Gramma Time!

 (With apologies to American music artist M.C. Hammer.)

When I first became a grandmother, I had no clue how important any of my grandchildren would be to me.  I adored the first one; then, 15 months later, I adored the second one, too.  I did whatever I could to help make their lives, and those of their parents, pleasurable.  The kids are now 19 and 17.  They moved to the Pacific Northwest (Seattle, WA) a number of years ago, much to my dismay.  Too far away from Grandma!!  Still, I was blessed to visit them and my own daughter and husband, about twice a year.  Then the COVID  pandemic hit.  The world stopped.  I could not go there, and they could not come here.

From the spring of 2020 onward, I had no respite from the longing for my family.  My physical health and my mental health took a nosedive.  I finally went to my doctor and said, "I am not okay."  She put me on a low dose of Sertraline, which seemed to help.  Still, it's not a substitute for the ones I love.  I hadn't seen my babies since Christmas of 2019, and it killed me!

Last week, all of that ended.  The children flew to the Midwest, masked and fully-vaccinated, to see their father and their two sets of grandparents.   I hadn't seen them since the Christmas of 2019, and it was killing me.  

Friday, Aug. 20, 2021:

The kids arrived via Alaska Airlines in the late afternoon of August 20th, a Friday.  It was a very hot and humid day.  The air conditioning in my car only works if the car is moving, so I knew it wasn't going to be a good thing to wait in the Cell Phone Lot at the airport for word that they were down.  Thus, their paternal grandmother (my friend and co-grandparent who lives a scant mile from me, Judy) volunteered to drive us to the airport to pick up the kids when they landed.  We drove through a gully-washer rain to get to the CP Lot to sit and wait for a bit until we got the word "We down" from the grandson.  The rain had let up.  When they texted that they were off the plane, we headed to the terminal, just two minutes away, and there they were, waiting for us at the curb!  (They didn't have any checked bags, so could just deplane and head to the street.)   Judy brought us home and lingered in the driveway to hug her grandkids before heading home to have supper with her husband and live-in son.

In short order, I fixed "walking tacos" which is essentially tacos using corn chips instead of taco shells or tortillas.  We ate, chatted, settled in, and eventually went to bed.  (I should probably note here that when the kids come to Indiana, they generally sleep at my house because I still maintain their bedrooms from long ago.)

Saturday, Aug. 21, 2021:    

The kids didn't really unpack because their father and stepmom were to pick them up here and whisk them away to Muncie for a couple of days.  (Their dad lives in Zion, IL, north of Chicago, almost on the Wisconsin border. Their stepmother's mom lives in Muncie, and the day before was her birthday.) They were a tad late picking the kids up because of traffic between Chicago and Indy, but when they arrived, the kids' dad hugged them long and hard in the driveway, came in for a few minutes, then ran off to Muncie.  I don't think he has seen them any sooner than I did....  

Sunday, Aug. 22, 20211, and Monday, Aug. 23rd:

Nathan and Kendra (the kids' dad and stepmother) brought the kiddos back to Plainfield, to Judy and Phil's house (the other grandparents'.)  Apparently they had been to a car show in Muncie, and had gone mushroom hunting somewhere--or at least Nathan and son did.  They both came back covered in chigger bites!  I was invited to join them all for dinner, which I did.  Judy is a good cook!  

After dinner, we all sat down to watch Animal Farm.  We only made it halfway through when my stomach began to act weird, so I excused myself to come home.  The kids would come after the movie.  Just into the one mile trip between their house and mine, my intestinal urges became acute.  I was doing my best to get home, pronto...which I did...but only made it just inside the front door when the intestinal dam burst under pressure from muddy water.  I was in the process of cleaning myself up when their father brought the kids home to my house.  Yeah...that was fun!

Tuesday, Aug. 24, 2021:

The plan for the day was for everyone to go to the Indianapolis Museum of Art where they had a digital Van Gogh exhibit, and more.  Bless her heart, Judy had done a lot of research into it and had all of the details figured out.  As it happened, I chose not to go (because of my disabilities)...so did Stepmother....and so did Grandpa.  Thus, Judy, her son, and the two grandchildren were the only takers.  Thankfully, it was totally an inside experience because it was blistering hot and humid outside!  The kids came back late but in good spirits.  

Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2021:

The kids' dad picked them up sometime in the morning and took them to the Heffelman grandparents' house for one last gasp before the parents left to head back to the Chicago area.  They planned to be gone by noon, but the weather had other ideas.  A thunderstorm hit about 11:30 AM.  Some wind.  HEAVY rain.  Lightning and thunder.  At one point during the storm, several tree-sized limbs came crashing down from one of their oak trees onto the two cars in Judy and Phil's driveway.  Both vehicles were totaled, and the kids were wide-eyed.  A little Midwest weather action to keep things hopping!  (They don't get much by way of thunderstorms in the Pacific Northwest where they live.)

When their dad delivered the kids back to my house after the storm so they could head north, everyone was a bit in a twitter about the storm and the cars.  The children and I just "vegged" for the rest of the day.  The day's excitement had been enough!

Thursday, Aug. 26, 2021:

Grandma Judy had planned to take the children to the Indianapolis Zoo on this day.  I had already called Grandpa Phil the afternoon before and suggested that, due to the heat and car circumstances, it would be better to cancel those plans.  Though I never got an official cancellation from them, the zoo trip didn't happen, which was an enormous relief.  Ryan had already declared that he just wanted to "hang out here", and that his "social battery [was] drained".    

Grandpa had requested Ryan's help in cleaning up tree trash in their yard early in the day.  Robin drove him over there in the morning.  I would have let Ryan drive himself, but I thought we would need the car.  Both of my grandkids are licensed drivers, although they have never driven in Plainfield, IN, to know how to get anywhere, including the other grandparents' house.  I swallowed my fear, gave Robin my Proof of Insurance card and car key, and prayed a lot.  She was home almost before I even knew she was gone! 

Here is where my memories of what happened on which days gets a little cloudy.  There was a musical slated for the entertainment center at our biggest community park in Pfield for the weekend of August 27-28:  Newzies.  It piqued Robin's interest and mine; Ryan even said he would go if that's what the rest wanted to do.  (Bless him!  Ry was definitely being a team player this trip.  He usually excuses himself from things like this if he has a choice, but he was clearly focused on doing family things this time.  My grandson is maturing!)  Meanwhile, the heat/humidity wave had not abated.  This was an outdoor event, complete with walking uphill on grass--not great for me, even with my rollator--and finding enough folding chairs for all of us.  I was having heat-related breathing problems...and I know Grandpa Phil doesn't handle the heat well, either.  We all just kind of let the event slide by without making much of an effort to go.  Too blasted hot! 

On one of those days, I turned Robin loose with my car, my credit card, a budget "rice point", and off she went, using Google Maps as her only means of navigation.  (I did steer her in a direction that had most of the stores she would need but knew that she was better off shopping without me.)  Robin is preparing to attend her sophomore year at Western Washington University on campus, having spent her entire freshman year online at home, due to COVID.  She is vaccinated; faithfully wears a mask; and is one sharp cookie.  Still, she hasn't lived away from home before, so has a list of things she thinks she will need, augmented by friends and family.  Since she came with only carry-on luggage, I proposed to ship her overage to WA, then hatched the idea of packing her overage in an extra suitcase of mine and give her the fee for a checked bag.  (Cheaper to pay the checked bag fee than USPS would charge to ship, and they would all arrive at the same time!)

Robin arrived safely at home with her treasures hours later.  We did Show and Tell.  She made great choices, in my opinion.  A couple of days later, Grandma Judy took Robin shopping, too.  More goodies!  

Sunday, Aug. 29, 2021:              

I did online church, as usual.  Can't remember much else about the day except that we went to Judy and Phil's for Sunday dinner.  As usual, it was good!

Monday, Aug. 30, 2021:

Can't remember!

Tuesday, Aug. 31, 2021:

This day was the last full day that the grandchildren would be here.  I had already invited the Heffelman grandparents to share dinner with us, as a "last gasp" before the kids left AND their 60th wedding anniversary two days after.  My senile brain had been working overtime to find ways to make the meal special for them.  As it happened, it was a semi-disaster on my part.  (More on that later.)  

I sent Robin out to find some little token gift to give to the grandparents for their anniversary.  She returned with a plant, then asked for supplies to make a homemade card for them.  In the meantime, I had to clean off the kitchen table, dig out the fine china and glassware, put a leaf in the table, set the table, and somehow have energy left to cook.  Grandchildren to the rescue!  Both kids dug right in to help get things done.  I'm not at all sure that a respectable family dinner would have happened without them!  I had changed the dessert menu several times.  Cooked the stir fry too long.  Added WHOLE water chestnuts to the stir fry instead of sliced because, apparently, that's all I had.  Long story short, the kids saved my life on that dinner, and I was totally aware that I could not have done it alone.  Thank you, Robin and Ryan!  We ate and visited, then spent the remainder of the evening starting to organize for the next day's departure.

Wednesday, Sept. 1, 2021:

Thankfully, the non-stop flight from Indy to SeaTac happens in the late afternoon.  We determined to leave for the airport at 4:30 PM.  Grandma Judy wanted to go with us, but she was participating in a Homemaker's Club outing to Beef and Boards dinner theater for the matinee.  She had Phil call to say she would be here to join us at the airport drop-off.

Meanwhile, Robin had already determined which of her purchased treasures would not fit in her carry-on bag.  She felt certain that if Ryan let her pack his bag, she could find room for it all so as not to have the expense or responsibility for a checked bag.  It worked!!  In our down time before departure, we conversed.  The heat wave had relaxed, so the humidity was down...and the kids and I had long, introspective discussions out on my patio.  I do so love these young adults!

At 4:30, Judy pulled into my drive behind my car, in her rental.  I asked which car.  She said hers, so we packed up and headed to the airport.  It's about a 10-15 minute trip from my door to the terminal.  We dropped the kids off at the curb by Alaska Airlines, hugged and kissed them both, then drove off as they walked into the terminal.  I didn't cry until I got home, and then the tears flowed.  I settled down to track their flight on the Internet for the next four hours.  They arrived safely.  Their mom and stepdad and Ryan's puppy greeted them inside the terminal.  Nyla (the puppy) didn't recognize the kids until she smelled them, and then all wiggling broke loose.  Ryan had worried that Nyla wouldn't remember him.  Nope!  Once I knew that my grandbabies were in the clutches of family, I could breathe and relax.  I already miss them terribly!

Conclusion:

 Throughout the course of the Covid crisis--which is far from over--I had myself convinced that I would never get to see my family again.  That I would die alone and lonely.  They live half a continent away from me, without much hope that I could move there and maintain a place of my own.  Thanks to my former son-in-law, this trip happened.  I enjoyed every second of it!  

The children have changed since December of 2019.  I'm amazed at their maturity and have dropped back from thinking of telling them what to do, to enjoying their personalities.  They are questioning, evaluating, thinking critically--much more than I ever did at their ages.  I am so blessed to be their grandmother!

There is nothing that my grandchildren could do or be that would ever cause me to turn my back on them.  I will go to my grave adoring them.

September 11th Revisited

 I have written about the tragedy of 9/11 in the US before, but I am revisiting that awful day in our history just to show that I have not forgotten.  Today marks 20 years since four planes were crashed into significant buildings in New York City, Washington DC, and into a field in Pennsylvania (a thwarted attempt to destroy another building, as the news was getting out) by Middle Eastern terrorists.  

Most people clearly remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard life-changing news.  I was still teaching high school at the time.  Third period (about the time that the disasters were happening) was my free period, but because a substitute couldn't be obtained for a particular teacher's absence, a number of us lost our free periods that day to cover for him.  That particular class was 8th graders.  He had left them with an assignment.  All I had to do was supervise.  (Translate: babysit.)

Before I left to go to that wing of the school to meet up with the class, I used the passing period time (5 minutes in those days) to check my private email.  I normally got a daily devotional from a particular website which I would quickly read and clear.  Had done that already...but there was another one from that site.  Strange.  It said there was a report of planes crashing into the World Trade Center in NYC, and ended with "Please pray for the people.  Please pray for our country."  That was my first word that the world was forever changed.  

There was also an email from a dear radio friend with whom I was particularly close.  He worked for the FAA as a technician for the Air Route Traffic Control Center at Indy International Airport.  (In other words, he was not an air traffic controller, but worked in the same space, side by side with them.)  His message was short and sweet, mentioning that they/we were in crisis.  He ended it with, "This is the real deal."  He was generally a jokester but didn't kid about serious stuff.  Seeing "this is the real deal" is akin to hearing, "This is not a drill" on board a Navy ship.  

I left my classroom and headed to the Industrial Arts wing where my charges were.  I was all a-twitter.  Something big was going on in the world and I was stuck in a classroom with no contact with the outside world.  After introducing myself to the kids and giving them their assignment for that period, I started scouting around.  The teacher for the woodshop next door had a TV up and running for his class.  I asked to bring my charges in with his group...just for me, really.  He agreed.  I only had to move the kids a few feet from where they already were.  They found places to sit as I was glued to the TV.  Honestly?  I'm not 100% sure that ANY of the kids in that room had any clue about what they were watching, IF they were watching.  I didn't editorialize.  I just left them to their own devices as long as they behaved...and they did.  (Thank God.  I think I would have exploded if anyone had expressed boredom or complaining!!)

I watched as the towers came down that period.  I was largely speechless and didn't hear much about the Pentagon or the Pennsylvania field until I got home.  I was transfixed with the news.  In shock, I think.  The world stood still for days and weeks.  American air space was closed for four days.  (It really felt strange to look up and see not a single con-trail in the sky.)  We were all focused on "Ground Zero" and the responders that were climbing around the "pile" in search of survivors.  (Essentially, there were none but maybe four fireman in a hole in the wreckage.)  It was a very long time before normal television programming returned to normal.  ALL of the news was about NYC.  

I was caught up in the futility of the situation.  Hundreds of people were jumping from the buildings, choosing to die quickly rather than to fry or suffocate.  I simply couldn't/can't imagine the agonizing choice.  And then there were the pictures of first responders--tough firemen and police who were dedicated to rescue--covered in dust with faces that registered shock and helplessness.  I think those images burned into my psyche more than anything else.  Twenty years later, I am still haunted by those thoughts and pictures.  

Then there were the 35 folks in Flight 93 who discovered the truth about the plane's mission and took it upon themselves to rush the cockpit full of terrorists in an effort to save the potential target...knowing full well that they had nothing to lose.  The plane was going to be crashed whether they acted or not.  They called their relatives and said their good-byes before they took action.  I can't even fathom that kind of courage!  The plane was crashed into the ground and all were lost, including the terrorists, but what heroes the passengers on that plane were!  

As America was still traumatized and trying to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas after that, my daughter had found fabric that had little flags on it.  She made cloth Christmas ornaments out of those flags, with white backing and ribbon handles.  On the back, she wrote, "United we stand.  September 11, 2001."  Then she gave them to family.  I cherish mine.  It is a yearly reminder that Christmas is still gonna happen, no matter what tragedies the world presents.

In the two decades since this horrible event, life has changed.  Airplane cockpits have been reinforced to make them impenetrable.  Getting through airports is tougher.  Security is tighter.  People in  airplanes that contain others who pose threats to the peace and security of the flight are taken off the plane as soon as possible.  Passengers are no longer passive bystanders.  In a pinch, they take action to prevent being sitting ducks in an aircraft in flight.  We all look at each other a little differently.  It isn't always a good thing, but it is understandable.

We Americans are so spoiled.  We got sucker-punched on December 7, 1941, but apparently we forgot how really vulnerable we are to those who want to do us harm.  We lost our innocence on September 11, 2001.  Twenty years later, we have gone back to old ways of thinking; old ways of being.  Can 9/11 happen again?  You bet it can, not just to the U.S. but to any other free country in the world.  I worry about the world that my grandchildren are inheriting on so many levels.  I'll be gone before long, but I pray every day for peace and love to prevail.  Yeah...I'm that much of a dreamer.    

      

My Grandmother's Second Lap

 We called our grandmother Baba--rhymes with "Gramma".  My sister, the first grandchild, called her that, and it stuck for the rest of the family for all time.  When we got older, we sometimes called her "Babs", but whatever we called her, she was the Grand Dam of the entire family.  We all adored her.

I'm not sure why she was so adored.  Looking back, it wasn't her actions but her aura that attracted us.  Her children (our parents) revered her, and so it was with all of the rest of us.  She was steady but authoritative.  Such a dignified and graceful woman!  Still, there were occasions to tease her, in good faith.

One of the things I teased her about was that she had two laps: the regular lap on which all of the grandkids sat at one time or another, and the other lap a bit higher up, on top of her ample bosom.  Putting a napkin on her lap never, ever caught dropped food bits, but her second lap did.  It got to the point that we encouraged her to put her napkin on her second lap in order to save her clothes from soil.  (We would NEVER have done that in public, but even she recognized that some "things" stick out just a bit further than others.)  

And you know, as much as I lovingly teased her about her second lap, I am finding that I also have two laps.  The last two times I have been out to eat--fast food, of course--I have soiled my spanking clean shirt by dribbling something on my bosom, right off the bat.  And then I have to suffer from the humility of being in public in a shirt that looks like I haven't changed clothes in a week!

Is this what I get for teasing?  I meant no insult, Baba!  Honest!  Did you have to bequeath me the second lap??? 

Let's Talk Toilet

The crapper.  The potty.  The loo.  The latrine.  The commode.  The wee-wee house.                                If you're going to where it is in any location, the rest of us largely know what you will do there.  The toilet is probably on the top of the list as most-used appliances in the house, and the most private.  (Or should be.)

When I moved into my house in 1992, the bathtub had holes in it.  It didn't leak, but it didn't look good.  Thus, I scraped funds together to have a former relative in the construction biz replace the tub, surround, and toilet.  The old commode worked fine but was heavy on water usage.  The new one was annoyingly shorter in flush time.  Over the years since then, it also became a major user of flushing mechanisms.  The flush guts were replaced and adjusted over and over again.  In the end, the flush handle had to be jiggled 99% of the time, just to keep it from running.  

Sometime in the last five or so years, I blew out the meniscus in my left knee.  I eventually had arthroscopic surgery to fix it, but it was almost two months before I could scream loud enough for doctors to order the correct tests for a diagnosis.  (Don't get me started!)  In the time before surgery, I was using that toilet by hanging onto the doorknob to lower myself slowly and pull myself up again when finished.  In time, I was convinced that I should invest in a toilet with a higher seat that will accommodate people with bad knees.  (Not sure why those toilets aren't standard issue in homes.  Sooner or later, they will be needed!)  Thus, my housekeeper told me that her son, who is a plumber, could bring me the potty I needed and install it for $100.  It took awhile, but it finally happened a couple of weeks ago.  (Turns out that the commode cost him more than expected, and our agreed-on price really wasn't enough.  I will make it up to him, somehow....)

So, how has life been with the new toilet?  

*The new one is taller and narrower than the old one, revealing gaps in the paint job on the wall behind it.                                                                                                                                                                    *The new one is elongated rather than round, so I have to adjust my sitting position, but it is so much easier to sit due to the height.  At least I'm not hanging onto the doorknob!                                                *The new one has two push-button flushes--one for liquids, and one for solids.  TMI!                               *The new one does not require handle-jiggling in order to stop it from running.  It doesn't have a handle.  (Guess I need to figure out how the flush-guts work in case something goes wrong.)                   *The new one is CLEAN!  The old one had hard water/iron stains that would NOT come out.  It looked like it didn't have sanitary care at all.  If for that reason alone, I'm glad it's GONE.

Has anyone else ever felt such joy in having a new bathroom appliance?  I've been in my house for 30 years.  I've replaced the toilet not once, but twice.  Most people don't ever replace a home toilet.  I'm not sorry I did.

How do you spell relief?  T-O-I-L-E-T!

The Spoggy Fart and Other Mysteries of the English Language

The English language is a mysterious animal.  Having snagged so many words from other languages through the millennia, it isn't the least bit consistent.  Imagine being an immigrant who is trying desperately to learn/understand the language!  

I'm not talking dialectic pronunciations, here.  I'm talking words.  Americans speak a different version of English than, say, British do...or Australians.  And unless one is a world traveler--unlike most Americans--the spoken expressions of any English-speaking citizens in other parts of the world can sound foreign. 

I lived in Japan for awhile as a 10-year-old.  I got angry when my Japanese friend's mother--really the only English speaker in the family--pulled out an English Bible given to her by Christian missionaries and asked me to explain passages to her.  I wasn't angry with her.  I was angry with the missionaries.  There are people who devote their entire lives to studying and understanding the Bible with all its translations.  How can anyone expect to drop a Bible into the laps of people who weren't raised in a church or English as a native language and expect them to understand a book not even written in their own tongue??  I'm still not over that...

But back to the point I am trying to make.  I have an online pen pal from South Australia.  They speak English there, and their dialect is recognizable worldwide.  She and I trade comments almost daily; she from her home in the Southern Hemisphere, and me from mine in the Northern.  Obviously, there will be some terms that we don't understand from each location, but who cares?  We both get it.  Except recently.

A couple of days ago, my friend started a narrative about how her husband, who was going fishing with a "mate", disrupted her sleep in the early morning hours as he prepared to depart.  She started her tale with, "Hubby is going fishing at sparrow fart."  It took me a minute to understand that sparrow fart was not a place, but a time.  Since birds sing at dawn, I figured sparrow fart was part of the sunrise experience, but I didn't know whether it was part of Australian English, or one of her own creations.  So I asked.

I was informed that sparrow fart had been whitewashed.  The actual expression, very common in South Australia, is "spoggy fart".  Spoggy is a colloquial term for sparrow in SA  (My Midwestern American grandfather called them "spitzies".  It happens.)  So, a spoggy fart is a time in the early morning.  What we here in the US refer to as "the butt-crack of dawn", or "O-dark-thirty."   

So...I have learned something.  And now, so have you!

  

    

Grandpa's Big Brue Truck

When my grandson, Ryan, was a very little boy, he was smitten with dinosaurs and machines on wheels.  He particularly liked Thomas the Train, and had--at one time--a whole Thomas the Train activity table in his bedroom.

Aside from his father, Ryan's very favorite male was Grandpa Phil.  Grandpa Phil is his paternal grandfather, from whom (among others) he gets his looks and his height.  More often than not, when we were all together, Ryan could be found on Grandpa's lap, looking through books that Grandpa bought for him on their frequent trips to Barnes and Noble.  One really notable evening was the Fourth of July when Ryan was maybe two, sitting on Grandpa's lap in a lawn chair at the local park, watching fireworks.  Over and over again, Ryan would say, "Wow!  That was a big one!"  His childlike awe was so delightful, and Grandpa's patience was monumental.  Special, special moments!

Somewhere along the line when Ryan was very young, Grandpa traded in whatever vehicle he was driving at the moment and bought a navy blue pickup truck.  I don't know brand or model, only that the new vehicle became known to Ryan as "Grandpa's big 'brue' truck".  The truck, along with the rest of us, is aging but it still serves the family, and--to me, at least--will always be known as Grandpa's Big Brue Truck.  It's like a monument to security.  Just as Grandpa has always been.

The big brue truck has helped the family move, several times.  It has stood through the divorce of our children.  It brings sweet corn and home grown tomatoes to me, and carries me to the airport when I'm flying.  It carries furniture to people who need it.  It is a testament to the man who drives it.  When it gives up the ghost, no one will owe it anything.  It has served well and is still in service.

If inanimate objects have a soul, the Big Brue Truck deserves a place in Paradise.  Our grandson will be 18 in November.  He lives far from the big brue truck of his childhood.  Not even sure he remembers all of the treasured moments of watching it pull into their driveway, knowing that "Grandpa and Grandma are here!!  I see their big brue truck!"

Memories can be so special.  Thank you, Grandpa Phil, for the Big Brue Truck.     

    

My Tokyo

 The International Olympic Games are taking place in Tokyo, Japan, as I write.  I confess that I haven't watched the games so far, but not intentionally.  I've just been busy, doing nothing.  I thought, perhaps, that I should watch the games just to see if anything in Tokyo looked familiar to me, since I lived in Japan in the late 50s.  Ha!  What was I thinking??  I was only in Tokyo proper for maybe three days, waiting for Dad's ship to pick us up for the trip back to the States.  I was 10 years old, but I loved Japan.  I had no clue then how much difference even a few years would make!

My father was an active duty Navy Reserve officer.  In peace time, the family went where he went, and this time, we went to Japan.  Then-Lt. Cmdr. Covill (my father) got orders for Sasebo, Japan, on the southern-most tip of the southern island of Kyushu.  

In order to get there, we met Dad's ship in San Francisco in August of 1957, after a long car trek through the desert, then nearly froze for our few days in SF!  When our ship departed, we sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge out to sea where there were no landmarks...nothing to see but water in every direction.  It was unsettling.  Probably the reverse of claustrophobia.  For a few fleeting moments, I felt cut loose...lost and alone.  If we sank, who would know?  I got over it but never forgot the feeling.

Along the way, we stopped at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, for 24 hours.  We went to the beach at Fort DeRussy.  I got a blistering sunburn that affected the rest of my journey to Japan.

When we docked in Japan, we docked at Yokohama--a sister city to Tokyo--with Mount Fuji in full view.  Then we loaded on a train for a 24-hr ride to Kyushu, a big part of which was through a tunnel under the ocean.  We had a "compartment" complete with fold-down toilet.  I slept in an upper berth thinking it was a great adventure.  (I have no clue how much my poor parents slept with a 4-year-old, a 15-year-old, and a 10-year-old [me].  I think my parents must have been saints!)

Fast forward to our trip back to the States (or the "stakes" as my little brother called it), in February of 1958.  We spent a few days in Tokyo, waiting for Dad's ship.  We stayed at the Imperial Hotel.  The Imperial Hotel was designed by American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, and was supposedly earthquake-proof.  (I was impressed.)  

The only thing I remember that we did there by way of tourism was to visit the grounds of the Imperial Palace.  We couldn't actually get inside to see anything, but we could say we'd been there.  I also remember a couple of Japanese ladies who were following us, reached out to touch my brother's curly blonde hair...then giggled and ran off.  Japanese hair is straight as straight can be, and black.

The only other thing I remember about the Tokyo experience was that, one night, our parents left to go do something on their own, leaving me, my 16-year-old sister, and our 4-year-old brother for a few hours.  Sister Shari had had to leave a boyfriend in Sasebo and begged to be allowed to call him.  Mom caved in and gave her permission, without Dad's approval, in their absence, but with the admonition that it should only be a 3-minute call, (standard for long distance call rates in those days).  Yeah, right.  The whole time Shari talked to her beau, I was the annoying sister who kept reminding her that she was talking too long.  Not sure what the actual charges were, but I do remember that my mother was not pleased.

If I were to go to Tokyo today, I would recognize nothing.  It's a big city but full of charm.  Maybe in my next life, Olympics or not!