Los Angeles Times - 09.11.2019

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HOME & DESIGN

I don’t want to be our
village’s lonely monk forev-
er. Been almost a year since
we lost my wife, and there
are whispers that maybe I
should get out there and
date a little.
Gasp! Bartender!!
Medic!!!
I come with more baggage than a failed
French king: gobs of grief, a snarky and
wonderful teen boy and a sarcastic dog that
might be a wolf, might be a muse, might be
the town drunk.
Point is: You don’t just get me, you get
the three of us, for better or for worse, for
richer or for poorer, three hopeful-yet-some-
times-wistful souls bent on making the best
of our current situation, by opening the door
to others.
My dating profile: “Obstinate former
Chicagoan, wants to learn to sail.”
That’d be about it. There’s more to me
but not that much.
Or: “Former sandlot second baseman,
sings for loose change.”
That’s a little obtuse. Note that most of
my descriptions come with the word “for-
mer.”
Or perhaps: “Lover of old comedies,
college bars and long walks to nowhere.
Wants more kids but can’t afford them. Will
stick with the ones he has, and you have to
accept them as they are: three comics with
great hair and amazing teeth (thanks to
American orthodontics, the best in the
world). Drawbacks: Quotes George Carlin,
overdoes most major holidays, especially
Super Bowl. Emotional eater. Kisses dogs
on the lips. Hopes to be in love by Christ-
mas.”
I won’t say which Christmas. Any Christ-
mas. Christmas 2035, most likely.
In any case, always nice to be in love for
the holidays, though not necessary achiev-
able. I get that. Besides, I won’t ever be a
lonely monk as long as I’ve got the kids, the
wolf, the Chicago Cubs and my batch of
insane friends. That’s plenty for now.
They’re all a little needy, a trait I cherish in
people.
See, variations on romance are all
around, particularly here in San Francisco
where we are visiting — for a friend’s wed-
ding no less.
Can I find someone to love as much as I
love San Francisco? It is sort of a waking
dream, a Brigadoon with bridges featuring a

fetching gloom. San Francisco isn’t a city, it’s

more of a limerick.

Tony Bennett left his heart here. I left my

liver. Same thing. As long as you leave be-

hind some major organ, your hosts are

happy.

To me, great cities have their own per-

fumes, in this case sourdough bread. I’ve

gone from cafe to cafe, sipping milky chow-

der, slurping cloudy craft beers. I treat

sports bars like tanning salons. There are

worse ways to gain a little color than from

the glow of a great college game.

I really like San Francisco though. It’s a

little “off,” a little not quite right in the head.

Like ventriloquists. Like gym teachers.

With me are the kids and their accom-

plices. Weddings are front and center for us

right now, with our lovely and patient older

daughter getting hitched this spring. She

and Finn will wed at the same Santa Monica

church where Tom Brady got married.

“Better than a 7-Eleven in Pacoima,” I

keep saying, though I was really hoping for

Soldier Field. Still am.

See, if nothing else, I’m an optimist, as I

write checks, consult my tax guy, consider

the consequences of a fairly severe financial

obligation.

Given that my daughter is 36, my buddy

Reynolds thinks I can claim depreciation,

since I’ve spent a half-million bucks raising

and educating her.

Frankly, that was a bargain. Her sister,

Rapunzel, spent that much on prom.

Anyway, weddings consume us right now,

though the lovely and patient older daugh-

ter — while always polite — offered to handle

all the arrangements, as long as I produce a

significant check.

“Could I Bevmo you the money?” I offer.

“Venmo, Dad?”

No, actually I just want to send over a

case of wine. Or Bevmo you some bourbon,

which I’m drinking more and more these

days, one of the candied autumnal spirits,

dark as a rain puddle.

In any case, we’ve really enjoyed San

Francisco, walked the Golden Gate, shot

pool at a dive bar (this entire town is a dive

bar) and toasted the marriage of our amaz-

ing young friends Chelsea and Ethan.

Funny term, “tied the knot.” As if there’s

a hostage involved. That would be the

groom, I suppose — and probably only other

grooms will laugh at that.

So be it. When it comes to weddings, you

can laugh, or you can sob.

I choose both.

[email protected]

THE MIDDLE AGES

A trip to San Francisco

stirs the heart a little

CHRIS ERSKINE

san francisco

At the newly opened Maison of Hand in

the La Brea neighborhood of Los Angeles,

palm fiber light shades are suspended from

wooden beams or attached to bases made

from olive wood. Vividly patterned cushions

have been fashioned from repurposed kilim

rugs, and glass decanters are encased in

strands of bulrush.

Most of the pottery, according to Faycel

Mekbel, cofounder of the 1,200-square-foot

home goods and furniture bou-

tique, is from Sejnane, a town in

northern Tunisia, where the fe-

male artisans make it without a

pottery wheel, the same way their

ancestors did for hundreds of

years. Those pottery skills are

listed by UNESCO as an intan-

gible cultural heritage.

“I liked the idea of bringing in

something from a different place

that was also my cultural herit-

age,” said Mekbel, who is origi-

nally from the adjacent country of Algeria.

“There’s a uniqueness to it we haven’t seen

here.”

Mekbel opened the store with business

partner Jesse Terry, a Denver-born engineer

who lived in Tunisia while working for a pet-

rochemical company.

After purchasing and outfitting three

Airbnb properties in Bali, Mekbel realized he

wanted to find a way to channel his love of

home design into something more perma-

nent. He connected with a designer in

Tunisia who makes the palm fiber shades,

which have a gently windswept look, and an-

chored the store around them.

In curating the space, Mekbel and Terry

sought to showcase pieces that would blend

in with most decor types.

“It’s bohemian chic, and that can work

with anything,” said Terry, “These pieces are

Mediterranean, and that’s very much the

look here — the weather, how people live, into

the outdoors, natural colors, being eco-chic.”

Mekbel said the sustainability factor was

high on his list of criteria in creating the in-

ventory; in a cozy upstairs loft, low

tables are made from reclaimed

wood, also used for deck chairs

covered with weatherproof fabric.

The olive branches used for lamp

stands are collected when the

trees are trimmed every couple of

years. Seagrass covers wall

sconces, and vintage kilim rugs

are either restored or converted

into upholstery for armchairs and

pillows. Soaps are made with olive

oil, and scented candles under bell

jars have the fragrance of jasmine, Tunisia’s

national flower. Little notebooks are printed

with old Tunisian photos and postcards.

Terry said he and Mekbel wanted to offer

a range of prices to allow anyone to enjoy a bit

of North African culture; small glasses for tea

decorated with bulrush are $4 each. The

palm fiber lamps average $700, with the arm-

chairs going up to about $2,700.

“I hope we’re not just selling a piece but

also a culture and tradition,” said Mekbel.

“Everything in here tells a story.”

CO-OWNERSJesse Terry, left, and Faycel Mekbel at Maison of Hand, a new

homewares/furniture boutique in Los Angeles selling pieces from Tunisia.

Francine OrrLos Angeles Times

BROWSING

Tunisia takes root in L.A.

By Kavita Daswani

Maison

of Hand

Where:456 S.

La Brea Ave.

Info: maisonof

hand.com

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