Saturday, 14 March 2015
arriving at the SBH
I would, of course, have liked to have dinner at the hotel on the first night. That usually involves playing The Game (Two Truths and a Lie), so for Allan’s sake we walked a block east to Nana’s Irish Pub, where I knew we would find a tasty meal and no social anxiety.
a bench on the way
We got on a waiting list and had 20 minutes to walk around. I showed Allan the interesting establishment just a block south of the SBH.
another one of those benches
If this were not so close to SBH, I’d want to stay here sometime.
Allan’s photo
Allan peeks through the gate
Allan’s photo of a vertical sea thrift.
on the way back to NaNa’s
Allan’s photo
Allan’s photo; she’s holding an armful of lavender
Allan’s photo
all settled into the pub
Scotch eggs
Good Shepherd’s Pie (Allan had meatloaf, yummy but not as photogenic)
Allan’s photo
Nana’s apple raspberry delight
after dinner
As we returned to the lobby of the hotel, we heard gales of laughter from the Tables of Content Restaurant downstairs from diners playing the Game; little did I know I might have just missed the best dinner game crowd of the whole week I was there.
at the check in desk, anniversary cookies
Steinbeck room and the Library
We had checked into our room before dinner:
The John Steinbeck room; note the reading lamp headlights
vehicle detail
Allan has a full set of Steinbecks from his grandma, and I have stayed in this room several times before (and Allan once) back when it was the E.B. White room. The new decor is impressive.
jars on a high shelf in the Steinbeck room
Steinbeck room
He loved his dog. Allan reminded me the dog was Charley! Travels with Charley, of course.
Grapes of Wrath
Cannery Row
This passage explains why there are frogs (not real ones) in the room decor.
above the shower
Allan’s photo
For the rest of the evening, we went on up to the third floor library. See my old entry House of Stairs.
From the second floor, I look down at Shelly the hotel cat.
Allan’s photo
the library
I found a library journal and settled in immediately. Reading the room journals is the great joy for me of any visit I make to the SBH. Allan went up to the library attic to read.
Allan’s photo, looking down
ahhhh….tea and a journal
In the journal I read: “This place is an introvert’s nesting ground.”
I soon found another entry that speaks to me, since I have the tendency to turn a lot of activities into “jobs”:
“I decided to back track and fill up an unused page to save paper. It’s like walking down the beach and picking up litter, I have to be careful not to fall into the trap of making it my “job”. It’s my need for a mission, I guess—a purpose in life. Can I do both, notice the trash and still appreciate the beauty? Life is taking the good with the bad, loving a person despite his/her faults.
“These journals are wonderful. I find people’s thoughts so much more interesting than fiction.”
a journal page
I settled in to what would be my pastime for the next four days.
I love the way regular journals writers send messages to each other, to be seen on the next visit.
Another writer says: “A collective journal seems to be a place of perfect connection. I have seen all of you who have written and you have seen me. Thanks.”
Here is a moving entry for someone who came to reading as an adult: “For the first 30 years of my life, I had been unable to read. I have been literate since I was 6 or so, but unable to concentrate, sit and let the stories unfold. My history of abuse made it impossible to think that I could tolerate the quietness and excitement of reading. I would just get anxious and give up whenever I approached a book. Two years ago, my partner and soon to be my husband gave me “Searoad” by Urusula LeGuin. It was for Christmas. I layed on my bed and read the whole book. You can imagine my excitement, to read a book. To watch with my mind, my imagination, a story unfold. To know texture and truth through reading is incomparable.”
More about the sharing in the journals:
August 1992: “What a great concept! The entire place, that is. Looking through the journals in the room something occurred to me. In most hotels it is the job of those who clean up to make sure the rooms appear as if no one has ever been there before. Though the benefits of this are obvious (not finding crumbs in your bed, etc) it seems we have no sense of those who went before us—the number of people who stayed in the same small room, had thoughts, feelings, and conversations that we don’t catch a glimpse of. It seems to me that part of the beauty of Sylvia Beach is the chance to look at other entries like these and learn of the thoughts and feelings of others who’ve haunted this same small square footage before us.”
Someone had lit a fire.
Many more library journals, some of which I had read on previous visits, await.
“I know that when I leave I will experience a new malady—hotel homesickness—that can only be relieved by a return visit,” wrote another guest…and in another entry a young guest, here with her mom, revealed she had become journal addict like me: “I want to take all the little journals and books to my room so no one can read them but me. (One could disappear suddenly.) I don’t want to eat, I don’t even want to go down to the beach, I could sit here and look at all the stuff for days.” That is just exactly what I planned to do. (Well, except for taking the all the journals to my room…but I well knew the anxiety that someone else would snag them before I got my hands on them!
3/10/11 “Only day 1 and this weekend is already fabulous. I haven’t even made it to the water yet. I’ve spent all afternoon and evening reading in the library. I came here this weekend to do nothing and be on my own agenda. Looking pretty good so far.”
I found some hotel history:
July 10: “This place—so heavy in my memory—a little girl visiting Grandma and Grandpa’s beach house at Jump Off Joe’s! Though 40 years have come and gone, that 7 year old heard the same waves roar and saw the same sea when walking down to the Natatorium and Nye Beach Grocery. I wonder what happened to the collection of salt and pepper shakers that used to be in the beach cabin rental office. Maybe they gather dust in some other place. All those old Nye Beach memories! Grandpa, blind, but still splitting wood for the cookstove where Grandma, fat and smiling, flipped the pancakes and warmed the milk to soak his toast in. We built saddles in tree crotches of and fought over the plumpest feather mattress. That little, damp beach cabin and they have passed away but the light house, tide pools, and this old hotel are still here. I treasure this spot in this world and this beautiful sunset. I wish I could hold Grandma’s hand and walk her pansied garden path one more time. Someday I will bring my grandchildren here and tell them these stories.” My dear journal writer, I would give just about anything to walk with my grandmother down her pansied garden path one more time.
…and the first of many memories of loved ones lost: “Dearest Janey, It was just two years ago that we were here with our friends and beautiful daughters. We were celebrating our recent victories over cancer. Yours, my friend, was a short-lived victory. But only on this plane. You have moved on to another and I miss you terribly.
“Your daughter is growing to be a beautiful young lady. Little K____ is still his happy, funny little self. I know you can see them and are with them every moment, as you are with me. Your courage continues to be an inspiration to me.
“Just before you died, your cousin wrote a song to K____ from you. It is called ‘The Brightest Star in the Sky.’ Each cloudless night before I go to sleep, I look up and find you. I love you and miss you.”
I paused to remember Janey. Loved ones live on when we are written about in the journals. Please do think of her now.
In one journal rested a folded crane left in memory of a loved one. “I’m placing a Japanese crane in this journal as a remembrance to Shirlee. She and her daughter folded over 800 cranes out of the envelopes and cards and letters people had sent her since her diagnoses last October. I’ll miss her very much.”
More journals awaited my next day. We had each enjoyed a cup of the hot spiced wine which is served in the library kitchenette at ten PM.
Shelley by her chair (Allan’s photo)
On our way down, we petted Shelley, on her chair outside the Colette room.
Allan’s photo
Allan’s photo: Sometimes she waits right by the stairs to collect pets.
We had a look at the Dr. Seuss room.
I peeked into the Alice Walker room where Carol and I stayed on our last visit. All the unrented rooms are left open for guests to tour.
This is a glimpse into the Verne room where I’ll stay later in the week.
Allan’s photo of the Jules Verne jellyfish nightlight
and the Jules Verne bathroom ceiling
Allan’s photo
Before sleeping, I read the journals in the Steinbeck room….not many entries as it is a fairly new room (and it does seem that people don’t write in the journals as prolifically as they used to).
March 13, 2015: “This hotel is unique. The food is fabulous and plentiful, the view outstanding, the other guests are fascinating, etc etc etc. Thanks for your courtesy and generosity and for the chance to rediscover John Steinbeck, whom I hadn’t thought of in years. (I’m 84.) But in spite of my neglect, he has reappeared in my life as a hero! Every detail is thoughtful and appropriate. How do you DO that?”
I love to see people much older than me visiting, as it gives me hope for the future, especially since this visit was based around my 60th birthday. If I should be lucky enough to live a long life, I hope I can find a way to return again and again.
Next, and next, and next, more rhapsodizing about the Sylvia Beach experience. Regular programming will resume on March 27.
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