Archives for the month of: December, 2012

The Japanese restaurant on the corner of 21st and Geary in San Francisco has a labyrinth at its center. By labyrinth I mean something that circles and confuses beginning and end. On the circling, revolving tray: sushi wearing designer clothes, salmon eggs wearing seaweed outfits, octopus in a variety of sartorial predicaments and much much more. Think Horn and Hardhart. If you wanted something, you grabbed it off the circling cart. Your check was made out by the collection of plates next to you at the end of the meal. A Mexican woman wearing a Japanese cloak joined a Japanese man and woman wearing same to replace whatever you took, in such a way that the circle was always full, never empty.

For a new year with such convenience, such amplitude, such fusion of culture, such deliciousness of bite, I pray. For such a small check at the end of such a large meal, I also pray. For a new year that confuses its end with its beginning, likewise, I hope.

I have had my eye on those five mums in Brooklyn on the street near 7th and 5th for about two months now.  One, in her prime, was golden, the other red, a third gold and red, a fourth a kind of purple and the fifth a plain old mauve, the kind I already have.  Then on Christmas Day, I realized they were still there, dead in that way that mums die after blooming: dry, all color drawn, half green and half brown.  We were coming back from the park, letting our three year old grandson lead the way home.  (He does know his way.)  I decided they were orphans and that I could take them.  Now they are in my New York backyard, ready for their Easter.  I hope the mauve surprises me enough to help me give thanks for the colors I already have. 


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