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Something Really Small Changed My Life ...

We moved from San Jose to Truckee, California in 1996 in order to be closer to the ski hill. Our modest law practice was such that we could maintain it mostly at-a-distance. I had learned to ski as an adult. I really liked it. I was still just an intermediate skier, “working on my skiing” based on tips I read in ski magazines and a couple of books and videos. In other words, a complete ski hack. (Photo: mid 80's | Fran, the"Ski Bunny") One December morning, I had gone skiing by myself. I entered the funitel (gondola) with a large number of men of varying ages. Two were dressed in instructor uniforms. As an avid reader of ski magazines, I noticed that there were some very nice skis bein

I went to Japan. I met my Father ...

In Post WWII Japan, my father was an Army Intelligence Officer when he met my mother. He and my mother actually had a 10 year loving relationship! In 1955, after my mother was pregnant with me, my father got tuberculosis and was sent back to the United States. Back then, tuberculosis had a poor prognosis and my mother thought she would never see my father again. My father promised he would return to her. When I was born, my mother and I lived with my Obaachan. The notes on the back of the pictures of me in my June 5, 2016 blog were, I believe, written for him. My father was cured of tuberculosis and returned, as he promised, to my mother and we were a family. I must have been about 6-8 mont

When I Called My Father that Thanksgiving Night in 2004 ... (April 10, 2016 post)

I knew quite a lot about him. I wondered if he was curious about what had happened to me. I worried a lot about the reaction I would get when he answered the phone. I worried he wouldn’t answer the phone. I worried that his wife would answer the phone. I worried a lot. But I made the call. Before making the call, I wrote down anything I thought I might say in Japanese and in English. Although Japanese was my first language, my adoptive mother stopped speaking Japanese to me when I was adopted for fear I’d have a strong accent. That was back in 1961 and what we know about language today wasn’t common knowledge then. So my Japanese was pretty sketchy and that of a 5-year old at that. It took m

My Mother is Still Dead ...

But I’m grown up now. I’m now over 60 (had my birthday). Most people I know my age, and even younger, have lost their parents. That’s the natural order of things. So now, finally, I’m normal. But, when a parent passes away, fond memories and a connectedness are still there. This, with parents, I don’t have. But, again, I’m lucky. I do have five years of fond memories and connectedness with my Obaachan who dearly loved me. I spent every day with her. I am still familiar with our apartment in Chofu. I can vividly see the kitchen with the long stone and metal counter, deep sink in the middle. My toothpaste was a powder; I dipped my wet toothbrush into the powder and brushed my teeth while stand

I love my life and lifestyle but it wasn't always this way ... 

 

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