Unfortunately we can’t save the world. Even if we wanted to (and we do). Our leaders, for want of a better job description, can’t figure out what to do in Iraq, Syria, Ukraine, Africa or China Sea. There is turmoil and fighting everywhere you look. But the stock market continues to rise. You figure. Another observation: Can you remember how young your president looked in ’08, compared to now (and we too)?
So with nothing better to do, let’s talk. You know the drill, I lead off and you follow. I spout, you sputter. I take a deep breath, but only when necessary. But no interruptions, please. Commentary on Keiro, Guggenheim and the blood moon can wait.
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Always in search of new ways to grab your attention – to have and to hold – I think maybe the following intro will rank as a unique first.
The unforgettable occurred last week. It began innocently enough as a two o’clock appointment (with whom shall remain anonymous). I left Keiro Retirement Home for Li’l Tokio at 1:30, even though it’s only a five-minute drive to destination. [I’m always early no matter what or where.] I street-parked and walked into Dr. Who’s office at exactly 1:40. The waiting room was empty so I was immediately placed in an examination room. Doc walks in before I can sit down. A briefverbal exchange, a quicker perusal, a scribbled prescription and hand shake follow. “Six and a half minutes, we set a new record today!” I comment to a smiling receptionist as I depart.
Back at Keiro, I sign in at 1:58, two minutes before my scheduled Li’l Tokio appointment! In this day and age of obscene delayed appointment times, bet you can’t top this one. [And you can understand why I refrain from identifying the medical whiz.]
“We are prisoners of our memories – real or imagined.” Can’t read my own writing so am unable to properly attribute who wrote or sayeth. Here’s where Google and an admittedly obstinate CR2S collide: If I can’t remember or verify something the old-fashioned way, I refuse the Eway out. [At least for now.] Dumb, I know, but so be it. The dictionary, thesaurus, encyclopedia and crib notes are my Kon Tiki. Someday, perhaps soon, I will succumb to the lure of Internet search options.
Meanwhile, “Love is pure gold, and time the thief” is a wonderful truism from the song “Too Soon.” And let’s conclude the medley with a final lyric, “I hate to grow old, all by myself . . .”
After such philosophic folderol, what better segue to remind Imperial Valley folks that their 2014 reunion luncheon will be held Saturday, Sept. 13, at Quiet Cannon Restaurant in Montebello. Registration forms have been sent out via e- and slo-mail to attendees of last year’s gathering. Some have already responded. Also a reminder that only the first 200 payees will be able to attend because of limited capacity. And there will be no other reminders. Interested parties who may have been overlooked can contact me (email address below) for pertinent details. Like we used to say in days of yore, it’s time to get your reservations in, people, Hubba hubba! [How did an innocent Riverside teenager became a Brawley/El Centro transplant is a long and convoluted story.]
It’s been a while, so pardon a personal commentary on a recent passing. It was a classic case of You have only six months to live” magically turning into more than two years. Despite other debilitating medical setbacks, the “added” time resulted in macabre jokes and bonus birthday celebrations. Once I asked how it felt to be alive but dead. Billy (Bill to others) Hirooka shunned a formal death knell. He was not one for formality or convention. But he was one lucky dude with a constant companion and devoted caregiver. In response to my alive-but-dead question, he said it gave him a chance to appreciate the care and the caregiver. “I don’t deserve it,” he said in praise of Teri Akashi. There was no funeral, eulogy or bowed heads. Just the way he wanted.
Sadly yet another death was acknowledged Monday. Kiyoshi Masutani was also the recipient of years of loving, resolute care. The devotion from an uncomplaining sister, Hisaye. CR2S best remembers him because he had the audacity to adopt Ambrose as a first name! A common Kiyoshi would not suffice. I mean, hey, besides being charming, personable, a neat dresser and wooer of many women, he was an Ambrose, fercryinoutloud, a confirmed bachelor.
In mourning the death of two more CR2S friends, a rapidly declining census, there is consolation in acknowledging the two unselfish caregivers rather than dwell on the dying. Although in mourning and bereaved, they are now free of the responsibility they shouldered without complaint for so many years.
W.T. Wimpy Hiroto can be reached at email@example.com Opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.