This morning, Benjamin and I had to get a blood test. I guess this makes us blood brothers.
It’s been about 8 years since my last test. Now that Benjamin is one year old, his pediatrician wants him tested for lead as a precaution since housing in San Francisco can date back to when paint and pipes had lead.
When getting him ready for the visit, I got him dressed. He started repeating “sosh” when I was putting on his socks. I mistakenly thought the lab could get a sample from his foot, so I skipped putting on his shoes.
He saw me pick up his sandals, and ran at me yelling “shoosh!” But when I dropped them in his diaper bag, he wasn’t having it at all. He associates his “shoosh” with going out, thought this meant I was leaving without him, and started crying.
It took all of five seconds, but that was five seconds too long for my son.
Around table: Mrs. Ree, Dr Francis (bro., dr,. physics), Joan, Dr. Alexis T. (dr. chem), Bernadetter (languages, psychology), Taresa (chemistry).
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Given the misspelling of my mom’s name, I have a feeling this was an outtake from this article which was published later. This photo, unlike the others, has Francis in it, which makes sense as that was just before he went looking for a job with his newly-minted Ph.D. (beating my mom by a single semester).
As expected, even in a posed photo, Francis is enjoying eating.
My aunt started an e-mail thread in my family. I’ll include excerpts here periodically.
I am cleaning the house of more pictures — so many. In the album Grandma Omma left, I found some pictures your mom. I will send another email of your mom and dad’s wedding that you probably have seen already.
My mom, like her father before her, loved science. She started in physical chemistry like her father but her heart condition caused by rheumatic fever led her to work in biophysics studying the neural network of the heart and heart arrhythmias.
I still remember when we came up to Pittsburgh for your mom’s funeral. I was only 12 and I remember only one story at the eulogy—so this was good to watch too—and I don’t remember if you or Ken said it but it was about…
Of course it was in a larger story where the people in the audience had laughed, but that was the quote I remember.
I forgot that story and that was one my mom liked to tell her university students. It was in the part of the eulogy where I talk about my mom and me (the second story). It goes like this…
Mom had a heart condition which made life tough on her and she sometimes, when she was tired or exasperated physically, she’d say, “I’m dying!”
“Terry, I’m dying!” She exclaimed one time when I was seven.
I was feeling irritable that day. “Mommy! I’m dying; you’re dying. From the minute we’re born, we’re dying!” I said.
Ever after that, when she’d want to say she’s dying, she’d follow it up with that quote: “Ahh! I’m dying …(pause)… ‘Mommy! From the minute we’re born, we’re dying.’”
My brother, father, and sister-in-law in Providence 2010.
I’m going to try to use ScanCafe to digitize my parents old photos quickly. I am receiving it as “a thank you gift” during KQED Public Radio’s last pledge drive. The idea is they send you a box, you fill it with photos and slides, and then they give you DVDs with them digitized.
The dishes are being passed around the table: turkey, white and dark meat, cranberry sauce, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potato, stuffing, kimchee…
Maybe at your Thanksgiving there is that dish that is not like the others—the one that reminds you that no matter how twinkie you’ve become, there is still a hint of your ethnic heritage you just can’t get rid of.
At the Korean-American Thanksgiving table, that dish is kimchee.
The sight of kimchee reminds me that in the last two decades, this is only my second Thanksgiving spent with the family. I recall the other one…
I’m sick (in more ways than one)
North Beach, San Francisco, California
Apple MacBook Pro iSight
I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed yesterday, but I eventually did which was probably not wise.
Being sick means waking up with strange or horrible dreams.
This time, it is years later and my instant best friend has died. I’m thinking how horrible it is that she died so young, so soon after we met, and how I can barely recall her name and face now. But I wake up, everything is fine, nobody’s dead, and its only me who is sick.
I want to call her and make sure she really isn’t dead, but I don’t want to be served with a temporary restraining order. So I think better of it and blog where this private insanity of mine comes from.