Hello. Konnichiwa.

My name is Keiko Holloway. I am eighty years old. My grandson Daniel says everybody has a page on the computer now, so I should have one too. I tell him what to say, and he types. He types very fast. I talk very slow. It works out.

How I met Bill

I was born in 1919 in a small town near Yokohama. After the war I worked at the American PX, wrapping packages. One day in 1950 a tall young soldier came to my counter three times to buy one pack of chewing gum. Each time, one pack. My friend said, "Keiko, nobody likes gum that much."

That was Bill.

It was not easy for us to marry. There was much paper to sign, and many people did not like it, in his country and in mine. We waited. Bill was patient. He was always patient.

In 1952 I came to America on a big ship. I was sick almost the whole way. When I saw land, I cried, because I was happy, and because I was afraid, and because I was still sick.

Learning English

I knew only a little English. "Hello." "Thank you." "How much?" I learned from Bill, from the radio, from the ladies at church, and from the newspaper, one word at a time with my dictionary.

Bill's mother, Ruth, did not know what to think of me at first. The first week she made me biscuits. I made her rice. By Christmas we were friends. She taught me pecan pie, and I taught her to fold paper cranes.

The hardest word for me was "Worcestershire." I still do not say it right. Bill laughed every time. So I kept saying it.

My family

Bill and I had three children: Susan, Mary Ann and Tom. Now I have seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. They call me Obaachan. That is "Grandma" in Japanese. Even the babies try.

Bill passed away in 1995. We were married more than forty years. I still talk to him in the garden. He does not answer. But he never did answer much. He was a good listener.

My garden

My garden is my happy place. San Antonio is very hot, so I go out early in the morning with my coffee, before the sun is high. I grow tomatoes, eggplant, and shiso, a Japanese herb that smells a little like mint and a little like basil. In the fall I have chrysanthemums. In Japanese they are kiku.

Bill planted a persimmon tree for me in 1960. In Japanese, persimmon is kaki. Every fall I give bags of them to the neighbors. Some do not know what to do. I tell them: my kind, you must wait until very soft, like pudding. Then it is sweet. Some things are like that.

Mochi at New Year's

Every New Year's our family makes mochi. We steam sweet rice and pound it until it is smooth and sticky, then we make little round cakes while it is still warm. All the grandchildren want a turn to pound. The rice goes everywhere. On New Year's morning we eat ozoni, a soup with mochi in it, for good luck in the new year.

This New Year's will be the year 2000. Daniel says maybe the computers will stop. I tell him mochi does not need a computer.

A few words

Arigato — thank you
Obaachan — grandma
Sakura — cherry blossom
Kaki — persimmon
Sayonara — goodbye

Thank you for reading my story. It is a simple story. But it is mine.

Keiko