DIGITAL MUSINGS: The Power of Time by P. Zimbardo

THE CONSTANT GARDENER: Innaugural Post

In the THE CONSTANT GARDNER, I aim to share weekly observations that adhere to Thomas Jefferson's words, "Though an old man, I am but a young gardener." 

In the Beginning. . . 
Three years ago, Megumu and I purchased a home in the cozy Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle.  The whole "mortgage" experience brought to our attention that we had a new asset in our Lives.

As our closing was in Winter, we took advantage of all the typical indoor activities of a Pacific Northwest Winter in an old house.  Scrabble games by the fire (Megumu almost always won!), rich stews and roasts in the kitchen, and lazy Sundays with coffee and the Times in the Eames lounger.

Spring came around, and I noticed something; we had a yard.  Lush, green and unkempt, our environs cried out to me like a horticultural siren.  I began to explore, not fully understanding the journey I was undertaking.  In May, Megumu dragged me to the Wallingford Community Edible Plant Sale.  Soothing latte in one hand and boxes of cherry roma tomato plants in the other, we clamored with our sisters and brothers of the Fleece Brigade to bring home just the right arrangement to begin the Seattle tradition of the Vegetable Garden. 

With our tomatoes inside anxiously awaiting the final frost of the season, I began to read a bit about gardening.  As it turns out, these little plants would need big space.  As it turns out, for about $35 of pine wood and soil, a junior varsity, scratch that, "waterboy" green thumb like me could produce a lovely 5x7 raised bed. 

Now, three years later, after over performing zucchini flowers, jaded San Marzanos, cute as a button Japanese eggplant, faithfully prolific kale and finicky herbs, there is no turning back.

All under one roof: A tour of multi-generational living

Each December, Megumu and I return to Tokyo for a kind of grand home coming combined with epicurean delight tour. Days are spent stocking up on Uniqlo must-have items (2009 was the year of the Heat-tec™ Underwear and loud flannels), browsing the galleries and coffee houses that are so whimsical and touring outside the city on bullet trains. Evenings find us out and about, soaking up the good humors of the bars (whiskey and sushi alike), generally catching up with old friends.

And we also gather at home quite a bit. Dinner is marked by certain continuities that I have grown to adore; my father-in-law ravenous to try to get to the end of whatever Oregon Pinot Noir I’ve muled over, my mother-in-law proudly slinging out multi-course feats of brilliance (can you say “gently fried pork cutlet”?).

One of my most beloved rituals is checking out the mind-blowing fun offered by primetime Japanese TV networks. From the “Ultimate Challenge” obstacle course to the Shou-gatsu Year End Talent show, the energy and idiosyncrasies keep my eyes open amidst the heavy pull of jet lag. Occasionally, we all turn our attention to some human interest piece produced by NHK. One such episode depicted the sei-ka-tsu (daily life) of a family with FIVE GENERATIONS living under one (very happy) roof. There was something so raw and alluring about a baby just sprung from the womb in the caring hands of a great-great grandmother born a century before.

Our own experience: The Seattle Four

With Emma’s birth, we’ve been blessed to have our own venture into multi-generational living. Megumu’s grandmother, Sumiko Imamura, hopped aboard the big bird from Narita to come and bet with us for nearly three weeks. In tow she brought her daughter, Emiko, my excellent mother-in-law (if there is such a term that avoids being oxymoronic). Better known as “Baba”, she has lavished her imprint upon our lives on many levels the precious days we’ve enjoyed. Emma (Two weeks), Megumu (30), Emiko (55) and Baba (89) comprise our “Seattle Four”.

Here is a list of observations, not such much exhaustive, as what has impacted me along the way:

Help = Energy

Six days after Emma’s birth (Father’s Day, curiously), Baba took a fall down the stairs. Yeah, I know, “89 year-old + fall = Oh sh*t!”. Baba was actually trying to get breakfast going for the whole house, including some hits of Stumptown Hairbender (maybe she and I are related by more than marriage?).

At 11:00 AM I found myself playing interpreter at the Emergency room for Baba as a nice young MD explained that she had suffered a fracture to her fibula (FYI, it’s the tibia that you really don’t want to fracture). Net-net, it could have been a lot worse.

While waiting to be discharged, I asked her “what were you thinking, going up and down the stairs like that?” She shared an interesting idea, that by helping us, so derived energy “genki ku naru yo!”. She ment that, she really did.

Over the course of the last week, Baba has been limited in moving around, yet her passion for helping us grows. She soothes Emma between feedings and soothes me when the U.S. chokes (well, maybe Ghana was really the best team. They are the ones who whip out the Israeli flag, after all).

Common Ground

Four generations of women have taught me about continuity in a big way. Here are a few of their favorite things that I know that Emma will cherish the fullness of time.

· Noshing: Specifically chocolate. Baba had me mule 24 Theo Milk Chocolate bars for her under the guise of o-mi-ya-ge (gifts for friends back home). Some of the bars have gone missing already. Hmmmm.

· Soccer: Well, Megumu is mildly impartial, but Emiko and Baba are rabid fans. This Tuesday Japan will face Paraguay in the round of 16, and I expect that our home will be at a stand-still from 11:30 AM to 1:30 PM Pacific.

· Flicks: As I type this post, all three women are engrossed with the Godfather Part I. I am watching them watching the Five Families Summit Scene. They have a look of total attention.

Little Victories

Baba and Emiko set sail for Tokyo this Friday. I will be sad to see them leave and filled with ganas to return to Tokyo later this year to continue the Story. Yes, it’s been a handful to care for a two week old and an 89-year-old. I can understand why there are homes for those in the sunset of Life. But personally, I’ve enjoyed a helping of inspiration through all of this. There is something marvelous about the little victories we can all enjoy an any day at any age.

Parenthood: Musings on the eve of my first Father’s Day

Sitting in the confines of Megumu’s glider taking a respite from it all, I find myself waxing on a videogame speed about the last week of Life. Emma Karen Brownstein’s grand entrance into the world has filled with an immense feeling of reflection and an early onset of that sweet disease commonly known as nachus. So I write, more for myself now, the hope that my words somehow amuse and tease the best inside those who take the time to read them.

Birth on the fly

Monday June 14, 2010 @ 12:30 Megumu and I found ourselves in the company of Dr. Zachary Pollack, our gifted, young OB, reviewing the plan for a C-section sometime during the week of June 21^st. After weeks of bed rest, Chinese moxabustion acupuncture, aqua flips and focused yoga postures our baby was still breech. With moist eyes and full hearts Megumu and I signed the paperwork to set the procedure for 6/23. Our dream of a fully natural birth was softly fading away, and we resolved to face the next turn in the journey with strength and grace.

@ 14:30 after a comforting bowl of Pho from Monkey Bridge, we met with our favorite ultrasound technician to review Megumu’s amniotic fluid level. After four weeks of NASDAQ recovery growth, the number had plummeted below 3 cm. The tech took the reading again. . . and again. Yes. It was low.

I knew then and there that Emma was coming to us that day, two weeks before her due date. The consult with our amazing midwives Audrey, Heather and Fra Na with Dr. Pollack was a mere formality.

Help from every direction

Sitting in Room 547 of Ballard Swedish Hospital, the reality of the situation began to envelope Megumu and me, freezing our ability to move into action. Somehow, I drew deep from instinct that had evaded me most of Life. . . asking for HELP. First, my wonderful business partners Forest and Brian. “Guys, I may not be able to follow through on my investor meetings this week.” “Adam Brownstein, we’ve got your back. Now go be a father!”

Next, considerate customers in India, Mexico and U.S. to my note of being off line for “awhile”. “Mazel tov!” (from a blond haired Catholic uber mensch client in Seattle).

Even investors who had once drawn swords over our A-2 Series negotiation for buuteeq now found themselves cheering for us. “Let’s close this week!”

Service on demand. Our dear friend, Coby, coming to the rescue delivering our “hospital” bag along with a charged camera, honey sticks and extra pairs of underwear.

And Family. The sweet, proud miracle of family. Nanny Lindy and Papa Neill would be in Seattle by 9:00 AM the next day. 90 years-young Baba Sumiko and Grandma Emiko would follow suit from Tokyo the day after.

One more soul. One more Hope.

@ 20:40 our dedicated nurse, Doreen (so wonderful) came into our room. “It’s time.” If my (few feets) of athletic triumph or my Bar Mitzvah represented me running as fast as possible than hearing those words put me into a pace that can best be summed up as “Usain Bolt.”

@ 20:50 I let go of Megumu’s hand and gazed at her floating into the OR. I stood behind a yellow line trying to summon whatever pranayama breathing techniques thieved from the yogis in New York, San Francisco and Seattle (guess what, it actually worked!). @ 21:05 the door to the OR opened and the next thing I knew I was sitting next to Megumu. Her eyes, pregnant with fear spoke deeply to me, and answered with a calming voice, “Dai-jo-bu” a whimsical Japanese catch all that Bob Marley would enjoy (“. . . everything’s gonna be alright.”)

Megumu steadied herself and requested me to speak of Troncones, the ethereal fishing village on the west coast of Mexico where we had spent spring holiday last year. A strength poured out from inside of her that gave me pause and filled me with humility.

@ 21:15 Kevin, our compassionate anesthesiologist quipped “how do you say ‘let’s get started’ in Japanese?” Megumu faintly giggled for the first time in a long time. @ 21:35 our midwife said “I spy one foot. . . and now two feet.” @ 21:37 the bleating, beautiful boastful cry of our daughter filled the chilly OR with warmth and grace.

@ 21:38 I saw her, replete with a proud shock of black hair passed to her from thousands of years of Japanese and Jewish ancestors. And I felt three profound emotions.

1. Wow! She looks just like Sumiko! (Megumu’s grandmother)

2. The world has more Hope now.

3. I love my wife.

The bond now forged

By 22:15 Megumu and Emma were bonding back in Room 547. Skin to skin with low lights and some kind of Brian Eno theme languishing softly in the low lights of the room. Emma weighed 6 lbs. 1 oz. measuring 18.5 inches. A little bambina for a little couple.

As night faded into deep night, Deon worked in emphatically with Emma and Megumu to develop a good latch. Colostrum flowed triggered oxytocin. Oxytocin triggered Love. And then Love called Emma to sleep on Megumu’s chest. Megumu found now sleep that first night. As I sojourned in and out of slumber on the cot, I kept gazing at Megumu. Each time I found her eyes transfixed on Emma. Like the bond of any mother and her cub in nature (or lithe blue being and flying dragonhorse in a James Cameron film), the bond had been forged. Ka-boom!

Again feelings burnished with clarity rang out to me:

1. I love my wife

2. I love my child

3. When all is mishuga/FUBAR, kindly refer to #1 and #2.

Day One: New connections and the strength to stand

Morning came and with Emma resting next to me now on the cot, I instinctively recognized the sound of it a force more powerful that any army or act of nature. . .

. . . JEWISH GRANDPARENTS.

Fresh off the 6 AM shuttle from SFO, Linda and Neill floated into the room. I swaddled Emma and transferred her l’dov v’dor to Linda who cooed and cast her healing soul and eyes upon our child. Then I asked Neill “are you ready to hold your granddaughter?” “I’m scared,” he said, concerned that he would somehow not clutch her in a safe way. “A, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say you’re scared.” “B, here she is.”

(Note, the photo of Neill holding Emma is still #1 with a bullet on our Phanfare page as of 6/19)

Having checked the nachus box, I turned my attention to Megumu. While a C-section can be a bit easier on baby, it is no walk in the park for mommy. In the afternoon on Day One I helped Megumu stand up and walk one step. That is it for now. The pain was immense.

Megumu persevered, nourishing Emma every couple of hours and suffering the slings of newbie breastfeeding. One of our nurses qualified the situation “Until now, Emma has been enjoying Club Med, aka your womb. She has had an all-expenses paid existence thanks to you. Now she has to work for her food, and you have to work to learn to give it to her.”

Day Two: Four generations and a walkabout

Just as Nanny Lindy and Papa Neill came in on queue on Tuesday morning, so came Great Grandmother Sumiko and Grandmother Emiko on Wednesday. As reported by a trusted source, Sumiko (90 years-young) jumped out of the rented Puff Daddy Escalade upon arrival at the Hospital. She clutched Emma with confidence and love while we all took in the miracle of being spectators to the Gen1-Gen4 show.

Next came Emiko. As Emma rested in her arms I recalled her speech at our wedding in Tokyo on April 16, 2006. “There are many things in Life to do, and the greatest of them all is having children.” Over the course of this week, he wisdom has been echoing to me again and again.

. . . What’s past is prologue

As I am now officially a “busy parent” I will skip to the present moment. It’s our first Havdalah, and the notorious grey weather that is customary for Seattle near the Summer Solstice is pouring into the nursery. Over time, I will recount the noble endeavor of late night feedings and the selfish projection of introducing one’s child to the merits of Sir Jimmy, Robert, John Paul and John (RIP).

But for now I need to go change a diaper, so let me say thanks.

Thanks to the extraordinary team of midwives, birthing coaches, doctors and nurses who helped shepherd Emma into the world.

Thanks to the family and friends who showered us with love and affection . . . and commanded me to start blogging about the Experience.

And, most significantly, thanks to Emma and Megumu for making me the most blessed man in the universe.

Happy Father’s Day to all the daddy’s, chi-chi’s, papa’s and abah’s out there. And thanks to those of you who got them there.

Love,

Aj on Day Five