Cherry Blossoms in the Garden


This week I had a speaking engagement in the main building of the Botanical Garden with a group of women interested in recording their own life stories or that of a parent. I enjoyed telling the women about my own experience with Cherry Blossoms in Twilight (my mother’s story), offering them tips and advice on different ways to record memories, and otherwise encouraging them to begin or continue the process of writing or recording.

Some of the women were close in age to my mother and had amazing stories, particularly of their experiences around WWII. One youthful 86-year-old Japanese-American woman had learned how to work the computer and regularly emails her son with bits of stories that someday he will be able to piece together into a most fascinating journey of her life. This active woman is still busy creating her life story! Other women, younger and with strictly American upbringings, shared interesting (and now amusing) recollections of their youth during WWII. Yes, there were many shared stories that reinforced how our cultures and perspectives were so different, yet we could relate to each other as human beings going through similar experiences. Unfortunately because of stormy weather, we were unable to wander among the cherry trees in the Japanese Garden afterwards, but we had our own beautiful cherry blossoms right there in the room.

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A Snowy Day


It snowed during this first week of spring. The yellow forsythia blooms did not look quite as cheerful wrapped in their white coats. It was my day of the week to visit my “adopted grandma” in the nursing home. I did not want to leave my warm house, but Mrs. B. depends on me to brighten her dismal days, and I had to scrape the snow off the car later anyway to take the dog for his bath appointment. Under a dreary sky, I drove through the bright landscape wondering about spring, but grudgingly recognized how beautiful the snow was clinging to branches and early flowers. In Japan, snow is thought of as winter’s flowers – a lovely metaphor from the land where nature is revered as art, but at this time of year I feel that is positive thinking.

Mrs. B., as usual, was delighted to see me; I was glad to have ventured out into the cold to be a warm spot in her life. I brought her some little snack baggies of cookies, donut holes, and homemade banana bread. Mrs. B. is not-so-patiently waiting for God to relieve her suffering by taking her to heaven, so what does a little extra cholesterol matter. She regularly asks me what God is waiting for and I tell her that He’s not ready for her yet, that he must still have a plan for her … like He must think it’s good for me to visit her. We laugh, but I know that visiting Mrs. B. is good for my soul. She doesn’t understand how she who seemingly has nothing to offer to the world can make me feel good inside, knowing that my little self can be of comfort to someone, can ease their misery for just awhile. So here we are, two little people who think we’re nobody special, yet to each other we are so important. Don’t underestimate yourself.

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Sofia’s Memories – European WWII Experience

I met a delightful elderly woman at the last meeting of our local Publisher’s Association. She came to the meeting with a spiral-bound (comb-bound) manuscript of her memories as a young girl in Poland who was forced to move to Germany with her family during WWII and finally emigrated to the U.S. right after the war. It was so interesting to skim through her writings, see the many beautiful old photos of her family and the places she lived. Her 8 ½ x 11 inch size booklet was done in the format of page-long stand-alone short stories about memories of her individual family members, places she lived, events in her life, experiences, etc. She and several others thought her manuscript would make for interesting reading in classrooms – that uniquely personal look at what real life was like for people caught in the war and what it was like to start life over again in a strange new country. I shared my Cherry Blossoms in Twilight book with her and we talked of how important it is to preserve these old memories so that people see how so many innocents suffer in wars and to see that underneath our differences, there is no “us” and “them”, there is only “we.”

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