AWOL (7 Entendre Remix)

Fuselage, Fuzzy, Jazzy, Lucky Priority song By John Royce Holtz, J.D., off 7th L.P., Octopi Ink

My Mom maintains one of the strongest mental games on the planet. No wonder I can even barely hold it together on the tennis arena… A fellow southpaw, it is no surprise that she convincingly beat me in t-ball when I was eleven! Everything in her life goes on entirely within her own head. A Wolven Angel,(song by John Royce Holtz on Moon Palace—Stripped L.P.), she is perfectly content without seeking much outside help.

She held our howling pack close, even though we scattered. Mom self-sacrificed her entire life to raise us kids, at the expense of her personal life. She helped each of us when we floundered and needed either bolstering or a metaphorical kick in the ass, at different stages of our lives.

When I became middle-aged, possibly due to complex misunderstanding, she felt it best to release the reins and spin me off into my own orbit. Still, 39 years is no small amount of time to ennoble me under her caring, many times, quiet auspices. I love her so much because of her self-sacrifice.

When she used to shriek profusely, I did not understand at the time that it was the best way she knew how to keep the nucleus of the family together and raise us by shedding some of our grime. She quit cigarettes before I was born…

I could not believe how friendly ladies behaved in high school; I did not realize at that time how Mom’s kindness may not have always been surface, but was so profound…She deeply cared…

She actually constantly thinks about solving pragmatic problems, rather than merely worrying about rubbish, like I do. Her mind is a neurotically worrying, self-encapsulated, constantly expanding universe that is impervious to bullshit from commandeering her own mind or that from others’ imposition.

She enjoys theatre, zoo’s—especially giraffes, Jamoica Almond Fudge Ice Cream, museums—especially Monet’s Lillies, Van Gough’s Starry Night, and Marc Chagall’s The GOAT. Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart, KLOK A.M, Harry Belafante, The Kingsmen, Woody Guthrie… popular music from The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Neil Diamond, John Denver, Gordon Lightfoot, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers…. Mom stays politically informed by reading book after book after book...

Our Matriarch is content virtually entirely by herself, no matter what perceived ner-do-wells might throw her way. She’ll boot ‘em to the curb… Her mind is constantly an active and flourishing Oasis—and she is pushing 90. It is no wonder my quick-witted brother got 99 percentile on the LSAT, while I did half as well, with double time!

Mom keeps herself buoyant by enjoying the little things, like a cup of coffee, four or five bookcases of books to constantly read, cleaning house, eating Vegan.

Fortunately, my brothers became good friends. When there was a misunderstanding on my part due to some of my untimely delusions, I could no longer come home as a prodigal son.

But half a lifetime ago, Mom was kind enough to rescue me from the horrors of a complete mental breakdown at Cal Riverside, where I achieved perhaps 40% of my major, adult accolades on zero medicine. Also, after I harrowingly graduated from law school and was a basket case, she again took me under her wing, even though, in a rare subconscious muttering, she “did not get Jon.”

After graduating from law school, I was relegated to our gloomy home, away from cheerful colleagues, where my parents were bickering with enmity over otherwise silent scrabble games. I should have just insisted on moving out and finding my own way earlier.

On May Day, May 1st, 2001, shortly after I had an accurate premonition that I would have difficulties getting my act together for the most longstanding incapacity, Mom and I walked in solidarity from the San Francisco Zoo towards the Cliff House on the bike path, scoping out the ocean of ostensible Freedom. She encouraged me to foster Hope—and this was somewhat comforting. We would often have coffee (myself desperately trying to unfrazzle myself as a result of perennial unproductivity) at Tullies, where she would suggest that if I really wanted to become a writer, I should write short stories and essays with humour—and “send them in.” She always was a cautious optimist, which must have been challenging to sustain in light of my father’s uncontrollable Wrath and otherwise under-communicative complacency towards her.

For the most part, I think she knew me better than I knew myself, for much of my life. She once told me that she thought I was very strong—She implied more so than I had previously perceived. 😂 My incredulous tennis odyssey is one prime example, given both a decade-long pursuit towards Optimum, Competition Yield….and a comeback fellow’s coerced limitations of continuously propping himself up, time and time again.

“Mupah’s” actions spoke resoundingly when she quietly ignited her mental cogs and intelligently reasoned with herself, mostly by herself, throughout every day. And happily so… Even today, when speaking for a minute on the phone, she tells me, “Enjoy life. But do not waste it—Make the most out of every day.” Reminds me of U2’s song, Beautiful Day: “Don’t let it slip away…The traffic is stuck…and you’re not going anywhere…Thought you found a friend, to get you out of this place…Someone to lend a hand…in return for Grace!”

I can honestly say that in my own unconventional manner, since 2008, I have worked my fricking tail off in an entrepreneurial fashion—a calculated gambit that I have assiduously labored towards paying off really soon. (My Mom got straight “A’s” at Cal Berkeley. She worked seven years as a teacher. After us boys grew up, she worked seven more years as an accountant.) I am working on my seventh book, two of which have been pilfered. I started writing books full-time when I was sent to a glorified halfway respite, Elpida House, to “grow up” in Marin at the age of almost 37-years old. There, I sacrificed landing choice selections of gorgeous, steady galfriends to instead perfect my writing up (and eventually music.) I honestly do not know if I would repeat that miraculous choice of voluntary celibacy/workhorse even though I finally accomplished tangible Intellectual Property that I hope to imminently liquidate.

Unbelievably maturing in a refreshingly industrious fashion, I authored three books in four years, including the visionary fiction: The Ascent of a Barbarious Court Squatter (Amazon). Please read my Book Proposal with competitive and market analyses at johnroyceholtz.com On the website, you may also find 80+ New Wave/Rock/Pop songs for personal, listening sale. My latest 18-tune L.P. will drop there at Midnight on Friday, August 22. The Hype is On!!!🥹 PRE-ORDERS on Sale AVAILABLE NOW!!! 😍 😎👍🏾 Merchandize and Tip Jars, Too…I simultaneously would very much like to land book, music deals for this deserved Camper, not yet “Glamper!!!”

My Mom is usually right about a bunch of pragmatic and logical stuff…She has saved my life multiple times with her sound guidance over the generations. For example, she drilled it into my head that narcotics and alcohol are deadly and should never be f-d with. Thank G-d my channeled tennis odyssey and her heeded admonitions will forever pre-empt me from these disgusting vices that destroy lives—I won’t even try marijuana.

Nonetheless, I am elated that I majored in English Literature at Cal Riverside and at University of San Francisco, instead of Political Science. Mupah will deny that she particularly enjoys my writing, tennis, nor music. Nonetheless, she still says that she loves me, that she does think about me, and sporadically— that she is even proud of me. (I don’t know how true the latter is…but it is a kind extolling, anyway! I definitely feel like I need to become prouder of myself…)


I had already made Cal Riverside’s gnarly roster by championing the Walk-On Tournament in 1990-1991. I wish that from 1991-1995, before law school, I had gotten to chill with Mupah more. A large part of me wishes that I had gotten to know Mupah better, when we were both younger. But she was kind enough to encourage me to spread my own wings independently, even back then… After ‘91, I continued reinventing the wheel by again returning to form as a tennis rock star. I elusively chased my parallel quest for manhood, the only way I assuredly knew how, with tennis trophy ore.…After collegiate law school, I was so nervous that for a long time, I floundered, under-employed, yet always seeking undeserved approval…

The title of Fuselage, Fuzzy, Jazzy, Lucky, Priority song encapsulates the high standard of excellence that Mom hoped we would uphold by lighting symbolic, “Fuselage” fires under our arses to achieve. “Fuzzy” refers to an unmistakable caring that engulfed us via her aura, even when we were unclear how profound this love really was. “Jazzy” implies that Mupah was setting the stage for us to fit in as cultured winners, I am just realizing now…”Lucky” refers to just how blessed we are to have her stewarding our lives towards mostly right aims for so long…Even though it wasn’t always fun growing up—and that’s euphemism for the chaos engulfment and perpetual upheaval that I think was initiated by my father. “Priority” delineates the shift in my perception (and wishfully hers) regarding how important cherishing our bond together is…

Now, the song itself, like the real female heroine whom it is about, is almost larger than life. Mom would probably say, “Don’t be foolish, Jon!” She always was more pragmatic than philosophical. Her spirituality was more about getting through life with dignity and self-determination, rather than being religious. And, that is plenty of spirituality in and of itself, that takes into account a lot of free-will forging (Mupah is one of the few, wittiest people I know, along with her friend, Lemony Snicket’s Mom, and my tennis comrade, Roberto. Yet, she does not pride herself so much upon her wit!).

With a celebratory melody that is joyous, I ironically juxtapose with melancholy, repetitive crooning that always sounds fresh: “Mupah was here…Can‘t I have another try?!…Our lives are passing by….Separately.” 😭

Like the artist formerly known as Prince, there are MAJORLY resounding echo vocal effects on my Apple Logic Pro software hooked up to my iPad’s audio component…I must say that the vocal sounds are masterful, despite the fact that my Uncle doesn’t quite appreciate so much echo…and probably hullaballoo, either. Yet, it is the emboldening echo that adds much needed hype and a sense of urgency in the lyrics…The special effect-laden lyrics will perpetuate the sincerity of our mutual bond long after we both vanish…The mesmerizing lyrics instigate perpetuation against all formidable obstacles denigrating the undeniable bond, including perhaps my inadvertent self! And, maybe the light music’s contrast with the somber lyrics is not as ironic as I imagine because of all the love that my Mom has bestowed…especially when Dad threatened to shoot me when I was a young man.

A trumpet arpeggiator initially meshes well with rhythm electric piano chords, electric bass, drums and a bit of improvisational jazz. But that is just the beginning: Wait until the introductory, faux electric guitar 🎸 kicks in before all out “spazzing out,” weaving in between the previously R and B framework like In ‘N Out Burger!—(It’s not just a destination; It’s a way of neon Life with real pepperchinies!)

The guitar’s delightful concordance with slight discordance resonates well with the listener, in my all too humble/egotistical opinion…(I have got to tell listeners the recent decade’s numbing, yet paramount story behind my greatest heroine, thus far, tied with my Mom’s Mom—adoring Grandma Helen.) Sporadically chiming in is a Wide Organ notched up to 100% Flanging for that ultimate, vacillating pitch. There is even an extensively recurrent, human (self) wailing of lingering, harmonic desperation (and pre-eminent strength) that somehow sustains itself on its own merit.

I pray every day that my Mupah will live forever, even though I am precluded from visiting. So far, my prayers have worked. This song is a testament to both the resolve she instilled in me (that I have sometimes inadvertently forgotten) and her own resolve to live a life worth living…Like my spin on Persona Theory, Mupah tackles life internally, regardless of external thwarts or realities. This song 🎶 helps me remember our dual resolves to love life, excel, and thrive…despite life’s inevitable loneliness…..She might say that there is no time to be lonely, and too much to live for…And, I don’t think the tune is too sappy…It is one hell of an R and B, power ballad morphing into a rock anthem!

I will always remember Mom tutoring me for up to four hours a night after driving us all day when I attended prestigious Town School for Boys (K-8), where the highlight was Mid-Weeklies Ballroom Dancing once a week with the private girls’ counterpart schools…There were chaperones and everyone was on their best behavior, sparking dapper threads…

My Mom once wrote an essay for me in 5th Grade entitled, “The Last Piece of Kleenex in the Box!” It was quite pithy and humorous, to say the least!

I remember Mupah’s discipline when we went to Hawaii. We awoke before 6 a.m. to put out our towels, procuring the poolside lounge chairs. Then, we would get apple crepes and pineapple slices for breakfast.

Sometimes on the way to Town School, we would stop at Fantasia Bakery for Marzipan treats…

While a teenager, Mom took us to many local recreational and park tennis and chess, novice tournaments. One should never underestimate the wisdom of park and rec., nor of Mupah! There were a few extremely fierce competitors.

In the Finals of San Francisco Tennis Tourneys, I would usually meet a future Cal Berkeley Tennis Star and fellow Lowell High cordial rival, Al. We practically alternated winning—as we would later, at Lowell High for the #1 ladder position!

And, during one local Chess Tournament Mom brought me to, I encountered a worthy opponent who actually bided his time before moving, so as to think more thoroughly about maximum positions on the board. His plots were so advanced that I had to slow down my previously frenetic pace to force myself to out-think his clever, tactical maneuvers. By slowing down, I barely out-calculated his advanced strategies and won the tournament. This contemplative match in particular paved the way for me to place 5th in the NorCal Scholastic Chess Championships at age 13, achieving a world rating.

I had one phenomenal road trip with Mom while I was on break in law school. We drove to Oregon to pick up my brothers’ gear and chatted merrily the whole way up. In Medford, we enjoyed Drive-Thru, White Mochas.

Regrettably, I slept the whole fricking way back as my confidence to speak diminished for zero rational reason….

I often felt like I had trouble communicating with Mupah because I was so hyper-focused on the human need of wanting a gal friend my age. I know this does not seem logical. Mom’s perfectionism did not require this of me. However the negative, delusional derivatives of my excessive yearning made me so nervous that often dates as well as job prospects became scanty. Interviewers sometimes stomped their feet in disgust of my undue, visible apprehension. When I did not act as confident as my potential in conjunction with my prolonged pause in work productivity, Mupah became annoyed/or flustered. Yet, she was kind not to throw me out of the house for many years because my floundering was so pathetic, back then.

You always did the best possible under harrowing circumstances that I did not always comprehend. I wish I could have one more try to be your friend as well as your distanced son! (This essay took more than 10 hours to write ✍️ ) This tune’s For You and perhaps the Song shall never pass!!! I love you so much, Mom!!!

————
2,714 words
Fuselage, Fuzzy, Jazzy, Lucky Priority song By John Royce Holtz, J.D.

My Mom maintains one of the strongest mental games on the planet. No wonder I can even barely hold it together on the tennis arena… A fellow southpaw, it is no surprise that she convincingly beat me in t-ball when I was eleven! Everything in her life goes on entirely within her own head. A Wolven Angel,(song by John Royce Holtz on Moon Palace—Stripped L.P.), she is perfectly content without seeking much outside help.

She held our howling pack close, even though we scattered. Mom self-sacrificed her entire life to raise us kids, at the expense of her personal life. She helped each of us when we floundered and needed either bolstering or a metaphorical kick in the ass, at different stages of our lives.

When I became middle-aged, possibly due to complex misunderstanding, she felt it best to release the reins and spin me off into my own orbit. Still, 39 years is no small amount of time to ennoble me under her caring, many times, quiet auspices. I love her so much because of her self-sacrifice.

When she used to shriek profusely, I did not understand at the time that it was the best way she knew how to keep the nucleus of the family together and raise us by shedding some of our grime. She quit cigarettes before I was born…

I could not believe how friendly ladies behaved in high school; I did not realize at that time how Mom’s kindness may not have always been surface, but was so profound…She deeply cared…

She actually constantly thinks about solving pragmatic problems, rather than merely worrying about rubbish, like I do. Her mind is a neurotically worrying, self-encapsulated, constantly expanding universe that is impervious to bullshit from commandeering her own mind or that from others’ imposition.

She enjoys theatre, zoo’s—especially giraffes, Jamoica Almond Fudge Ice Cream, museums—especially Monet’s Lillies, Van Gough’s Starry Night, and Marc Chagall’s The GOAT. Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart, KLOK A.M, Harry Belafante, The Kingsmen, Woody Guthrie… popular music from The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Neil Diamond, John Denver, Gordon Lightfoot, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers…. Mom stays politically informed by reading book after book after book...

Our Matriarch is content virtually entirely by herself, no matter what perceived ner-do-wells might throw her way. She’ll boot ‘em to the curb… Her mind is constantly an active and flourishing Oasis—and she is pushing 90. It is no wonder my quick-witted brother got 99 percentile on the LSAT, while I did half as well, with double time!

Mom keeps herself buoyant by enjoying the little things, like a cup of coffee, four or five bookcases of books to constantly read, cleaning house, eating Vegan.

Fortunately, my brothers became good friends. When there was a misunderstanding on my part due to some of my untimely delusions, I could no longer come home as a prodigal son.

But half a lifetime ago, Mom was kind enough to rescue me from the horrors of a complete mental breakdown at Cal Riverside, where I achieved perhaps 40% of my major, adult accolades on zero medicine. Also, after I harrowingly graduated from law school and was a basket case, she again took me under her wing, even though, in a rare subconscious muttering, she “did not get Jon.”

After graduating from law school, I was relegated to our gloomy home, away from cheerful colleagues, where my parents were bickering with enmity over otherwise silent scrabble games. I should have just insisted on moving out and finding my own way earlier.

On May Day, May 1st, 2001, shortly after I had an accurate premonition that I would have difficulties getting my act together for the most longstanding incapacity, Mom and I walked in solidarity from the San Francisco Zoo towards the Cliff House on the bike path, scoping out the ocean of ostensible Freedom. She encouraged me to foster Hope—and this was somewhat comforting. We would often have coffee (myself desperately trying to unfrazzle myself as a result of perennial unproductivity) at Tullies, where she would suggest that if I really wanted to become a writer, I should write short stories and essays with humour—and “send them in.” She always was a cautious optimist, which must have been challenging to sustain in light of my father’s uncontrollable Wrath and otherwise under-communicative complacency towards her.

For the most part, I think she knew me better than I knew myself, for much of my life. She once told me that she thought I was very strong—She implied more so than I had previously perceived. 😂 My incredulous tennis odyssey is one prime example, given both a decade-long pursuit towards Optimum, Competition Yield….and a comeback fellow’s coerced limitations of continuously propping himself up, time and time again.

“Mupah’s” actions spoke resoundingly when she quietly ignited her mental cogs and intelligently reasoned with herself, mostly by herself, throughout every day. And happily so… Even today, when speaking for a minute on the phone, she tells me, “Enjoy life. But do not waste it—Make the most out of every day.” Reminds me of U2’s song, Beautiful Day: “Don’t let it slip away…The traffic is stuck…and you’re not going anywhere…Thought you found a friend, to get you out of this place…Someone to lend a hand…in return for Grace!”

I can honestly say that in my own unconventional manner, since 2008, I have worked my fricking tail off in an entrepreneurial fashion—a calculated gambit that I have assiduously labored towards paying off really soon. (My Mom got straight “A’s” at Cal Berkeley. She worked seven years as a teacher. After us boys grew up, she worked seven more years as an accountant.) I am working on my seventh book, two of which have been pilfered. I started writing books full-time when I was sent to a glorified halfway respite, Elpida House, to “grow up” in Marin at the age of almost 37-years old. There, I sacrificed landing choice selections of gorgeous, steady galfriends to instead perfect my writing up (and eventually music.) I honestly do not know if I would repeat that miraculous choice of voluntary celibacy/workhorse even though I finally accomplished tangible Intellectual Property that I hope to imminently liquidate.

Unbelievably maturing in a refreshingly industrious fashion, I authored three books in four years, including the visionary fiction: The Ascent of a Barbarious Court Squatter (Amazon). Please read my Book Proposal with competitive and market analyses at johnroyceholtz.com On the website, you may also find 80+ New Wave/Rock/Pop songs for personal, listening sale. My latest 18-tune L.P. will drop there at Midnight on Friday, August 22. The Hype is On!!!🥹 PRE-ORDERS on Sale AVAILABLE NOW!!! 😍 😎👍🏾 Merchandize and Tip Jars, Too…I simultaneously would very much like to land book, music deals for this deserved Camper, not yet “Glamper!!!”

My Mom is usually right about a bunch of pragmatic and logical stuff…She has saved my life multiple times with her sound guidance over the generations. For example, she drilled it into my head that narcotics and alcohol are deadly and should never be f-d with. Thank G-d my channeled tennis odyssey and her heeded admonitions will forever pre-empt me from these disgusting vices that destroy lives—I won’t even try marijuana.

Nonetheless, I am elated that I majored in English Literature at Cal Riverside and at University of San Francisco, instead of Political Science. Mupah will deny that she particularly enjoys my writing, tennis, nor music. Nonetheless, she still says that she loves me, that she does think about me, and sporadically— that she is even proud of me. (I don’t know how true the latter is…but it is a kind extolling, anyway! I definitely feel like I need to become prouder of myself…)


I had already made Cal Riverside’s gnarly roster by championing the Walk-On Tournament in 1990-1991. I wish that from 1991-1995, before law school, I had gotten to chill with Mupah more. A large part of me wishes that I had gotten to know Mupah better, when we were both younger. But she was kind enough to encourage me to spread my own wings independently, even back then… After ‘91, I continued reinventing the wheel by again returning to form as a tennis rock star. I elusively chased my parallel quest for manhood, the only way I assuredly knew how, with tennis trophy ore.…After collegiate law school, I was so nervous that for a long time, I floundered, under-employed, yet always seeking undeserved approval…

The title of Fuselage, Fuzzy, Jazzy, Lucky, Priority song encapsulates the high standard of excellence that Mom hoped we would uphold by lighting symbolic, “Fuselage” fires under our arses to achieve. “Fuzzy” refers to an unmistakable caring that engulfed us via her aura, even when we were unclear how profound this love really was. “Jazzy” implies that Mupah was setting the stage for us to fit in as cultured winners, I am just realizing now…”Lucky” refers to just how blessed we are to have her stewarding our lives towards mostly right aims for so long…Even though it wasn’t always fun growing up—and that’s euphemism for the chaos engulfment and perpetual upheaval that I think was initiated by my father. “Priority” delineates the shift in my perception (and wishfully hers) regarding how important cherishing our bond together is…

Now, the song itself, like the real female heroine whom it is about, is almost larger than life. Mom would probably say, “Don’t be foolish, Jon!” She always was more pragmatic than philosophical. Her spirituality was more about getting through life with dignity and self-determination, rather than being religious. And, that is plenty of spirituality in and of itself, that takes into account a lot of free-will forging (Mupah is one of the few, wittiest people I know, along with her friend, Lemony Snicket’s Mom, and my tennis comrade, Roberto. Yet, she does not pride herself so much upon her wit!).

With a celebratory melody that is joyous, I ironically juxtapose with melancholy, repetitive crooning that always sounds fresh: “Mupah was here…Can‘t I have another try?!…Our lives are passing by….Separately.” 😭

Like the artist formerly known as Prince, there are MAJORLY resounding echo vocal effects on my Apple Logic Pro software hooked up to my iPad’s audio component…I must say that the vocal sounds are masterful, despite the fact that my Uncle doesn’t quite appreciate so much echo…and probably hullaballoo, either. Yet, it is the emboldening echo that adds much needed hype and a sense of urgency in the lyrics…The special effect-laden lyrics will perpetuate the sincerity of our mutual bond long after we both vanish…The mesmerizing lyrics instigate perpetuation against all formidable obstacles denigrating the undeniable bond, including perhaps my inadvertent self! And, maybe the light music’s contrast with the somber lyrics is not as ironic as I imagine because of all the love that my Mom has bestowed…especially when Dad threatened to shoot me when I was a young man.

A trumpet arpeggiator initially meshes well with rhythm electric piano chords, electric bass, drums and a bit of improvisational jazz. But that is just the beginning: Wait until the introductory, faux electric guitar 🎸 kicks in before all out “spazzing out,” weaving in between the previously R and B framework like In ‘N Out Burger!—(It’s not just a destination; It’s a way of neon Life with real pepperchinies!)

The guitar’s delightful concordance with slight discordance resonates well with the listener, in my all too humble/egotistical opinion…(I have got to tell listeners the recent decade’s numbing, yet paramount story behind my greatest heroine, thus far, tied with my Mom’s Mom—adoring Grandma Helen.) Sporadically chiming in is a Wide Organ notched up to 100% Flanging for that ultimate, vacillating pitch. There is even an extensively recurrent, human (self) wailing of lingering, harmonic desperation (and pre-eminent strength) that somehow sustains itself on its own merit.

I pray every day that my Mupah will live forever, even though I am precluded from visiting. So far, my prayers have worked. This song is a testament to both the resolve she instilled in me (that I have sometimes inadvertently forgotten) and her own resolve to live a life worth living…Like my spin on Persona Theory, Mupah tackles life internally, regardless of external thwarts or realities. This song 🎶 helps me remember our dual resolves to love life, excel, and thrive…despite life’s inevitable loneliness…..She might say that there is no time to be lonely, and too much to live for…And, I don’t think the tune is too sappy…It is one hell of an R and B, power ballad morphing into a rock anthem!

I will always remember Mom tutoring me for up to four hours a night after driving us all day when I attended prestigious Town School for Boys (K-8), where the highlight was Mid-Weeklies Ballroom Dancing once a week with the private girls’ counterpart schools…There were chaperones and everyone was on their best behavior, sparking dapper threads…

My Mom once wrote an essay for me in 5th Grade entitled, “The Last Piece of Kleenex in the Box!” It was quite pithy and humorous, to say the least!

I remember Mupah’s discipline when we went to Hawaii. We awoke before 6 a.m. to put out our towels, procuring the poolside lounge chairs. Then, we would get apple crepes and pineapple slices for breakfast.

Sometimes on the way to Town School, we would stop at Fantasia Bakery for Marzipan treats…

While a teenager, Mom took us to many local recreational and park tennis and chess, novice tournaments. One should never underestimate the wisdom of park and rec., nor of Mupah! There were a few extremely fierce competitors.

In the Finals of San Francisco Tennis Tourneys, I would usually meet a future Cal Berkeley Tennis Star and fellow Lowell High cordial rival, Al. We practically alternated winning—as we would later, at Lowell High for the #1 ladder position!

And, during one local Chess Tournament Mom brought me to, I encountered a worthy opponent who actually bided his time before moving, so as to think more thoroughly about maximum positions on the board. His plots were so advanced that I had to slow down my previously frenetic pace to force myself to out-think his clever, tactical maneuvers. By slowing down, I barely out-calculated his advanced strategies and won the tournament. This contemplative match in particular paved the way for me to place 5th in the NorCal Scholastic Chess Championships at age 13, achieving a world rating.

I had one phenomenal road trip with Mom while I was on break in law school. We drove to Oregon to pick up my brothers’ gear and chatted merrily the whole way up. In Medford, we enjoyed Drive-Thru, White Mochas.

Regrettably, I slept the whole fricking way back as my confidence to speak diminished for zero rational reason….

I often felt like I had trouble communicating with Mupah because I was so hyper-focused on the human need of wanting a gal friend my age. I know this does not seem logical. Mom’s perfectionism did not require this of me. However the negative, delusional derivatives of my excessive yearning made me so nervous that often dates as well as job prospects became scanty. Interviewers sometimes stomped their feet in disgust of my undue, visible apprehension. When I did not act as confident as my potential in conjunction with my prolonged pause in work productivity, Mupah became annoyed/or flustered. Yet, she was kind not to throw me out of the house for many years because my floundering was so pathetic, back then.

You always did the best possible under harrowing circumstances that I did not always comprehend. I wish I could have one more try to be your friend as well as your distanced son! (This essay took more than 10 hours to write ✍️ ) This tune’s For You and perhaps the Song shall never pass!!! I love you so much, Mom!!!

————
2,714 words