breathing, still.

After watching a movie with my brother and a friend, I returned to the two bedroom hotel room where my parents and grandparents were fast asleep. As I got ready for bed, I realized that the light in my grandparents room was still on, but I could tell that they sleeping. Quietly, I snuck into their room and, just as I turned off the bedside lamp, I glanced over. Watery eyed, I stood their. No, I wasn't standing. I felt like I was falling while being held in that moment, that space. Breathing. Perhaps dreaming. Sleep. Life. At first, I only heard breathing and that was enough. No immediate thoughts. Just listening, watching.

Life is so fragile and in this moment of vulnerability, my response wasn't to analyze, contemplate, or discuss. Tears. At first from the beauty of breath that sings the song of life. But then it was the sound of my Grandma calling me for dinner as she has since I was old enough to respond. Then the voice of my Grandpa telling me why he became a Christian after years of being a Buddhist. Then the sound of the train trekking through the Canadian Rockies as Grandpa sits with eager eyes watching the breath-taking beauty pass by, deep in thought articulated with simple laughter when I ask what he's thinking. Then their excited voices congratulating me at my graduation. Then their supportive reassurances as I moved to Egypt. And now tonight. I wrote this after dinner tonight:

A while back, Mom and Dad heard about "Tip Top" diner on one of those travel channel episodes. Excited to finally bridge the reality and T.V., Mom mapquested Tip Top, officially adding it to our itinerary. An afternoon of reading and relaxing (yes, Ikeda's DO relax on vacation) turned into an evening of Happy Hour in the lounge (In fact, extremely happy when we found out this hour included food along with the drinks...FREE!) Happy Hour turned into two hours, turned into "Mom's Mangle" when she realized we had 12 minutes to find this restaurant and order our food before they close. Having served during the closing shift, I know the internal tension when a party of seven walks in TWO minutes before closing. Presuming THEY would be like ME, I walk in with "I'm so sorry" look...

I left no consideration that some people actually enjoy the jobs they choose to stick with for more than thirty years -- be it washing dishes, serving food, refilling drinks....or welcoming eleventh hour GUESTS. Humbling is an understatement. They were sold out of their signature pulled-pork sandwich, but fully stocked with kindness, generosity, smiles, mouth-tingling pie, pleasant conversation, and a satisfaction with their lives that could be tasted in each bite of hamburger steak.... So satisfying that Grandma (yes, my little, 87 yr old, Japanese, 5' Grandma who got a ticket for crossing the street to slowly) didn't put down her fork until she was only two bites away from complete victory. Jared barely finished 3/4 of the same meal. TWO bites left. Fork down. I don't remember the specifics of my persuasion, but it went something like this: "From this moment, Grandma, whenever hamburger steak sits at the table, this story will be told. A story TWO bites away from being made!"

One bite left: "grandma. Grandma. [Mom joins in} GRANDMA. GRANDMA!!!"

Fork digs in. Mouth meets fork....with a glisten in her eyes, grandma savors the attention, holding the bite at her lips. A few waitresses have joined in the excitement. A cook peers through the window [the cheering may have been at Ikeda volume levels], a flash of the camera and the bite is gone. Devoured. Grandma owned the moment. A few claps, some high fives, proud smiles, a cleaned plate and then...from the farside of Grandma another fork raises. Last bite of salad on his fork (his unfinished country fried steak already packed in a to-go box), Grandpa leans forward for his moment. A 94 year old mouth, a childlike heart. Fork pauses at his mouth, freezing for a photo. A flash of the camera and the bite is gone. Salad all over Grandpa's lap. Priceless. A few more conversations with people who love thier jobs, love each other, and taught an unsuspecting guest a humbling lesson.

And now, breathing. Humbled, still.