By Joan Passarelli

Blue Jeans and Jelly Beans

As the plane lifted off from SFO, I pinched myself. Was I really flying away on a vacation alone, without my husband and kids? Amazingly, yes.

My mother had invited me on a long-anticipated trip to Japan. Although she had never been there before, our family has relationships there going back 20 years.

My brother and I were both exchange students in Tokyo for a summer in 1982. Also, my family hosted a Japanese exchange student, Fumi, during the school year 1982-83.

Fumi has been back several times over the years, and our friendship with him has grown. Mom’s always wanted to visit him in Japan; and finally, this year, she was able to go.

I got myself from Narita Airport to the hotel lobby in Tokyo, and there were Mom and Fumi, laughing and hugging me. We went out on a walk through the Ginza district, enjoying the crowds strolling in the warm spring evening past neon lights and high buildings. I smelled soy, ginger and wasabi from the restaurants, and knew I was really back in Japan.

All week long we explored, with Fumi’s help, a tea ceremony, beautiful gardens, a museum of ancient art, Kabuki theater and Japanese food. I relished various flavors, pickles and sweets that I hadn’t tasted since I’d lived there.

But we weren’t just tourists. We felt loved because of our connections in Japan.

My Japanese language came back as I talked with Fumi’s wife and crawled on the tatami-mat floor with his baby daughter, Ayaka.

My host mother from 20 years ago took us out to lunch at a lovely restaurant. It turns out that she shares with Mom a love of ballroom dancing. Back at her house afterward, she put on swing music, and she and Mom did the fox trot.

Fumi’s parents had us out to their house in Nagoya. We exchanged gifts and had a marvelous tempura lunch together. It was like a family reunion, even though we had never met before.

Mom made friends with Fumi’s 4-year-old nephew by playing games and running races with him, without a word of language in common. By the end of the day, he was climbing in her lap and ready to go home with her.

Everyone we visited said the same thing: It was a “dream come true.” It felt like Christmas. It was a joyful time out of time, when being together is all that matters.

On the flight home, I was blissful but a bit concerned. How had my family done without me?

I needn’t have worried. They had risen to the occasion beautifully. The high-school baby sitter had come every afternoon, the kids had loved all the store-bought food I’d left in the freezer for dinner, and the house was even picked up. My husband proudly reported that the kids had pitched in on the cleanup.

I’m left feeling very, very thankful to my mom for having invited me to go with her, to our friends in Japan who treated us with such love, and to my family who let me go. And I’m thankful that these threads of relationship were started 20 years ago.

Maybe someday my kids can visit our friends in Japan. Maybe someday little Ayaka will want to study in California and live with us. I hope the threads will continue into the next generation.

Passarelli is the mother of three and lives in Mountain View. Her column runs the fourth week of the month.