Four

We spent last week in Toronto with family. Kuni's Japanese grandmother flew in for a visit and we happily zipped up to introduce the girls to the woman who had a hand in naming them. Hiibaachan is a one of a kind. A tiny, lovely, general of a lady. She and I don't speak enough of the same language to have a conversation in the classical kind of way, but that's never stopped us from talking. We have things to say! So we chat here and there, in our respective tongues; two languages, lots of gestures, lots of enunciating. It's rare that our verbal exchanges are technically successful, but that never seems to slow her down, so I keep trying as well. And the message is clear, she and I have love for each other. And that's all I need to know. She adores the girls. They speak even less Japanese than I do. But all the same, by the end of the week, the same message had been delivered between Hiibaachan and Louise, Hiibaachan and Suze too. I could see that it brought her joy. And me too.
We went to the zoo on Wednesday. Chihiro, the bug of "fathomless depth", our baby who's not such a baby these days, casually glanced at an animal or two while she people-watched. A parade of individuals marched by for her entertainment: folks dressed in school uniforms, turbans, even full sleeve tattoos. We wandered for hours, enjoying creatures as varied as the humans observing them. Towards the end of the afternoon, Hiro-chan opted to ride on Hiibaachan's lap in the wheel-chair. The two of them cruised around with perfect posture, one out of nature, the other out of practice. Periodically, bitsy Lou softened her stance and rested her fresh, pudgy cheek against Hiibaachan's shoulder. Young and old, enjoying the sunshine with all their strength. I watched them, and I felt happy.
Hisako, the monkey destined for "eternal child"hood, is a notoriously slow warmer. I like that about her, she's cautious. She showed obvious signs of uncertainty regarding this stranger so clearly thrilled to be in her presence. It took till Friday evening for her to finally crack. Hiibaachan was invited to sit in on bedtime stories, so down the stairs they all went: Daddy, Curly, Baachan, Hiibaachan. I got some things settled upstairs and went down to contribute my good-night kisses. Crowded on the bed I found four generations, sweet-stinky monkey in the middle, listening to "Go Diego Go" in a circle of comfort while Hiibaachan lived a dream and drifted off beside her. I joined the party. The warmth of the room reminded me of the family I grew up with, often voluntarily crammed in together for the pure pleasure of one another's company. I wondered how many people feel so at home with the families they married. And I felt lucky.