MatsuZIN(e)A

a collection of stories

Eyeball Burp Publication

 a blind date
by
teresa takaki
matsushima

Ting-A- Ling Ice Cream Shop

Sam and Sue were on a blind date arranged

by mutual friends. They walked together past
blinking Christmas lights that lit up the shops Making small talk, they occasionally snuck a peek
up and down Division Street. She tightened at each other and smiled as they waited for their
the belt of her camel wool coat as single white hot coffee to arrive. Sam said, “Sure miss that
snowflakes blew through the cold night air. warm weather in Gardena huh.” Sue thought,
Sam exhaled short puffs of warm air into his “Gee that’s what I was thinking” as she rubbed
cupped hands to cut the biting wind. her hands together trying to thaw out. Although
they sat in a stiff unpadded wooden booth, their
The bone chilling Chicago wind blasted conversation was anything but stiff. It was com-
through the door with them as they walked fortable, almost like being at home.
into Ting-A-Lings, a local ice cream shop.
Silver bells at the top of the glass storm door
still jingled as they sat down. Bing Crosby was
crooning, “and may all your Christmases be
white” on the radio.
No sooner would Sue mention someone, Sam
would pipe in, “What a small world! I grew
up with them on the farm across the way” or
“We lived on the same block at camp.” Their
lives intertwined like the vines of the berries
both their parents farmed before the war broke
out. Both Nisei, both relocated to Amache and
Jerome camps, both lived in the windy city of
Chicago and now both struggled to start a new
life after camp.

Sue Sumie Nakaoka Matsushima, Chicago Days

Sue’s brown eyes twinkled as she recalled their

first date and how her conversation with Sam
flowed so easily. And how Sam was on a lim-
ited budget, so they only got coffee and didn’t
eat. But that was OK by her. She remembers
how they walked the snowy streets to keep
warm and talked the whole evening away.

Sam Isamu Matsushima, Chicago Days

 It was a Matsushima trait to sweat if the
food was spicy or had even a hint of vin-
egar.

One of their friends remembered one

night after dinner out with friends and
family, Sam and Sue were walking to
their car. Their heads nearly touched as
they leaned in whispering to each other.
Then, they both threw their heads back
in laughter, caught in the humor of their
private moment.

Sue genuinely loved sharing each day to-

gether with Sam. They seemed insepa-
rable. Sue always got a kick out of seeing
Sam blow on the dice before he rolled at
the craps table in Vegas and how his eyes
would scrunch tightly as he roared with
laughter after seeing what he rolled.

She felt safe and content in his arms

as he twirled her across the VFW Hall
dance floor. And Sue would smile as
Married April 24, 1948, Chicago, Illinois
Sam’s camera captured her photo on one
of their many trips with the 49er’s group.
They soon married, moved back to the West Coast,
But the one thing Sue longed to do to-
settled in Gardena to raise three children, Glenn, Ju-
gether was to attend church with Sam.
lie and Bob, and called each other Mom and Dad. At
Yet, she never let on or mentioned it to
dinner, Sue would say, “Dad, guess who I ran into to-
him.
day?” or Sam would pipe in, “Mom, you’ll never guess
who called.” Every night before they went to bed,
Sue knew Sam was busy teeing off or
Sue said Sam gave her a peck on the cheek and never
working open houses and didn’t have
missed a day in all the 43 years they were married.
time for church on Sundays. Plus, on
Sundays they often met with friends for
In their later years, they worked together in Sam’s
a leisurely breakfast at Carrow’s Restau-
real estate office. Sue would answer the phone in
rant. Through all those years Sue secretly
her perky upbeat voice saying, “Good morning. Sam
wanted to attend church, but kept her
Matsushima Realty.” She loved sitting across from
thoughts quietly to herself. Then, one
Sam when they went out to eat, still loved talking
night, Sam wasn’t feeling well, so Sue
with him and didn’t mind watching him drag a nap-
drove him to the emergency room. Later
kin across his forehead to dab the beads of sweat.
that night, Sue saw Sam’s eyes welling up
with tears and saw him nodding his head
Above: Sam & Sue with Julie, Glenn & Bob as infant, 1952
Below: Sam & Sue with kids, 1953
 in a “yes” on the hospital gurney. While be-
ing wheeled into open-heart surgery, he ac-
cepted Jesus as his Savior at his daughter-
in-law, Teresa’s invitation.

Sue remembers one Sunday morning af-

ter his recuperation how surprised she was
when Sam got up early and got dressed. He
simply said, “OK, let’s go to church.” And
off they went.
Sue later said, “Gee, it took a heart attack to
get Dad to come to church. I wanted to go
for so long but I never told him.” She finally
got to go to church as a couple. Each Sun-
day, they always sat in the same pew near
the back, on the right, next to a big brown
wooden beam. It was Sam’s favorite spot
each week. Sam and Sue attended church
every Sunday thereafter until Sam passed
away in 1991.
The morning after Sam died, Sue and her
youngest son, Bob, sat sipping black coffee at
the kitchen table. Bob asked, “So, Mom. Do
you know where you are going after you die?”

Quickly wiping away one lone tear dripping

down her cheek, Sue nodded her head yes
and said, “I want to be with Dad in heaven.
I want to be with the Lord and go to heaven
too.” So Bob prayed with her to ask Jesus
to be her Savior. As Sue put it,” I want to
make sure I get in.”
And to make doubly sure, Sue approached
Bob’s pastor, Dave Shinoda, after church the
following Sunday. Sue wanted to go through
all the steps one more time to accept Christ
with a real pastor “just in case I missed any-
They were inseparable. thing.” Bob assured her that God had heard
her the first time around.***
 grandma’s mochi
Sue & Obaachama mochi-making at the Tanamachi house
Grandma Sue was a gracious woman with a
generous heart. She always had a bagful of
homegrown vegetables, orange satsuma tan-
gerines, or home baked goodies to give away.
She was a true lady, always honoring a person’s
character even in their absence and always
uplifted people. She gave people the bene-
fit of the doubt, even when they didn’t come
through for her.
In all the years I was her daughter-in-law, I
only heard her speak badly of a person once,
as she said, “We aren’t going to take that craps
from them.” I thought it was so cute that she
was so proper; she didn’t even know how to
swear correctly.
by
teresa takaki
matsushima
She valued her husband, her family, doing the
right thing, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries
and holidays together as a family, and she rel-
ished preparing, cooking and hosting a houseful
of family and friends every New Year’s day.
Ann, her first grandchild, had the privilege of
spending time with her grandmother. Grandma
Sue taught all the grandchildren, even the boys,
to crochet and how to make mochi rice cakes. It
was her desire to pour herself into her grandchil-
dren so they could carry on the Oshogatsu New
Year’s traditions of making mochi and cooking
and hosting a large new year’s gathering. She pa-
tiently taught Ann how to roll maki-zushi, how
not to overstuff the white seasoned rice into the
brown age-zushi, how to roll a California roll
sushi inside out on a damp white handkerchief,
and how to cut double pointed shapes out of
yokan. Ann was a willing student and absorbed
all she could whenever Grandma was there to
teach her something new.

Grandma Sue would say quietly under her

breath speaking to no one in particular, “I bet-
ter teach the oldest one so she can teach the
younger ones.” I always felt so thankful that
Grandma Sue was passing the baton on to the
eldest grandchild, my daughter, Ann, and that
she was the recipient of these invaluable Japa-
nese cultural traditions and culinary delights.

In her later years, after Grandpa Sam passed

away, Grandma Sue came to church with our
family each Sunday. She made it a priority to
talk with our children saying each week, “Tell
Grandma what you learned today in Sunday Matsushima cousins, by descending age
school?” Our kids would be waving their little
Sunday school papers in the air as they caught Grandma Sue would say quietly under her
their breath between words telling Grandma breath... “I better teach the oldest one so
what they learned. So she not only wanted to she can teach the younger ones.”
pass along her cultural heritage, but her faith in
God as well. We didn’t have our fearless leader, Grandma
Sue, to orchestrate everyone into the finely
A few years after Grandma Sue passed away, oiled mochi makers we had become in year’s
Erica, one of my nieces, wanted to get together past.
to do mochitsuki because she missed making
mochi for the New Year. I also think the family Initially we were floundering around wonder-
missed Grandma’s presence with them on the ing, “Gee, how did Grandma do this? How
holidays. So I invited everyone over for mo- much water did she add? How long did she
chitsuki. In the past when Grandma was alive, soak the mochigome?” When our first batch
it was her role to take the mochi ball from the of mochi was ready to come out of the mochi-
mochi making machine and divide it up. Then making machine, Ann instinctively grabbed
each person would roll out their own smaller the hot white ball of pounded rice and with-
balls of white mochi rice balls. But, this was out missing a beat, she began cutting the mo-
the first time we were making mochi without chi into long strips, just as Grandma had done
Grandma, so our roles were different now. in the past when she was alive.
I wondered, “How did Ann know how I realized we had completed mochitsuki from
to do that?” Ann must have caught what start to finish by ourselves without Grandma.
Grandma had been doing to know this. She Her desire for us to carry on with the New Year’s
learned by watching grandma. tradition had come to fruition. Above all, grand-
ma valued family. She valued well prepared food.
As the afternoon passed by, Ann took each She valued Oshogatsu, New Years. The Matsu-
batch of mochi and like a pro, divided it up shima family was on our way to preserving the
for each of the cousins, aunties and friends New Year’s tradition.
to make into smaller balls of mochi. At the
end of the afternoon, my eyes welled with Recently, a friend from Japan told me, “mochi,
tears and I had to look away so no one rice cakes, is sticky, and by making it every year,
would see me start to cry. it sticks the family together.” When I heard that,
I realized Grandma Sue’s wisdom in having our
family make mochi every year. The mochi mak-
ing was sticking us together as a family.

I guess we were watching Grandma Sue and

Matsushima annual Mochitsuki, Ann making
the first cut into the mochi ball, 2008
without realizing it, we caught her vision to
carry on the Japanese New Year’s traditions.
Grandma Sue may be looking down from heav-
en smiling at our clumsy efforts thinking, “They
are on their way to keeping the family together
with their mochi making.” She had wanted to
pass down this family tradition to her children
and grandchildren. I appreciate how she poured
herself into us. She poured her-
self into her grandchildren by
modeling a life style of generos-
ity, honesty and integrity passing
down her traditions and faith in
Christ. Grandma would be hap-
py to know that the older ones
are teaching the younger ones.

“Her children arise and

call her blessed; her hus-
band also, and he prais-
es her.” Proverbs 31:28
Grandma Sue’s ono-licious Oshogatsu
 To Fly Again by
ann misa
matsushima

It’s been years since I’ve seen her hands.  They place the piping hot blob of dough upon the
were tiny brown hands, sun spotted and wrin- table.   Without even thinking, my hands
kled with age, yet fingertips nimble from her reached in, cupping the mochi with my finger-
nightly crocheting of blankets, house slippers tips and flinging it lightly upon the tabletop. 
and doilies that she would make while watch- I instinctively picked up the wooden knife
ing her late night Japanese soap operas.  I would and began to roll over the mochi, cutting long
stand tippy toe at the kitchen table just to watch strips for each auntie.
her hands fly around steaming hot mochi as
she expertly rolled her wooden knife across the And with that, her hands flew again.  
sticky white dough, cutting long strips that we
would all receive to cut into little balls.  I would
always sneak the fresh mochi balls, twisting in
the pleasureful agony of the burning hot mochi
sticking to roof of my mouth.  

Every year her hands would fly.  Her hands

with fingernails painted in reds and pinks and
magentas.  Every year except the year she got
diagnosed with cancer.

And then I never saw her hands fly again.  But (In memory of my Grandma Sue Nakaoka
I remembered. Matsushima)

Years would pass before I realized that

my younger cousins had never experi-
enced Grandma’s flying hands.  Perhaps,
I thought, Moms and I could host mo-
chitsuki, and they could learn what her
hands had taught me. So the moment
came when the first batch of mochi
was ready.  We tried to scoop it out but
the machine part got imbedded in the
stickiness. Finally on the third batch, I
remembered Grandma’s hands reach-
ing into the machine to pick up the mo-
chi while it was still spinning, flying to
Matsushima women continue
the traditions of mochitsuki
Mochi making started with Obaachan Aya, who passed it down
to her daughters, Gladys, Martha, & Sue
 Candles in the Rain
by
paul isamu
matsushima

It was December 24th, 1999, a little after God’s tears fell from the heavens, the drops of a
8PM.  The clouds hung low and the air was Father overcome with joy that three generations of
eerily quiet as the processions of the Christ- believers shared the celebration of His Son’s birth
mas Eve service just concluded.  Whispers together. As we scurried home, all of us huddled
of “May the peace of Christ be with you” together in a tight circle, protecting the fire from
and tunes of “Silent Night” faded into the the rain.  The closeness and unity of the Matsu-
distance.  People scurried out of the sanctu- shima clan was powerful that night; it seemed as if
ary doors eager to go home for the impend- nothing could dampen our spirits.  But suddenly,
ing morning.  Other people hurriedly blew a fierce gush of wind picked up, dousing out our
out their candles as if celebrating their first zealous flames. Our tradition, our celebration, and
birthday wish.  But no, not us.  We pre- our spirits were extinguished.  With our heads
served our candle flames.  The Matsushima slung low, we felt downtrodden and defeated.
tradition was to keep our candles burning
the whole three block walk back home to
Auntie Connie and Uncle Glenn’s house. 
We had to keep the fire burning and let
our “little lights shine.”  Mom, Dad, Ann,
Grandma Sue, and I carefully protected
each other’s flames, hoping that their heat
would burn long after the night had passed;
if not on the wicks, then in our hearts.

As we approached the double doors to leave

church, candle wax dripped onto my elev-
en year old hand after readjusting its posi-
tion.  Grandma Sue, taking notice of my
slip, gently pulled out a tissue and wiped
my hand clean from the hot residue.  That
was the archetypal image that I will always
remember of Grandma Sue: always selfless,
always caring for those close to her heart,
always pouring out her love for the family.  We carefully protected
Her gentle touch upon my fingers reassured
each other’s flames, hop-
me that love was with us that night.  Dad
opened the double doors, and we stepped ing that their heat would
out into the night’s sky.  A mild rain poured burn long after the night
down on us like sprinklers watering the had passed...
lawn.
But not Grandma: her candle may have
been snuffed, but her spirit was radiant.  And we would not be able to walk home together
Grandma’s fire was not like the candle on
that cold, Christmas Eve.  She was not a
tiny light threatened by an onslaught of rain
and wind.  Her flame was her dependence
on Christ; an unmovable, unshakable, in-
extinguishable faith centered on the Cross.  a lighthouse beacon, beckoning us home, until
Although the flame was out, the faith lived
on, a faith that would resound into the tu-
multuous year to follow...
Three days shy of a year later, Grandma Sue
lay softly in her bed, her eyes closed, her face
serene, and her heart still.  Dozens of fam-
ily members crowded around her motionless
body, mourning over her departure.  It was
a sad Christmas that year, as the matriarch
of the family passed away. We would not be
able to spend Christmas together, nor watch
her joyful smile as we cuddled next to her to
open presents. We would not be able to eat
her ozoni on New Years morning, nor hear
her laughter on the first day of the new year.
Hawaii Times (celebrating S &S 50th anniversary)
on December 24th, protecting and treasuring the
flames of God’s greatest gift to us.  But despite her
departure, her spirit shines on.  Her earthly flame
may have been extinguished, but long live her heav-
enly flame, which still shines bright within us, like
that one day when we’ll all be united as a family of
Christ in our Father’s house.  You passed the torch,
Grandma Sue.  Now we run with it.
This little light of mine.
I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine.
I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine.
I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine,
Let it shine!!
Shine on, Grandma Sue, shine on.
Family in the Rain, 1990
Good Boy Bob
by
Bob James
Matsushima

It was a very difficult day. We went shopping

at the May Company on Wilshire and Fairfax next
to the La Brea Tar Pits. I loved to visit the May
Company, as there was so much to see, to touch, to
experience and to covet. As soon as I saw it, it was
mine! It was a beautiful box. There were soldiers
in green fatigues carrying rifles and machine guns
running here and there. There were bombs blasting
and bullets zinging. Tanks were rolling over fox-
holes. Grenades were exploding. It was glorious! I
wanted it. I let my Mom know that I wanted it. She
said, “No” in no uncertain terms. I, for course, did
not accept that response and so I screamed and cried
and shouted and lay on the floor kicking my feet in
the air. My brother, Glenn, and my sister, Julie hid
in embarrassment as my mother dragged me on the
polished smooth granite floor out to the car. When
we got to the car, Glenn and Julie jumped into the
back of the ’55 Buick while my mom put me in the
front seat, me, kicking and screaming the whole
time. With me standing up, she sat down in the
driver’s seat in front of me, started up the car and
drove home to our house on 20th Street. Somehow,
we made it home safely. To this day, I do not know
how my mom did not blow up and strangle me and
whup my butt. I would have if my kid acted that
way. I do not know if mom was able to buy what she
had originally gone to May Company for.
That night after dinner, all was normal. Dad
came home, mom did not tell him how the day went
and he did not discipline me. That night I could
not fall asleep. I crawled out of my bed and found
my mom sitting outside on the side steps leading
out from the kitchen. I crawled onto her lap. She
hugged me and sang to me. I don’t remember what
she sang to me, and I wish I could remember. I fell Little boy Bob, aged 3
asleep feeling very comforted and loved.
contributors
Bob Matsushima, dah kine eye doctah, relishes a steaming cup of Peet’s Coffee, bury-
ing his nose in a good sci fi novel, puttering in his Japanese garden and watching his or-
chids flower.  He is married to Treesaw, who causes all things to bloom in his life, and has
two coffee-brewing-meaning-of-life-seeking children, Ann and Paul, of whom he could
not be more proud.

Teresa Takaki Matsushima, born in Chicago, raised in Gardena, and graduated from
UCLA and UCSF with degrees in nursing. lives in Torrance, works as a school nurse, and
attends Gardena Valley Baptist Church where she serves on the Mexico medical missions
team. Married to the most patient guy on the planet, She loves taking with her 2 kids,
knitting, play uku, thrift store shopping and talking story over a cup of hot green tea.

Paul Isamu Matsushima, born in Harbor City, raised in Torrance and graduated
from S.F. State University with a bachelor’s degree in Asian American studies.

Ann Misa Matsushima, born in Oakland, raised in Torrance and graduated from
U.C. San Diego in visual arts. She & Alex recently launched a new zine with Eyeball Burp
Productions. Likes getting a cup of coffee and good conversation.

Sue Sumie Nakaoka Matsushima, born in Walteria, CA. in 1925, raised on a berry
farm, was interned in Jerome Relocation Camp during World War II, married to Sam
Matsushima x 43 years, and styled many a head as a beautician. She loved to crochet, knit,
watch Japanese T. V., cooking traditional Japanese foods for new years every year, and
lovingly nurtured 8 grandchildren until she succumbed to brain cancer after a courageous
battle in 2000.