Tag Archives: Tommy Bahama

Flip Flops in January: Three Girls and a Truck at Village Nurseries, San Diego

photo credit: Jackie Mayer Blum

 

BY KIMBERLY MAYER

We are wintering in San Diego, living on a mattress with a small bistro table, a couple folding chairs, and two bright Hawaiian printed Tommy Bahama beach chairs in an otherwise empty house. The house is a job site. Our daughter and her husband purchased a new home in North Park, San Diego. A remodel, and we are here to help.

While the men are at home swinging hammers, we are on a landscape mission. My daughter is commandeering a pickup truck, bouncing over dirt roads and splashing through puddles at Village Nurseries Wholesale Plant and Tree Grower. Thirteen acres of planted bliss, a Disneyland to me. No lines, no crowds (to-the-trade only), and free of all the commercialization.

The bed of our truck is brimming with potted plants: 5 tall Barbara Karst bougainvillea, Mister Lincoln white rose shrubs, “bartenders choice” Mexican Lime Tree, a 15 gallon Strelitzia retinae Bird of Paradise shrub, and enormous agave plants anchoring them all. Clean and new at the U Haul lot, the truck will be returning with all the mud and markings of having taken the Indiana Jones ride at Adventureland.

You had to know my mother would be on board; she must have slipped onto the bench seat. It wasn’t until we turned into the nursery that we realized she was with us. https://alittleelbowroom.com/2017/12/05/my-imaginary-mother-in-winter/ Her breath, like ours, was taken away with the vastness and the serenity of the place.

Rounding Succulents and Drought Tolerant plants, I am back in the gray/greens with Mediterranean plants. Heaven for me once, for at one time I lived in Southern California. Today I recognize some full well, yet can’t recall their names. Other names I know, but can’t picture. My daughter is reintroducing me to some old friends.

Discombobulated I fumble forward. A Master Gardener from Climate Zone 4 (San Juan Island, WA) in Zone 24 (San Diego, CA), I try to be helpful. “Seasonal amnesia,” is there such a thing? All I know is that in a rush I just mailed a Valentine’s Day card–one month early. I recall that when living here: waking and having to orient myself with the season, with the month, before stepping out of bed.

Left to our own devises mom and I might have gone crazy, but my daughter was specific. A wall of her courtyard would be draped in bougainvillea. She knew the color. A lime tree would round out their citrus collection. And white roses and giant Blue Glow agave look exquisite together. Who knew?

And who knew about my daughter’s newfound passion for plants, and in the same place where I first got the bug? Her grandmother may have been the only one to have seen that coming.

 

 

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Indigenous Design

Pillows on chairs

By KIMBERLY MAYER

 

Do you remember it? All around New York City in the 1980’s people were hoisting lodge poles into their apartments, redoing floors in Saltillo tiles, hanging antler chandeliers with forged iron hardware, trying to grow specimen cacti in native baskets, and trading in their Limoges, Waterford, and Baccarat crystal for Indian pots and Mexican glassware.

Meanwhile, Christine Mather’s design book Santa Fe Style was selling like hotcakes off the shelves. I know, for I purchased a copy.

I remember too when my mother hired an interior decorator who remodeled a graciously large bath in our Georgian Colonial home c. 1823 in an abstract modern blaze of turquoise and aqua, papering even the cupboard doors.

I knew then, as I know now, something was not right.

Much as we have learned to prepare foods fresh, farm to table, we need to design our spaces with a sense of place. Local is the new exotic.

It doesn’t mean we can’t throw in a dash of turmeric or smoked paprika. In interiors too the excitement is often in juxtaposition, such as industrial steel with rustic. But to pull that off we must keep one solid foot, at least, in where we are—otherwise, the “other” won’t come off at all.

You can’t pretend you are living on Canyon Road in Manhattan.

You can’t make a vintage bath, in tiles, fixtures and architecture, suddenly modern with wallpaper.

And Tommy Bahama prints on retro rattan furniture are only going to fly where it’s barefoot and warm and by the beach. Preferably in Hawaii.

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A Wedding in Mendocino

“Hawaii is not a state of mind, but a state of grace.” Paul Theroux

There is nothing like a destination wedding, for it is a gift to all. Last weekend we attended a Hawaiian themed wedding in Mendocino, California. Driving one hundred and fifty miles north of San Francisco, a stunningly beautiful and varied terrain unfolded. Sunny and dry Sonoma with fall colored grape leaves turned into Redwood forests deep and dark, and came out on the Pacific Coast Highway. There, with hawks circling on high over land that has done everything in its power to keep from development, perched the white shingled town of Mendocino on a headland jetting out into the ocean. How it glistened! We were fortunate, they said, for it is often foggy.

Our bride was elegant in elbow length gloves and vintage Hawaiian. The groom wore shorts and a Tommy Bahama shirt. Their guests went to all lengths to wear tropical prints.

Floral arrangements blazed in brilliant oranges, reds and purples: bird of paradise, lobster claw, halaconia, torch ginger, and liatris. Orchids poised throughout. People mingled with leis and kukui nut beads strung around their necks. The surf, the pop of champagne corks, and clink of toasting glasses.

And Hawaii was in the feast. Pork with pear sauce, prawns, scallops. Pate, duck confit, ahi with sesame and soy ginger sauce. Fresh cut papaya, pineapple, kiwi, and mango. Banana cream pies in lieu of a wedding cake.

Did I mention the wine? Did I mention they married?

When I love a place I start to see my life there. How else to live multiple lives? Three weeks ago I was practically house hunting in Laguna Beach, but my first impression of Mendocino is one I may never get over.

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