First Person - continued

As a whole, we were less intrigued with the foreign and exotic, foie gras had all but disappeared from menus, now we were eating beets in fancy restaurants. We had new respect for all things synonymous with red, white, and blue. There was a resurgence of the hardwood specie, Hickory. A specie so enduring and American, that after our seventh president, Andrew Jackson defeated the British, he was dubbed, Ole Hickory. Now do I think architects across the nation were specifying a specie native to the heartland of America? Not specifically, but I do think the density, hardness & availability lent itself to the desire for surrounding ourselves with some thing that could with stand our own mortality.

I was stranded for a week, unable to return home. The stores reopened, and I went shoe shopping. I hunted, to no avail, for knock-offs of Dorothy's Oz shoes, and recited, "there's no place like home," but when I woke up I was still in New York. The mid town hotel I was staying at was not reminiscent of home. It was austere by design, with faux stone, glass, and marble. Not a stick of wood in sight. The public rooms were spare, edgy and uncomfortable. Extra chairs were brought in so the staff and guests could gather around a hastily hung American flag. It was the occupants, with the common love of the homeland that brought the warmth into hospitality that day. This past year commercial hospitality construction began looking for ways to be, well, less commercial. Maple; cool white, glitzy and impersonal is losing favor. It is being replaced by the warm homey, inviting woods, Cherry, White Oak, Walnut, even Alder. And yes, Hickory is gracing the public living areas, inviting one to sit for a spell.