Today is May 5, 2002.  

Cinco de Mayo in Mexico.  Boy's Day in Japan.  My father's birthday in Hawai`i as I grew up . And now a remembered birthday by his daughter in California.

Dad was born in 1922, and so he would be 80 today, if he were still with us.  80. These days, I think of 80 as when "old age" really begins. I once thought 50 was when "old age" began, but changed my mind when I turned 40. 

Today, Dad would be an old man, according to my "definition."  When he departed at 77, he was spared old age, and that is a good thing.  He would've made a terrible old man; young in spirit, yet with crotchety ways, exacerbated with age.

A young spirit trapped in a prematurely old, failing body with crotchety tendencies spells d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r, and Dad was that disaster during that last year of his life when cancer ravaged his body.  Death became a welcome release from that fate.

Happy Birthday, Dad! 

Dad at 61
Photo taken in June, 1983, 
one of the happiest days of his life

I'm thinking of you with lots of love, happy to know that where you are, you are whole, forever young, and very possibly, not as crotchety.

~~~

My father's name was Andy.  My sister's name is Sandy, actually Sandra.  Sandy, for short. I think the rhyming was coincidental, but there are no accidents, are there?  

Just synchronicities. Meaningful coincidences.

Today, my sister, DH and I spent the day together on Dad's birthday.  Hardly a coincidence, I'm sure.  She was here for a three day weekend from Kona, Hawai`i to visit the second of her two sons, Mark, now a junior at the University of California, Irvine, and his girlfriend of three years, Liz, from Hacienda Heights who he met in the dorms. He's a computer engineering major; and she, a psychology major.

Yesterday, she spent the day with Mark and Liz at Disney's California Adventure Park.  Like us, she loved Soarin' Over California. 

And today, we had her all to ourselves, as Mark had to study for two midterms.

~~~

Our day started last night, when I set the table in preparation for this morning's breakfast. We've spent most of our lives apart, but thank goodness for the bonds of sisterhood, common childhood experiences and shared family.  I cherish our times together, however short and on the fly.

I love my sister, Sandy, and all week, I anticipated our time together.

Sandy and I shared our early years in a quaint little village on the island of Hawai`i.  We lived together as sisters for eleven years; at age 15, she left for boarding school. She was the big sister I adored during those years, and still do.

I am especially proud of her and her husband, Bob, for raising two fine, well-adjusted and intelligent sons.  Besides Mark, there's David, who is a Stanford University graduate, now working on his graduate degree in computer science. 

Sandy not only raised her sons, but being the eldest of four children spread over ten years, she played a significant role in the raising of the three of us below her.

My brother Dino, sister Joan, Dad, me and sister Sandy
Thanksgiving, 1997

Quite frankly, when we came along, there went her childhood.  Because both of our parents worked full-time, most of the babysitting, baby bottle washing and formula preparation, diaper laundering, and household duties fell on my sister when she was still a kid herself.

I just caught myself smiling just as I did when my fondest memory of Sandy was created...

Our village was tiny, and there was no dentist in our village. Because both of our parents worked, Sandy and I, as kids, took the village's "Blue Bus" to the city of Hilo, twenty miles away, to tend to our teeth.  Sitting next to each other on that hard bus seat, as we bounced our way home on that long country road, I'd get drowsy and nod off to sleep. Sandy would gently nudge my bobbing head toward her. When I'd awaken, my sleepy head would be softly nestled against her shoulder. 

I'd keep my eyes closed, nestle closer, and smile, reveling in that delicious sisterly closeness.

As our big sister, Sandy did so much for us  kids. The older I get, the more I realize the enormity of the responsibilities which were foisted on one so very young.

Thank you, San.  

~~~

This morning at 7:30 am, DH left to pick Sandy up at the Anaheim Marriott.  Mark had overnighted with her, and both were coming over for breakfast and to meet Freddy B and 'Oli (also known here as O).

Sandy came bearing gifts:

(Delicious!)
Kona Coast Macadamia Chocolates 
and Koa Wine Holder

With liver snaps on their open palms to accelerate the friends-making  process, Sandy and Mark got to know our little savages. Compared to their docile, obedient predecessors, Happy and Laki, whom Sandy met and enjoyed when she last visited us with our mother, these two are wild.  

Savages. 

Freddy B, my sister Sandy and O

I  (proudly?) showed off `Oli's personal touches on our bedcovers and carpeting -- meticulously gnawed, fist-sized holes.

O and Hole

~~~

Leisurely, we breakfasted over orange juice, coffee, fruit salad and a bowl of fresh strawberries, hot rice, Portuguese sausage, carrot muffins and an omelet with onions, green onions, mushrooms, and slices of char siu with hopeful Freddy and `Oli at our feet, hoping for food drops.

Before we took off to Irvine to drop Mark off at his apartment, we stopped at Trader Joe's so she could buy some omiyage (gifts) for her mother-in-law, Nellie, and sister-in-law, Judy, where I ran into June A and her husband.

My nephew, Mark, and his mother and my sister, Sandy

We enjoyed getting to know Mark better.  An amiable, pleasant young man who is also an earnest, hardworking student, we like him and hope to get to know his girlfriend, Liz, as well.  Too soon, we reached Irvine and said goodbye to Mark, hoping to get together with them, maybe up in Big Bear for a snow weekend next winter, or perhaps a summer weekend.  

Earlier, we had made tentative plans to see The Getty, but Sandy was not revved up to see it, and like me, she is not a shopper.  DH suggested a drive down the coast past Laguna Beach and on to Laguna Niguel, and that is what we did.

DH and I enjoy visiting The Ritz Carlton. Laguna Niguel, a cliffside resort overlooking a beautiful white sand beach with the island of Catalina in the distance on a clear day.  We discovered it years ago when I served on a professional board, and since then have visited the resort with DH's parents and our friends, Bu and Annie.  

Sandy at Laguna Niguel

There's a restaurant with large windows with panoramic spectacular views and plush chairs, and after a walk around the grounds, we settled there. 

A Laguna Niguel Rabbit

Overlooking an ocean view reminiscent of our childhood's beach house's, we were in a nostalgic mood. Over glasses of wine, we reminisced over our shared childhoods, especially remembering our maternal grandparents.   

Our grandparents owned and ran the mom-and-pop bakery in the village. We laughed as we fondly recalled our unbelievably good fortune of being their grandkids.  After school, we'd stop in at their bakery and enjoy their company over our choice of snacks that included cream-filled sugar doughnuts, cream puffs, French pastries, stone cookies, and apple, peach and coconut pies. Not surprisingly, I was a bit of a chubbette back then.

We didn't know how fortunate we were, until they were long gone. But it is never too late to appreciate them, and that we did as we sat in that restaurant in Laguna Niguel.

~~~

Our Grandfather Muraichi was a charismatic community leader and a paragon of virtue to boot; highly principled with great human warmth, he was looked up to, not only by us, but by all who met him.  A good man to the core, and a friend to all, dogs included, especially the dogs of our mother's youth, Happy, and later, Snow.  

Grandfather "O-Jichan" Muraichi

Our parents were busily occupied and preoccupied with their full-time jobs, social circle, community involvement, and in time, four children. Thank goodness for our grandparents, who served as the best parental surrogates. We were indeed blessed to have them in our lives, unconditionally loving and accepting as they were, in spite of our occasional misbehavior and impudence. 

Sandy, in particular, had a special relationship with Grandfather Muraichi. Of all his grandchildren, Grandfather Muraichi was closest to his eldest grandchild.  Sandy was his pet, her defender, confidante, refuge, and safety net, just as our paternal Grandmother Satsuma was for me.

Sandy and me

We remembered our maternal grandmother, Grandmother Miyako, who cared for us when we were ill.  Our mother worked at the village post office, and there was a great superseding power in that postal motto:

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."

Not even sick kids stayed her, and so when we were sick with sundry childhood illnesses, our Grandmother Miyako was our caretaker. Her immaculate bed became our sick bed. Sandy remembered how Grandmother Miyako would climb the steep steps with a bed tray heavily laden with her loving-prepared lunch served up on little dishes. 

As for me, I also remembered the gallon tin can that she'd place next to the bed with clear instructions that I was to hurl in it and not on her (immaculate) bed. 

I have a feeling Grandfather Muraichi and Grandmother Miyako were eavesdropping on our conversation, smiling at us and each other as their two granddaughters sat and chatted up a storm about them.  

Yup, it's never too late to appreciate those who have come before...

~~~

Just now, I am also remembering how Grandmother Miyako would  "bribe" me to stay over for dinner by sending me over to Yamaguchi Store, next door, to pick up a can of ajitsuke nori (seasoned seaweed, which was and still is one of my favorite foods) to have with my hot rice.  Like Mom, Grandmother Miyako was not demonstratively affectionate, but like Mom, she had her ways of making me feel special.

Writing this, I am also remembering how Grandfather Muraichi and Grandmother Miyako gifted me with yet another of my favorite foods for Christmas:  dried kaki (persimmons) neatly arranged in flat balsa wood boxes from Japan. 

My food memory is kicking in, as I am also remembering the cartons of Neopolitan ice cream they'd bring over to our house when one of us  REALLY got sick...

~~~

Over a lunch of club sandwiches and -- "just like potato chips, but different" -- taro (!) chips, we remembered Dad, warts and all, on his birthday. 

Fascinating how children in the same family can hold disparate perceptions of the same parent. For me, my father was my hero, the man I wanted to marry when I grew up.  For my sister, he was someone to be feared, which surprised me as I remember the times that she was fearless when she locked horns with him.

Although he had a temper and was a control freak, I don't ever remember fearing Dad.  Even as a child, I knew it was just a lot of huff and puff.  Like me, he was someone who just needed a lot of TLC (tender loving care) and soothing soft-talk when frustrated. He was, after all, the baby in his family, as the youngest of six children.  

And what do babies -- no matter how old -- need most when red-faced, wailing and screaming in frustration and seeming anger?  Lots of TLC and soothing soft-talk.

I subconsciously emulated how my Grandmother Satsuma interacted with him whenever he "acted out."  In hindsight, I see now that it was she who taught me how to better get along with others, especially those with short fuses and mercurial temperaments

She resisted adding fuel to fires, keeping quiet until the flare-ups died down, and patiently waiting before speaking her peace, which she did eventually when the time was right. 

A harmony seeker and peacemaker, Grandmother Satsuma mastered the art of keeping one's cool. Not one to stir up the emotional pot, she was not confrontational.  Her way to deal with conflicts was soft, quiet, and effective without histrionics or hysteria.

DH and me

Somehow, DH acquired grandmother's wisdom or learned it over 27 years of marriage. If he raises my dander, he knows that honey works a whole lot better than vinegar. For this I am grateful, as I like my -- our -- peaceful existence. I abhor dramas, conflicts and harsh feelings between or among people, especially those I care about.  

Most of all, I dislike taking sides or being caught in the middle. To avoid getting physically ill over such lose-lose conflicts, I recoil. 

I flee. Literally, flee.

In many ways, Sandy and I were luckier in our birth order than our two younger siblings.  We grew up during the happier years of Mom's and Dad's ill-fated marriage, when they were working together as a team toward common life goals. Back then, we lived in close proximity to our grandparents, and we did things as an intact, mostly happy family. 

When their marriage got rocky, I fled. Straight to boarding school on another island at age 13. Willingly and never looking back.  As the battles were being waged on the homefront, I was away, grateful for my peace and quiet in, of all places, the city.

~~~

The days are longer now.  

With so much daylight left, we drove back to Suburbia and showed Sandy our favorite haunts --  the new library, the senior citizen center, and the town center with my favorite book store, Barnes and Noble,  and the café conveniently next door where we had dessert -- which didn't get close to Grandfather Muraichi's and Grandmother Miyako's baked goods -- and coffee before we drove Sandy back to her hotel.  

Sandy at the Senior Center's Serenade Sculpture

So today, we did nothing earth-shattering or exciting, but I loved my peaceful day with my husband and my sister, Sandy.  

My kind of day.

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