Greetings

A very happy and safe Thanksgiving to all our relatives and friends.

Over here it is a cold, lovely, clear morning, cold enough that the heating system in the house comes on, which reminds me that the filter needs to be changed.

Outside the sky is free of clouds, and the view across the Bay is pin sharp.

On a day like this, you want to think that all's right with this world of ours.

Perfection

I went looking in our backyard for the perfect Japanese maple leaf, one that could be flattened and preserved between the pages of a book. The perfect leaf was one that had to have changed color completely and evenly, would not have any visible blemishes, whose tips were not dry and brittle, and whose shape was symmetrically pleasing.

Among the scores of leaves that I examined, there were very few that could pass most of the strict guidelines I had imposed. Some were close to being completely red, except for the slightest tinge of brown at the tip. If there was even a minuscule hint of brownness, it was rejected. Others were shapely, with perfect tips, but the color would be uneven. Still others had the right coloration and no brown tips, but the body of the leaf was speckled.

So finally I gave up looking and settled on just five leaves that came to represent the best our Japanese maples had to offer. I have concluded that if I wanted a perfect maple leaf, I’d have to wait for one perfect green and unblemished leaf to turn a glorious red, millimeter by millimeter, over a long period of time, and then pluck it at the exact moment when the color is uniform throughout, and before the tips begin to turn brown and dry.

Perfection is a difficult thing to find.

Common Errors in English

Came across this very useful site during my Web wanderings. Thought I'd share it with you all.

Errors

Upcoming Holidays

Thanksgiving in a few days. It is truly the most American of holidays and one that should be honored regardless of one’s religion or creed, or even the lack thereof. We have plenty to be thankful for, so much more than so much of the rest of the world.

This year we have been invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of my wife’s niece. She and her husband have recently remodeled their kitchen, which we will see for the first time. The evening promises to be fun.

My brother-in-law is a hunter and will probably have a few ducks and other game to bring to the table besides the turkey. I have no doubt that there will be quite a spread.

* * * *

And after Thanksgiving there will be a holiday on this blog for two weeks, as we embark on another trip, this time to the Far East. I just bought many more gigabytes of electronic film for my camera in anticipation of this trip, and plan to have pictures up for viewing on our return. If I am energetic enough, there may even be some video clips. We shall see.

9:00AM Sunday Morning

Got out my camera when I saw the mist over the treetops. Got off a couple of shots just as the microwave buzzer sounded to let me know the porridge was ready (this time it did not spill over).

Los Angeles

Los Angeles -- composition outside the hotel

Flying over the California coast at 32,000 feet around midday.
Clouds on the left are towering cumulus congestus topping at about 10,000 feet.

Baggage being loaded at LAX

Some Random Observations

Really don’t know why I should be annoyed by them, but I am. “Them” are those bumper stickers, or sometimes rear window stickers, usually found on family minivans or SUV’s, advertising the scholastic achievements of their owners’ offspring: “My child is an honor student at (pick a name) (elementary, middle, high) school.”

Does anybody really care, including the über-achiever of a child?

* * * * *

Music recommendation on your iPod for a one-hour walk or jog – Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 in E minor, with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by André Previn. The timing is just right.

Symphony No.2 (Rachmaninoff)

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Thoroughly enjoyed reading Haruki Murakami’s collection of 24 short stories, “Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.” The guy has a gift for making us care for his characters, however outrageous their circumstances. I had previously read some of the same stories in this collection in the “New Yorker”, but having them all in one volume is a real treat. Highly recommended.

Blind_Willow,_Sleeping_Woman

Memories Preserved

More than ten years ago, my nephew interviewed his grandmother, my mother, in a series of recording sessions, to preserve her memories for future generations. She was in her mid-eighties at the time, and she passed away several years later.

The taped recordings were subsequently re-mastered by my nephew onto more durable compact discs, and he was kind enough to make copies to send to all the family members who wanted them. They are a work of love, and we are all grateful for the time and work that went into the project.

To hear again the voice of my mother describing her life from when was a young woman, and vividly recalling the wartime years, makes this memento a truly wonderful gift for the family.

My nephew is a skilled sound engineer in Massachusetts, whose excellent work in many stage productions has received wide recognition. He is also an accomplished composer.

A Certain Slant of Light

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
'Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.

-- Emily Dickinson

Chinese Zodiac

There’s a Chinese restaurant near our house that serves authentic Shanghai cuisine. We dined there last night. It’s a small place, tastefully decorated in deep blues and lime greens. On the walls are large framed prints of advertisements for cigarettes, pomades, medicines and teas, featuring pretty girls in cheongsams in the fashion of the Thirties. The prints bring to mind Ang Lee’s latest film of wartime Shanghai, ‘Lust, Caution’.

The paper place mats are printed with the animals of the Chinese zodiac, along with the lunar years to which each animal belongs, and a capsule summary of the attributes of the humans born in those years. The zodiac cycle being one of twelve years, it follows that the Gregorian calendar years for each sign is separated by this interval, so that for the Dragon, for example, we have 1916, 1928, 1940, all the way up to 2012.

Chinese horoscope

The place mat also has a note that if the diner was born before the year 1900, he or she should add 12 to his or her birth year to determine the correct zodiac sign. Born before 1900, indeed! That would make that diner at least 107 years old today.

But not to worry, for the years printed on the place mat go as far into the future as 2012, thereby preparing for the advent of diners yet unborn.

These Chinese restaurants, they think of everything.

Back Alley

Beautiful fall day. Clock reverted to Pacific Standard Time this past weekend. Took a stroll in downtown Millbrae, and grabbed a couple of shots of a back alley.

Collars

For men only, here is a bit of trivia that may come in handy. Old credit cards, cut into the right dimensions, make excellent replacements for collar stays. The ones that come with the shirt these days are often too thin and flexible to be of any use. They may curl up and give your pointed collar a scruffy and comical look.

Of course, if you are a button-down kind of guy, this information is not meant for you.

Lunch Wagon

It is near the noon hour when the truck, with its quilted aluminum sides, begins to circulate through the neighborhood. The first hints of its presence are two bars of the tune from its musical horn, which is both evocative and familiar. Da-da-da-dum-DUM, da-da-da-dum-DUM.

Click here

The truck stops wherever its owner knows, or can surmise, that there are itinerant, and even possibly undocumented, workers having their lunch break. It carries to them an assortment of food items that are both inexpensive and appealing to the palate, and especially those palates partial to the maize-based, hot-chili-pepper-flavored, heavily leguminous diet of people from south of the border.

The tune that the truck plays to announce its arrival originated during the Mexican Revolution of the early twentieth century. It is simple and cheerful, though the words that accompany the original song are not exactly innocent.

Here are the lyrics:

La cucaracha, la cucaracha
Ya no puede caminar
Porque no tiene, porque le falta
Marijuana por fumar

(The cockroach, the cockroach
It's not going to walk
Because it does not have, because it lacks,
Marijuana for to smoke.)

All Hallows

In the dream, he is sitting with his back to me. We are in a café somewhere, and sunlight floods the place. The details of the cafe are in sharp focus, as often happens in these dreams of mine. The chair in which he sits has a wrought iron back in an arabesque pattern, like the ones seen on balcony railings of older apartments.

From where I am standing I see only the back of his head, the black hair slicked down with brilliantine, carefully combed to a duck tail. Across the table from him is a woman, who wears dark glasses against the glare of the sun. Their right hands meet on the table top, which is of rose-colored marble. Perhaps there are coffee cups or wine glasses near at hand, but this detail is not clear or important, for the scene is transformed when the woman smiles. Her smile lights up her face. Her lips are a deep scarlet.

I stand there as an observer, not approaching them, and for all that I know or care they may be completely unaware of my presence.

A child in rags appears. She looks about seven or eight years old. She stands there barefoot and dirty, with her hand held out to the woman.

The man tries to shoo child away, with a brusque gesture. The woman knits her brows, looking across at the man. She says, ‘Give her some money.’

The man reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a handkerchief. As he does this, a shower of gold coins falls down to the tiled floor, but noiselessly. The little girl starts to pick up the coins, and then suddenly there are scores of children all around, grabbing at the coins.

The man and woman get up from the table, pushing their way through the crowd of children. As they walk away, I see that the woman is wearing high heels, and nylon stockings with seams.

The children gather up the coins. There is no sound. Only light.

At this point, I awaken.