by Lisa Kanemoto, resident at Wesley Palms Retirement Community
I used to live in a state of inarticulate mourning. Except for my children, I had little to show. My life felt empty and without further meaning. I was a stranger to myself.
Good fortune led me to discover photography as a medium. Morrie Camhi, a photography instructor, became my mentor. His profound sense of empathy, his training and sensitive guidance, provided the trust by which I could reveal myself in a series of self-portraits. Photography became the way to explore and transform, to give face to memory, to turmoil.
Born in Germany, I grew up inhibited by the shadow of Hitler, Nazi indoctrination, terror, persecution, destruction and death. The father I cherished died in battle while in Russia.
My embittered mother and a hysterical aunt, also a war widow, raised me. A hidden Jewish background was our secret. Living in a small town, our lives enchained by deception and lies, we witnessed with horror the persecution and disappearance of our Jewish friends. To this day, wherever I go, gnawed by introspection and held back by shyness - I remain an outsider, the product of a terrible war.
A war bride to an American of Japanese ancestry I immigrated to the United States in l 958. The complexity of an East-West marriage, attending to a promising son tragically disabled by mental illness, my struggle with cancer and the acceptance of my own mortality have remained my deepest challenges.
Photography opened a path for unusual and precious friendships and has allowed me to transform the sorrows of history and present.
Lisa Kanemoto has spent her career documenting stigmatized groups such as the mentally ill, drug addicts, ethnic minorities, the gay community and the homeless. Her work has been exhibited and collected internationally www.lisakanemoto.com
During Ardith Eaton’s residency at Fredericka Manor, her son, Rick, looked forward to their frequent visits. Rick not only enjoyed their mother son time together, but the two often reminisced about how Rick’s grandfather fell in love with Fredericka Manor decades earlier.
“Mom and I used to laugh about how during the 1970s my grandfather, who lived here for 10 years, used to always say … living at Fredericka Manor was like living like a millionaire,” Rick said. “My mom lived happily here for 15 years. That says a lot about this community. I consider it a true landmark in Chula Vista and the South Bay.”
Perhaps one of the biggest compliments to the quality of life at Fredericka can be attributed to several residents who followed in their parents or family member’s footsteps and chose to make Fredericka Manor their retirement destination.
Dr. Paul Erickson, another second-generation resident, fondly remembers visiting his mother in the 1970s and 80s. Most vivid is Paul’s recollection of the dining room etiquette. “It was a time and a place where gentlemen wore coats and ladies wore dresses to dinner,” says Paul with a grin. “I don’t think I could have gotten away with what I have on today,” pointing to his polo shirt and Bermuda shorts. “We’re much more casual now. I like that
Fredericka changes with the times.”
“My mother loved it here,” Paul continued. “When it comes to Fredericka Manor, mother and I had one thing in common – we love the people. The friendliness of the residents and the willingness of the staff to go out of their way has never changed. It’s the same when mother was here as it is now. It’s why I moved here!”
“Dad enjoyed living at Fredericka but he would have loved it more today,” said second-generation resident Mary Ellen Munyon, treasurer for the Fredericka Club, a member of the Fredericka Manor Hospitality Committee and whose father lived at the community in the early 2000s. “He would have loved the choices residents have now. Fredericka gets better with age.”
For Rick, now retirement age himself, following in his family’s footsteps is a possibility. “When I decide to move here, it will be like coming home.”
My embittered mother and a hysterical aunt, also a war widow, raised me. A hidden Jewish background was our secret. Living in a small town, our lives enchained by deception and lies, we witnessed with horror the persecution and disappearance of our Jewish friends. To this day, wherever I go, gnawed by introspection and held back by shyness - I remain an outsider, the product of a terrible war. 
A war bride to an American of Japanese ancestry I immigrated to the United States in l 958. The complexity of an East-West marriage, attending to a promising son tragically disabled by mental illness, my struggle with cancer and the acceptance of my own mortality have remained my deepest challenges.
