Water Lilies in the Greenhouse
Walking on the Paths
In Our Own Garden
Photos © 2026 mae sander
Photos © 2026 mae sander
| Spiedo, near the downtown library, is a new restaurant for me. (Though it’s been open for three years.) |
| Alice and I ate dinner there. She had happened to also eat there earlier this week, so she was very familiar with the menu, which is Mediterranean-themed. |
| Both the interior and the exterior are brightly painted in a vivid combination of colors. |
Blog post © 2026 mae sander
“She’s lost her husband. She’s been locked away in an Alzheimer’s ward. She’s had the flu. She’s been in a brawl with a big nurse. She has slithered beneath a planting of hostas like a cottonmouth, to watch for a person who might come to kill her. Drugs she doesn’t even know the names of still enjoy half-lives in her tissues. Prescriptions she’s been on for years have been scrubbed from her system by time and illness. Her brain floats in a chemical soup concocted by evil toddlers in a devil’s pharmacy.” (p. 165)
And a kind of meditation on plot —
“What is it about human beings that so loves violence? Gladiators, football, war, hunting, cockfighting, books and television and movies filled with bombs, guns, and gigantic beasts of various origins all wreaking the most horrific havoc: people love it.” (p. 239)
The adventures of Rose — as she became an escapee from the clutches of the evil nurse named Karen — is kind of zany, with escape episodes on a rooftop, petty revenge on the nasty and unlikeable tormentors. You can’t avoid loving an all around settling of scores with unsympathetic people, though never really ugly violence.
As well, you can’t resist the wisdom at the very end that Rose imparts to her granddaughter Mel. It was Mel who was complicit in her effort to escape from the “facility.”
“Do you think Granddad will come back?” Mel asks softly. “I do,” Rose says. “You’ll have to become a vegetarian,” Mel says, “so you won’t accidentally eat him.” “It’s not like he’ll come back as a pig or a chicken.” Rose spreads her arms out. “He’ll be, you know … one with everything.” “Granddad is coming back as a hot dog?” (p. 287)
To be more complete, here is the Kirkus Review of the book:
There’s a lot of stuff Rose Dennis doesn’t know. She doesn’t know when and how she got out of Longwood or when and how she arrived there in the first place. She’s surprised and pained when people remind her that although she grew up in New Orleans, she moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, with Harley, her husband of 15 years, and that he’s died. At one point she’s not even sure whether she’s 68 years old or 103. After a pair of orderlies hustle her back to Longwood, however, Rose resolves that it’s the medications she’s being fed that are sapping her powers of mind and will and vows to stop taking them and escape again, this time for keeps. Fortunately, her second attempt takes her to the home of Melanie Dennis, Harley’s levelheaded, resourceful 13-year-old granddaughter, who’s more than ready to do whatever it takes to keep Gigi, as she calls Rose, two steps ahead of her pursuers. Unfortunately, one of those pursuers, a shadowy man armed with a knife, breaks into the old house where Rose is hiding out and tries to kill her. More adventures follow, some of them involving Rose’s hermitlike sister, Marion Bliss, who offers all the help a life spent online allows, some involving Karen Black, the hapless Longwood nurse Rose gets the better of on three separate occasions. It’s both a nuisance and a personal triumph when the media get hold of Rose’s story and label her “Gun Granny.” (https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/nevada-barr/what-rose-forgot/)
| Brand new: the book I am reading next; We Chase Shadows by Richard Osman. Review coming soon! |
Blog post © 2026 mae sander
| Carol invited us for dinner; she made a beautiful fresh-fruit tart for dessert. |
“I didn’t want to add anything to their burdens, not my nasty little back-and-forth with Joshua Messing and the fight we were going to have, and certainly not the encounters I was about to have with Tommy Reilly, who was frightening enough that he seemed to be more a wraith than an actual person, much less a stocky, baby-teeth-missing, ginger-haired kid just one grade above me.” (p. 39)
I’m fascinated by the way that the book continues to reflect a trend that began over a century ago: each new wave of immigrants has inspired good novels about the experience of children living between their parents’ adjustment and their own life in school and out of school. Lee’s book follows the tradition of documenting the challenges of becoming an American. (Obviously, I particularly remember the Jewish immigrant stories from the late 19th to mid 20th century.)
One of the areas of adaptation to American life is always food. Among other Americanizing habits, the narrator’s family went to a restaurant from time to time: “we ate out rarely, usually on Lunar New Year when we went to a nicer Chinese place nearby, or if my parents had a special visitor from Korea, we’d go to the city and have kalbi and naengmyeon at Woo Lae Oak, in those days the only Korean restaurant in the entire metropolitan area.” (p. 132)
Every mother in stories like this has her own version of ethnic food. Mothers in such novels also typically try to produce American food. As in this novel, various sources of food compete, including family meals; the food in the school cafeteria; and in this novel, the purchase of food from vendors like “the Good Humor truck that made its weekend afternoon stop right by our playground.”
Then there’s the very American food: spaghetti. When the narrator pictures himself on a date with the girl he has a crush on, he pictures “sharing a strand of spaghetti at Antonino’s like those lovey dogs in the animated movie,” (p. 311) Not to mention Snickers bars — an utter favorite which the narrator loved; in fact, when his mother visits him at camp, that’s what she brings him.
Above all is the social life of the narrator’s fellow kids, including both American/white children and Asian children. The setting of most of this social life is either the high-rise neighborhood or an overnight camp where the kids from all groups are separated from their families, and divided into the usual assigned groups with adolescent leaders rather than parents. Critical in the plot: the author and his fellow campers and counselors have meals at the camp where a lot of the action is set. About the camp food — “we were thrilled not to see any even remotely Asian-style dishes, thrilled not to taste flavorings of garlic or ginger or scallion, or sniff any kimchi gases.” (p. 182)
Finally, an example that I found interesting is how his mother used food to bribe or comfort him:
“…my mother came into my bedroom with a plate of freshly made gimbap. I was surprised, as her gimbap typically appeared at the weekend picnics we’d periodically have with other Korean families at the local state park, or else on a long car trip, when she’d pass a Tupperware full of the sliced rounds to us in the back seat. Even though it was one of Ella’s and my favorites, a treat we’d often lobby for her to make us, she rarely, if ever, served gimbap at home. Aside from her view that it was ‘traveling’ food, it was something of a hassle for her to prepare the various fillings of the spinach namool, the omelet egg, the pickled daikon, the minced bulgogi, then neatly roll it all up with steamed rice in sheets of gim.” (p. 123)
I looked up gimbap, which I do not recall at any of our local Korean restaurants. The google result:
Jared Diamond’s books on history and anthropology have interested and entertained me in the past, especially Guns, Germs, and Steel,published 1997.
“The chances that anyone among that small fraction also had lots of pomegranate bushes and lots of money were vanishingly low. That’s why no one had founded a pomegranate juice industry in the centuries before the Resnicks. They are unusual people in many respects, but they are unique in the long history of pomegranates. Just as Shakespeare was uniquely qualified among the several dozen significant Elizabethan playwrights to write Hamlet, the Resnicks were uniquely qualified among California’s several dozen significant pomegranate farmers to found a pomegranate juice industry.” (p 119)
Several other leaders from many eras of history are also profiled, in this interesting and readable history book, but I don’t want to try to summarize the following chapters. On the whole, I think I liked Diamond’s other books better than this one.
Review © 2026 mae sander
| (link) |
| A large fungus growing on the roots of a tree in the Arboretum. |
“For me, saying that I am a feminist has always meant that I believe in the social, economic, and political equality of all males and females of all races and groups. I know this sounds too simple to need a word, but equality is still the exception, not the rule.” (link)
Nothing is really new in my kitchen this August, but we have been making good use of gadgets, furniture and so on that we already have. And we’ve enjoyed summer produce, buying local when we can find it, but also shopping at our most convenient local food store that happens to be Trader Joe’s. Here are a few photos of August foods from the market to our table and in our pantry.
| August produce in my kitchen and at the markets. |
| Lamb stir-fry with rice and smashed cucumber salad. Trader Joe’s had great shaved lamb, perfect for this dish. |
| Corn is in season and local corn is delicious. Unfortunately our next ears of corn were moldy and had to be thrown away. |
| Ravioli toasted in a frying pan rather than steamed. |
| Another omelet. |
| Fresh fruit from a neighbors trip to western Michigan. |
| Toaster waffles: a favorite breakfast this month. |
| My messy pantry shelves. |
| Onions in the onion bin |
| Among other things: an order of jam from amazon.com |
| Chicken cooked on the new grill pan and served with a cucumber salad. |
| Shrimp with rice and green peas |
| Vanilla pudding topped with local peaches |
| Yayoi Kusama (1929-2026) was a fascinating Japanese artist and sculptor. (link) |
| Now in the pantry: a lifetime supply of off-brand peanut butter cups (note intentional misspelling). I guess you have to be hyperaware ALL the time, even if you just want authentic REESES candy. |
| The real deal (that I don’t have) |