other than in China – in places like Bangladesh and Mauritius and Vietnam and Sri Lanka. You hardly ever see anything from Korea or Taiwan or the other Asian ‘tigers’ anymore. Much less Japan. Products from those countries are nowadays no match for the Bangladeshes etc. when it comes down to consumer prices.

Items made in China have been much in the news lately. The defective toys recalled by a major US toy company, the tainted pet food, the cardboard buns, these will make consumers in this country more leery about the ‘Made in China’ label.

Fruit Labels

Fresh fruits nowadays in the supermarkets tend to have labels on them, and I’ve often wondered why. At first glance it would seem that the labels are placed to advertise where the fruits come from. But such a lot of trouble, for each individual fruit (I’m talking millions upon millions) THAT makes for very expensive advertising.

So there must be another reason. Government regulation? Batch number? Who knows?

Imagine what is required to have a sticky label on each fruit. Surely that can’t be done manually? Must be by machine. But each fruit – each plum, each pear, each apricot, each peach, each nectarine! So, okay, these are from California, where high technology rules. Computers can do wonderful things with robots. See what they use to build cars? Robots. Highly efficient and accurate robots. Surely the same technology can be applied to fragile fruits.

But there are fruits from other parts of the world. Bananas from Ecuador, melons from Chile. Do they have high-tech robots in those places? Or must their labels be affixed laboriously by hand?

Whatever the case may be, the fact that each fruit has a label is a source of amazement to this writer. And a source of annoyance at times, as well.

Just try peeling a label off a ripe and juicy plum without tearing the skin. Can’t be done.

Nuptials

Another wedding, another young couple embarking upon a life together. Our friends the bride’s parents are justifiably proud. The ceremony, conducted by a Filipino priest with a sense of humor, went smoothly. The singing in church was uplifting. The bridegroom is Filipino-American, and his family adhered faithfully to the Catholic traditions of the old country: the veil, the cord, the lighting of candles, the gathering of relatives who blessed the couple kneeling at the altar. At the reception, a round of speeches, of which the bride’s father’s was brief, to the point, and affectionate.

With many relatives and friends attending on a beautiful but breezy day, charming company at dinner, and the happiness displayed by the newlyweds, not even the closure of the Bay Bridge over this holiday weekend could do much to dampen the spirits.