Green Papaya Salad - Aridoi Restaurant, Okinawa Japan

My favorite salad, namesake of my blog.  Found at a wonderful restaurant in Okinawa, Japan.  Dad cooks, Mom waits tables.  I eat.  Life is good.

The Rabbit Moon

A long time ago

and so far, far away

lived a beautiful girl

in a town by the bay.

Eyes shaped like almonds

and skin tan and brown.

Her hair black as midnight,

and a face oh so round.

It was Sadako's duty

to gather the honey

to sell at the market

and help the family with money.

So early each morning

to the bee hives she went.

Such a sweet little girl,

such a gift heaven sent.

And each night after chores

she would dream and then sigh,

and stare at the moon

with the rabbit up high.

She dreamed she took flight

with the bees from the hive,

and flew up to the moon

even though she was five!

Well she took to the heavens

with the help of the bees,

and visited the rabbit

who was munching on cheese.

"What a beautiful world

to see with my eyes!

I'll just take a quick nap

and then home I will fly!"

She dreamed of rabbits and pinwheels

and cupcakes and poems.

Then the rabbit awoke her and said,

"You can never go home."

But Sadako pleaded.

She felt all alone.

She missed her dear family.

So she flew away home!

So off she did fly

and arrived at her home.

But something was different,

her home was now gone!

A stranger passed by

whom she asked with great fear,

"Where is my family?

Why aren't they here?"

"Who are you? What's your name",

the stranger then asked.

"I'm Sadako Sasaki!"

Then the stranger did gasp!

"Sadako Sasaki,

the legend has been told

left home at age five,

over three centuries ago!"

Sadako wept

because the rabbit was right.

You can never go home

if you fly away in the night.

So when you gaze at the moon

or dream of the stars,

remember home is where the heart is...

it's not all that far.

Senora Saturday

A short story of family, tradition, pain, and finding the courage to love.

My name is Bart, well actually Rogelio Bartolome. San Francisco, California has been my home for most of my fifty nine years. My parents, God bless them, brought me here from Spain when I was two years old. My Papa was a baker, a wonderful baker. My Mother...she was an ángel.
Papa worked hard in the bakery business. Sixteen hour days, coming home covered in flour, smelling of warm bread from the ovens. That’s how I remember him. His smell...I could smell him before he walked in through the door of our tiny apartment. These are the memories I have of him over half a century later. His hard work and love for his craft helped us achieve the American dream. With his savings he bought his own bakery. Mama christened the bakery Dulce Día, and it was indeed a sweet day. A very successful bakery with a loyal Spanish customer base located in Berkeley. All the older Spanish señoras come by still. They show up every Saturday morning to be first in line to purchase the loaves of Pan de Horno as it comes out of the brick oven. No one made real Spanish bread better than Papa did, not even me. It’s my bakery now and its success continues with the work ethic I learned from him. Hard work, love for your fellow man, honest work. It all bought my beautiful home, nice cars, college education for the kids, my precious gold Rolex that Maria gave me for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. But I would trade it all away for just one more day with her. She’s been gone now for almost six years. I still wear a pink ribbon on my lapel and there’s one in the window of the bakery. It reminds me of her and brings me comfort. I miss her so. That’s why I’m ending it all. I have already decided. I’ll not live to see my sixtieth birthday. At approximately 4:27 pm on July 31, I will end my life.
How fitting my death will be. Rogelio ‘Bart’ Bartolome stepping in front of the Bay Area Rapid Transit 'BART' as it leaves Ashby station. Oh yes, I know the schedule. It’s on the internet. You can look it up yourself. The Richmond line leaves the station at approximately 4:12 pm, picks up passengers at Ashby station and departs at 4:27 pm. That’s when I’ll step in front of the speeding train, my ticket to heaven. I’m counting on a quick and not too painful death. It really doesn’t matter; the pain of life is greater. My only regret will be leaving my two children behind without their Papa. I do hope they will understand. They both will receive a very substantial inheritance and of course the bakery, which they will undoubtedly sell. Family first as I put away the thoughts of suicide for only a moment. The señoras will be angry I suppose. No more lovely Spanish bread, at least not from the Dulce Día.
The week passed by with the occasional thought of what Friday would bring, but it wasn’t a constant thought. I was resolute in my determination to do what I had to do. I still found pleasure in my work, and of course the daily telephone calls I would receive from my children. That was my pleasure in life, the kids. Little did either one of them know that by the end of the week they would both be without their Papa. I knew they would both grieve deeply.
My daughter, Valentina will be especially hurt. She was my little girl. She looks so much like her Mother. The dark wavy hair, the olive complexion, and that bright smile; it was what first attracted me to Maria. And her personality was Maria's to a fine point. My daughter, I miss her so much since she married and moved to Connecticut with her husband Mike. Another reason to be depressed I thought.
Friday arrives, and I am eager for it to end. Standing in the passenger queue of the Ashby station I look at my cell phone to check the time. The cell phone is my watch as I don't want my Rolex destroyed when the train rolls over my body. As I glance at the time I see it's 4:25 pm, a couple more minutes and I’ll be dead. As I start to put my cell into my pocket I notice an alert flashing on the screen...”You have one unread message”. OK, I thought as I dialed my voice mail. I’ve got a couple of minutes. One last message, and I laughed as it would definitely be the last. The message then began. “Hola Papa, it's Valentina. You’ll never guess what I have to tell you...I’m pregnant! Mike and I have known for three months, but we wanted to be sure I would make it through the first trimester before we told you. Papa, it’s a girl too…we want to have your blessing and name her after Mother; Maria Ysabel. Papa, I love you. Please call me when you get this message. Bye.”

That night I got down on my knees to talk to God, and I humbly apologized to him for being so selfish...so weak. I reminded myself that I’m a much stronger man than that...my Papa raised me to be stronger. Now I will be a Grandfather to Maria Ysabel and teach her about hard work, love for your fellow man, honesty, but above all that, I'll teach her about her beautiful Abuela Maria. Yes, Maria would like that.

I should sleep now I thought...tomorrow is Saturday and the señoras will be hungry.

Seasons of Love

For Nan...

Would you hold me now and comfort me

before the leaves fall from the maple tree

In the quietness of a moonlit glow

would you draw me close and not let go

Can you take me back to Summer's past

when our hearts were young and love was fast

Our pockets empty but life was grand

as we made a family hand in hand

So hold me now in our Autumn years

and warm my soul as Winter nears

I always knew our love would last

beyond our youthful seasons past

Warriors Wear Pink

It's been four years since we learned. As always I accompanied my wife to her annual mammogram. We had been doing this for the past dozen years. I would sit in the waiting room while my wife would go into the radiology department and have her annual mammogram. I would typically read through a Readers Digest or whatever was available and before I could finish half of the book, my wife would be done. This time was different. I sat and read the book from cover to cover, then another, then another, then another. Finally my wife emerged and said "They found something." As soon as she told me, she was taken in to another room for an ultrasound, and I waited for what seemed like eternity. Then the doctor came out and said they found a lump the size of a dime, and we should make an appointment with a surgeon for a biopsy.

The biopsy was scheduled for the following week. And then we waited another week for the results. The follow up appointment confirmed our worst fears, yet we had prepared for the worst. It was breast cancer, and it would have to be removed. Two weeks of waiting and then the lumpectomy came along with sentinel lymph node biopsy. Another week and we knew it was in the lymph system. The terrible call came from her surgeon while we were shopping. We left the shopping cart in the aisle of the store and came home. Now came what we thought would be the hard part. Little did we know.

We were scheduled for a bilateral modified radical mastectomy. When it was done we thought "Wow, we made it!" Again, we had no clue. Chemotherapy was waiting for us behind the curtains.

Six months of chemotherapy followed. Loss of feminity, loss of hair, loss of appetite, energy, sexuality, being. Hospitalizations, pneumonia, anemia. The list was endless.

All together, I shaved my head at least a dozen times in support of my wife. I still wear a pink ribbon on my suit lapel to show support for those who have been affected by this horrible disease.
Now here we are four years later. We still see the oncologist every six months. I say we, because we are a team. Husband and wife. I have learned so much from my wife during this episode in our lives. I have learned strength beyond what I could have imagined. I have learned you can't run out of tears. I have learned to be humble. But most of all I have learned to accept what God gives you, and not be selfish, and to trust whatever hand you are dealt, and to play it to the best of your ability.
I have learned that I am stronger than I thought. I learned that warriors wear pink.

Cupcakes in Prayerville

I had put this road trip on hold for such a long time. Ever since hearing all the rave reviews about a quaint patisserie in Prayerville, California, I have been eager to go there myself.

Karen Marie's Cupcake Shoppe was my destination this clear blue-skied Saturday morning. I soon found myself driving south along the Eastshore freeway headed toward a tiny little town situated between Pinole and Berkeley. My GPS programmed earlier in the morning with my destination input as 111 Pink Pinwheel Road, Prayerville, CA.

The cupcakes in this tiny bakery were said to be unequaled in taste and in texture. Some would argue that cupcakes of this standard could only be found in Lyon, France...maybe Paris. But to many who had visited Karen Marie's, well...these cupcakes were the best.

The owner and propriétaire, Ms Karen Marie had been taught her culinary and baking skills by the famed five star Michelin chef Henri Lapin, master baking chef of Le Cordon Bleu culinary academy in Paris. Mademoiselle Marie learned early in her career to use only the freshest and most seasonal ingredients in her preparations. In fact, her menu at the Cupcake Shoppe changed daily dependent on what ingredients were the freshest. Today, I hoped the famed Apricot cupcake with fresh vanilla sugar was on the menu, but certaily I would not be picky about anything prepared by Mlle Marie.

As I took the Pink Pinwheel Road exit off of the Eastshore freeway I immediately spotted my destination. It was a beautiful small pink cottage with peppermint canes uniquely displayed in the front of the building. Each one paired with another to form the shape of a heart. A large pink spiraled door invited me in. As I took a seat at a little table in the corner I noticed the cupcake du jour was Apricot! The Buddhist in me smiled. I once again was reminded by some inner knowledge from a past life that karma makes the world go around.

A beautiful princess dressed in a diaphanous Cinderella gown and sparkling diamond tiara approached my table and said, "How may I help you kind Sir?" "Oh, I will have the most splendid apricot cupcake with the vanilla sugar topping and a cup of your most wonderful house brewed coffee please." As princess Karen finished taking my order, she turned and walked toward the kitchen and I overheard her say in a hushed voice "The Commander has arrived!"

Oh, by the way you might think this is a fairy tale, but it really happened! Yes, it was yesterday while napping. After I read a story of a sweet little girl and her cupcakes. And today, I still recall the most delicious cupcake ever tasted. I remember pouring creme into my coffee from a white porcelain rabbit creamer. But most of all I remember an angel named Mademoiselle Karen Marie, owner/propriétaire of Karen's Cupcake Shoppe. If you ever are in Prayerville she'll be saving you a seat at the pink little table. Until then...au revoir.

In Due Time - Gracias Ernest

I sat completely silent and motionless below the interstate overpass as rain fell and drenched my feet from the small riverlets of water that ran down the walls of my sanctuary. Thunder shook the earth, as streaks of lightning lit up the evening sky like an incandescent bulb being turned on in a darkened room. I understood why this was happening. I recognized God’s wrath. Oh yes, God was angry with me. I had been a glutton for many months since my wife left. I was mortally sinful of all things indulgent. I must make amends with God soon before my abhorrent life slips out of control...before it’s too late to salvage any goodness from my heart. But tonight I will wipe myself dry of the rain and drink wine. And with wine, she will find me. She will sing to me tonight I told myself. She will sing, and I will listen until we fall into each other’s embrace and become one. Afterwards I will sleep. Tomorrow she will be gone and I will speak to God if he is willing to listen I thought as I stood up from the damp earthen floor and found my way towards city lights once again.