Friday, January 13, 2012

Coming back to work after the holiday break, I knew I needed to anticipate incoming artillery. Spring semester always seems to have a certain stress as we deliver on the current academic year while we plan for the next. That I remained unfazed by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune through Thursday of this first week of class and university operations has reminded me of the value of getting real rest. Not chemo-necessitated rest, but sofa-lounging, book-reading, nap-taking rest which I got in Cayucos, one of our favorite places in the world.

After the holiday hecticness, Akemi and I made our way from Palo Alto down the coast for a four-day stay in this little beach town just south of San Simeon. We have been coming to this homey place which time forgot since Craig and Wendy’s wedding about 25 years ago. Because of Wendy’s roots and hospitality there, we have returned many times over the years. The long, shallow beach is ideal for toddler sand castles and teenage body surfing. Akemi has enjoyed ocean kayaking and sailing in nearby Morro Bay with Craig, and we have eaten many a s’more, won ton, tuna melt on San Luis garlic sourdough bread, and Seafood Shanty ice cream dessert with Katie and Mitchell. When we could not bear to face the first Christmas after Bing died at home, we took up their invitation to come instead to Cayucos to be with them.

This visit, though, we were there on our own. Without athletic Craig organizing sand dune climbing, our most ambitious activities were to make friends with the dogs waiting onshore for their surfing owners, make our customary pilgrimage to Linn’s in Cambria, and make room for popcorn during a Netflix marathon. We were glad to add another happy stay in Cayucos to our memory book.

The rest did me so much good that I am chagrined, even startled, to realize how much better I now feel, and with the comparison, how crummy I had been feeling throughout December. As Donald said, it is not new information that I do too much. I thought I was doing better in managing my activity level, but I see afresh that cutting back even more has got to be the priority new year’s resolution.

I now have had one more Rituxan treatment than my dad had, and have found myself reaching for the same kind of coping strategies that he tried – hot baths, gentle movement, massage. He took up tai chi and invested in some foul-smelling Chinese herbal tea. I’ll skip the Chinese herbs but see the utility of something like tai chi instead of aerobics. He was in his 70s and retired but I have to figure this out in my 50s while working for the long stretch.

This last week of Akemi’s break, I haven’t been home much. So she and I have a growing list of things to do and take care of this weekend before she heads back to Boston. Then I will take a hard look at my calendar and start penciling in “real rest time.”

Monday, January 2, 2012

Ever since John Elway took Stanford to the Rose Bowl, my mother-in-law Ellen had said, “I just wish Stanford would make it to the Rose Bowl one more time in my life.” I would reply that I wished her a very long life. We all agreed, though, that if Stanford ever did make it to the Rose Bowl again, the Kamei-Leungs would throw the biggest party ever. On New Years Day 2000, we did.

Bing worked hard for months putting together every element for the convenience of his parents and the Kohatsus, connected through two generations of Stanford/Palo Alto ties. A Paul, Hastings friend of mine and patient of Bing’s then on the Pasadena City Council gave us four complimentary grandstand seats for senior Leungs and Kohatsus, right at the corner of Orange Grove and Colorado where the parade makes its famous turn on camera. Another patient who lived a block away from that famed corner saved us space to park in her driveway. Bing scoped out parade route space for himself with Neal and his family, and pre-paid for private parking at the Rose Bowl so we could arrive for the game relatively late and leave relatively early with minimum walking.

About 5 a.m. that morning, everyone arrived at our house, all bundled up and bright-eyed with excitement. I surprised Mrs. Kohatsu with ozoni ready to serve; she thought for sure that they would miss eating new years mochi. No way, I told her. This is not the year to risk any bad luck! With a box of Winchell’s donuts and a thermos of hot coffee, they were off. Akemi and I stayed home to watch the parade on TV and to prepare lunch and dinner.

As we looked for our seats at the Rose Bowl, we headed farther and farther down, and farther and farther to the center. We had gotten tickets with the Bradfords and had no idea where we would end up. We were all amazed to be seated about 40 rows up from the field, nearly dead-on center. To top it off, another good friend then with UCLA who held a seat on the Rose Bowl operating board (because UCLA plays their home games at the Rose Bowl) had our seat numbers from Bing in advance and met us so anyone in our party could go down to the field wearing his field pass.

After the game, we had more food back at the house, and Akemi and I played some music as the big day drew to a close. That Stanford lost to Wisconsin did not mar the day. In fact, when Neal spoke at Bing’s memorial service three years later, he shared a lot of this special new years day out of a lifetime of happy memories together with Bing. This is one of my favorite photos of Wally and Ellen, which Bing took that day.

When I made plans for Akemi and me to visit Bing’s family, I didn’t know that Stanford would be playing tonight in the Fiesta Bowl. Ellen was happy to hear that we will be arriving in time to watch the game together. We are leaving Wisconsin and Oregon to their Rose Bowl festivities, as we hit I-5 north.

Happy new year, and go Stanford!

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Sometimes you just know. As I took in the front page of today’s Los Angeles Times in a glance, I just knew that the unfocused face in the photo is cousin Cindy, or rather Chief Judge Cynthia Leung of the Las Vegas Municipal Court. The “Column One” article “Starting over, with help,” features the Las Vegas court’s program “Women in Need” which Cindy has overseen.

This “WIN” program suspends the jail sentences of prostitutes while they undergo rehab to help them build a new life. Rather than getting thrown in jail, only to get picked up again and land back in court later, they receive AA support, counseling, housing, and job training to overcome addiction, abuse, lack of education and job skills, and the stigma of their prostitute lives. Makes sense to me. Cindy has told us wild stories of her experiences first as a DA and then as a judge with jurisdiction over “The Strip,” as well as remarkable examples of “graduates” from this incredible program.

Chief Judge Cynthia is following in most honorable footsteps. Her maternal grandfather, Ma Shou-hua, held many illustrious judicial positions in Taiwan, including Chief Justice of the Administrative Court. Bing only has two cousins on the Leung side, but the gene pool talent is beautifully strong there.

Not long after Bing and I were married, Cindy spent a summer week with us. She was in junior high, living in Palm Desert; the week was a change of scenery for her and a chance for us to get to know her a little better. We had a great time, and were impressed even then with Cindy’s intellectual curiosity, her articulateness, sense of humor, and commitment to excellence. Sometimes you just know.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

That law school Saturday morning, I exited the Washington, DC metro bundled up against the early February snow flurries. Other girls and their mothers were arriving at Garfinkel’s annual bridal show by limousine. I was meeting Linda there to share in the fun of a designer salon experience and to provide moral support, as we anticipated being intimidated by the debutante world. As champagne flutes were being passed by wait staff who looked exported from Masterpiece Theatre, Linda whispered to me, “Have you seen the rings on these girls? I’m keeping my left hand in my pocket.”

And such was my one experience looking at wedding dresses with a girlfriend. The morning my mom and I had designated as the Saturday to seriously look for my wedding dress, she called me to say, “Your dad is coming, too.” I had not expected him to have been interested, but I don’t know why I had assumed he wouldn’t have been. It was cute the way he ended up driving the day’s agenda, starting out as was my mother’s wish at the Bullock’s Wilshire salon, then down the street to Saks Fifth Avenue, and finally, much more realistically, at the local salon here in Pasadena. When I emerged in one particular dress, it was my dad who said, “That’s the one.”

My wedding dress drama didn’t kick in until about three weeks before the wedding. Short as I am, I paid extra to have the dress custom hemmed shorter than the size 2 specifications to exactly my height. When I tried on the dress when it arrived, the length was okay, but at least three of me could have fit in it. I was horrified to see the label inside that said, “Size 6.”

Because I had received a custom specification, the salon refused to do anything about the mistake. Their attitude was, “That’s your dress.” The mother of one of my piano students, an excellent seamstress, jumped into action, toiling those three weeks to take the dress apart, recut it to fit me out of the pieces, and then painstakingly resew on all the lace and beading. With her labor of love, the dress ended up fitting me perfectly. The upshot, though, was that instead of a modest size 2 not-quite-a-train, I ended up with a size 6 train of Princess Diana proportions. Nearly 30 years later, this at least makes for a good story.

This afternoon, Akemi, a bridesmaid, will accompany Sarah, the bride-to-be, making the rounds of the bridal salons in town, on Sarah’s hunt for dress ideas. It’s a “Sunrise, Sunset” time – how did these girls grow up to be such beauties, planning weddings, no less? Wasn’t it just yesterday that Linda and I were at Garfinkel’s? Then tonight, they will watch an old Disney video. Thank heavens they haven’t completely grown up quite yet.