My nine year old daughter’s “girlie corner” of the shower… Am I creating a nightmare for her future husband?
Where’s the Suave???
Gazooks.
Category Archives: Family
The Joy of Neighbors
As they say, you don’t buy the house.
You buy into the neighborhood.
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I was reminded of how wonderful our little neighborhood is this past Sunday morning.
I invited our neighbor’s two youngest kids out to have breakfast. We had such a nice time albeit much too brief.
Although Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson are no longer with us, the integrity of the neighborhood remains.
It is a neighborhood where I feel safe. And I feel the kids are safe.
They are safe because our street is filled with good people. Good parents. Good neighbors.
They even bring in our trash barrels if they get home first. It’s swell.
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But I marveled at how ALWAYS nice Jacob and Brady are with my kids…from when Jack and Brooke were born.
Jacob and Brady are growing up so fast. They are becoming young adults now and very busy. Yet, they find the time to play with my young kids.
Jacob is a super athlete. Heckuva sportsman and is heavily sought after by the high schools. Even now. His dad is a jock so he’s a chip off the ol’ block. (Don’t worry, dad. You’re not THAT old.)
And Brady… She already is a boy-killer…and a heckuva dancer. Smart one, too! (Don’t worry, mom. I won’t tell ANYONE I have taken over at least a hundred of my chocolate truffles. Funny Jake and Brady rarely tell me if they were good or not… ;))
But most of all, they are great kids.
Jacob and Brady always take their dishes to the sink when they eat here. Brady even cleaned off my (DISGUSTING) rangetop when she watched Jack and Brooke so that I could have my “date” with a varsity cheerleader and old friend for my 40th high school reunion last month. I’m still on a high from that, by the way. Thanks, Brady!
I had Jacob clear this irritating climbing ivy “someone” planted in my backyard. It was climbing all over the place…and into my neighbor’s yard. There wasn’t one branch left after he finished. He even pulled out the roots. Problem no more. Thanks, Jacob!
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One other amazing piece of “togetherness”… There are eight kids between our two families with an amazing connection… The kids’ first letters in their names coincide – and in birth order, to boot! They are:
- Robbie and Robyn
- Taylor and Takeshi
- Jacob and Jack, and lastly,
- Brady and Brooke
And one last (and upcoming) connection… Robbie and Robyn are both getting married next year.
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Soon, Jacob and Brady will be seeking their own niches in life. While Jack and Brooke will be sad, at the same time, I know their hearts will be filled with happiness and gratefulness for all their love, care and fun afforded them throughout their first years of life.
So many things to be thankful for…and Jacob and Brady are two of them.
A Movie
Being brother and sister, my two littlest ones can never agree on what to see at the movie theater. Today – on Black Friday of all days – was no exception.
After drawing first blood, my son won out. We saw “Rise of the Guardians”.
It was a good choice.
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Once and only once, Papa here won out.
Well, the two kids actually had no choice. We saw “Captain America”.
But the first movie I truly recall seeing – at a drive-in with my folks – was “War of the Worlds”. I still love it.
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But “back then”, a movie was a movie.
But before “back then”, a movie was truly magical. The director and cinematographer worked together to bring you into their minds.
You had to use your imagination and senses to enter it.
Plus costume design. Makeup. And “special effects”…primitive by today’s CGI mania standards yet so wonderful.
“Wizard of Oz” is likely the best of the best. Shot in 1938. Entirely on SETS. It sits at the top of my (humble) list.
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Regardless, a movie is to entertain.
Pure and simple.
I don’t look for special subliminal meanings or hidden messages.
(I also don’t appreciate paying seven bucks for a bag of popcorn imported from China.)
While the theater wasn’t crowded (perhaps due to the seven buck bags of crappy popcorn from China…with fake butter) for our showing, there was a very cheerful round of applause at the end of the movie.
From children, parents and grandparents alike.
I guess they were entertained.
We were.
(ps If my oldest daughter were there, she’d be balling her eyes out.)
Mr. Johnson, USMC – Part II
Yes, Mr. Johnson was in for it.
The carnage he was to experience would be absent even from the worst possible nightmare a nineteen year old boy can possibly have dreamed.
Violence no young boy of 19 should have to endure.
He would have two lives after he stepped into that Marine Corps recruiting station: one of reality during the day and of a nightmare he would never awaken from at night.
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I was not close to Mr. Johnson as I was to Old Man Jack; perhaps it was because for the first five years after I moved into this patriotic Naval neighborhood, he and his good wife Marge traveled about the US in their motorhome. They were gone for perhaps six to eight months out of the year. Man, did they enjoy seeing the US of A. After all, he fought for her.
He stayed indoors most of the time when at home while Marge would walkabout during the warm summer nights with her wine and chat with neighbors and me. She enjoyed her Chablis very much. Slowly, her legs would give way to age. Mr. Johnson’s, too.
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In the early part of 1942, Mr. Johnson found himself on a little boat out in the middle of the Pacific – the Big E.
The USS Enterprise.
CV-6.
She was one of only three operational carriers in the Pacific. The Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown.
The Battle for Midway
He was on his way to the Battle of Midway (Mr. Johnson did not tell me that. Old Man Jack did.). June of 1942.
A tremendous gamble of scarce naval assets and young men by Admiral Nimitz.
PFC Doreston “Johnnie” Johnson manned her anti-aircraft batteries as a US Marine.
Thousands of young lives were lost during the most critical sea battle – on both sides. But the critical gamble paid off for the US. The Japanese Imperial Navy lost four carriers. They would never recover.
But we lost the Yorktown. A tremendous loss for the United States…but the tide of war changed.
Miraculously, the Enterprise escaped damage.
And as far as I understand, so did the young boy from Basile, Louisiana, Mr. Johnson.
At least physically.
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Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands Campaign
His next trial would be Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands campaign.
It would be an insult to to all the brave men that were there if I were to even try and express in writing what brutal sea combat was like.
I was not there. But every young man there thought – every second – that there was a bomb coming at him. Constantly.
Like hearing shrapnel from near bomb misses ricocheting off the batteries – or striking flesh. The deafening, unending thundering of “whump-whump-whump” from AA batteries. The yelling. The sound of a mortally wounded enemy plane crashing into the water nearby with a likewise young pilot. The screams of wounded or dying boys.
This is taken from a naval summary: “After a month of rest and overhaul, Enterprise sailed on 15 July for the South Pacific where she joined TF 61 to support the amphibious landings in the Solomon Islands on 8 August. For the next 2 weeks, the carrier and her planes guarded seaborne communication lines southwest of the Solomons. On 24 August a strong Japanese force was sighted some 200 miles north of Guadalcanal and TF 61 sent planes to the attack. An enemy light carrier was sent to the bottom and the Japanese troops intended for Guadalcanal were forced back. Enterprise suffered most heavily of the United States ships, 3 direct hits and 4 near misses killed 74, wounded 95, and inflicted serious damage on the carrier. But well-trained damage control parties, and quick, hard work patched her up so that she was able to return to Hawaii under her own power.”
“Repaired at Pearl Harbor from 10 September to 16 October, Enterprise departed once more for the South Pacific where with Hornet, she formed TF 61. On 26 October, Enterprise scout planes located a Japanese carrier force and the Battle of the Santa Cruz Island was underway. Enterprise aircraft struck carriers, battleships, and cruisers during the struggle, while the “Big E” herself underwent intensive attack. Hit twice by bombs, Enterprise lost 44 killed and had 75 wounded. Despite serious damage, she continued in action and took on board a large number of planes from Hornet when that carrier had to be abandoned. Though the American losses of a carrier and a destroyer were more severe than the Japanese loss of one light cruiser, the battle gained priceless time to reinforce Guadalcanal against the next enemy onslaught.
Regardless of who is correct – and we’ll never know for obvious reasons – Enterprise gunners shot down more planes at Eastern Solomons in 15 minutes and at Santa Cruz in 25 minutes than did the vast majority of all battleships, carriers, cruisers and destroyers throughout the entire war.
She was the last operating carrier in the Pacific.”
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the violence of World War II, perhaps these photos will give you an idea.
Try – just try – to imagine you are on that ship… Nineteen years old. The Japanese planes are shooting at you and dropping bombs on you. Dead and wounded boys are everywhere. Fires are raging… The ship is listing…and through all this, you must continue to man your anti-aircraft guns… Protecting the ship and the lives of your fellow Americans.
Remember these young boys. I always will.
Mr. Johnson was one of them.
Mr. Johnson was one of those wounded.
Twice.
And I have proof of his valor and guts on board as a US Marine.
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More to come in Part III.
Mr. Johnson, USMC – Part I
“Koji, funerals don’t do a damn thing for me anymore.”
That was Mr. Johnson’s reply while I was driving us to Old Man Jack’s funeral. I had asked him to help hold me together as I knew I would fall apart.
“Oh-oh,” I thought to myself when I heard that curt reply. “I guess I hit a nerve…”
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Mr. Johnson was Old Man Jack’s next door neighbor.
Since 1953.
Nearly SIXTY years. Hell, I ain’t that old yet. Well, I’m close.
They got along real well for those 60 years… except Jack was a WWII sailor… and Mr. Johnson was a WWII Marine. They reminded each other of it often.
Lovingly, of course.
Old Man Jack happily reminisced that “…us white caps would also tussle with them Marines ‘cuz they thought they were better than us”. But Jack would have gotten the short end of the stick if he took on Mr. Johnson. He towered over Jack and me…
And Mr. Johnson was a decorated WWII Marine.
Decorated twice…that I know of.
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Our cozy neighborhood called him “Johnnie”. I always addressed him as Mr. Johnson…He used to say, “Damn it, Koji. I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
I never did call him Johnnie. I just couldn’t.
But in the end, we found out his real name was Doreston. Doreston Johnson.
Born August 1, 1923 in Basile, Louisiana. A tiny town, he said, and everyone was dirt broke.
I wish I knew why he wanted to go by “Johnnie” but later, I discovered Doreston was his father’s name.
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After Jack passed away, I visited with him. He opened up a bit.
The Depression made it tough on everybody but then war…
When war broke out, he was gung ho like many young boys at that time.
It was expected. You were branded a coward if you didn’t enlist or eluded the draft. You were at the bottom of the heap if you got classified 4F.
He said went to the Army recruiting station. They said they met their quota, couldn’t take him right away and to try again next week.
He then went to the Navy recruiter. They also said pretty much the same thing but that there was an outfit “over there that’ll take ya”.
It was the United States Marine Corps.
The Marines “took him”…right then and there, he said.
Mr. Johnson said, “I was a dumb, stupid kid at that time” – slowly shaking his head…but with a boyish little grin.
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It was 1941… When the United States Navy had their backs against the beaches… MacArthur blundered after Pearl Harbor and thousands of soldiers were taken prisoner in the Philippines.
The country’s military was poorly equipped and poorly trained. With outdated equipment like the 1903 Springfield and the Brewster Buffalo. And most gravely, the US Navy was outgunned.
Mr. Johnson was in for it.
To be continued. Mr. Johnson, USMC – Part II here
Today
Today was Veteran’s Day.
At times, I mix in Memorial Day with it… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
They will always be veterans in my eyes.
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Dad at Miyajima, Hiroshima in the spring of 1949. I now have a bad case of “tennis elbow” and can’t retouch:
He was part of the US 8th Army’s Military Intelligence Service and served during Occupied Japan. Being a “kibei”, he translated during the War Crimes trials, interrogated Japanese soldiers being released by Russia, Korea, Manchuria and China and translated Japanese war documents for intelligence.
Dad today with my two littlest kids:
Went to pay our respects to Old Man Jack. Sun was just too low in the sky for a good pic… 😦 Miss you, Jack.
And went to see good ol’ Bob, too… What a kind, great man he was.
Happy Veteran’s Day, guys.
Election Depression
November 6th – and the horrendous boulevard the public was forced to navigate – took a toll on me.
A form of depression, perhaps?
All the cheap shots. Stupid propositions to fatten someone’s pocket. Pot. Programs that cost millions – millions a state government doesn’t have.
And the bozos that led us onto the verge of fiscal collapse were re-elected. Criminy.
And of the most STUPIDEST state propositions that passed in “my” state was one that will make it ILLEGAL for porn actors to “do their work” without a prophylactic. A rubber. OK. I wrote it.
There are (I’m guessing) several hundred “adult” actors here. A law for several hundred actors. Geez-louise. For what purpose? No need to discuss that.
In a nutshell – with inference to the White House and Capital Hill as a whole – I am depressed about our country’s future. And of our brave souls in uniform stretched to their physical and mental limits protecting those same people with their lives. And what’s REALLY crappy about that is the “special elected officials” get a full salary and benefits for life while our soldiers, Marines, sailors and aircrews can’t even get proper medical care after they leave honorable service.
But there is nothing more depressing than finding only crumbs left in my bag of Lay’s BBQ potato chips.
Will a kind blogger set me up with a four year supply?
Thank you.
Live On, America
Go!
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My favorite place is here. Our country. Our America.
Our fathers and forefathers sacrificed all for their descendents’ freedom and prosperity unlimited… for us to cast our individual votes tomorrow.
Honor our right to vote and honor those that bought us that right with their lives.
Vote or our America will vanish.
Obsession, Time and Retouching
What an off-the-wall title.
But you have to be obsessed…when time is working against you.
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Retouching faded or damaged family photographs can become a labor of love.
Perhaps the finished product is meaningless to people outside of your family. Maybe to some within your own family as well. But somehow, you become obsessed with it because in spite what others feel, you know in your heart it is important… and perhaps more important as the years roll by.
Family members come into this world, live, then pass on. How did they live? Where? What was it like “back then”?
That’s my mission. To leave hints of what it was like for my descendants as well as interested family.
To let others see what “they” looked like. How “they” smiled. How “they” grew up.
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The first snapshot above is but a page from my Grandmother Kono’s photo album.
Brittle pages. Photos that were lovingly pasted onto those pages by my Grandmother. Photos now eaten by insects. Faded. Damaged.
Now is the time. Restore and retouch. Hundreds of them. That’s the mission. Before all knowledge of their lives disappear.
They are disappearing today.
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Having but free software, the retouching being done is surely amateur. Basic at the best. I wish I could afford professional software but then again, there would be a tremendous learning curve. Make do with what you have…as “they” did.
And when you finish one photograph, you receive gifts. Gifts of seeing what would have been lost. Lost to their descendents forever.
Here is one example from that page:
While the detail is surely not “lost”, it is hard to make out things. The print is small to begin with; a quarter was placed for size reference.
But after restoring and retouching, some fun things come into clearer view – especially if there is a companion print to compare with:
In another pose on the same album page, you can see both my dad and Suetaro were holding food in their hands and dad had a bandaged thumb. Here, after restoration, you can more clearly see the food but it blends into his bandaged thumb which would have been hard to separate. I’m pretty sure Dad is eating an “onigiri” or rice ball, likely wrapped in seaweed. Uncle Suetaro had already devoured his. Minor detail, yes. But now we have an idea of what Grandmother fed them in Seattle while growing up.
Aunt Shiz…well, it appears she would rather have been playing with her friend but we know she wore a uniform to school. And she has a hair clip. Berets for boys were in fashion, also, it seems. Funny as Dad doesn’t like to wear hats much. We also know that on that day, they wore very Western clothes…down to his overalls.
One barber pole is also different than the other. When dad saw this today, for some reason, he just proudly blurted out, “620 S. King Street”, and very happily. I think he was amazed at himself for remembering. But the confirmation of the address came from retouching the print. He also said, “That’s wood (referring to the sidewalk),” implying he doesn’t remember a wooden sidewalk. But I mentioned to him it was cement when you look at it carefully and he was happy that he wasn’t a “pumpkin head”.
From this retouched print, Dad also added one startling comment out of the blue. He said a number of “hakujin”, or Caucasians, came to the shop, even though it was in “Japanese Town”. I asked him why. His reply was, “I don’t know… but Japanese are more attentive, I guess, than the other barbers…especially in shaving.” I know what he means.
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So all this “stuff” came from retouching a faded photo… Things that would have been otherwise lost. Face it. Dad isn’t the little boy eating that onigiri anymore. But he still eats like a horse. A good sign. Aunt Shiz didn’t feel like eating much the day she quietly passed away.
Obsession and time.
And time is running out.
Crushed Raspberry and Mascarpone Dessert
The recipe is from my chef e-friend and former Food Editor of the Orange County Register, Cathy Thomas.
Since I’m a mechanic at heart, this should prove that anybody can “cuisin-ate” her easy-to-follow recipes.
I’m sure some of you pros out there can put the dessert together in a much more appealing presentation.
Masako and Spam Musubi 