When I think of grandma, I remember her philosophy on vacation: relax and do whatever you want. Whenever we were at the cottage or at her house in Ottawa, that's exactly the rule we would follow. I remember swimming with her in the lake, our feet touching the moss--she said it was like a luxurious rug underwater. I remember doing crossword puzzles with her in bed. I remember how we'd get blueberry pie at Carolla's and eat it while we played Boggle. (Grandma was the person who always beat me at Boggle until the day I learned her tricks.) All of my memories with grandma are happy memories, filled with food and comfort and good times. I miss her.

My mother, Christine Stone, was very fond of Martin, probably because she recognized in Martin some traits of my father. For example, prioritizing telling a good story over adhering to the facts. 

Just to set the record straight:

(1) Before Victoria was born we ordered a very fancy baby bassinette which had not arrived when Victoria came, two weeks early. My father came to the rescue: he took one of our dresser drawers out of the chest of drawers, set it up on a chest next to our bed, and lined it with a baby quilt and sheets.  Victoria loved this makeshift bed. When the real bed finally came, she protested strenuously when we tried to transition her, so we ended up using this little drawer-bed for the rest of our stay in Tokyo. By the way, my father was very good at this kind of improvisation and never understood when people were scandalized about items being used in unconventional ways. 

(2) On the day of the golf outing in question, Victoria was two weeks, not two months, old. She had just come home from the hospital and had yet to sleep for more than one hour at a stretch. We were all sleep deprived and exhausted. We needed Vincent to stay at home! My mother decided to play the heavy.

Whenever I think of Mrs. Christine Stone I think of my first golf game ever. 

I moved to Tokyo in December 1987 and in February next year little Victoria popped out delivered by Dr Sakamoto where she lived in the bottom drawer in the living room but that's another story. 

That same spring Christine and Jim visited Mary, Vincent and Victoria.  Coincidentally Vincent had planned an all-boys golf outing with his colleague Mr. Ushijima and I was invited to join.  I accepted this invitation somewhat warily since I had never touched a golf club before but took some comfort in the fact that Vincent would be there since I didn't speak much Japanese then and barely knew Mr. Ushijima.  We agreed to meet on the subway platform in Akebonobashi station at 6:30 a.m. or so.  At 6:25 a.m. Vincent appeared wearing slippers as I recall.  He quickly explained before the 6:30 a.m. train arrived that he was unable to join due to stern instructions laid down by his mother-in-law.  She held the view that he could not play golf and leave behind his wife and by then 2 month old daughter.  Mr. Ushijima was astonished that there was any discussion in the matter since a man's place was on the golf course.  In choosing between Mr. Ushijima and his mother-in-law, I believe Vincent made the correct decision in the long-term although in the short term it caused me some distress and anxiety. 

Mr. Ushijima and I proceded to go to the golf course which was about 2.5 hours away.  It was a very long train ride but the view of Mt. Fuji from the golf course was spectacular.  I played terribly but my consolation was that I somehow did manage better than Mr. Ushijima who had been diligently practising at the driving range for weeks before.  

In spite of this early trauma (or maybe because of it), I continue to play golf and thank Christine for teaching me indirectly about the meaning of playing with grace under pressure.