We got the news yesterday that my grandmother (mom’s mom) (aka Obaachan) passed away. She would have turned 100 in July, but for the past few years she really wasn’t in good health, so it’s not as if the news is a surprise, or even bad news. But it is sad news, and I had a pretty terrifically lousy day yesterday. I spent some time over at mom and dad’s house searching for photos of her, and had no luck. There used to be a gigantic garbage bag full of old photos that mom was going to sort “someday” but I couldn’t find it anywhere. It was an unhappy defeat.

But then, in another little sort of twist of fate, Matthew asked if I could get the foot massaging machine from the computer room/office (now that Dad has left for Alaska, we’re totally horning in on the amenities) and so I headed up to grab it. I thought I might randomly find some pictures in there, and amazingly enough, I did. It literally made my day. Because what treasures!

Here are my grandparents on their wedding day.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the dates for these, because they were just photocopies that were in a binder. My favorite one is this one:

A family portrait. I’m not sure which great-grandmother is in the front (maybe my sister can help?), but my grandmother is on the far right and I’m quite certain that’s little Seiko right up front.

Another treasure (which doesn’t have my grandmother in it, but which I’ll share anyway) is from when my sister was born (mom decided to have her in Japan instead of the States since her english wasn’t that great). Mom is second to the left in the back row and the white guy up front is dad. My sister is chubbily posing front-and-center on an unidentified great-grandparent’s lap.

I also found a photo album mom had put together for me of our trip to Japan back in 2001 (ugh, I can’t believe that’s already 10 years ago!). She and my brother and I went and helped Obaachan celebrate her 90th.

I knew Obaachan best when I was little (probably about 7 or 8 years old) when she came up to Alaska for the summer. At the time she was in her mid-70s, but amazed everyone by doing the hard work along with everyone else, as well as cooking, looking after kids, cleaning, crafting, etc, and all the while constantly running everywhere. She was so quick several of our male helpers complained that they had to take especially long hikes from the compound to pee in the bushes (because that’s how we do up there) for fear of my grandmother racing up behind them on her way to do something and surprising them. One careless fellow was, actually, once caught in the act. Though she couldn’t speak any english, and we couldn’t speak any japanese, Obaachan was always good for a laugh.

(I actually think in that photo, she had just asked, “Wait, now, who’s birthday is it?” and we had to tell her it was hers. This was after all the toasts had been made and the presents been opened. She was like, “Oh, I was wondering what all the fuss was about!” In her defense, this was totally understandable, since we were actually there a few months before her birthday. But we had a good laugh anyway.)

I remember our last visit with her at her house. We took a picture in her garden before she walked us partway to the train station. Her garden, though tiny, was a magical little oasis, complete with sculpted trees and koi pond. It was a beautiful day, and I remember my brother and I having a few tears in our eyes, thinking that it might be the last time we saw her.

The last photo I found was one of mom and Obaachan and Obaachan’s sister, Setsuko-obasan, when they came to visit us in Chestertown. I can’t even remember how long ago that was – I think I was maybe just starting college.

I showed it to Alden and pointed at the picture of mom and said, “Who’s that?” She thought for a bit and then said triumphantly, “It’s MAMA!”

Which I think might be the finest compliment I could ever get.

I like to think that Mom and Obaachan are somewhere out there, having a good laugh.

It was hot when Iggy and I ran this morning. We had to stop a couple of times and relax in the shade at the edge of the field. While Iggy panted like her lungs might pop out at any moment, I took the opportunity to snap a photo.

Iggy doesn’t get much attention these days, given her position in the pecking order (soon to drop even further), but she is a good girl whose sleek purplegray fur happens to contrast so nicely with those golden grasses on Truslow Farm Road.

As I was running this morning, I chanced to notice a bulletin posted in the park just across the river. Apparently, there has been a recent policy change regarding acceptable park usage, and I wanted to inform the local citizenry.

Let’s take a closer look.

Any of you who have spent the past sixteen years planning to have your yard sale in Kingstown Park must be devastated by this news.

Please remember not to shoot the messenger.

I woke to the sound of a fife and drum corps marching down High Street. The festivities had already begun. The Chestertown Tea Party is, without question, the big event of the year here in C-town. (Wow! Check it out! You can watch it live online! Even from the Bahamas, Stella!) Not to be confused with the Tea Party (was going to put a link here, but went to the site and have to say, I can’t even stomach giving them that amount of support) that has co-opted our good name, the Chestertown Tea Party celebrates its rebellion against the British by tossing tea overboard into the Chester River (much like the Boston Tea Party, but we didn’t dress up like Indians and blame it on them). Thousands of tourists pour into town to watch the re-enactment, eat funnel cakes, enjoy the parade, dress up in tri-corner hats and buy lots of tchotchkes that are ostensibly related to colonial times. Or crabs. Or, maybe, wood? Or, hmm, birds? Mermaids? The Taylors?

When I headed out this morning to the post office to send out the dregs of our latest mailing, I was reminded why I had meant to run this errand yesterday.

Grumbling at the thousands of people who separated me from the cool and gently echoing hall of the post office, I walked by the Main Stage just in time to hear the emcee reading off a list of names of “pillars of the community” who were to be remembered in a moment of silence. Of course, mom’s name was read and I burst into tears. Not very festive of me, I’m afraid. At least I was wearing sunglasses.

It’s times like that when I wonder if my life is just scripted.

Anyway, I made it through the crowds and enjoyed an incredibly quick wait in line at the post office (almost never to be had on a Saturday morning). On my return, I spotted one of the many things that I would have loved as a kid – bowling with a bluecoat.

Though I’m old and jaded now (I admit, I rushed back home as fast as I could) I fondly remember the days when the Tea Party was perhaps the most exciting thing I could imagine. At different points in time, my entire life aspirations were to be a clogger (not really sure how that’s actually related to the whole colonial theme, but there have been cloggers coming to Tea Party for at least 35 years), a member of a fife and drum corps, a storyteller, or a person who walks around with an owl on her shoulder. I’m sad the kids aren’t here to enjoy it this year, but I hope they’ll have a lot more opportunities.

Viva la Revolution!

Lest ye worry for the health of the homunculus:

Iceberg wedge with blue cheese dressing
Peppers
Baby cukes
Farm stand tomatoes
Heluva Good French Onion Dip (okay, I know)
Artichoke
Butter and sea salt dipping sauce for artichoke (okay, I know)
Cold tofu with soy sauce, bonito flakes and chopped beefsteak leaves

The cold tofu is something that mom would make when the weather got hot. It is so delicious, but must be eaten COLD. It’s better with the little seeds that grow on beefsteak plants, but the one that somehow reseeded itself into my garden isn’t that big yet. As for the French Onion dip, what can I say? The vegetables are really just a vehicle to get that stuff in my mouth. Crazy salty is something I seem to be craving.

And the artichoke? All I can say is, if I get to heaven and they aren’t serving artichokes, I’m leaving. They are my hands-down, no-holds-barred, all-time favorite. To put things in perspective, if I had to give up ice cream or artichokes, I think it might be ice cream.

!!

Mile-high strawberry shortcake.