San Antonio special. In which I finally have enough dishes to feed the neighborhood.

I know, I'm still supposed to (metaphorically) be in Hawaii, but my collector's gaze couldn't resist this mid-week special edition.

With thanks to the brilliant Helen Fielding's equally brilliant Bridget Jones for the cute colloquialism, Mari and I thoroughly enjoyed a "mini-break" this past weekend in San Antonio, Texas. While I haven't worked myself up to a San Antonio blog series quite yet, San Antonio has long been a favorite city, since first exploration in December of 1989, a few months after I followed Mari to my new home state and our forever home in McAllen about 230 miles south of the Alamo.

Numerous road trips with students to speech and debate tournaments all around the River City for seven years in the 1990s emblazoned San Antonio on my travel radar and helped me become familiar with and comfortable driving the environs of the historic 287-year-old municipality. Traveling with my hard-working (and award winning!) loquacious teen lot forced me to discover (mostly) convenient and restorative casual places to dine with my students and fellow chaperone (Mari would regularly volunteer as said responsible female). I invariably reminisce over former students when visiting San Antonio, even when it comes to such a simple memory trigger as late night tacos or Rudy's atomic burger (with atomic fries, of course) but especially the queso flameado at Mi Tierra Cafe in Market Square which was conveniently open round-the-clock for our Friday-going-on-Saturday midnight dinners.

Melty-cheese-filled daydreams aside, when the opportunity recently arose for a getaway weekend to revisit one of Mari's and my treasured musical favorites (K. D. Lang) at one of our favorite historic venues (The Majestic Theatre), we excitedly planned a short weekend visit, complete with revisits to a few of our local favorites to round out our mini-break.

It was after we had enjoyed some memory-inducing tacos that my unintentionally accidental wrong turn out of the parking lot (fueled by said temptalicious tacos) led to a fortuitous driving correction past a new-to-us charity shop in the northeastern Lincoln Heights neighborhood of San Antonio.

When it comes to fate (and wrong turns), there are no accidents.

The Green Door Thrift Shop is across from the HEB plaza where Nacogdoches Road ends on East Basse (just up the hill from The Quarry). You'll need to plan your visit around the shop's limited hours (Tuesday through Saturday 10 AM - 1 PM), but plan you must. About 20 minutes into my collector's pan and scan, my radar blipped its blippiest blip as I beelined towards the set of dishes pictured above (now safely stacked on our kitchen island).

I think you already know I'm a fiend for dishes, but when I turned over a few of the plates and bowls and spied with my little contact-lensed eye the markings here, I knew I would soon be (happily) struggling to fit these Royal Doulton into our kitchen storage.

The price tag confused me a bit because the system at Green Door was unfamiliar to me and there were three different prices on the tag. I preferred the lowest price, of course, so I grabbed a two-handled bone china soup bowl as a declaration of future ownership and brought it and the tag up to the register at the front of the store for clarification.

I glanced briefly around for Mari, but nothing she could have done would have stopped me at this point, as often happens when my collector's gaze has taken over.

As was explained to me by the store volunteer, each of the three decreasing prices on the tag bore a date and after each of those dates had presented itself on a calendar, then that price would be in effect until the next date (about a month into the future).

My glorious English find had reached the end of times!

It was 75% off that fine post-concert Saturday.

It is a great system followed by the volunteers at the Green Door that ensures timely sales and fairly quick inventory turnaround. The two successive half-life discounts worked in my favor that day. For the entire scalloped-edge lot, I paid what I would have (and have) paid for a single saucered teacup at an antiques store.

Thank you for being polite and not asking.

Not only was I thrilled with my new old treasures (the pattern was produced throughout the 1950s and 1960s), but I was happy to become a supporter of a well-established local charity. Please be sure to visit the shop site and visit the shop itself when you are in San Antonio. The website provides information about donating, consigning, and volunteering, as well as a bit of the shop's sixty-plus year history.

sites.google.com/site/greendoorthriftshop/home

In the meantime, we'll be returning to our regularly scheduled Sunday series.
Aloha until then.

Hawaii, episode 5. In which I double-pack it up.

There is something about the word "aloha" that is contagious, but in a very good way.

When you are greeted during your travels... stepping aboard your eight-hour flight from DFW, stepping onto the airport shuttle to your Waikiki hotel, checking into your hotel... at the Wailana Coffee House for a late dinner, everywhere at the Ala Moana Center (more on that shopper's paradise in an upcoming post), on an island tour... at the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet... that "aloha" resounds with the rhythm of all that have spoken the native Hawaiian greeting for thousands of years since you first heard it. At some point (it may have been during The Brady Bunch season 4 opening episodes), we are taught that "aloha" means goodbye as well as hello, but that does not do the spirit of aloha proper justice.

If you know a second language, then you appreciate the notion that often words do not translate directly from their native usage and that there are often multiple meanings for a word depending on the situation.

With apologies to native Hawaiians, the best way I can describe "aloha" is that it represents everything between hello and goodbye. It is all about the connection you make to others from the point of first aloha and how well you nurture that relationship.

I'm no philosopher (a well-intentioned blog-sopher at best), but when a seemingly simple word has such potentially positive power, then you must use it with respect.

At Aloha Stadium, Mari and I were greeted with the carefully carved landscape greeting above as we prepared to walk the stadium and indulge in a (late) Sunday morning of collectible connections.

Our first visit in 2004 was towards the end of our stay and our souvenir hunt (and budget) had mostly been exhausted, but we instantly recognized the swap meet as the indisputable shopping mecca it appears to be.

Along with my treasured pair of glass snuff bottles I made up my mind that upon our return "some day" I would make a beeline for a colorful quilt.

Troves of quilted temptation like the booth pictured here await available luggage space.

With my imprecise plan in place, I made the perfectly practical decision to double-pack during our outbound return six years later. That's what I call packing a suitcase within a suitcase, like a smuggled Samsonite matryoshka (only much larger and clumsier).


The plan was to have an empty suitcase available for the return trip which would then transport said tropical quilted souvenir perfect for snuggling in the summer air-conditioning.

I had been tempted by many fleamarket vendors offering such tropically quilted treats, but I have only myself to blame for the painfully awkward (and heavy) outbound luggage-schlepping experience.

My pernicious planning worked in the end, but were I to repeat the feat, I would simply try to pack lighter and just check a larger, half-full suitcase (I'm an optimist, after all).

Like the summer souvenir sands that have recently been packed up and stowed until Memorial Day 2019, our souvenir quilt has likewise been cleaned and folded and stowed until such time as the island breezes whisper their siren call to summer slumber.

It will return to the bed next summer.

Mari and I are "those people" who like to change the look of the bed with the seasons.

Above right is our fleamarketed Hawaiian quilt, along with aloha pillow cases. The quilted Hawaiian flag pillow cover was a souvenir from our recent trip and, while its colors are nary a middling match to the quilt, we loved it (and that's the point of fleamarketed goods, matchy-matchy or not).

True to my word, the quilt was recently packed up and the boudoir is now decked out for fall as pictured here.

Our Hawaiian quilt is a favorite and well-used souvenir and you will find plenty to choose from at the Aloha flea and beyond.

Mari recently reminded me that one of her first purchases was almost this majestic island girl. It was one of those "walk away" moments for Mari like the painted Dalahäst, but, like the Stockholm souvenir, the mid-century hula girl pottery bust rediscovered Mari a few years later at the West Palm Beach Antiques Festival at the South Florida Fairgrounds. After her own bit of island hopping, this Polynesian beauty now greets Mari mornings at her dresser.

Sometimes, dear reader, your collector's gaze takes a little extra time (sometimes years) to make that special connection, but your collectible will find you eventually, if it was meant to be.

We bid aloha to Aloha Stadium next time as Mari and I "set a course for adventure" and our "mind on a new romance" with more of Hawaii beyond Honolulu.

Hawaii, episode 4. In which we meet and swap.

It wasn't a difficult decision.

Back in July 2004, I decided the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet was my favorite fleamarket.

It wasn't because it was my first visit.

It wasn't about the first item (pair of items actually) I purchased, either, that spawned the dawn of a new and favorite collection. (More below.)

It also wasn't about the incredibly refreshing Arnold Palmer (my first ever introduction to the magical blend of freshly brewed iced tea and freshly squeezed lemonade) we enjoyed like some magical restorative elixir halfway round our stadium circumnavigation.

No, my singularly superlative declaration wasn't for any one reason in particular except that the Aloha flea is... well, it's in Hawaii.

The setting perfect, the variety of goods colorful and colorfully enticing, and the aloha spirit among locals and transplanted locals is at its aloha best.

Before I present my picked keepsakes, I thought I would share some images from our recent visit. More than anything my thousand words can say, these pictures should prove perfectly persuasive.

We learned during our first visit that the swap meet is the best place for souvenirs. There is an incredible variety of goods and lots of competition for your remaining vacation dollars.

I also learned during that otherwise overwhelming first visit that all I needed for a good swap was some good old Hawaiian currency. Perhaps during the original days of swap meets, I would have benefited from bringing some livestock or fresh produce for barter, but (thankfully) those days are long gone.

At left, a local tour company is well-placed to catch the attention of adventurers.

While not natural, these souvenir leis and adornments will last long after your visit.

Colorful souvenir displays abound throughout the fleamarket.

You will find lots of local flora, both faux...

... and au naturel.

Along with island souvenirs, typically fleamarketable finds can be found flourishing in the mix.

Household goods, both old and new abound within the inner circle of early morning vendors, closest to the stadium.

On our most recent visit, however, Mari and I were disappointed to find just a handful of vendors reselling vintage goods.

Perhaps it was our slightly extended balcony breakfast followed by the hour-long bus ride (take the #42 TheBus from Waikiki for direct service) that found us swapping slightly later than planned, but many of the secondhand vendors had packed up and were onto other adventures by the time we were beginning our own.

Luckily, Mari and I did come across a few locals willing to wait out late morning tourists as we walked our circuit round the stadium.

I have plenty of picked treasures to share with you throughout the next few weeks, but I thought I should start with the Swedish souvenir Dalahäst (painted wooden horse) I mentioned in the first episode of this series.

Mari had debated purchasing the colorful souvenir during our Estocolmo shore excursion last summer, and he ultimately remained behind (but not forgotten) in multiple Stockholm souvenir shops.

Fast forward twelve months and there he was once more, prancing his colorful way into Mari's heart and ultimately into her fleamarket tote for all of two dollars.

The friendly former musician who swapped with Mari that Sunday morning had toured throughout Europe in his former life, picking up souvenirs along the way which he was now releasing into the fleamarket wild years later.

At left are the first items I picked up on a Honolulu morning 14 years earlier.

These are my first two snuff bottles and the beginning of a most treasured collection.

I hope to share the complete colorfully eclectic display with you some day soon. Stay tuned!

As mentioned previously with a recent pictured pick (California, here we come, episode 4), I have always had an affinity for Chinese culture and artisan craftsmanship. Fleamarketed snuff bottles became a perfectly portable expression of said craft.

When I came across these two reverse-painted glass beauties (each stands barely three inches high), I knew I wanted to continue admiring them in my own home. I'm not sure I was bubble-wrap-packing back in 2004, but my first foray into a new collection made its way safely back to South Texas where the precious pair would eventually evolve into an eclectic collection curated from fleamarket travels throughout the United States.

After last week's revisit to Byodo-In Temple, Mari reminded me that she had also purchased a vintage obi from Elizabeth Kent. At left is my best attempt to capture the beautiful textures and colors of Mari's anniversary souvenir. The intricately detailed patterns and vibrant colors of the silk sash extend deep beyond the limitations of the photo (the sash measures just over five feet) and will forever remind us of a special afternoon.

While we have yet to fleamarket the Far East, Mari and I frequently encounter colorfully crafted artifacts that continually tempt our travel taste buds.



In the meantime, there is much more to explore at Aloha Stadium, so I'll return with you next week to share more swap meet treats.

Hawaii, episode 3. In which we meditate.

 

Yes, still in Hawaii.

During that first day tour up to the North Shore in 2004, Mari and I visited the (then) 36-year-old replica of the 900-plus-year-old Byōdō-In Buddhist temple in Uji, Japan. According to the temple's site, the temple "was established on June 7, 1968, to commemorate the 100 year anniversary of the first Japanese immigrants to Hawaii."

As part of our first visit to Hawaii, Mari and I were rewarded with a serene and scenic (albeit short) experience and shared a wonderfully tranquil tour stop during an otherwise busy week.

It was a moment we knew we wanted to repeat and what better occasion than our wedding anniversary?!

June 16th this year landed us at the (now) 50-year-old temple on the North Shore of Oahu to enjoy a Buddhist meditation service led by Rev. Clyde Whitworth.

Mari had visited the temple site to check on visitor hours and to see how close the park was to public transportation. The posted events calendar only confirmed that Saturday would be a perfect day for a revisit after 14 years. We thought the special service would be a perfect way to spend our anniversary.

You know how I'm always looking for my moments.

I couldn't think of anything better than sharing a moment of reflection and thanksgiving with Mari in such beautiful surroundings.

I am forever grateful to Rev. Whitworth for hosting a peaceful hour with us and a handful of other guests as we practiced a variety of meditation techniques in the beautiful natural surroundings of the temple.

If you find yourself likewise sans rental car on Oahu and in need of your own moment, be sure to hop on TheBus. You'll want to take the #19 from Waikiki beaches and transfer (two blocks from Iolani Palace) to the #65 which will carry you cross-island to the North Shore.

The five-dollar one-day pass is a bargain well-worth the (mostly) scenic hour-long ride each way. You will need to walk slightly over a half-mile uphill from the bus stop at the McDonald's across Kahekili Highway from the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park entrance, but it's a beautiful, lush, and peaceful walk up to Byodo-In at the foot of the Ko'olau Mountains.

Be sure to visit the temple site for loads of useful visitor information and to learn more about the beautiful memorial park (there is a gift shop, of course).

byodo-in.com

While at the temple on our recent visit, Mari and I came across a local craftswoman showcasing recycled Japanese textiles, kimono, and obi.

As we explored the beautiful fabrics and carefully crafted jewelry pieces, we shared our story with the artist. When we told her we were celebrating our anniversary, a big smile sprang to her face and she showered us with beautiful fresh leis, hand-crafted from lush interlaced leaves.

We are wearing our leis in the photo at the top of the page as we crossed the highway back to the bus stop.

Mari and I have always been most fortunate throughout our travels to celebrate and honor each other and the beautiful and talented people we encounter in such a wide variety of colorful settings. We are especially grateful to the talented and generous Elizabeth Kent for her carefully crafted gift which had a profound impact on our day.

At left are two squares of softly-spun silk purchased from her that day that I expect I will use on the coffee table when I serve Mari a soothing after school tea (although said elixir may be iced until we hit early December).

Upon our return home this June, I discovered a site showcasing Hawaii's local craftspeople, including Ms. Kent. Be sure to explore the site and support talented local craftspeople whenever you have the opportunity, near or far.

hawaiicraftsmen.org/kent

As Mari and I made our way down the hill and headed back towards the local public "stretch limo" awaiting us at the McDonald's bus stop, a newly-minted bride and groom emerged from the white limousine pictured here and headed excitedly towards the temple for their own photo shoot. As I passed the beaming bride on the bridge from the parking area, I offered her my sincerest smile and congratulated her, adding, "We have the same anniversary!"

Like that Saturday twenty-eight years prior, it was one of the best days of my life.

That McDonald's cheeseburger I enjoyed at the

bus stop was especially satisfying as well.

Next time, I embrace every bit of the aloha spirit as I dive into my favorite fleamarket.

Hawaii, episode 2. In which strong and content I scan.

Before we get to the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet and the cruising and the luau and the heavenly lilikoi shave ice, we must be sure to return the tiki idol to the ancient burial ground. Okay, maybe our first trip to Hawaii did have its roots, like some of our fleamarketing travel adventures, in a familiar, favorite, yet faded television memory from Mari's and my collective childhood past. While the Brady Bunch was looking for ratings by heading to Honolulu at the beginning of its fourth season, we went in search of the legendary natural beauty (and moderate climate) about which so many visitors to the Hawaiian islands boast upon their return.

Since our first trip in 2004, Mari and I have counted ourselves among those sunburned boasters and have continually hoped for a revisit. While much of that first visit involved some APA convention duties for Mari, we did make a little time to explore before the annual meeting opened the last weekend of July.

Looking through old photos for this episode was a little more involved than usual since I didn't embrace digital technology until my 40th birthday visit to London back in 2007. Along with a few photo albums and scrapbooks, I still have boxes of photos stored in envelopes. Luckily, I'm pretty (obsessively) organized, so finding photos wasn't a problem.

That's when the scanning started and my love/hate relationship with technology resurfaced like last night's late-night drive-thru tacos.

Here I am somewhere along the North Shore of Oahu. I don't remember exactly what stop this was on our day tour, but I do remember the exact date, thanks to the indelibly inscribed digital date emblazoned on our souvenir photos in electric teal.

I love the photo of Mari above (only I wish that were the view from our back yard).

Like many of you, dear readers, I have always been in love with the beach.

There are fond memories (and deteriorating albumed photos) of annual summer visits to the Jersey shore (before MTV ruined that utopia for everyone), local beaches in the tri-state (NY-NJ-CT) area, as well as less frequent family visits to Portugal, where, if you recall, my parents grew up in a small farming community that was itself just over five miles from beautiful Vagueira Beach on the Atlantic Ocean.

At left are a few quick glimpses into one of my oldest and most treasured collections.

Yes, folks, I am a Sandman.

When I was in high school, I began "collecting" sand from trips to the beach near and far as a way of remembering those visits and today I bring my beloved bottles out of long-term storage every summer and transform the fireplace mantel in the dining room into a sentimental maritime microcosm. Labor Day weekend is the weekend I usually pack up my little bottles of granular memories to make way for Mari's fall decor, but I think they deserve an extra day or two of freedom after their photo shoot. Aside from sandy sentimental journeys, my bottled and artfully labeled (thanks, Mari!) souvenirs inspire a colorful display every summer season, each bottle glistening and hinting at its own personal blend of colors, minerals, and textures.

Here's a view of the whole collection.










As a way out of my sandy reverie, you can see Maui and Waikiki sand at the far right of the second photo. While our first visit to Hawaii was limited to Waikiki beaches, Mari and I did our best to make the most of that tropical time with a day trip to the North Shore which included beautifully scenic stops as well as a few touristy stops like our visit to the Dole Plantation in Wahiawa where I may have overindulged in fresh pineapple juice.

Because it was just. so. good.


Like the Bradys three decades prior, we made sure to learn some history and pay our respects to the sailors and Marines killed at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

The USS Arizona Memorial is probably Hawaii's most visited landmark and is located just about ten miles from Waikiki beaches.

During our recent visit, the memorial was closed to visitors due to loading dock repairs, but there is still much to see until access to the memorial itself is available again later this fall.

Be sure to visit the informative
site to plan your visit.

https://www.nps.gov/valr/index.htm

The site also includes a wealth of educational resources including a video archive of interviews with survivors of the attack.

However obsessively planned your travel itinerary, it is always immeasurably rewarding to find a place to share a moment of reflection with those you love and to reflect on those who have allowed us to "travel the open road... strong and content."

Until next time, aloha.

Mahalo once more to Walt Whitman for his poetic reflections and celebration of life.

Read one of my favorites at the following site.

poets.org/poetsorg/poem/song-open-road-i

Hawaii, episode 1. In which we surf and turf.

Here I am waiting to check out a book at the 1,900 year-old library at Ephesus in Turkey.

Mari and I enjoyed a 2013 summer vacation visit to Turkey as part of a Mediterranean cruise that also included a meanderingly overwhelming exploration of the overwhelmingly meandering Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.

The remnants of a kilogram of tea leaves in our kitchen coffee/tea drawer attest to my unchecked enthusiasm and lack of communication and negotiation skills in overseas marketplaces. I do enjoy my tea!

Here we are inside the colorfully bustling Grand Bazaar (not to be confused with the Grand Bazaar NYC Sunday flea) and below I am trying to decide whether or not it would be ironic to actually purchase Turkish delight in Turkey. I did, of course, and the pistachio-packed treats remain forever stuck in my memory, if not in my sweet tooth.

I may follow up on our Mediterranean adventure in a future blog series, so I'll return now from my current reverie and get back to the library at hand.

Mari thought I should have a picture in front of the world's oldest library hanging in my library office at McAllen Memorial High School (not quite 50 years old and nary a Corinthian-capped column in sight) and indeed the 4x6 reprint tacked on my bulletin board brought me happy solace when I chanced a glance in the midst of typical library tumult or otherwise techie tedium. Now contained (buried) within a few remaining boxes of former classroom and office decor and memorabilia, that Walgreens-printed photograph and the memory of that awesomely adventurous but blistering July afternoon remain forever treasured.

Now that I'm officially retired, I should probably start going through

those boxes that have been sitting in the dining room all summer.

Tomorrow would have marked the beginning of 48 years of waking up and "going to school." Forty-eight years. Granted, most of us get some much needed assistance with the thirteen K-12 years that once seemed fairly endless (at least by teenage standards). My five college years (again, thanks to my major college major change halfway through my Junior/third year) brought with them some freedom and independence as well as a lot of choices and decisions (and a bit of indecision). At the beginning of my career in education there was some overlap with five summer sessions spent in graduate school and then (after 20 years if you recall) a bit more overlap with almost two years of library science study.

Waking up and going to school has been the essence of my daily routine since I first stepped foot in Ms. Einloth's kindergarten classroom at St. Teresa's in the town formerly known as North Tarrytown on September 20, 1971 and dared hang my hoodie alongside Karen Weaver's jacket.

My routine has finally changed.

I can finally wake up after 6:30 AM on a weekday and finally go to the freakin' bathroom when I freakin' feel like it!

Woo Hoo!

The routine of retirement will soon make itself known to me, but first up is my report on how I spent my summer vacation (always hated that assignment).

Between return visits to the far western and eastern reaches of these (mostly) united states, Mari enjoyed bingeing the bloody and bawdy dramatic throes of Westeros thrones whilst artfully creating jewelry and toying with baubles and beads during said 67 binge hours in her jewelry studio (the desk where she usually grades Psychology essays the remaining nine months of the year). I settled myself into new (novels) and old (Turner Classic films) comforts as well as cooking up comfort foods and perfecting my practically perfect meatloaf recipe.

There was also some trip planning, of course, and a long post-retirement travel wish list has emerged (as well as a fall NYC itinerary not for the faint of heart).

Before we get there, or any where, here we are this past summer, as promised, from flea to flea-ing flea.

The five thousand plus miles between the fleamarket locations in these two photos quickly melt away when your collector's gaze captures past objects and forgotten memories.

Mari and I also had the unusual "it's a small world" experience of finding a Stockholm souvenir left behind (but not forgotten) last summer, but then sighting it again amongst both Honolulu and Woolwich (Maine) bric-a-brac.

The two-dollar Swedish souvenir Dalahäst (painted wooden horse) traversed the Pacific yet another leg to its new (third-hand) tropical home with us.

Before I get too far ahead and put the cart before the Swedish horse, let us begin at the front end of summer and a relaxing return to a favorite location and a favorite flea in America's most recent united state.

Mari and I had never given much thought to a Hawaiian vacation until an unexpected opportunity came Mari's way "way back" in 2004. Representing a curriculum committee for the American Psychological Association as its outgoing president, Mari was offered the opportunity to attend the APA annual convention which just happened to be in Honolulu.  Would she like to bring her spouse?

Hey! That's me!

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to "tag along" with Mari on weekends to Washington/DC, Manhattan, and Las Vegas, but a week in Honolulu was a dream (I didn't even know I had) come true. So, our first visit to Hawaii was partially subsidized by Mari's work on the Teachers of Psychology in Secondary Schools (TOPSS) committee and consisted mostly of a week in Waikiki as well as a day tour to the North Shore of Oahu and our first ever visit to the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet.

Six years later, we celebrated our 20th anniversary and the beginning of my career as a school librarian with a return to Honolulu (and Aloha Stadium, of course) and a (first ever for us) cruise to four of the Hawaiian islands aboard NCL's Pride of America.

Fast forward another eight years to this summer and we celebrated our 28th anniversary and my retirement from education with another return (mahalo American Airlines miles!) to Honolulu (and Aloha Stadium, of course).

I look forward to sharing with you tales of the aloha spirit that have beckoned us back and back again. Of course, there will be postcard-perfect photos and favorite fleamarket finds along the way.

Not to worry lobster lovers. A myriad of Maine adventures will be waiting for us when we return from the Pacific, although my souvenir box of taffy is likely to be long gone.