On March 11, 2011, a massive earthquake and tidal wave struck Japan. In Hawaii, we were on tsunami alert. Every one felt uneasy. Every thing changes, every thing ages. A moment in superseded by a myriad of moments in the ceaseless time. One month later, Auntie Laura died. She played a grand hoax on Mommy and me. Donna Joan was her designated trustee and beneficiary. She could not be located. Auntie Laura counted on Donna to do the most. Ironically, Donna did nothing. All the best laid plans amounted to nothing. I had to wade through all the grief and mess of one death followed by another.

Every one knew that Papa T. had a signature dish of oxtail stew served with mashed potatoes. How did he learn to cook such a dish? As an immigrant from Japan, he somehow was able to get on a ship bound for Boston, MA. He worked on the ship and eventually became the cook. He chose to call himself George in honor of the first U.S. President George Washington. Papa T. married Mama B. who was fifteen years his junior. They had eight children, four boys and four girls. My Dad remembers how poor they were. He recalls seeing a single dollar bill in his mother's wallet when the rent was due.