My OperaPost from Natalie March 27, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006 3:22:21 AM
I’ve really enjoyed reading everyone’s memories of Grandma. I’ve found myself struggling with my desire to make my memories permanent in ink. It’s as if writing about my memories of Grandma brings me out of my denial stage. And I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. But here goes…
I have a lot of different types of favorite Grandma memories. There are the funny things that would come out of her mouth like the time when we were playing around-the-world ping-pong in the Mori’s basement and Gary won. Gary, in all his triumph and glory, turned to Grandma and said something like, “pretty good huh Grandma?” Grandma laughed and said, “yeah, not bad for a fat boy”. And then there was the time I was dating a guy and grandma asked why we weren’t getting married. She said, “what’s wrong with him – is he queer or something?” And I always have to tell Hank that Grandma calling him a ‘hakujin’ is not a racial slur, but a term of endearment. If any of you would back me up on that, I’d appreciate it.
Another favorite is the frog story. When they lived in Rockport, Grandma had to walk something like 3 miles everyday up hill both ways to get their drinking and cooking water out of a well. I guess Grandma got back to their house with a full bucket of well water and then looked inside the bucket and there was a frog in the bottom. She yelled and threw out the water with the frog. Then she thought, “That was dumb. Now I just have to get more water and there are probably more frogs in the water.”
I also ran into people on my mission who would hear my name and say, “Mano Shimai?? Mano Shimaii??” And then they would go on and on about how much they loved Grandma. When I was in the MTC, I was coming out of the Provo Temple and a woman saw my name tag and stopped me. She was in the same area when Grandma first arrived on her first mission and was there when Grandma learned to ride a bike. She talked of Grandma’s determination and persistence in learning to ride a bike despite the many times she fell and the many bruises she had. It made me sad to hear about the bruises, but I remember being so proud to be her granddaughter and to share the name “Mano Shimai.”
Several years ago during one of my “breaks” from employment I came to stay with Grandma for a whole week. My mom’s side of the family is just as big and just as close as the Mano side so I had never devoted a whole vacation to just Grandma. I came back a few months later for another week with Grandma, but I still wish I would have done that more. I stayed at Grandma’s for an entire week and we worked on geneology. I had some old Japanese records from my mom’s side and Grandma could read them. It was really old Japanese writing. It was then that I came to understand why Grandma’s Japanese skills were preserved – not her speaking, but her reading. I have no doubt that her ability to read those old kanji was a blessing and a gift to help in geneology work.
My favorite story is the one about the “little piece of bread and the little cup of water”. I may get some of the facts wrong on this story – this is how I remember it: When Grandma was a young child she always had a faint memory of a little piece of bread and a little cup of water. Then one day when she was married, had children of her own and was back living in Utah, she went to church and there they were. A little piece of bread and a little cup of water. It was the same as her faint memory. As far as I know, she never figured out when or where, but she knew that sometime when she was a child she had been to a Mormon church before and seen the Sacrament. I gave a lesson in Relief Society once on the Sacrament when Grandma Mano was visiting us in California and I asked Grandma to share that story. It’s still my favorite.
When I think about all she has done in her life, I am truly amazed. Her life is made up of a million small acts of service. I don’t ever remember her being selfish. She seemed so pure to me that it seemed like doing good and being obedient and faithful was effortless – it was just part of her nature. I’ve always known I was blessed to be part an amazing family. I’m just so glad to have all the memories, both yours and mine, to keep Grandma with me.
I have a lot of different types of favorite Grandma memories. There are the funny things that would come out of her mouth like the time when we were playing around-the-world ping-pong in the Mori’s basement and Gary won. Gary, in all his triumph and glory, turned to Grandma and said something like, “pretty good huh Grandma?” Grandma laughed and said, “yeah, not bad for a fat boy”. And then there was the time I was dating a guy and grandma asked why we weren’t getting married. She said, “what’s wrong with him – is he queer or something?” And I always have to tell Hank that Grandma calling him a ‘hakujin’ is not a racial slur, but a term of endearment. If any of you would back me up on that, I’d appreciate it.
Another favorite is the frog story. When they lived in Rockport, Grandma had to walk something like 3 miles everyday up hill both ways to get their drinking and cooking water out of a well. I guess Grandma got back to their house with a full bucket of well water and then looked inside the bucket and there was a frog in the bottom. She yelled and threw out the water with the frog. Then she thought, “That was dumb. Now I just have to get more water and there are probably more frogs in the water.”
I also ran into people on my mission who would hear my name and say, “Mano Shimai?? Mano Shimaii??” And then they would go on and on about how much they loved Grandma. When I was in the MTC, I was coming out of the Provo Temple and a woman saw my name tag and stopped me. She was in the same area when Grandma first arrived on her first mission and was there when Grandma learned to ride a bike. She talked of Grandma’s determination and persistence in learning to ride a bike despite the many times she fell and the many bruises she had. It made me sad to hear about the bruises, but I remember being so proud to be her granddaughter and to share the name “Mano Shimai.”
Several years ago during one of my “breaks” from employment I came to stay with Grandma for a whole week. My mom’s side of the family is just as big and just as close as the Mano side so I had never devoted a whole vacation to just Grandma. I came back a few months later for another week with Grandma, but I still wish I would have done that more. I stayed at Grandma’s for an entire week and we worked on geneology. I had some old Japanese records from my mom’s side and Grandma could read them. It was really old Japanese writing. It was then that I came to understand why Grandma’s Japanese skills were preserved – not her speaking, but her reading. I have no doubt that her ability to read those old kanji was a blessing and a gift to help in geneology work.
My favorite story is the one about the “little piece of bread and the little cup of water”. I may get some of the facts wrong on this story – this is how I remember it: When Grandma was a young child she always had a faint memory of a little piece of bread and a little cup of water. Then one day when she was married, had children of her own and was back living in Utah, she went to church and there they were. A little piece of bread and a little cup of water. It was the same as her faint memory. As far as I know, she never figured out when or where, but she knew that sometime when she was a child she had been to a Mormon church before and seen the Sacrament. I gave a lesson in Relief Society once on the Sacrament when Grandma Mano was visiting us in California and I asked Grandma to share that story. It’s still my favorite.
When I think about all she has done in her life, I am truly amazed. Her life is made up of a million small acts of service. I don’t ever remember her being selfish. She seemed so pure to me that it seemed like doing good and being obedient and faithful was effortless – it was just part of her nature. I’ve always known I was blessed to be part an amazing family. I’m just so glad to have all the memories, both yours and mine, to keep Grandma with me.
