Kimono Karen

Yabusame: Round Two

2009-12-02T15:57:00.005+09:00

Let me be completely upfront and say that this post is going to be mostly pictoral. Every year, there is a yabusame parade and then event on the beach in Zushi. (Learn more about it in this older post.) We had gone our first year here, but had been busy for the past two. This year, we thought it might be something that the Peanut would enjoy seeing. I mean, there are big horses with colorful riders on top and they run really fast. I know he is still wee and doesn’t get most things, but I thought the visual would be fun for him. Alas, I was mistaken.

We got there early enough to get a parking spot directly across the street. It was cold, but we were (I thought) sufficiently bundled. Just like last time when I thought we had dressed warmly enough, alas, I was mistaken again. I was fine. KH was fine. But KP was like a popsicle fifteen minutes into our time there. We put him on top of his daddy’s shoulders for the best view, but all he would do was sit up there, looking surly and throwing out fantastic screeches every so often. We thought, maybe it will get better when the event begins. Alas, we were mistaken yet again.

We waited long enough to watch the only girl I have ever seen trained to do this make her first bolt down the beach. I thought she hit all three targets, but KH said she didn’t. Who knows. We had had enough of the screeching and KH was already on his way to the car with the baby, before the commentators could ever give out the score.

At least we saw it once, I thought as we were leaving. And at least there is hot chocolate at home. Alas…

A Day Spent With Norway

2009-12-02T15:35:00.007+09:00

Every November, the Kamakura Chapter of Ikebana International travels to one of the many embassies in Tokyo. Personally, these outings are a favorite of mine. Not only do I get to spend the day with my Japanese friends immersed in their culture, but I get join that with an introduction to a new culture. This year we visited with new Norwegian friends at their embassy and at their personal residence.

As we got off from the final train stop in Tokyo, I realized that I should have doubled back to the house to get my umbrella as the drizzling was just beginning. I actually use the Japanese as a guide on whether to bring one or not and when I got to the train stop near my house and saw few to no people with one, I figured I was safe for the day. How very wrong. Fortunately, the walk from the station to the embassy was only about ten minutes so I wasn’t soaked to the bone before arriving.

The embassy itself is as nondescript as any other Japanese building in the neighborhood. Only a small plaque identifies what lies behind its solid gates. The first buildings on the grounds were built in 1977, but construction difficulties and earthquakes proved challenging. A new architect was chosen who built two buildings, one four-story part housing the chancery and apartments for embassy personnel and a separate one for the residence. Since those were built additional stories and extensions being added through recent years. The most recent architectural work happened to be the room where we began our day – a multifunction hall that glides up two stories with a second floor gallery to overlook the entire room. It’s a very good thing this was built or I’m not quite sure where they would have put the hundred plus members who came that day. Their coat check had never overflowed like that! In this room, we spent several hours hearing all the ins and outs of life in Norway.

While this is a country that had never entered my radar for possible vacations before, it has certainly been added high on that list now. Not that I am into adventure skiing, dog sledding or ice fishing, but the magnetic beauty and aurora lights are enough to get me there. Our speaker was none other than the Ambassador’s wife, Madam Anita Pratap, an award-winning author and journalist who has worked with the impressive likes of CNN and Time. As you can guess, she is not actually Norwegian, but met her husband when he was assigned to her native country of India. Her stories of things that she has seen in this world…ethnic war in Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, Asian nuclear testing, conflict between India and Pakistan, just to name a few… are truly amazing and heart-wrenching. But what totally struck me is her love for her new home country in Norway. She wasn’t making it up! She felt deeply for the land and its people and it conveyed enough to make me want to see it for myself.

After her speech, she surprised the I.I. chapter with a little fashion show. Two models dressed in traditional Norwegian wear. One word to describe those outfits – warm. Most pieces were made of wool and layered one on top of another as if they were trying to rival the layers in a kimono. We bounced a few questions off of the models and as they exited, the next highlight arrived. Tae Sakai and Natsuho Taira, two pianists from the Japan-Norway Musician’s Society, both of which have studied at the Norwegian Academy in Norway, provided a piano duet concert full of music from the late great Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg. Not a head in the room didn’t end up swaying to the musical crescendos that echoed through the room.

As they completed, their program, we exited to regroup in the private residence where lunch was to be served. First, and much to my delight, cocktails were being offered in the main room. I snatched a glass of red wine and began to make my way around the large rooms to locate the Edvard Munch’s Madam Pratap had said we would find as well as some other original Norwegian pieces. I didn’t get too far, only scoping out one of the Munch’s before getting caught up in conversations and never beginning my search again.

Madam Pratap had discussed how salmon was a huge part of Norwegian cuisine, so we were prepared for a buffet of multiple styles of salmon. Surprisingly, I only recall two dishes with salmon and the rest covering every scope of the palate. A friend that I had traveled with and I had placed our purses on seats, just as the Japanese do, to hold them until we had full plates. In usual Japanese fashion, it would be rude for anyone to take these spots, which made us completely shocked to find our seats taken and two women sitting on our purses. While they did offer to move, we just politely took our purses and made our way out of the room to see where else we might find a seat. This was much more difficult than expected. As I said, this was a private residence, and one I don’t think has often seen so many visitors at once. In the end, my friend and I decided to place ourselves on the circular stairway that led to the inner parts of their home. Don’t think I didn’t think about peeking, but I didn’t. As it went, some other Japanese friends who had been balancing plates and drinks laughed as we sat on the stairs, but it only took second before we were squeezing in to make room for them. Just as we were finishing, dessert was being served. One of the cakes being served had also been talked about during the earlier speeches, so we had to go see what it was all about. We were expecting some monster of a cake with so many layers that it would be impossible to cut

into without knocking it over. Nothing of the sort was displayed. Sure the layered cake was there, but I think our minds must have hyped it up a bit too much. Still, we filled our plate with various samplings and headed this time to the sun room that overlooked a Japanese garden behind the house.

While we were standing there chatting, a man came our way. It’s always unusual to see men at these things. It is a club of all women anyway. But this man was also definitely not Japanese. And he definitely wasn’t the kind of man that I typically get the chance to hang out and chew the fat with. We recognized him immediately from his picture in the program, the Norwegian Ambassador H.E. Arne Walther. As polite, charming and interesting as you would expect such a worldly man to be, Ambassador Walther totally fit the bill. He was open to all of our questions, including my nosiness when asking how he and his wife met. He had previously lived on the U.S. west coast many years before so we chatted about the differences in the places we all have lived. Only when the meeting was being called to a close with group pictures did we end our conversation. I could have gone on and on with him. I was only getting warmed up when it ended all too soon. We did have to laugh while we were on our way back when we thought of why he would single out the two most non-Japanese women in the room... he knew we would speak English and he likely wouldn't have to work so hard at his Japanese.

Sad for the ending of a great day, we made our way to our coats. This time, I really could have used that umbrella. It was pouring. At least I had been smart enough in the cold weather that morning to wrap a scarf around my neck, which now served as an impromptu rain bonnet. I’m sure it looked ridiculous to every umbrella covered person we passed on the street to see a white lady with her hair smooshed back from her forehead by a cashmere cap, but it was better to be laughed at than to be totally soaked. Next time, maybe I will dress myself appropriate for the weather at large.

What’s A Peanut To Do In Japan?

2009-11-28T11:20:00.009+09:00

As it has been noted, I am a bit of a homebody since the peanut arrived. Often I get slack for this, slack that I have learned to completely ignore. Frankly, my child is one of the happiest wee ones I have ever seen, so I must be doing something right.

Despite my propensity for my own quiet domestic quarters, I do like to get the Peanut out and about on a daily basis. We do a daily walk, either to the market or the park or sometimes even aimless wanderings around the narrow neighborhoods in the area. Sometimes we just sit in our tiny yard and play with the sticks, the leaves and whatever bugs we can find. And then there are the days where we venture much further out.

It is harder to find places to go with kids in Japan than you might think. Sure, there is Disneyland, DisneySea, Fujikyu, Sanrio Puroland, and many other big ticket parks filled to the brim with huge mechanical rides and funny characters. These amusement parks are aplenty and very easy to find. But if you are looking for something a little less formal and grand (read: less over-the-top and pricey), it can be a bit trickier. It isn’t like I can Google these smaller places and then expect to be able to read about anything I find. If it is smaller, it is probably in Japanese or lacks a website altogether. But besides all this, I just sometimes want a fun and different place to spend a nice afternoon at with my Peanut baby.

Recently, I kind of fell into a play group. While I despise the whole ‘play group’ idea (we didn’t schedule play when we were kids… we just did it… but don’t get me started…), the people I have met have been lovely. Through this group of about ten, there are always ideas being thrown out about what to do that doesn’t cost a fortune, but the kids’ will all have fun at. Plus, usually the one with the idea also knows how to get there and plays director for the day. Handy when you have your hands full with your own wiggling kid and therefore don’t really have time to consult the map at every turn.

The first place this group introduced me to was a farm in the southern part of the Miura peninsula called the Tsukuihama Tourist Farm. Throughout the different seasons of the year, they grow various fruits and vegetables which you can spend a day picking and then picnicking amongst. The drive to this farm was something else. It’s out there. We convoyed our way there and back or else you might never have seen or heard from me again. After parking the cars, we began a long walk up the mountainside where the grove was located. The seasonal pick while we were there was mikan, similar to a mandarin orange, but even sweeter. The trees were grown in lines, but over the years, they had squeezed themselves together making for narrow walkways. For a tall person like me, with a runt attached to my front side, we warily bumped and bounced our way into the grove until we found a good picnic spot to squeeze ten people and their infants into. Lunch was whatever you brought for yourself, plus as many mikans as you could eat. The Peanut and I ate quite a few! We thought we would be able to pick a few and take them home, as it was when the leader of the group who had been there before had done, but the rules had changed for some unknown reason. This didn’t stop a few of us from popping on or two into our diaper bags.

Now, most of the girls in this group have babies under five months old. Mine was by far the oldest. He had fun trying to crawl around the infants laying on the picnic blanket and trying to steal their rattles. He also tried to sneak off the blanket a few times, but I did have to stop this. While I had thought there might be a grassy knoll somewhere, there was no grass in sight. Just dirt and rocks. And do you know what a one-year-old does with dirt and rocks? He eats them. So letting him crawl his little heart out didn’t really work here, but I did let him pull all the mikans off the trees that he could. That Peanut is a strong one, I tell you!

Once again, my lovely neighbor has also been a wonderful friend to the Peanut and I, and a great source for places to go. She does have two grandsons who are in school now, but not so long ago, she would take them to these many wee-kid friendly places. So we started with the Kanazawa Zoo. It is only recently that Peanut has taken note that there is something at the zoo to look at. Previously, he couldn’t have cared less if a crocodile came up and licked him. Now, he actually is starting to note that what he is seeing is a critter and not just something fun to chew on. We were able to drive to the zoo and park there, making it easier for my older neighbor, than dragging the baby in a stroller with all his gear to and from our destinations and the train stations. At the parking lot, a little bus actually drives you up the winding mountain-side path to the zoo. Peanut sat with our friend in the front seat behind the bus driver with a big grin on his face the whole time. Before pulling away from the garage, the bus driver passed out whistles that he had made from a local nut, so it was a cacophony of shrills as we made our way to the zoo at the top. I whistled for the amusement of my own since he is a bit too wee for it yet.

Once arriving at the top, the ups and downs were only just beginning. The entire zoo consists of these walking paths that would challenge even those most fit. With every upward slope, I would take over the stroller pushing. Out of breath at the top of every hill, it was a very good workout. The zoo has all the usual sorts… elephants, birds, giraffes, koalas and even some American deer. It’s always funny to see stuff like that behind bars in a zoo, when I can see them standing in my parent’s backyard every time we are in Pennsylvania. The Peanut was enjoying himself, pointing to this and that, and listening to mama make all the different animal sounds in the hopes of a reaction. We paused for lunch at a picnic area and dined on seaweed-wrapped rice balls, broccoli with mayonnaise, boiled eggs, mikans, and cookies that our neighbor had prepared for the day. When we were full, we set off for the last half of the zoo.

Now, I do like spending time with my neighbor, but sometimes the language barrier is difficult and does limit the conversation at times. But humor translates into any language. As we paused to look at an Indian Rhinoceros, it immediately came to our attention that underneath this weather and gray animal was something long, thick and bright pink. We were at a bit of a distance, so we weren’t sure we were seeing this correctly. Not wanting to seem inappropriate, we both avoided one another’s eyes for a few seconds. But when we looked at one another, the laughter burst out. You see, the enormity of what was hanging down from this creature and seemed to be sniffing left and right then up and down was just too much. I have never seen anything like that in my many years. And I pray I never do again. God pity the poor female that has to endure that.

Speaking of her… as we rounded the corner of the same cage, we see her bathing in a large pool. Two little Japanese kids that were also gazing in couldn’t help but excitedly share with us that there was a baby in the corner too. Well, her man certainly had gotten to use what the good Lord gave him. We laughed all the way down and up the next hills.

As we were coming around one corner, we heard what we all thought to be kids screaming. It was a strange sound, starting off short and low and crescendo-ing into loud screeches. To all of our surprise, we came to discover a White-Handed Gibbon sitting at the front of his cage, giving the crowd in front of him this uproarious song. While my neighbor and I started yet another fit of hysterical laughter, the Peanut could only sit there with a very shocked, and slightly freaked out, look on his face. His face made us laugh even harder. Sides splitting, we had to call it a day before anything else could happen to make me possible pee in my pants from laughter.

And there is still more that a peanut can do here in Japan! Last week, again with our neighbor, the Peanut hoped into the car and headed off to the seaside in Yokosuka. All we knew as I drove was that we were going to a park. Sometimes trying to get a description is too difficult, so it is better to just be surprised when you get there. The place ended up being a French-themed kids land called Le Soleil. The place is really for both big kids and little kids. As you enter, you pass through the gardens where golden sunflowers were blooming beautifully on this sunny day. There is no entrance fee here, and each ride or activity has its own small cost. To start, there was a huge playground with perfectly sized slides for the Peanut. He happens to love them. My neighbor was shocked when I would put him at the top, give him a little shove and let him reach the bottom to her arms all on his own. He is a big boy in comparison to Japanese at the same age. Plus, I think Americans tend to let their littlest kids grow up a little faster than the Japanese do.

Next stop at the park was to pet and feed the many goats. Peanut didn’t help much with the feeding, even though I tried, but he did let the goats lick his legs and hands. Don’t worry, I cleaned him very well afterwards. And as far as I know, there is no such thing as goat flu… yet. There also was a little wooden structure that happened to be filled with school children, all with a guinea pig sitting in their lap to pet and hug for a spell. We continued our walk around the large, open park, passing several rides and things to do that are just a little too big for the Peanut yet. There was a fake grass hill that several kids would slide down on using sleds. There seemed to be no control of the sled, much to their delight, causing the kids to come down in every which direction. There are all sorts of bikes and go karts, motorized and some not to ride. A large pond to canoe in using these huge swan-shaped boats. An amphitheater overlooking the pond where huge groups of school kids with their brightly colored hats had taken up residence to have their packed lunches. A train made a loop around the entire park. The peanut almost passed out on us here and would have missed the rest of the excitement if it didn’t stop just before he was fully out. A restaurant in the middle of the park provided us with delicious curry for our lunch, after which we strolled in and out of several bakeries, grocers and toy shops located there. For things to do, especially for the toddler crowd, this place was one of the best we have been to yet. I think I can even drive us back there on my own!

So these are some of the things that a Peanut can do in Japan! I am always so appreciative when someone tells us about or shows us a new place to try. Thanks to friends and word-of-mouth, I do believe my kiddo isn’t missing out on a thing! So keep those suggestions coming! And we’ll keep a day free each week to check them out!

Kadou Honnoji School Comes To Kencho-ji Temple

2009-11-09T18:41:00.005+09:00

The new season for Ikebana International started in September, but my first program for the season was October's. Held at one of my favorite temples in Kamakura, it was a perfectly sunny and warm day as I rounded up my friends and drove us all to the Kencho-ji Temple. The meeting was to be held in the Hojo (main hall), where we had to remove our shoes before entering the sacred room. An image of the Shakyamuni Buddha looks out over the room from the alter area where Ikebana artist, Tenshin Nakano, was to arrange for us. Nakano-sensei is the son and grandson of famous flower masters of the Kadou Honnoji School of Ikebana, located in Kyoto. After college, he began to study flower arranging and now says of himself, "Ikebana is my life itself." His passion for Ikebana centers on arranging not to express his own ideas, but to do it for those that will be around his flower arrangements. He aims to inspire others, particularly the young, so they might understand how nice life is with flowers by creating arrangements of evolved, new styles from his family's school.

One of the things that always impresses me the most about younger Ikebana artists is their wish to pass along a love for flowers and arranging to the younger generations. In a world where technological advances easily infuse other cultures directly into our own homes, it is tremendously important that the most beautiful parts of our individual cultures not be lost in all this melding. Artists like Nakano truly want to pass along a love for Ikebana, an ancient and very important part of Japanese culture, to their fellow countrymen as well as to the world at large (he has demonstrated in such faraway places as Italy, India, Australia, China and the Ukraine). They see the importance of maintaining the past, but also realize that the past must be altered in some ways to accommodate for their ability to maintain a place in the future. While Nakano's background is in his father and grandfather's school, he shows a very wide range of the past, present and future in his arrangements.

While I am impressed with his vision for flowers and Ikebana of the future, what made the greatest impression on me was his actual demonstrating style. It was unlike anything I have ever encountered before.

The rules for the demonstration: no pictures during the demonstration and no talking or noise at all. This means no questions and no documenting his arrangement style except for my attempt to do it verbally. Nakano had two assistants, also students of his school. They took turns bringing out large scale plants and flowers for the arrangement, with each plant being displayed on its own. For example, one type of tree branch would be held up, all pieces together for Nakano to choose from, while the other varieties would be kept aside. Nakano would study each

branch and choose one. Very quickly, he would then begin to snip away, almost as if just snipping away whatever happened to be near his scissors, but in actuality, each move was very calculated. Usually when you arrange, you stand in front of the arrangement, the side of which the arrangement will be viewed. Nakano, however, has learned to arrange from the back of the arrangement. Somehow his mind's eye can adjust his vision to see the front and yet to create from the back... an impressive trait, if you ask me. He continued snipping away at his accelerated pace and quickly place each piece into its perfect positioning. His first arrangement was more traditional, with each subsequent arrangement becoming progressively futuristic. He created five in all, with one of those in the middle actually created by one of his students. I could see the progression of traditional to modern easily. Each arrangement was beautiful, but I must admit that it wasn't the arrangements that left their impression on me, but his style of creating and the message behind his work.

Once all the work was completed, we were allowed to ask questions. There were many... too many for me to recall. I was still wondering over his message and probably didn't have my mind altogether in those final moments. Sadly, my camera stopped working on this very day. A friend who had come with me had hers and did capture many shots from the day and those are what are presented here.

After all was said and done, we headed to the second floor for a bento box lunch and snack of mochi sweets. A silent auction was in progress, my favorite kind, so I did place a bid on a few items. One in particular really had my interest. I

do hate to keep bidding over others, but I was willing to do it anyway for this piece. I heard a comment as I stood off to the side that "Karen must really want this." I did. And it paid off. I came home with a beautiful, lacquered, wooden tray for only 1,200 yen. While I have no idea what I will do with it, I hope one day to have a bit more room that I can at least display it.

My friends and I took a short walk around the grounds of the

temple before we headed back to the car and home. It was the last time my one friend would join me at an I.I. program as she moves to her new home in Hawaii this very week. At least I have some place beautiful to visit, but going to these programs just won't be the same without her. For now, I will get ready for the next program in November. It should be a wonderful one, held in Tokyo at one of the embassies. More to come on that!

Tokyo Times

2009-11-01T10:21:00.008+09:00

Every once in awhile, KH and I just want a bit of American normalcy without dealing with the base. There is a haven for us. And we only have to go as far as Tokyo! It's the New Sanno Hotel. Stuffed full of normal sized bedrooms, normal styled meals, normal shopping and normal salon services. Okay, a bit of Japan seeps in, but overall the place perfectly fits the bill when we want a homestyle getaway without paying several thousand to actually go home.

We picked a random weekend and headed up on Sunday morning. This is an extremely important day at the New Sanno because of one very important event... BRUNCH! This is a brunch like you have never seen before. Ice sculptures grace the several buffet tables. A man sits at a baby grand. Others stand behind waffle stations, meat carving stations, pasta making stations, fresh sushi stations, and that doesn't even begin to tell you all this is on the menu here. I tend to eat very small meals, but when I go here, I always make it to a third or fourth plate. It's just that damn good.

To arrive on a Sunday is wise. Otherwise leaving on Sunday means you have to lug your bloated self into the car and try not to fall asleep from your severe food coma while crossing the Rainbow Bridge. We've made that mistake in the past three years more times than I care to admit before we finally figured out a better way.

So this long weekend began with a brunch. It was too early to check in, so we decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood or Hiro-o, checking out some shops and temples in the area. A motorcade of black and white vans and cars zoomed by us with speakers blaring some message and music. We would love to know what it was all about, but couldn't begin to tell you what the message from the speakers was. By the time we got back, our room was ready for us to collapse into. However, I had planned on treating myself to something else from back home... a massage. And while this seemed like a really good idea, it turned out to be one of those strange Japan experiences. I made my way down to the salon early and ready for those weary muscles to be soothed and pampered. It was only moments before they called me back. At first I stepped into the room, but my Japanese male masseuse called me back to remove my shoes at the entryway. How very Japanese and my first clue that this wasn't going to be exactly like I thought. First, I had never had a male masseuse before, but secondly and more importantly, I couldn't imagine a reserved Japanese person (a guy at that!) rubbing my defiled, tattooed body. For those long time readers, tattoos are a no-no here, despite the fact that most youngsters have them these days just like any American generally does. Another point on this - the New Sanno is a military hotel, running strictly for those associated with the military to use. How many people in the military DON'T have tattoos? We tend to like our ink. Back to the point. So this Japanese guy is getting ready to rub down my towel-wrapped body? Alright... if you say so!

I ask him where do I undress, but his English is rather limited so either he didn't understand the question or was too embarrassed to answer it if he did. He only says something about the sheets on the table and how I should lay under them, face down. It was very clear at this point that there would be no articles coming off. How do you massage if you can't dig in to those raw, naked muscles? I was going to find out.

Now I'm on the table, face down, sheet over my jeans and blouse. I expect he will at least lift the sheet off of the part he will be massaging, but no! Not so! The whole reservedness that is the Japanese way, they take it to extreme here. He massaged through the sheet, through my jeans, and while it felt good, it also felt... odd. It was as if he feared to touch any inch of my unclean skin! I took a shower! I swear I was clean! But he massaged up and down, always through the sheet and my clothes. When he got to my feet, he actually wrapped them in the towel so a tricky wouldn't dare slip out and touch his precious skin. As strange as all this was, I was pleasantly surprised that when I stood up (a bit rushed after a massage if you ask me), I actually did have that light headed and floating feeling in my body movement. I guess the massage did what it was supposed to, but I still miss stateside where they strip you down and dig deep into those tissues. Ahhh.

I headed back up to the room to rest for a bit with my boys. There wasn't much rest as it was getting close to dinner and we had big plans. We had made reservations at the front desk to go to Gonpachi. Have you seen Kill Bill? Do you know the fight scene with Uma Thurman where she kills the Crazy 88's? "Silly Caucasian girls likes to play with samurai swords." That Gonpachi! Well, the inspiration behind the scene anyway. Tarantino thought it would make a great place for a fight scene, but the movie was actually filmed in China. I like to think it was the same place anyway. Gonpachi is also famous because it is where our ex-President George Bush went when he visited Tokyo. It's located in Nishi-Azabu, just a tiny walk from Roppongi. Sure it's tourist-y, but some place that you should definitely visit when here. KH has actually been several times, but this was my first.

We started the meal off with drinks, mine a mikan-sho, basically an orange shochu drink that didn't taste like much, but sure snuck up on you. KH went with the lemon sour. Both were gone too fast so we ordered a large Kirin to share. On the dinner menu - tempura, tomato and tsukune yakitori, some type of clams, some type of beef and potato and orange chicken. I forget which dish it was, but I was asked if I wanted egg with that. "Sure! Why not?" is always my answer. So she brought a raw egg placed into a bowl with the dish. Only problem... I never figured out how to get whatever it was we were to eat it with into the tiny bowl of egg. So that untouched egg sat on the table the entire meal. Not one server would remove it when they cleared each course of dishes. We eventually left it on top of the signed credit card receipt.

I wouldn't say the food is much to write home about, but we have more often paid for ambiance in Japan than for food. In case you are wondering, Kimono Peanut was with us doing his usual charm act on everyone around him. He giggled and smiled and nibbled on bites of whatever we put in front of him. If one thing is for sure, we are definitely encouraging this kid to be open to all kinds of experiences! It was early, but that doesn't mean a thing when it comes to KP's bedtime, so we paid our bill and caught a cab back to the hotel. It never fails that no matter how many times we take a cab from Roppongi to the New Sanno, each driver has gone a completely different way. I have yet to ever figure out what roads we could take on our own to get there.

For Monday, we didn't have any exact plan. I had always wanted to go to the oldest Kabuki theater in Tokyo, so we decided to head in that direction. With KP in his stroller, we made our way down to the subway station that would take us to Higashi Ginza. What I didn't tell KH is that

there usually isn't an elevator at these smaller train stations, so we would have to carry the stroller down several flights of narrow stairs to get to the train platform. My usually very even-keel husband was really not so even-keel on this day. In fact, he was damn mad when I explained the situation at the top of the stairs. He let me know exactly how mad he was the entire shaky walk down the stairs with the stroller balanced between us. I tried to tell him that this was way better than when I have to do it on my own, but he really wasn't in the mood for that. What's worse is that to get to the platform we needed, we had to go back up another set of stairs and down again to get to the other side. KH didn't speak to me much while we rode the train, nor while we hiked back up the stairs once we arrived at the Ginza station. He only began to talk again when we arrived in front of the theater. It's just as amazing as I expected. The sad thing is that it is scheduled to be torn down. Like all Japanese structures, it is cheaper to tear down and rebuild than to fix up an old one. I personally don't get the need to tear down all these old beautiful buildings. I would preserve every aspect of this amazing culture! The new stuff is way too Western! I fear that some day, all these beautiful and ancient cities are going to look exactly the same as any other city in the world.

While I would have loved to have gone in to see one act of kabuki, we did have the peanut with us and I wasn't sure about his tolerance for the apparently long wait until the beginning of the next act nor his ability to be quiet during the performance. The last thing I ever want to be is that American who can't obey the rules of decency here and not make even a tiny peep, so we skipped going in. I have seen kabuki at least, just not in a theater such as this. We're debating a babysitter and heading back up to Tokyo to see one, but honestly I can think of way better shows to see if we are going through that kind of hassle. To be frank, kabuki is really boring. One small scene is stretched into an hours worth of acting. A man could seriously be taking his final breathe for a half an hour. I seemed to have found a patience reserve when it comes to being a mother, but just haven't found it for kabuki or many of the Japanese theatrical arts.

We'd never really looked around Higashi-Ginza, so we decided to do that instead. What we discovered? There ain't much there. It's essentially a business district from what we saw, so the restaurants are cramped and cater to the in-and-out crowd and close as soon as the lunch rush has passed. We found a fast food soba place that looked promising and stuff our two American sized bodies and a stroller up to a table in the back. It took us a few minutes to pick meals out of the electronic board, written (obviously) all in Japanese. We both kind of guessed in the end, punched a button and hoped for the best. Not bad. Nothing to write home about.

October is just gorgeous in Japan. Warm and not humid and this day was no exception. We decided to just begin walking in the direction of the famous Ginza district, where all the big shops all. It's like Rodeo Drive, but add in some ritzy Japanese department stores. I'm not the kind to splurge on designer clothes nor could I fit in anything there anyway, but the window shopping is always fun. And then we kept walking. We passed a flower shop dedicated to making only arrangements that look like Hello Kitty. If you live in Japan long enough, you can't help but fall in love with her. We walked and walked and walked some more. All the way to the Imperial Gardens, which we hadn't find impressive the first time, so we didn't feel the need to try again. What did amuse was a sign showing paths all through the Gardens and surrounding area and there in the middle of the park was a spot that said "Shelter for people who cannot go back home". Who are these people and why can't they go home? And why are they living on the grounds of the Imperial Gardens? It seemed like a pretty strange place for a homeless shelter, if you ask me. We walked some more, now in the direction of the hotel. We basically were following the path of the train below us that would take us back to the hotel. I suggested taking the train back, as I could see that KH and KP were both done with the walking. You can probably guess the response I got from KH in regards to carrying the stroller up and down the stairs at the train station again. It wasn't nice. Instead, he hails us another cab for us all to jump in. Hey! He makes the money in this household, so I guess he can spend it any way he wants to.

It being our last night in the hotel, we were all for staying in and getting more of that delicious American cuisine. I wanted wings to be exact. We pondered room service, but decided to drag ourselves downstairs to the restaurant instead. Surprise, surprise, it was another buffet! We went for it! And some wings. And then I died from all the food I had consumed in two days. Or maybe I just collapsed back into a food coma until morning, but I don't remember much of the rest of the night. It poured the rest of the night and as we were heading home the next day thanks to another tropical storm that was headed through. Fortunately all the fun was had long before that first drop was felt!

Now all that is left to do is plan for another long weekend up there!

To Neighboring Town Hayama With Our Neighbor!

2009-10-20T15:05:00.005+09:00

I've talked before about how the Japanese like to keep their lives so separate and private from everyone around then. Our house is the only one on our narrow, but long street that doesn't have a wall surrounding as if we were trying to live in some ancient samurai fortress. But that is only because it was built specifically for Americans, who have the big government bucks behind them and can easily afford a nice big, modern and entirely open house. (Thank you taxpayers!) The one side of our house is completely open, thanks to the likes of four large sliding glass doors. They can be covered with the large pull-down storm doors, which all Japanese dwellers would pull down at the inkling of evening darkness or the possibility that someone might peep inside their home for a second. For a major peeper like me, this was difficult to get used to. Even more difficult to get used to was the idea of pulling our own storm doors down every night. For the first two and a half years we lived here, I can honestly say we never closed the storm doors except if there was an actual storm coming. I know people thought we were nuts and quietly clucked their tongues and shook their heads behind our backs, but I simply refused to lock up the house so tight when, instead, we could have a nice breeze blowing through the house. It was only when the baby really started to become active and focal did we finally do it their way and shut the house up. I wouldn’t want the police to show up for noise disturbance simply because there was one Japanese rule that I lacked in following.

After all of our time here, though, I think our neighbor has become most accustomed to our way of life. We usually roll the doors up and fling open the curtains to let in the sunshine the minute we are up and downstairs… generally around 6:00 a.m. Our neighbor seems to now look for this cue, which means she is doing her own faux pas and is actively looking our way to see what we might be up to. We’re pretty darn lame when we are around the house, so the answer is generally nothing of interest. Most interesting in her embracement of our way of life is that she assumes that if the storm doors are up, we are open for business… no matter the time. Thankfully, I now make it a habit to change out of my jammies every morning before I get the baby from his crib so I am, by and large, dressed and presentable. This totally isn’t a complaint or a problem, because when she knocks, it is always for something good. Last week she brought freshly made pickled plums one day and another day it was an invite for a day out in Hayama.

We headed out late in the morning and began our excursion at the Hayama Shiosai Park and Museum. The gardens were actually a former part of the Imperial family’s Villa Gardens at their summer home in Hayama. They are kept as immaculately groomed as ever. The only difficulty we found is that the gardens were not stroller friendly. We had to skip some rocks at one point to cross a waterfall. I carried the stroller across while a few other strollers looked on and just prayed the whole way that I didn’t lose my footing, sending both baby and me into the stream of koi below.

In the middle of the garden is a tea house, where we did stop to enjoy traditional sweets and matcha tea, a thick green tea used in many Japanese ceremonies. I don’t know if I can say I like the taste, but I also don’t dislike it. Nonetheless, I keep drinking it in the hopes of finding out what I think of it some day.

After tea, we strolled through the small museum to see exhibitions of things that Emperor Showa extracted from the Hayama shoreline, as well as many exoskeletons of deep sea creatures I hope to never meet and which will probably keep me from ever diving in the waters of Japan. KP held little interest for all the tiny things behind glass which kept his tiny hands from checking them out up close, so we didn’t linger.

Instead, we headed down the street a bit further to a seaside park I had been to long ago, which sits next to the protected grounds of the Imperial Villa. With baby, baby bag, blankets and lunch tote, we hiked up some steps, down some steps, across many meters of soft sand, over a bridge, finally to rest on a grassy knoll overlooking Hayama and the ocean beyond. Despite the windy coolness of our chosen lunch locale, we all enjoyed the afternoon out of doors. My neighbor had made homemade Japanese sandwiches: egg salad, ham and cucumber. She had also made rice balls wrapped in seaweed and bought a baked muffin for KP as she wasn’t sure what he was eating these days. No lunch is complete without dessert, so she had also brought buttery cookies. All of which, there was not a morsel left when we were done.

We decided to make one more stop before heading home in the afternoon. I usually use the fish shop on the corner near the train station, but my neighbor explained that there was one with much better fish that she always shops at. Hidden in an area of Zushi I have never before been too, quite close to the marina, was a tiny shack where people seemed to be pouring in and out. The fish found inside are dredged from the local seas daily, cleaned up and sold, I swear, before they are truly even dead. I only have one major difficulty with the fish sold here. These are entirely full fish… scales, tails and all. I have absolutely no idea how to clean a fish. Of course, I could always cook it up all together, just as the Japanese do, but that is just not one of those things I would chose to do often. My neighbor noticed my worry over this and proceeded to do the most wonderful thing… she went to the lady at the counter and told her to pick out her best slice of sashimi tuna in the case at her side. The lady wrapped it in paper, placed it in a bag, and my neighbor handed it directly to me. The only instruction for cooking this? Don’t. Make rice on the side, a dipping sauce of soy sauce and wasabi and call it a dinner. Perfect if you ask me! However, KH does the raw stuff only on raw occasions… and sadly this night would not be one of them. He balked and I told him to make himself some dinner. Mean, maybe. But I was surely going to eat the tuna. If only I could have eaten the whole thing. But who wants to eat a few pounds of raw tuna all by their lonesome? I ate what I could, while it was fresh, and hoped with all my might that my neighbor wouldn’t notice a bit of it in the trash a few days later. So sad. I guess I could have cooked it the next day, but I got lazy and never got around to it. I am pretty sure she doesn’t read this blog, but if she does… please don’t hate me for the lacking taste buds of my darling husband! I really do feel very bad about it.

My neighbor… she is just one good lady. The other day we awoke and opened our glass doors to take in the morning sun and air. While she hung out her morning laundry, she could hear and see Kimono Peanut and myself playing in the living room by the open door. I hadn’t seen her, so it was quite a surprise to hear someone say ‘ohayo gozaimasu!’ (good morning!) from the side of our house, by the open door. I relaxed as I realized who it was and then got even more excited over her reason for calling.

She was inviting us away again... this week, it is to the zoo we go!

No Boundaries

2009-10-14T16:29:00.000+09:00

All sorts of people knock on our door every day. I can understand what about fifty percent of them want in my broken Japanese. KH tells me not to even bother answering the door since I can't understand half of them anyway. He prefers to turn the television and lights off and pretend he's not home. They do eventually go away. True. True. But where is the fun in that? It is much more fun to answer, if only to amuse myself for a few minutes. One of my favorite games starts with me saying 'I don't understand' and other bits in Japanese just to have them go into an extended conversation in Japanese, because they think if I can say that much, then surely I can understand more than I am letting on. I don't. But they don't know that. The second reason I like to answer the door is because I like all the bowing. It's great exercise! They bow to say hello and then bow to say thank you for your time even though you haven't understood a word the other has said. Then when you bow afterwards in thanks to their politeness, they bow again to thank you for your politeness... and you can see how this goes on and on for sometime. Saying goodbye to someone in Japan is just simply one of my favorite things to do here just because the repetitive bowing seriously amuses me.

I digress. So who creates all this foot traffic at the Kimono household? There's your common traveling vegetable vendor, not to be confused with the traveling fruit vendor. There's the Jehovah's Witnesses. There's the utilities people who knock just so they can ask if they can check your meter... which is on the outside of the house, so why bother to ask? There's often a person who will knock and ask if they can park in KH's empty parking spot. When your street is the size of an alley back home and the majority of the people who live on it have no parking spaces because they don't own a car (another 'why bother' with the amazing train networks in Japan), then that parking spot is highly coveted when you have someone that needs to do something on the street that will take more than a few minutes. Otherwise, they could do the usual Japanese thing and just park in the middle of the street, but that causes some hassles in these narrow neighborhoods. Overall, I get what these people want. But then there is the other fifty percent. Of which is where my point to all this drivel is.

Yesterday, my neighbor dropped by to see if some tests I had done recently had gone well. After she had left, another knock came only seconds later. I assumed is was my neighbor who might have forgotten something. Instead is was this little old lady, small in stature and wearing a pretty but quaint flowered dress and giant spectacles. She carried only a small bag with her so I couldn't begin to guess what she wanted. She only spoke Japanese and my language skills just couldn't fill in the blanks. So after our ongoing polite and confusing conversation, she began to say her goodbyes. It was at this time that Kimono Pipsqueak came tearing around the corner on all fours. The woman who had been standing outside of the door heard him so she popped her head in quickly. It took her only a second to see my smiling little devil baby. Before I knew what was happening, she had brushed me aside and was now inside of my house! She knelt at the step in our entryway where KP sat giggling away for a few seconds of stranger attention. It was only another second that she had now scooped my darling blue-eyed baby into her arms. Here is this strange lady... in my house... and grabbing a hold of my baby. Now in most cases, this situation would totally have me freaked out. But here was this little old lady, all alone, and I was pretty sure I could take her down if she tried to get past me and out of the door with my baby boy in her frail arms. I didn't really know how to respond to this, since no one who has ever knocked on our door crossed its threshold without explicit permission. Do I yank the baby from her arms and give her the boot? Or do I remain calm? Utter confusion about the situation led me to the latter. She gave him a few squeezes and kept telling me 'kawai', which is cute, and then she placed him back on the step she had plucked him from. As I put myself between her and the baby, she began her series of bows with mine in response. As she backed out of the door, I closed it as quickly, but politely, as I could. Another knock came only second later. The pamphlet she initially wanted to give me was in her hand. Printed on orange paper, all in Japanese. Only the date was I able to read. She thanked me for taking it and tried to explain what it was. Then she abruptly and seemingly gave up, turned around and was around the corner before I finished closing the door.

If she could move at that speed, maybe I should have been more concerned that she could have made off with KP. Thankfully, we will never know.

And we will never know what she wanted either. I trashed the pamphlet only minutes after she left. If I can't speak Japanese, then why would anyone begin to believe I could read it? I'll never understand.

Going Postal - A Comparison

2009-10-07T14:00:00.006+09:00

The other week, I had two boxes to ship out. One to my stateside nephew for his birthday and one to a friend here in Japan for her soon-to-be-here baby boy. Now I rarely use the Japanese postal system for more than sending a handful of New Years or thank you cards, so I had no prior knowledge of how that shipment would go. I figured it would be expensive, possibly even close to 5,000 yen (about $56 American dollars at today’s in-the-toilet exchange rate), like everything else here in Japan.

I bought two identical boxes and packed everything into their respective box. At the US Military Post office on base, I shipped the first stateside. It cost $56 dollars and took about a week to get to its destination. At the Japanese post office, I filled out a lengthy form of which I barely understood and braced myself for the shipping amount due. 1,200 yen. That’s about $13 bucks. At first I thought I had done something wrong, but since no one spoke English at the post office, I just had to have hope that it was indeed going to the right place and arriving sometime before next year. I chanced the language barrier and went ahead and asked the woman in English, “When will it get there? Next week? Two weeks?” She took a minute to punch in some things on her computer and comes back with a hesitant, but what seemed clear enough, “Tomorrow.”

Then I knew I had done something wrong.

Because how in the world can a simple post office deliver as fast (if not better) than Fedex can back home?

Turns out that a simple post office can indeed knock yours socks off in Japan. I emailed my friend to be on the lookout for the package over the next few days and, lo and behold, she said it arrived by 10:00 am the next morning. I had only been to the post office around 2:00 pm the prior day.

Gotta love these ultra-efficient Japanese.

I Eat, Therefore I Am

2009-10-02T11:19:00.008+09:00

Oh, man… has it been that long? I’ll tell you… I don’t know how mommy bloggers actually blog about their lives and still live those lives. Not that I am a mommy blogger, but a blogger who happens to be a mommy and just doesn’t see where to fit it in.

Our Kimono Peanut is nearing the year mark and is busier than ever! When awake, he is resolved to his daily search and destroy mission in between my attempts to entertain and educate him. When he sleeps, I run around trying to clean up the wake of his path. Also to be tended to, there are the mounting dishes (in a house that doesn’t have a dishwasher besides my own two cracked, little hands), the ever escalating laundry pile (in a house that has a godforsaken itty-bitty Japanese washer and dryer which takes at least five hours to do one load), and dinner preparation (in a house where someone is either wrapping himself around my legs as I try to chop and dice or attempting his first successful mounting to the top of stove). Seriously. Where do mommy bloggers find the time?

Don’t get me wrong! I love every single minute of it!

I used to love the challenges that awaited me at the office every day. I loved creating the spreadsheets that would determine and hopefully resolve each problem that arose. I loved the phone calls to clients and vendors. I loved coming up with new ideas or solutions or even just resorting to the tried and true resolution.

Now I look forward to the first sounds that come from the crib every day. The chatting to himself and friends. I believe there may be even ghosts of family passed he spends time with. I love sliding the door open and surprising him and getting hugs and smiles in return. I love spending all of my time with him, whether it’s quiet time at home or out and about. And that husband… he’s pretty darn awesome too. I love taking care of my family! I love knowing that whatever they need or wish for, I have it covered.

So why would I want to take a single moment away from that to write about it? I know, I know… everyone tells me that I should journalize this time of my life… whether it is Peanut time or Japan time I am writing about, I should just get it into words. I stick by my original words that I don’t intend to become a mommy blogger, so I keep the Peanut notes in a handy, dandy calendar of his first year which is much easier to write in since you don’t even have to write full sentences. And when I have the time, I write about Japan.

Now after all this digression, I shall move on to the topic of today. One of my favorites – FOOD! I just want to document our favorites so years later, I don’t forget where we spent so much of our time… and money.

When KH and I first moved to Japan, we thought the food was basically fish, sushi, sashimi and a little more fish on the side. We were so pleasantly surprised! One of our favorite things to do is still head out to our favorite restaurants as often as possible. So today, I want to talk about a few of the ones we frequent. Let me preface this by saying that I might not be able to use the name of the restaurant and may call it by describing the building or the food. I still haven’t learned to read kanji and I honestly never intended to.

First we have the Chinese place down the road. Well, we think it is Chinese, but it seems an awful lot like Japanese to us. I actually have learned the name of this place several times and have forgotten it each and every time I walk out the door. We go there at least once a week and the owners, a husband and wife team and a sister-in-law, may not yell out ‘NORM’ as we enter, but they certainly know who we are. On the menu: tonkatsu (breaded pork), ramen, gyoza, stir-fries, tempura, gingered pork and so much more. We’ve been going there for over three years now and they never fail to give us something extra special. Sometimes it’s an upgrade from the regular soup you get in a set to a special ramen. Sometimes it’s a special pickled vegetable. When I was pregnant, they always brought me more food than normal and when we first took the baby, they sent us home with a fruit basket as a gift. None of them speak English and my Japanese only goes as far as food, money and a few other conversational pieces, but that never stops this family from treating us warmly. They chat with the baby and squeeze his hands and cheeks and now that he is eating table food, they are trying to share all new things with him too. Fortunately, he is quite fond of the taste of Japanese foods… and well pretty much all food, if we are being open here. He gets it honestly!

Then also here in Zushi is our favorite soba place, which we call the wheel place because it has a big mill wheels spinning out front. Inside, you can choose traditional Japanese eating or Western table seating, but the floor tables are perfect for a wee peanut. On the menu: many, many kinds of soba (Japanese buckwheat noodle) served both hot and cold, tempura, and this appetizer that KP likes. It’s basically these gooey balls of soba-like matter in a clear broth. The kid digs these and can keep him busy chewing (and out of trouble) for the length of a good meal.

Last week, a friend asked us when the last time was that we went out for dinner without KP. Finding a babysitter is really not so simple here in Japan for obvious reasons and made especially hard with a husband who refuses to allow anyone that he has not done a background check on watch the baby. So the last time… was back in July when we were stateside and went to our friends wedding, staying overnight in a hotel while my parents watched him. She jumped at the chance to kick us out of our own house while she stayed with him so we could have a grown-up meal. We actually started out for our old favorite, Matchpoint curry restaurant and bar, but when cutting across a side street, we happened on a restaurant we have often talked of trying. El Barco, is a tapas restaurant on a second floor directly above a Japanese restaurant (of which we haven’t even begun to figure out what they serve). It’s been years since we had tapas, so we bagged our original plan and hiked up to the second floor. The menus were in Spanish and Japanese, but thankfully I can speak and read the first language. We started with some glasses of sangria, strong but potent, and then went to town ordering everything from squid to paella! It definitely did not have the ‘kick’ of some tapas places in the states (the Japanese aren’t big on spice), but it was heavenly nonetheless. Fresh, garlic-y, aromatic, and just truly delicious! We left a few hours later, stuffed and buzzing, just the way a good meal should end. As soon as our friends drops by again, we’re leaving her behind with KP and we’re off again!

If you are up for Indian and don’t feel like going the whole way to Roppongi for some of the best at Moti’s, then we highly recommend Appughar. Located along the beach and with a view of Fuji-san (well… when it cooperates anyway), we pulled together several new-in-town friends for a night out of tandoor-grill, curry, naan, chapati, puri, paratha, and basmati rice. This place never disappoints, although I somehow think I ordered mine at the hot-hot level. My gums hurt for two days. But it was worth it. We actually have a ‘frequent flier’ card from here and with only one more meal, will receive a nice sized coupon.

And then there is our favorite shabu, shabu place in Kamakura, Kura-Syabu-Tei. We first went to this place with a group of friends when KP was only a few months old. One friend reads and speaks Japanese so she was able to easily order off of the totally Japanese menu. Now we can’t do the same, but we know enough about the place and what they offer that we can struggle through with placing an order. Shabu-shabu is basically meat and vegetables cooked at your table by yourself in a flavorful broth. Kura-Syabu-Tei has the best broths I have ever tasted! We always go for the hot pepper and coconut based sauces. We may not be able to specify meats perfectly, and may end up with tongue or other random meat parts, but they all taste just as good when cooked in the broth and then dipped in either the soy or peanut-based sauces. At the end of the meal, we are always left with a surprise that the total wasn’t half as expensive as we expected… surprising when you have no idea what the hell you ordered off the menu. KP is always a hit here too. People will stop by to chat him up and someone always comes with a basket of toys for him to choose from and take home. He isn’t very fastidious in his choosing, so I try to pick out the most appropriate and put it on the top for him to easily grab. He generally more interested in chewing on the plastic bag than what is inside at this point anyway. But that is fast changing!

Now this may not be a frequent stop – actually it was a first for me – but while shopping with friends at Grandberry Mall last week, we did finally try Vietnam Alice for lunch. One the menu: lots of noodle soups. I didn’t really take the opportunity to study the menu, but the lunch specials were wonderful! I added a steamed spring roll to my spicy noodle dish and a glass of mango juice. The combination was enough to make me want to go back soon! Well... I guess I should admit that there also happens to be a Cold Stone Creamery at this mall that I just couldn't resist. An authentic taste from home is not to be passed by!

In the market for the best burger you can find in Japan? Head down to the truly gorgeous area of the Zushi Marina and stop at their snack shop. This burger seriously cannot be beat by any of the Japanese burger chains like Freshness Burger or Mos Burger for either cost or taste. They even had sliced fresh potatoes to make their fries, skin on... just the way I like 'em!

While we do have the navy base nearby which gives up some options for American food, sometimes you just want something else. This is exactly why we took the train to Yokohama to hit Hard Rock Café. Pulled pork sandwiches, nachos, fries and a pink lemonade. Man, do I miss those really unhealthy meals. We’re heading to Tokyo for a few days coming up and I may just have to make a trip to the one there too.

So as I said… I eat, therefore I am. Still on the planet that is. Still in Japan. Still enjoying it.

The Bullets of our Summer

2009-08-17T15:08:00.003+09:00

It has been the perfect summer so far. Busy… but not too busy. Hot… but not too hot. In honor of this perfect summer, I have been very lax about updating. The funny thing is that, for once, I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about that.

There’s been a lot going on. Much of it was actually quite noteworthy and deserves more attention than I plan on giving it now. It’s a gorgeous day out. The baby is taking his afternoon nap. In the essence of continuing to enjoy my summer, this will be an update strictly by bullet point.

We spent the early weeks of the summer traveling back to the states. First Massachusetts to visit Kimono Hubby’s family and friends and then on Pennsylvania to visit mine. We spent roughly a month stateside, the longest we have been able to experience American normalcy in over three years now, and it still seemed like the usual one week trip. It just goes too fast. In MA, there was both the fun stuff: met our niece, went to her baptism, hung out with friends at old favorite restaurants, shopped (oh God, how I shopped.), visited Quincy Market and the North End with our friends Lisa and Kyle whom we met in Japan but had since moved to Germany, saw normal Fourth of July fireworks on the New England coastline, visited the Children’s Museum in Providence. Then the not so fun stuff: dentist appointments for KH and myself (it had been more years than I care to reveal) and an appointment for a missing immunization for KP at the Naval Clinic in Newport.

On to Pennsylvania, where the fun stuff began immediately with one of my very best friend’s wedding. The rehearsal dinner was at a local pub, brunch at the kind of diner I miss so much, the wedding at an old mill where the bride had chosen one of the most flattering bridesmaid’s dresses I have ever worn. (And I’ve been in nine weddings, ten if you count my own, so I have a good handle on bridesmaid fashion.) More fun stuff: a party where all of our closest friends came from miles around to converge on my parent’s house, more shopping (seriously… oh God, the shopping), more favorite locales visited with friends and family, and a long weekend trip with my immediate family to Ocean City, Maryland. We all used to go every year, but for obvious reasons it has been again over three years since we last made a trip. Three extra grandkids have been added to the mix since our last trip. Somehow we still managed to go to our past favorites like Brass Balls Salon, Mug and Mallet for crabs and beer and Seacrets for de Pain in de Ass. Not to mention, it was my baby’s first time in the Atlantic. He ate plenty of sand, washed down with loads of sea water. It’s really hard to teach a baby not to eat the freaking sand. Who knew? We also had some not so fun stuff there too: a vet appointment for our other baby, Bruiser, who seems to be living high on the hill. He’s gained a few pounds in my parent’s care and was even more fun than usual to drug and take to the veterinarians. Yes, you have to drug him or there would be another bloody, wet, furry scene like at his last appointment. No, I am not exaggerating. I can’t even go back to that vet out of absolute embarrassment. Sadly, my parent’s cockatiel Janice Joplin had gotten sick right before we came so we had to find a special bird vet and spent many hours driving there and back nursing her back to health. Sadly, JJ ended up passing away a few weeks after we returned home. But despite sick animals and our own medical quirks, everything was just too perfect and ended all too quickly.

Since we returned home, there is the fun but boring stuff that I wouldn’t bother writing about… lunches with friends and a pool date. Of which, there will be only one because with only two hours at the pool and most of it under an umbrella and wearing sunscreen, I still ended up getting sun poisoning complete with nausea and fever and itching that has been left ever since. Stupid sun. We now are content to wait for the afternoon, when the sun hits the other side of our house, where KP is content to spend forever playing in the baby pool and I can sit there with my feet cooling at the same time.

Then there was the big news (literally) for KH. While I am not at liberty to talk about his work on this forum, he was asked to be interviewed by Fox for a show called Backstage Pass. It’s the Entertainment Tonight of Japan. My dear husband is no stranger to the Japanese media, but this was quite an honor. It was a full day even that began early on the morning of Friendship Day on Yokosuka Base. On this day, the Navy opens up the gates to the Japanese public to visit designated ships and to enjoy many entertainment festivities and American food. They go wild for the pizza and it ain’t even the good kind. KP and I got up early to watch the man of the house in action. We had no idea how big the interview was going to be until the film crew and the hosts arrived. The Japanese certainly knew who these two gorgeous women were though. They flocked to be around them! KP and I only left because we had late lunch plans with some friends, who were in town for the week, followed directly by dinner and drink plans with other friends. The whole crew was just so wonderful and friendly. We were told repeatedly that we would be hooked up from here on out with invitations to the big movie premiers in Tokyo. Can’t wait! Most importantly… it just never ceases to amaze me how awesome my husband is not only at home, but at work where he is truly valued, appreciated and respected.

I also got to see my first retirement ceremony for a naval officer. One of my dear friends in Ikebana International has been enjoying their second tour in Japan and had come upon that revered day of his career when he gets to say his official farewells. His speech, the CO of the base’s speech, the passing and honoring of the flag, the Colors… all of it brought me to tears. This is the kind of event that KH gets to go to often, but I would never have had the opportunity without having become friends with this amazing woman. I’m so happy for both and them and so proud of their serve and sacrifice for our great country.

In the midst of all of this, I turned another year older and closer to dead. While I can’t seem to get KH to honor the whole concept of a “birthday week,” he and some Japanese friends made sure it was a perfect weekend. For Saturday, my friends took me to a bakery style restaurant where we feasted on multiple courses, made even more special by the next-to-last course of Kobe beef. They treated me to a unique Ikebana artful container made of wood and pottery, of which I can’t even begin to tell them how much I will truly treasure. For Sunday, I spent the day hanging out with my boys at home, made complete with gifts of an uncut peridot necklace from KP, a wooden and glass Japanese candle container from KH, and a divine strawberry and white cream Japanese cake. I was willing to make dinner, but at KH’s insistence, we ended up at my favorite Thai Erawan in Yokosuka where I ordered way too many dishes, but it didn’t stop either of us from near licking those plates clean.

Then there was the Bon Dance Festival at the Shinmei Shrine here in Zushi. We walked over, hiked the steps to the shrine where a ring of Japanese and even a few American dancers in kimono circled a high stage crowned with a man playing Japanese drums. We would later meet the first player, a grandfather who proudly told us that the next drummer up was his own grandson. We left the festival gifted with bags of snacks and more good (continuing really) impressions of our Japanese hosts. My only sadness on this night was that I had left the camera on the table at home and didn’t get a single picture of this hot summer night scene.

We do not live on base, but we are obviously associated with the Yokosuka Naval Base. Typically, my only visits there are when I need American goods from the Commissary or Navy Exchange, but on one particular night, the base didn’t something I haven’t seen in all my time here… they got one fantastic and currently relevant bands to come and put on a completely free concert for the sailors and their families. The All-American Rejects put on one fantastic show! I’m not sure that they knew what they were in for, however. Many people brought their young kids, making the scene way more family than fan-based. References to drinking and partying, along with the numerous swear words that flew from their mouths, was not entirely appreciated by all of the audience. I tend to be of the thought though that the parents should have known better and not that the rock stars should be something other than who they are. I believe that events like these are essentially for the sailors, and not as focused on their dependents. Unfortunately, most of the big ships happened to be out to sea and missed the concert. Nonetheless, it was wonderful to hear GOOD, live music again and get a little taste of stateside normalcy that is so often craved. I personally thought their comments were stinking hilarious.

The beach bars are back up and obviously have been for some time now. Last night, we waited for the late afternoon sun to come out before making our way down. It turned out to be yet another perfect night in a long summer of perfect nights. We dined on curry and ramen, washed down with chu-hi, while the sun filled the sky with the fiery colors of evening. In the distance, Mount Fuji made a glorious appearance for a full beach of revelers.

I felt like Fuji-san came out just to show us how quickly the summer was fading away from us. While the heat will remain here much longer than it would back home, the Japanese live by the calendar and not the outside temperature. Soon they will be again wrapping themselves in scarves, coats and hats. This is probably my last summer here in Japan. There is just so much to say about that. But for now, I’m going to get back to enjoying the day, leaving these many mixed feelings whirling in my heart for another day.

Where Monkeys and Irises Totally Go Together

2009-06-22T13:43:00.005+09:00

Living in a society where your neighbors are often so close that they can reach out of their own windows to touch your house, it is of the utmost importance to be considerate and polite. To do this, you have to live your daily life while trying hard not to let either sound or visual disturbances escape from your walls. If you are outside, you are outside quietly, with perhaps a slight boy and low greeting to the oft passerby which they will sometimes return in the same quiet fashion and other times walk on by as if they don’t even notice your existence. If you are inside, you are inside quietly with the radio or TV down, but better yet to just read a book quietly. And on days and nights like these where the weather has turned warmer, but not necessarily warm enough to close up the house and turn on the air conditioning, it is difficult to keep sound and lights from spewing out of your windows and assaulting your very-much-next-door neighbor, especially at night. Now add an infant into the picture.

This is pretty much the picture of our day-to-day lives.

When we first moved in, we did the traditional gift giving to our neighbors where we discovered that few speak English. Our neighbor to the left seemed to speak the best English and to this day they will often invite us somewhere or bring over some Japanese specialty made for us. It was rice balls last week with salmon, tuna and ume inside. These neighbors are separated by only our very small yard. When they hang clothing on their downstairs porch or upstairs terrace, they can look directly into our living room and dining room. Now if a Japanese person lived next to them, the curtains would never be open for them to see inside. But as an American, and specifically one from the open country, I can’t stand to have the large sliding glass doors closed and the curtain shut over top of them. I leave everything open as I was bred to do and they pretend not to notice our existence so close by as they were bred to do. And thank God they do because I often forget to bring clothes with me for when I get out of the shower and have to make a run for the stairs. In these cases, if they were looking… they certainly wouldn’t miss a freaky, pale white birthday suit in their peripheral. So I’m thankful for the relationship that has emerged between us.

I’m also very thankful for their frequent invites. Which brings me to last week. It is the rainy season here, so when my neighbor first suggested we go to the Iris Gardens, we both knew it would be best to wait until the following week to check the weather report before committing to any specific day. On Tuesday, my friend pops by with a bright yellow windmill she found in Kamakura for Kimono Pipsqueak. We settled on the following day which was to be the sunniest of the bunch. Now she speaks very good English and my Japanese is so-so when it comes to numbers so I thought we were clear on the time: 12:30. Both naptime and lunchtime would be past, hopefully quelling any potential crankiness. So when the doorbell rang at 11:30, finding me propped on the couch with a book and sandwich and enjoying a quiet moment, I was a bit shocked. Our doorbell is an intercom style with video, so I knew it was my neighbor arriving much earlier than I expected. I shoved everything I could grab into the sink or closet before rushing to get the door and hoping I wouldn’t be judged to harshly for my own appearance. It took us only moments to realize that we had both misunderstood the other. No matter though. I invited her in and told her we would go wake KP a bit early and get ready to go. She was all too excited to get a peak at him in his room and help with his lunch as I threw things into his diaper bag, readying us to go.

In our preparations, she noted that there were often monkey toys strewn about here or there. I don’t know why we have so many. We just do. She asked if KP liked monkeys and I said yes… or well… he at least seems to like his mother making ridiculous monkey noises while shaking some stupid toy in his face. She mentioned that there is a monkey park here in Zushi and wondered if we had ever been. Since I had never heard of such a place, nor even expected it in our small beachside town, the answer was an emphatic no. It took her only moments to decide that we would add this place to our plans for the day.

With me driving and her directing, we ended up in the small mountains that surround and cut through Zushi, driving narrow, winding roads until we reached the top of one such mountain. After a short walk, we come up to a series of cages with everything from doves, to rabbits, to guinea pigs, to some other strange birds of which I can’t translate (they looked like little fluffy white chickens) and finally a gorgeously plumed peacock While I was honestly enthralled, KP barely acknowledged their presence. It seems he is learning his Japanese traits young. We left the cages behind and walked over to the edge of the mountain, where a huge circular monkey cage sat overlooking the ocean far below. Tan monkeys with their bright pink bottoms hanging out played on the log rafters, climbed the metal side walls and frolicked on their floor far below, tossing cabbage leaves here or there as they went. Again, the reaction from KP was… less than animated… but at least I now know of a place that some day he just might show some excitement over. After enjoying the view for another moment, we headed back to the car.

The drive to the Iris Gardens took me down some roads I knew of and a few I didn’t, but allowed me to make some connections that will give me shortcuts I previously didn’t know about. We didn’t even make it past the ticket boxes before we were stopped by the first group to fawn over the little gaijin baby in our mix. I think it took my neighbor aback for a minute, but she recovered quickly and would spend the rest of our time there merrily pushing the stroller around the garden paths, eager to talk with those who stopped to offer a flattering comment or two to her and the baby. I got many bows at the same time, and the translations usually came a moment or two later, once my friend thought the baby had his fair share of compliments.

Often, I would find myself some distance from my friend and baby as they got swept up in chats and I got lost in the beauty of the gardens. Everywhere you looked, there were varying shades of purple and white lining the garden beds. Women in period dressing and galoshes stomped through the muck, plucking dead or dying blooms from the garden, ensuring that the picture was laid out immaculately for the garden guests. We guessed that there had to be at least 100 different varieties of irises in the two large gardens. After completing our walk through both gardens, my neighbor asked if I was tired. It is the very Japanese thing to do to get some sort of refreshment after any task… even if it was a task strictly for entertainment/enjoyment purposes. Not one to turn down ice cream, we wandered over and grabbed ourselves refreshments, then found one of the few empty benches where we could sit and gaze and enjoy.

We got home late in the afternoon and went our separate ways. It had been a wonderful day spent walking and talking with her. Later in the evening, as the dusk began to settle, KP and I would find her on her porch, removing the day’s now dry laundry. She wouldn’t look over and we wouldn’t either. It was back to our invisible wall of separation until we would get together… another day.

Japanese Peculiarities #9

2009-06-20T13:48:00.013+09:00

One of the things I remember about my childhood, that I always used to love, was how my mom hung our laundry out on a clothes line in those sunnier months. Our clothesline hung parallel to the side of our fenced-in yard separating the vast woods from our well-trimmed lawn. The metal fence and clothesline poles were always entwined in lilac that would scent the small stretch of land where my brother and I spent most of our time playing G.I. Joe and eating mud pies. Well, he ate them anyway… but only because his older sister made him. Mean, that little girl was. I digress.

I can still see my mom hanging up shirts by their tails, our skimpy unmentionables, and our long bed sheets while our dog Gizmo (Pinky as many of you know him) circled at her feet. With everything hung, it was a virtuoso fort in our young eyes. Looking back now, the scene was pretty idyllic of a very good childhood in the country, the same kind of childhood I hope KP will be blessed with.

But here we are in Japan, where the country is hard to find, with any patch found either covered in rice fields or

hills covered in thick foliage. Certainly KP is too young to know much of his surroundings at this point and we will probably move somewhere new before he is actually aware, but in the meantime, there is one thing I can give him… a clothesline.

Of course, this is nothing like the clothesline of my distant past, but it is a clothesline nonetheless. And I honestly admire the Japanese for their version, when they are so tightly packed in between neighbors and often lacking any sort of yard at all. A version where the Japanese women take whatever small space they can find out of doors, albeit a lanai, terrace, or just an open window where a small hanging device can be attached. And here hang not only their shirts, pants and unmentionables, but oft, their whole bed, which is now slung over a wall that functions more as a clothesline than its intended role as an architectural detail of their home. Remember the traditional Japanese bed is a futon, or thin mattress, rolled out onto their tatami floor every night. Tatami mats and the futons on top of them do get bed bugs just like those American king-size mattress babies do. So you clean them up and hang them out on your ‘clothesline’ to make them all nice and refreshed.

But Japanese take the clothesline process one step further and use it all year round. This is a great idea in the face of all of us who want to be a little bit more green in our daily lives. I hang out many of our items of clothing, just like every one of my neighbors does, although our queen mattress does stay where it always lies. Not only is all this Japanese green-ness wonderful, but it just plain makes sense when a Japanese drier takes about 4-6 hours to dry one load. I wish I was exaggerating. But it is indeed that painful. And, consequently, very energy wasteful.

While it may not be the beloved scene from my childhood, and it may seem a bit odd, I really do love the many makeshift clotheslines here in Japan.

Japanese Peculiarities #8

2009-06-19T13:24:00.003+09:00

So here’s something that after three years in Japan, I have never seen before, and yet KH tells me that it is pretty much an every day occurrence for many occupations in Japan… a line-up meeting every single morning that starts the work day. For this morning meeting, the staff apparently all line up, often in circular fashion if inside and office, and repeat a sort of mantra of polite formalities. Perhaps I was running errands earlier than I normally do on this particular morning to catch this act with my own two eyes, but this struck me as quite bizarre. It isn’t that the idea of a morning meeting was bizarre, but I just can’t imagine making everyone line up in such a particularly overly orderly fashion. It seems almost… militant… a rather old-fashioned part of Japan’s conformist ways.

Maybe they do this at every fire station in the states… but if they do… I’ve never seen it there either. I’m really thinking it doesn’t happen back home. And I really can’t imagine such a custom being accepted on American soil where we have gotten excessively lax on a great many of things.

I’m not trying to be rude or overly political here. Just a personal observation that struck me as odd between the differences of Americans and Japanese. And it was just darn funny to see them line up in a row like that, chins all raised to a precise height, chanting into the morning sun.

Bye, Bye ’08-’09 I.I., Goodbye

2009-06-18T10:56:00.004+09:00

The 2008-2009 Ikebana International year has come to a close. I must admit that I have a lot of mixed feelings about it. This was the close of my third year as a member and second year as a Board member and the year with by far the most ups and downs for me personally. I don’t want to get into the reasons for those ups and downs, especially in this format, and I think the best thing is to just shake it all off and move on. I will continue my membership next year and look forward to what is in store for the Kamakura chapter, but I will not be on the Board again next year. It is this point where I feel most of my mixed feelings. But no matter what caused those feelings, it will never lessen the friendships I have made with many people in the chapter and organization, particularly several of my fellow Board members, and even more particularly on the Japanese side. They have allowed me an amazing insight into not only their culture, but their everyday lives. I have learned the true nature behind many of these women and been allowed a glimpse into Japanese society which would have been difficult if not impossible to become so immersed in without all the time spent with them, not only as a fellow Board member, but mostly as a friend. These women took me under their wings as someone who not only wanted to learn and to share in their culture, but wanted to get to know what was in their hearts and have them wish for the same in return. When I was at my lowest, it was our chapter’s President who called me to tell me that we were not just Board members, but we were family. And she meant it. I can only hope that I was able to adequately demonstrate the depth of my feelings for her comment, but mostly for her presence in my life.

To end our year, our final Board meeting was held at our President’s home, kneeling in her familiar tatami room. Following this meeting, she had organized a seven course luncheon for us at a Chinese restaurant tucked into the side of a mountain in Kamakura. Myself and another Board member both had babies in the past I.I. year, so our President went above and beyond to make them (or really their mamas) feel included by having the restaurant create tiny baby beds, in traditional Japanese fashion, on the tatami floor of the narrow adjoining room where windows faced the ocean in the distance.

Our final program was only a week afterwards, which included a piano and opera singing duet from Shuko Kobayashi, a professor of music from Yokohama’s Ferris University, and Sachiko Mori, the internationally-trained daughter of one of our longtime chapter members. The performance reminded everyone that summer was here, another reminder that a busy year was now behind us. The new Board was installed only moments afterwards, pithily bringing an end to my role on the Board.

No matter.

I am looking forward to next year, with my newly adopted less hands-on part… back to being just a plain old member, looking to know all she can about Japanese culture in my short time left here.

Ah. Mah Hair Again.

2009-06-17T10:33:00.002+09:00

You have no idea how difficult it is to be a gaijin in Japan when it comes to having blond hair. I knew when I moved here that it would be a challenge and it has surely lived up to my expectations.

I talked about this almost three years ago… the difficulty of finding a hairdresser who can do blond highlights and low lights. Sure, there is the Navy base nearby of which they have a hair salon explicitly for foreigners working here, and yes I have tried them. Sadly, on the four occasions throughout the past three years that I have broken down and gone there, only when there was no other choice, they had botched my hair anywhere from mildly to absolutely terribly. Hot spots, bad haircuts, bimbo blonds looks, you name it… they’ve likely done it to my hair. So please excuse me if I have lost faith in that route.

For about a year and a half in the middle of it all, I get spoiled. A hairdresser from San Diego moved here with her husband. She was phenomenal! Exactly the quality I am used to from back in the metro DC area. She did the perfect light highlights in summer and darker ones in fall. And then she got pregnant and moved home. After she became not only my favorite hairdresser, but also a good friend, so it was a double edged sword to my heart when she left earlier this year. She left behind two recommendations, neither of which I was ever able to get on the phone or to return my messages. With nowhere else left to turn, I returned to the base hair dressers and let a girl not long out of high school and just out of beauty school do her thing. She wasn’t half bad. She got the color right and although it could have been blended in better, I was willing to return to her. And then she left there. After only a few months of being there. They told me she went to the new salon off base and provided me the number of which I called, but after a strange conversation, I still don’t know if she really works there or not, but they did have someone… a Japanese woman.

Now, years ago, one of the stylists at the base salon was Japanese and she did my hair. I can’t even talk about it, but it left me a bit scarred. So to hear that my only option was again a Japanese woman, it set me to quaking a bit. I know I shouldn’t blanket all Japanese hair stylists into one lump, but I do have good reason for this. Often when Japanese people say they can do highlights and low lights, they totally can… on Japanese women. Blond women’s hair takes color very differently than a Japanese woman. Besides that, the hair color that is used on dark Japanese locks is not going to work on blond hair. You need coloring products that lift way more than the 25ish percentile that the Japanese use. So to find a salon that carries the right product AND the right hairdresser, I was just very skeptical. But when you are left without a choice and a wedding only a short time away back in the states, you get desperate.

It had been three months since my last hair appointment. With the speed that my hair grows, I looked hideous. I got to the salon early and the stylist was quick to pull out a book of colors so we could discuss options. Now here is where I usually rely on their expertise to interpret what I am looking for, but to still make it look appropriate on my head. My Japanese hairstylist’s English skills were wonderful, but I think that the culture and language gap is always still there is small part. Often things are taken very literally, when I am hoping they will take what I want and make it work for my hair and skin tone. I’m used to this treatment, but then, my hairdresser was American.

She mixed up the colors I chose and then proceeded to spend two full hours putting foils into my hair. I know I have a lot of hair. It’s very thin, but there is an exorbitant amount of it. This new hairdresser said that ten of my hairs would equal one Japanese hair. But she meticulously and deftly put those foils in. The process was a bit different, as she didn’t skip a line like I was used to, but I figured all hairdressers must have those little quirks. Once they were all in, I sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And just when I thought she had totally forgotten me and was consequently frying my hair, she came back and started the rinse and wash process. And this is where I fell in love with her.

After carefully laying a little thin towel across my face while she flattened the chair into a bed, she rinsed and washed my hair and scalp for what had to be at least twenty minutes. She rubbed her fingers over every inch of my head, pushed on certain pressure points as she went and then repeated the process again and again. At the beginning, she had asked if this was my first time in a Japanese salon. I said yes, but had no idea why this was important until this moment. Good Lord in Heaven, it was wonderful! Just writing about it now makes me woozy again with feeling. When she was done with this part, she gently lifted my head, working the pressure points again and eased a hot towel under my neck. Then another over my forehead. More pressure points and she slowly removed it all and eased me back into a seated position. When it was time to move back to the chair for the haircut, I wasn’t sure I could actually stand up.

The haircut ended up perfect. I talked her through what I was looking for step by step, just to make sure no where on my head would get too snipped. Lastly, she blew dry my hair with a flat brush into it was silky smooth.

The end product… perfectly golden blond, silky strands fell past my shoulders. I must say I did immediately love it, but there was something about it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on in the yellow lighting of the salon. I had also been there for over four hours and was sure that KH would be wondering what happened to me, so I didn’t take much more time to think about it. It was only when I got home, got through the baby’s nighttime routine and headed back down to my own bathroom for a closer inspection that it struck me… oh, I was blond alright. And yes, it was pretty. But no, it is not natural looking. My friend here assures me that it is pretty even though it definitely isn’t a natural shade, and I do believe she is telling the truth, but I do think that next time we made need to make some slight adjustments in color choice… like say no more warm tones from here on out. They just don’t match my face or naturally dark blond roots. But for now, it is looking pretty sharp. I pray it stays that way before my friend’s wedding. I would hate for her to have to oust me at the last moment.

But if you are ever in Japan, get your washed, cut and styled by a Japanese person! You’ll pay a pretty yen penny, but you will walk away feeling lighter than you have in years!

Oh, and yes, I will go back to this, my new favorite, hairdresser.

Wabi Sabi & The True Spirit of Tea Ceremony

2009-06-10T14:46:00.003+09:00

There have been several occasions in my time here in Japan that I have done tea ceremony. Some were abbreviated versions, other were definitely not. But in all of those times, I have never gotten much of its meaning beyond its sacred aspects to Japanese culture due to its antiquity. I think this consistently has something to do with my lack of knowledge of the Japanese language and the tea master’s lack of the English language. While they were able to get across the ritual facets of tea ceremony for me to learn, the meaning behind each part was left rather ambiguous.

I was, therefore, thrilled to hear about our special guest at the May Ikebana International program, Mr. Soshin Kimura, member of the Urasenke tea school and head master of the Hoshinkai tea school, who also recently appeared in a BBC documentary called “In Search of Wabi Sabi” which aired just a few months ago here in Japan. It has been said that Mr. Kimura is the spokesperson for the “tea ceremony world” here in Japan. He is also noted not only for his many oral locutions on the subject, but also many articles to the same. For the program, he planned a talk on Japanese “tea-ism” and how it ties in all aspects of Japanese culture… everything from flowers to ceramics, calligraphy, interior design, architecture, poetry, religion to philosophy. It is this last characteristic that is most important, as the philosophy of Japanese aesthetics was the title of his lecture as well as the name for the true spirit of tea ceremony – “wabi sabi.” While I need to be honest and admit that I cannot recall all the details of his speech, I do recall how impressively his homily introduced the subject and tied in each and every one of these aspects for a pretty complete reflection of wabi sabi. The biggest point that came across to me… and one that surprised me… was the fact that he believes Japanese tea ceremony shouldn’t be only about the very ritualized form of hospitality and the specific aesthetics of the art form. This was the very thing I learned in all my previous experiences with tea ceremony, so it seemed odd for the spokesperson to be so adamant about it not being all about the rituals. To illustrate his point, he provided slides of a tea house in Germany that he studied and taught in. First, let me state that the vision in my mind… and most minds… of a tea house is one that adheres strictly to ancient Japanese architectural aesthetics: low ceilings, small tatami rooms, corner cubby for Ikebana and calligraphy display, all wall structures in some type of wood. What Mr. Kimura showed us from Germany was a giant peanut. I’m not kidding. It was a large, white cloth covered structure, very light and airy inside, that was shaped exactly like a peanut laying on its side. Totally not what one would anticipate to be a tea house. Which is exactly Mr. Kimura’s point. In the word’s of our Programs writer: “In spite of all it’s physical trappings which are so famous, he believes that the philosophy of the tea ceremony is much more important than the form of the tea ceremony.” In his words, “To have no tea is OK, to use no cup is OK.” While I didn’t get a chance to speak to any of my Japanese friends before we left that day, I can only imagine that this way of thinking is a bit shocking to them. He also believes that many Japanese people do not understand the true essence of tea ceremony, which would also probably shock and, even, offend many.

What I took away from the program was… in all honesty… more questions in my mind about Japanese culture and its ability to maintain the sanctity of its art forms in this modern world. Perhaps I didn’t understand all of Mr. Kimura’s lecture post translation, because I am left to wonder, is he preserving the antiquity of wabi sabi, which I totally believe is his every intention, but it seems to me as if he is almost… unintentionally progressing Japanese culture to our modern times. Again, I do not believe that is the case. I do believe that he is trying to teach the spirit of wabi sabi and I am guessing it is probably a combination of the short time we had available for a lecture of such a broad topic and the translation of his comments that has left me a bit confused. I’m really hoping to come across his documentary to hear more on this subject.

After his lecture, he did take the time to perform a much abbreviated version of tea ceremony for some chapter members who had never tried it before. At the board meeting a week prior, I had thrown the name of my friend into the ring, and then quickly forgotten all about it. So I was thoroughly relieved when she was informed that she would be getting up on stage to do this in front of everyone and instead of being angry at my oversight in telling her about her volunteerism, she was thrilled at the chance to try it. She and two other international members of the chapter knelt down Japanese style for enough time to realize that a full tea ceremony sitting that way would be tricky to endure. I have never managed to stay in the proper position for an entire ceremony and have had to move my legs to the side on more than one of my tea ceremony attempts.

The rest of the event consisted of a delicious four course lunch of fancy foods I can’t recall, or spell even if I did, and then an Ikebana exhibition and auction of the flowers and containers. I rarely do the auction part because I always feel like Board members shouldn’t partake and win items away. I feel like I would be cheating, even though I absolutely wasn’t. But on this occasion, one of my fellow students in the Kozan school had exhibited and I really wanted her gorgeous black containers so I could practice more at home. The containers are quite expensive! So getting them as a steal through an auction is totally the best way to go. I bid way high. I won. I totally don’t know how to do this auction stuff the proper way, but… mweh… I got my containers and called it a day.

Kimonos Down Under: Day Four and the Final Hours on Day Five

2009-06-08T11:08:00.009+09:00

When we woke up on our final full day in Australia, the worst weather so far drenched everything outside of our open windows. We didn’t have any major plans for the day except to explore Cairns, which we had only seen snippets of when we left the marina there. A little rain never stops us though, so we were ready to head off bright and early again.

Our rental car was to arrive at 10:00 am, and they were surprisingly prompt. So far, many people were often a bit late to pick us up or drop us off in the land of “no worries, mate!” And I swear… every local person we talked to said this at least once in the course of conversation. I have since adopted it for my own use, much to KH’s chagrin. One little glitch with the rental, though…. it was a stick shift. Neither us can drive one. Years and years ago, I could have at least made it a little ways, but that training has long since eluded me. It never occurred to me to specify when we booked this. But the guy’s response… “no worries… I’ll be back in an hour with another car.” This actually worked out to our advantage as I got to head back to the room and finish watching some strange Australian program that had me previously engrossed and the rain had a chance to slow to a fine mist. The rental was indeed back in an hour, car seat installed, and we were off.

Even with guidebooks in hand, we honestly still had no real game plan for the day. Driving directions in Cairns weren’t that tricky and we knew how to get down to the center of the city without a map. You just keep going straight through the 800 roundabouts scattered down the highway, hang a left past the massive Captain Cook (whom I was certain was George Washington) and then follow the water line down to the main part of the marina.

We parked, and since it was so close to lunch, headed down the main street in search of the restaurant our tour bus driver had been so kind to share with us the day before. KH had chatted the guy up so friendly-like, that he even dropped us off right in front of the hotel instead of the designated location at the bus stop down the street.

His recommendation was Barnacle Bill’s. From the name of it, we honestly were not expecting anything fancy, which made us very surprised to see white linens and wine glasses on every table. But, no, this place would not disappoint. As adventurous as my husband and I are with our traveling, so are we with our food. There were several things we had heard about, but had yet to try. This place would prove to be the absolute perfect location for real Australian food. We ordered two platters and split them both. The first was your land lubbers’ grub… complete with a trio of Australia’s special fish barramundi, medium rare kangaroo and grilled crocodile. Good God in Heaven… kangaroo is damn delicious. Who would have known?? I had alligator before, which was chewy and salty, but Steve Irwin’s croc?... yummy would be the only word that sufficiently covers it. The second platter we ordered was your sea-faring platter full of natural oysters, cold cooked prawn and bug, beer battered fish, calamari and scallops. A fellow blogger who hails from Down Under had told me that I had to try the bug. I thought she meant real bugs were served. I cringed, but if that was what the locals eat, I was willing to go for it. So when the bug was delivered to our table and it looked like a giant crayfish (which it is), I was very pleasantly surprised and much less grossed out at the prospect. Although my brother would later tell me that crayfish were essentially bugs of the sea. Gag.

After our feast, we really needed to walk it off. Not really choosing a particular direction, we meandered street after street, letting glimpses of my shopping interests lead us in whatever particular direction. It continued to drizzle as we walked, but it didn’t slow our enthusiasm for the rather quiet day of doing something, but not necessarily anything spectacular. Once we thought we had seen all we wanted, and spent all I should, we headed back to the car.

Mid-afternoon at this point, it seemed way too early to head back to the room, especially since the rain would keep us off the beach. We threw ideas around as we headed out of Cairns and back to Trinity Beach. I think in the end it was only that our interest was peaked on what could be so dang wonderful that everyone we had talked to kept talking about Port Douglas, several miles north, that we decided to pass Trinity Beach and keep going. We pulled off the highway into the other area we had debated, Palm Cove, and it was nice… a bit larger and busier than Trinity… but nothing in the end that changed our minds about how much we loved the area we had chosen to stay in.

Back on the highway, we continued north, where there wasn’t much to see but trees, rocks and a few signs of particular interest. The first told us that this was a very high accident zone. The second showed insanely twisting roads, complete with lots of falling rock. It would only be a mile or two until we realized why it was a high accident zone. It is pouring outside now on this already dangerous road, and yet every car around us seemed that they insisted on going at least twenty kpm over the speed limit. There were several areas where slower cars could choose to pull over into a short slow lane and I insisted that we take advantage of each one. This didn’t stop the very next car to come barreling up on our ass as KH navigated as best as he could on wet roads that dangled precariously on steep cliffs overlooking the ocean. I sat in the back with KP and closed my eyes several times, trying not to think about the obvious insanity of these other drivers. At least there were a few overlooks where we could pull off, take in the view and mostly begin breathing normally again. That drive was 100 times worse than our drive along the narrow, cliff roads in Santorini. At least there, everyone moves at a reasonable snail pace! And the road went on forever!

We drove and drove, sure there had to be a ton ahead because of all of the cars coming towards us, and yet we weren’t certain we would ever arrive. No one ever explained just how remote this resort town was. Nor did they explain that since it was further into the rainforest, on an already rainy day, that it would be hammering down the rain in the resort. We finally found the main street, full of gorgeous little restaurants and boutiques, but neither of us could even imagine getting out of the car to enjoy them without a bucket on our head and galoshes on our feet. The thought of ice cream was tossed around for less than 30 seconds before it was tossed right out the window into the torrents. Instead, we both thought of our nice, dry, and overly large apartment back in Trinity Beach and decided to head straight for there.

We had yet to spend much time in our room, and we still had all that beer from our first drunken day chilled in the refrigerator, so dinner seemed an easy choice… head down and grab some gourmet pizzas and salads from one of our favorite restaurants down the street and chill on our balcony while we ate and watched the waves roll in and out.

Later, I would spend some time repacking and trying NOT to bring any of the thousand ants home with us that had invaded our room since we got there. Seriously… they sure do like baby formula! Yikes!

The next morning, I awoke before sunrise thanks to a tiny peanut enjoying his favorite pastime of kicking mommy in the stomach. Outside the window were glimpses of the day to come… and it was going to be gorgeously sunny. Of course it would. We were leaving.

At least we got our blue skies for a few hours before we headed to the airport. And back to Japan.

Kimonos Down Under: Day Three

2009-06-02T14:45:00.002+09:00

Flashback.

Mother’s Day. My first with the baby on the outside.

We wake up before the sun does in our gorgeous room in wonderful Australia. We rush through the morning ‘getting ready’ routine and we are out the door fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Anyone who knows me knows that timeliness was never my thing. Usually a kid makes it worse and yet here I am arriving early of late! I rock. And I digress.

The shuttle bus that picks us up can probably fit about twenty and yet there is only one other couple on board as we head to the marina in Cairns. We are escorted out to the large sailing vessel that Ocean Spirit Cruises will be using to get us out to the Great Barrier Reef. That’s right, my first Mother’s Day, and I get to spend it on sailing gorgeous turquoise waters and snorkeling with the local wildlife of one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. As the boat heads out for its hour and a half ride to the reef, I ask KH what he is going to do to top this for next year’s Mother’s Day.

“I’m thinking brunch,” he quips.

Exuberantly, I respond, “In Brazil??”

His answering chortle will not stop me from at least trying next year.

As I mentioned, it had rained pretty much every day we were in Cairns. Despite that they thought otherwise, it really didn’t help that every damn local kept telling us how it never rains there. But this day happened to be the most clear so far. When we arrived on the reef, the only sincere shower cloud we saw that day was just starting to threaten us. We quickly took in the fish feeding frenzy the company had started on the side of the boat and then decided to look into the semi-submersible tour of the reef which was being offered. With the sky looking the way it did, this seemed the best option and hold off the snorkeling part until later. KH strapped KP into his Baby Bjron and down they both crawled into the sub, with me right behind. We had heard a few comments when we got onto the regular big boat about the rough seas… bringing a baby… and more blah, blah, blah. I could only imagine the looks we must now be getting. Just to prove the naysayers wrong, my little angel not only slept most of the cruising part of the boat trip… both ways even… but he even fell asleep on the sub. So please reserve your tsk-tsking, Scarlet, for someone who gives a damn.

The semi-submersible gave us some great views of the reef, despite the rain’s attempts at clouding up the reef and dimming the bright coral colors. The cruise line even gave little talks explaining what we were seeing – everything from sea turtles to giant clams weighing over 400 pounds each to the 400 species of different coral covering the ocean floor. This actually did make the snorkeling later way more interesting. I actually knew what I was looking at instead of just admiring all the pretty colors like some simpleton.

Arriving back on the boat, the real one, lunch was being served. While I really was ready for the snorkeling, who can pass up a good buffet lunch? KH filled me a plate. Twice. We downed our food, shoved some solids into the wee ones mouth while simultaneously hiding the bottle part of his meal from him, so we could make ourselves the first ones to catch yet another boat out to the cay. Don’t go swimming for thirty minutes after you have eaten? Bah. I live for the danger… and the cramps!

Again… we had an audience as we climbed onto the smaller vessel with our baby boy.

The cay. It’s essentially an island, but not an island, because it apparently moves. Cool. So the island in ‘Lost’ really does exist!

This smaller boat pulls you right up onto the cay so only your tootsies get wet if you want. I personally don’t see the point of paying the exorbitant price of the cruise if you aren’t even going to snorkel on the reef and instead plan on sitting on the cay and watching the water. I just can’t agree that that would be a true reef experience. One guy from the boat stays on the cay and acts as a lifeguard. Considering it was a really quiet day for the tour, only about 50% of their usual partakers, this guy’s job was kind of cake if you ask me.

Now, we really aren’t nuts. No, we would not be snorkeling WITH the baby. We took turns, KH going first to map out the reef for me. While he went out, one solitary soul had his liquid lunch on the cay, our little travelin’ man, as I sat with him and listened to the birds that swarmed in the off-limits sanctuary area directly behind me. When KH returned, it was my turn at the reef.

I’m not sure if I mentioned it on this blog, but I am DEATHLY afraid of water. Thanks to my dear cousin who, years ago, tried to drown me on a drunken vacation in Cancun. I’m not one to let my fears take over me though. I do everything I can to fight them. Water be damned. I was snorkeling. Okay, so I did put on a life vest to do it. And, yes, I did keep pulling my face out of the water because I was sure I was going to drown myself inside my snorkeling mask. But snorkel I did. According to Kimono Hubby, who kept his ever protective eyes on me, I went the whole way across the darkest parts of the reef. And then I… floundered… he said. All of a sudden there was a lot of kicking and splashing that he couldn’t seem to figure out. That would be exactly the moment that I almost crashed into the reef. You see, I can’t turn my head well to see what is to either side of me without causing the freak out in me to rear its ugly, little head. So I stare downward and peer out of the corners of my eyes. Only this got me a little too close for comfort to the many reef organisms that would surely suck me down into them and eat me alive. In my hasty retreat, I managed to swim myself directly over the most massive giant clam in the area as it opened and closed its gaping mouth, just trying to grab a toe that would allow him to get ahold of the rest of me. More freak out ensued. It was all I could do to get myself back to the shore as quickly as possible without peeing myself. I would hate to mar a natural wonder like that.

And so ended my afternoon of snorkeling. KH, who is much more calm about it than I am, did a second, longer round while Kimono Pip and I played in the water along the shoreline until daddy was ready to head back to the bigger vessel.

As stressed as I was upon return, KH calmed me down with a nice cold beer. On the cruise back, the tour company added a glass of champagne to ease my troubles while the prior lifeguard now became Jimmy Buffet and sang us some songs. The wind was perfect to sail the vessel back in to the marina instead of using the motors. We would have liked to sit on the top deck, but apparently that was pushing our peanut man a little too far. I don’t think he appreciated the wind up his nose much.

It had been a long day already, but it was Mother’s Day, and my dear husband would not let the occasion pass without a proper day long celebration. We got ourselves cleaned up and dressed and chose L’Unico to walk back down to for that proper dinner. Several courses of rich foods and strong drinks later, we finally called it a day and dragged ourselves back to the room and bed.

Kimonos Down Under: Day Two

2009-05-26T10:40:00.013+09:00

Like every day that we awoke in Australia, we could hear varying degrees of rainfall intermingled with the crashing of ocean waves outside our open windows. Our second day would be no different, but we weren’t concerned because our plans were to take ourselves deeper into the rainforest. And what is a rainforest without rain?

As we waited in front of the hotel for the shuttle bus, the rain cleared and it began to look like it would be a brighter day. However, only minutes later, it was pouring heavier than it had all morning. We were happy to see the shuttle bus pull up and drive us to the station for the Kuranda Scenic Railway, where we would take a train that would slowly wind its way around the mountains until we arrived at the village of Kuranda. I can’t imagine the people involved with envisioning and establishing this track. They would have had as tough a time as the Japanese prisoners who were forced to build the tracks from Burma to Thailand! Gorges that needed to be crossed, mountains that needed to be dug through, and wet and dangerous weather conditions that had to be endured certainly didn’t make the job easy; let alone, the simple tools of picks, shovels and dynamite which were used definitely didn’t help make it any easier. One story told on the train was of how robbers managed to pilfer a good deal of money from the train that was heading to Kuranda. They were never caught. Whatever wicked souls came up with that plan had to be pretty darn desperate to drag their asses up into those mountains, if you ask me.

Reaching the top after about an hour and a half, we arrived at Kuranda Station, which has been a tourist destination for over 100 years. Shops, restaurants and tiny zoos and museums all seemed to pay tribute to the traditional locals, the Djabugay people. These aboriginal rainforest people had their artwork displayed everywhere our eyes looked. Australian art is by far understudied in my passion for art, causing me to know very little about it, but I loved that it just didn’t remind me of anything else I have ever seen. You know how in Europe, Asia and Africa, there are traces of influence from so many cultures in art and architecture. In Australia, perhaps you could say that there was so African influence in color and technique, but subject matter was just so different. I know Australia was colonized by the British for many years, but it seems like, at least in this tourist area, Australia seems to have remained… well… Australian. I digress.

The afternoon was ours to do as we pleased. We strolled a few shops, but really were headed straight to the small zoo, Koala Gardens. I’m talking really small, but it had pretty much everything we were hoping to see in Australia when it came to wildlife: wombats, crocodiles, snakes, lizards, wallabies and the beloved koalas. Not only were these animals there to see, but a few were even there to touch! Before passing through one of the gates, KH and I each took handfuls of wallaby food from the hanging bucket. Several wallabies lazily lounged in the grass waiting for the tourists to bring the food to them. A few zealous babes, followed us around hoping we would give them everything in our hands, but we aimed to spread the wealth. With your palm open and the food cradled inside, the wallabies slide their teeth across your palm scooping up the tiny pellets. It seriously tickled. These must not be very aggressive marsupials because I didn’t see a zoo guide in sight. So I’m guessing that few tourists are ever mauled by the wallabies. Before you ask, no, KP was not given the opportunity to feed a wallaby. I’m pretty sure the food would only have made it to his own mouth and I was having none of that. Plus, why be the first people to ever be attacked by wallabies at Koala Gardens? Then we’d be those a-holes who ruined it for everyone else. Gah. No.

You know… I will add here that I really was hoping to see a kangaroo in Australia. They are supposedly like deer back home… they are everywhere! But the only place I ever saw one was dead along the side of the road… again just like deer at home. And in case you were wondering, their feet do not come together when they lie dead on their side either. I digress again.

Next stop was to hold a koala. I just had to do this! They seem so friendly and cute in pictures! But up close, do you know how long and sharp their dagger-like fingernails are? The woman shows you how to hold your arms and then plops the little guy into them. He immediately digs his claws throw your think shirt and into your shoulders and gut. Still cute, though! And lighter than my own little man! The women there took photos with their camera and then ours as well. They asked if we wanted to add our own little guy in with daddy for a family picture. Now daddy, does not have the hawk eyes like mommy. Instantly, Kimono Pip had a fist full of koala hair. I know these little devils have sharp teeth to match their claws, making me instantly nervous. I guess this guy was pretty tame because all the zoo keepers did was to zoom in for a closer shot of KP and his new friend. We switched positions then so KH could also snuggle up a koala. KH managed to come out poop free this time! Unlike his past experience with the baby tiger in Thailand. He was happy for that, but I was a bit bummed.

We spent the rest of the afternoon gorging our stomachs on all the delicious platters (read: like American, not Japanese) of meat and potatoes that Australia had to offer and picking up souvenirs for the family at home. Of course we got ourselves a beautifully painted boomerang which the shop guy flatly refused to let me throw out into the street. Party pooper.

Our trip back was to be by Skyrail Cableway this time. This is where the full realization came upon me that I have become one major chicken since becoming a mom. What has happened to me? I used to be so tough! Afraid of nothing! Now, as we traveled hundreds of feet in the air, dangling over deep, deep rainforest where it was impossible to see the ground below, I could think of nothing but how the steady rain that was now falling would surely make our cable car loose, slipping us off the line above and dropping us into the miles and miles of rainforest below. We actually looked around the abyss for civilization in case this happened… which way do you go? There was absolutely nothing though! I tried hard to keep KP sitting very still in my lap so we didn’t rock the cart even an inch. I also tried hard to remember if I ever saw a “Man vs. the Wild” show on rainforests. If we survived the impact, would we survive the plethora of poisonous critters that lived in the expanse below us? You may be thinking that surely someone in another cart would see us drop, but hot even fifteen minutes into the ride, misty clouds swirled over the mountains and we couldn’t even see the carts in front or behind us. The only way anyone might know we were missing was when the line came in empty at the next rail stop. And then where would they know to look in all that wet and gray? Freak. Ing. Out. I. Was.

Obviously, this anxiety was for nothing as I am clearly alive and writing this today.

Back at the hotel, we changed into nicer, drier outfits and headed out for dinner. It was pretty pointless to go for drier because as soon as we were outside, the rain started again. We chose Chiantti’s Pizzeria for dinner, an Italian place with lots of red checked tables under an awning, which allowed us to sit as close as possible to the ocean across the street. Salads of tomato, red onion and fresh mozzarella, bruschetta, lamb chops with garlic mashed potatoes smothered in a rich and spicy tomato sauce, and an even amazing spicy scallop and pasta dish, all topped with a bottle of South Australian red… we were barely able to walk back to the room and end day two.

Kimonos Down Under: Day One

2009-05-20T15:10:00.006+09:00

Our red eye flight took us from Narita Airport in Tokyo to Cairns over the wee-est of hours. We had figured that to put our six-month-old on a seven-and-a-half hour flight without too much ear pain on other passengers, it might be best to travel during his bedtime. Shockingly, it actually worked. The Kimono Pipsqueak only woke up once, after another baby started belting out their own tune.

Just because the baby was sleeping did not mean that his mama would. I kept a vigil like only a new mother would. Rolling out of the airport and dragging ourselves to a cab at 4:30 in the morning our time, I was a bit bleary, at the very least. When we pulled up in front of the Sea Change Beachfront Apartments located directly in front of Trinity Beach, just north of Cairns, the sun was still yet to make an appearance. I was only too happy to start our first day of vacation by heading straight to the bedroom to crash face down into a fluffy pillow that I wouldn’t mind getting drool on. I wasn’t going to be cleaning it.

Our apartment had all the doors and windows facing the beach open to let the warm breezes into the apartment, so the temperature was perfect in all three bedrooms (yes… three… and not ordered that way by us) and the sunken in living room off the gigantic dining room and kitchen (of which I did not use beyond mixing a bottle for KP… or opening one for myself). The apartment could have held another two families in it. Did I mention that we got this place for free? That’s what you get when you fly so frequently and each dollar spent turns into points, of which you can get a free 5-star hotel with. But upon arrival, I didn’t notice much of this beyond the big king size bed in the master bedroom just waiting for the then collapsing matter that was me.

A good three hour nap and I was refreshed enough to notice that the sun had come up and KP was beating me in the head with his fat little fists begging for his morning chow. After rushing through the morning process, we headed down to formally check-in and to book tours for the upcoming days. The hotel had been great about emailing us before our arrival and giving us ideas of what they thought was the best in the area, most of which we had already decided to do, but they helped with what the best tour companies were. Once they made all the arrangements for us, we headed straight for the beach.

This was a big trip of firsts for our tiny man. The beach was among them. I know, I know… we live in a beach town in Japan, but I have yet to get him down to the actual beach. Bad mommy. But it is the same stinking ocean; just a different spot to enter it.

Now there is something very important about entering the ocean in Australia. You don’t just go to it. Nope! You stay only in the netted areas. You know why? Did you know that most of the world’s poisonous critters live in Australia? Snakes, spiders, jellyfish, sharks… even killer snails which I read about in one of our travel books! We even found a children’s book later in the trip that told a tale about poisonous spiders that live under toilet seats. How the hell do you potty train a kid after that, I’d like to know??

The season for box jellyfish ends at the end of May, but being the middle of May, what wouldn’t be a good idea would be to put our feet into the ocean outside of a netted area. I wouldn’t even walk in the surf or near where it was leaving its debris just in case one was lying along the beach. They are still poisonous even when beached. Australia officials aren’t kidding about this stuff either! One sting could kill you! Apparently vinegar can help. I wondered how the hell to pack that and in the end just plain didn’t, so I was happy to find that they had hollow, metal poles with bottles of vinegar tucked inside. I guess you pour it on and then pray like hell you can get someone in this sleepy beachside town to get you to a hospital in time before you kick it. Again, we just didn’t risk it. We headed straight to the netted area, which was a stone’s throw from our hotel and stuck KP’s feet into the first roaring wave that came toward him. I thought he might cry out, but I am again happy to discover that mama didn’t raise no wimp. He squealed with laughter, which only made us do it again and again. But then, mama was getting very hungry.

With three pairs of sandy feet, we headed further down the beach street in search of breakfast. I guess it was more brunch by this time, but we did come across a very promising place that we had viewed in a guidebook at the hotel… Blue Moon. KH got some platter with special Aussie sausage, beans and toast and tried to order over easy eggs of which the waitress had no idea what they were. They call them dippy where I come from, but I didn’t think that would help him order, so I refrained from opening my own mouth in what was becoming a humorous disaster. The waitress had a deep Aussie accent and used a lot of native words, so we only understood about every third word, even though she was speaking English. After a few jaunts back and forth to the chef trying to expound on the eggs KH wished for, his order was finally set. I figured I better go easy on her and just order the breakfast rhubard trifle. I never had rhubarb before! Stringy. But it was a delicious start to our Aussie cuisine experience.

Then it was off to the market up the road. We asked the waitress for directions before we headed out and she gave us a funny look that we were walking there instead of driving. It was only ten minutes away. No self-respecting Japanese person would ever take a car for a ten minute walk… but an American would! Sadly, we had no car, so we had to remain Japanese for the moment.

We entered the IGA not quite sure what to expect. Everything looked reasonable normal, but it also looked very generic. We did encounter another grocery store later in the trip and discovered that not all grocery stores have such generic labels, but seriously this place looked very, very generic. In the cold section, we discovered just how much Aussie’s love their dogs. They had massive sausage like tubes of dog meat in the cold case, right next to the butter! I mean… seriously freaking massive tubes of meat. With a dog on it. For your dog. For real? If anything should look generic, I would think it would be dog food. This was a major switch. The dogs eat better than the humans. Freaky world. But then this is also the freaky world of Vegemite. Of course, I know the song. Of course, I sang it over and over while there. So of course, I had to try Vegemite. I mean, it’s supposed to be a staple that all Aussie’s grow up on! They eat it like Americans do peanut butter! I purchased the smallest jar I could find and a bag of (generic) English muffins to put it on.

We left the store and headed back to the hotel so I could try my Vegemite. So excited, was I for this true Aussie culinary experience! First (and only, consequently) bite… while I have never eaten crude oil, it is the only thing I can think to describe it as. Salty, brown film… so not for me. The taste would have stuck with me for hours if my husband didn’t suggest heading out to the bar down the street and having a drink while watching the ocean. I think I ran the whole way there.

L’Unico was on the major corner of the intersection where people enter Trinity Beach. We must have sat there for two hours and not seen more than ten or so cars go by. We sat there for so long because the drinks were so damn good! Something… dragon… something. Oh…my. You wouldn't remember their name after a few either! Since having the baby, I am thinking that my tolerance might not have returned. Two of these drinks and I was flying very high. After a few beers, KH joined me with the dragon drink and he too quickly caught up to my enlightened state. And what was KP doing during all of this, you ask? He was there. Sleeping. You will find that many times when things were getting rowdy over the course of the trip, he would find that the perfect opportunity to sleep. So now it was getting on late afternoon and we were getting those munchies you get after a few good cocktails. We thought we would walk up to the little market and buy some beers to take back to our hotel room and grab something to eat later on. We made it to the beer store right around the corner, passed a woman who thought we knew our way around and asked Greg where to get fish and chips around there. He directed her fifteen minutes up the road to where the grocery store was and we had seen a little place. Then, on the way back to the hotel, we never made it past the fried food stand on the opposite corner from L’Unico. The smell was just driving us in our intoxicated delirium straight to it. I went for the calamari and chips while KH got… wait for it… fish and chips. We felt a little bad about misdirecting the woman earlier, but then felt even worse when she walked past us sitting there with our beers and battered bowls of goodness. Oh yes, she noticed us. Oops.

Completely stuffed and, one might say, completely drunk, we waited until the sun set over the water and then let the moonlight direct us back to the hotel. Bringing to a close our first day down under.

Dedicated

2009-05-16T14:47:00.004+09:00

Boy oh boy, do I have much to blog about.

I should really get on that.

And stop being such a slacker.

Se here goes with, at the very least, the first bit…

While this may not be very interesting to anyone reading this blog, it is pretty darn interesting to me. And since this forum is essentially my way of documenting my time in Japan, I’m writing about it! On May 3^rd, Ikebana International Kamakura Chapter, the cultural organization that I have been a part of for my past three years here, two of which were spent on the Board, has been dedicated as a Friendship Society to the U.S. Naval Base in Yokosuka. What this means is basically that the Japanese and Americans who are part of the organization are forever ‘tied’ to one another. Well, we hope so anyway in that neither side’s leaders will ever go ballistic again and hurt the other and irrevocably sever these ties. What it also means is that we got to have a beautiful cherry tree dedication and stone monument placed on naval base grounds. And we got to have a party! Who doesn’t love a good party?

The day was all about honoring the past history of Japanese and American cultural exchange and looking forward to a continuing friendship for all time. In honor of this, past president’s of the Kamakura Chapter, as well as of Headquarters located in Tokyo, were invited to the celebration. Captain Daniel Weed, the CO of the base also attended the ceremony, giving a touching speech and shoveling the first mounds onto the cherry tree. I shoveled a few in there myself.

And now the baby is awake and crying so there will be no more blogging for today. Maybe tomorrow. Ahhh… who am I kidding? Next week. Or so.

I Aimed To Sit For A Day... And Sit I Did

2009-05-04T15:25:00.007+09:00

As much as I have enjoyed the sunny and warm weather this past month, it felt appropriate that I awoke last week on Tuesday to the sound of a light rain falling steadily outside. For on that particular day, I was finally getting to do the one thing that I have always wanted to do here in Japan and never thought that I would have the opportunity… zazen meditation.

You see, zazen meditation is almost always done, and therefore taught, in Japanese. At least here in Japan anyway. Japan is still strongly associated with the original Japanese religion, Shinto, and just as strongly, Buddhism. Buddhism did not originate in this country, but it has found strong roots here, particularly Zen Buddhism with its main practice being zazen meditation. Of all the cultural practices I have explored here in this country, I was eager to try a form of meditation that I thought would help me build on practices in which I already partake. I just never thought it would actually happen because it is rare to find a Japanese monk who speaks English well enough to teach foreigners how to do this. I mean… they really do have more important things to be doing with their time… like being on a constant quest to be a spiritually observant monk.

My babysitter for the day actually practices zazen herself, so she guided me on wardrobe choices: dark and comfortable clothes. Nothing constricting because you are going to be sitting for long periods of time in a position that few bodies every willingly put themselves in. I chose my favorite loose fitting olive green cargo pants and a simple black wrap sweater, feeling that I was still presentable in Japanese society, but appropriately modest for the meditation practice.

I arrived early to the Kencho-ji Temple, giving myself enough times to wander the grounds for a bit. Kencho-ji is the oldest Zen training temple in Japan, founded in 1253, and boasts the national treasures of its temple bell protected under a thatched roof. Crossing the two gates, the inner and the outer, the temple grounds then contain the Main Hall, the Lecture Hall, the Chief Priest’s Quarters, many other buildings and several huge Juniper trees that were grown from seeds brought with the founding Chinese priest and are reportedly 730 years old. As the rain poured down around me, I splashed my way from one building to the next taking in my ancient surroundings.

My last stop was the Main Hall, where I removed my shoes at the entrance, checked in and proceeded to the inner part of the shrine. My escorting monk instructed me to enter the room with my left foot first and then pausing to take a deep bow. A few others were already gathered and sitting quietly on the cushions that were lined up on either side of the altar, with two cushions placed in front of the altar for the monks who would be leading the meditation. The cuffs of my pants had gotten completely soaked in my wandering, leaving me with no choice but to sadly sit with them stuck cold and damp to my ankles. But zazen is all about letting your mind free of external thoughts, so I hoped it wouldn’t distract me once we got started.

When everyone was accounted for, about ten foreigners sat around the room. Two monks at the front of the room and four more at the back. Typically zazen lasts for about an hour without any breaks or even slight movement, but knowing that we were inexperienced at such endurance, the monks had broken the session up into three of 15 minutes each. Before starting, he gave us a brief explanation of how to sit. Lotus position or cross-legged is best but difficult for most foreigners. I went with the half lotus for the first session, but stepped up to full lotus for the second two sessions. Spine should be straight; swaying a few times helps until you are centered. Hands are placed on the abdomen with the fingers of your right hand on top of the fingers from the left hand and then placing the thumbs together to create an oval shape. Mouth is closed (no talking obviously as this is entirely silent except for the late portion of chanting) with your tongue placed against the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth. You then breathe quietly through your nose, with the out breath being longer than the in. The last step is to pull in your chin and extend your neck as though the top of your head is pointing at the ceiling, while the shoulders, back and abdomen are relaxed without changing the posture. This is the exact position you will remain in throughout the meditation, which takes less concentration if you put yourself correctly into position from the start. Oh and last thing… eyes are slightly open, cast downward at a 45 degree angle. I thought the positioning was simple, but I owe that to years of yoga practice. Others did not find it as comfortable and no one attempted the lotus except for myself.

A bell is rung and the zazen starts. The scent of incense fills the room. There is no talking, no sound, no movement. You need to tune out the footsteps of the monk passing in front of you, the sound of the rain falling outside and anything else that might distract you. You’re only goal is to bring yourself inward and erase all thoughts from your mind. This quiet thinking is meant to clarify your mind and bring you to the truth of what is your real self, out of the fog of illusion or clouds of ignorance. If your mind wanders, you refocus until it is clear again. “To grasp the wisdom of emancipation while within the dust and suffering through sitting is zazen.” This is taken from How to Practice Zazen, a guidebook the temple gave us at the day’s end. The hardest part is truly clearing your mind and anyone who has ever tried any type of meditation can attest to that. Little things pop in all the time that need to be swept away, but with practice and patience it can be achieved. Will I ever be a person who meditates daily? Doubtful. But will I be a person who knows the technique well enough to do zazen when I’m feeling anxious and stressed? Hopefully. I wish I could say I will do this regularly, but my mama taught me not to lie.

So the monk is walking around the room on the first session just helping people correct their posture or breathing. He never once stopped on me so I think I have it down pretty well. As the session ended, the monks had chosen to do another form of zazen to help us foreigners get the blood moving again. He gave us time to stretch our legs and prepare for the next practice: mindful walking. Without talking again, and with hands placed over our chest, we were instructed to line up and silently walk around the wooden hall. The same mindfulness and emptying of your mind should occur while doing this… terribly hard for a group of foreigners clomping across the creaky, wooden walkway and often distracted by the beauty of the zen garden or the site of the other temples on the grounds. But we tried.

After our ‘lap’, we came back and sat and prepared to meditate again. This second session, the monk added in the board. Can you guess what they do with the board? They hit you with it… that’s right! As he walks around the room and everyone silently meditates, if you want to be hit with the board, you cross your arms over your chest and bow deeply. He will then hit you with the board, twice on each shoulder. Who do you think was the first, and in this session the only, person besides a monk who asked to be hit? Good guess again. I’m a glutton for punishment. Does he hit hard? Yes. Enough to sting for some time after he has moved on. The point of this is that it is to help you back to mindfulness. As I said, zazen is an exercise in endurance for those experienced with it. You get dazed. You get sleepy. But you need to bring yourself back. This is supposed to do it. It worked for me. And I didn’t ask for that again.

The session ended, this time feeling even shorted than the first although it was the same length of time. Each one felt shorter and shorter to me, making me think an hour wouldn’t honestly be that tough for me to handle, even though I am quite green at this meditation. We stood, hands over our chests and walked the planks again. Back into the room for the final session of meditation. For this round, two or three more people asked for the board. I didn’t. Once was enough for now. Plus, I didn’t want to appear cocky when I am supposed to be connecting with my real self and the universe.

The final round of zazen came with chanting. The position stays the same, but this time you are chanting. We used cheat sheets, forcing us to alter our hands to hold it. The chanting is supposed to come from deep inside of you. It goes with the deep breathing you have already been practicing in silence, but there is something very cathartic about it. Only one problem for a novice like myself… there were no breaks on the page… just lines and lines of Japanese chanting. Somewhere around the middle, I lost my focus and lost my place on the page. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find your place again when reading a foreign language? It took me until then very end of the chanting to find the spot and start in again. Next time I will be more focused and not let this happen. I hope.

A hard day’s work of making myself a better person was completed. The monks typically have tea afterwards, so this was the plan for today. We were escorted into an upper tatami room where traditional Japanese tea and sweets was served. As with the meditation, even taking tea is done in mindfulness. Once we were done, the monks did open the room for discussion. Since this was the first time they had done this for foreigners, they were very curious as to our thoughts. Was it broken up acceptably? Was the cost okay? Was their English clear enough? Would we do this again? They asked for us to write some thoughts down. All I can say is that it was absolutely perfect. I felt serene and energized at the same time. I felt like I had learned an important way of how to slow my often crazy mind. The skills I learned that day could be beneficial in many instances of daily life, if only I slow down enough to use them.

The monks informed us that they will be doing this three or four times a year in English at the Kencho-ji Temple and were hoping we would return to do it again. I surely hope to. As I mentioned, my babysitter does this on a weekly basis, but it is done in Japanese. Maybe not just yet, but soon, I think I could join her at her temple.

Leaving Kencho-ji Temple with my gift of incense and the zazen book, I felt charged. I flew for days on a high. Maybe it was the experience… or maybe was it the zazen was already taking effect?

Hanami Time!

2009-04-05T10:14:00.012+09:00

Back home, I always lived for fall. I loved the bold, warm, earthy colors decorating the trees; the smell of crisp leaves newly blanketing the ground; bundling into my favorite sweaters as the nights grew cooler; and football returning to my Sunday and Monday television viewing. In the part of Japan that I live in, the world doesn’t quite turn those brilliant shades from my Northeast falls. A few leaves fall to the ground, but barely enough to make that grand jumping pile. The fashion goes from light, loose summery clothes instantly into heavy puffy and furry coats topped with scarves wadded thick around everyone’s neck, leaving no chance for my wardrobe full of light jackets that barely have seen the light of day in three years. And of course… no football. Don’t get me started there.

I’ve had to turn my sights onto other seasons to rekindle that love of nature. If you are going to pick a season to love in Japan, only one makes any sense. Winter is too cold and dry. Summer in too intensely hot and humid. But spring, like Goldilocks said, is just right.

Typically our weekends are low key. KH has worked a long week and the last thing he wants to do is run around on his two short days off. I typically grant him his peace because he is the sole wage earner in the house and he deserves some peace. However, last weekend, I was not content to let him sit idly in the house. It is sakura (cherry blossom) time here in Japan! To get myself in the mood, I have already bought plenty of sakura paraphernalia and spread it throughout the house. We have cherry blossoms stuck to the windows. A whole array of cherry blossom dishware. Cherry blossom soap in the bathrooms and shower room, including cherry blossom lotion as the days are still a bit dry. Cherry blossom mochi to snack on. Cherry blossom incense burning. Pretty much anything with a cherry blossom printed onto the product or even simply the product's package… I have a hard time walking away without it. And this is just inside our house! Walk out our front door or back door and be instantly greeted with cherry blossoms on several trees either in neighboring yards or on the mountains in front of the house. Indoors or outdoors, everyone in Japan loves themselves a cherry blossom. It’s, in my humble opinion, the loudest signal that a new and beautiful season is upon us, ready to drag us back out of doors to soak up all the glorious pinkness in the world. The best way to do this… hanami.

Hanami is one big old party. To enjoy hanami, you gather your closest friends and head to the park that boasts the most trees and perhaps even nighttime viewing possibilities… if you plan to make it a day long party. We chose Sankeien Garden in Yokohama, a dazzling Japanese garden only minutes off the highway. We didn’t know it at the time, but Sankeien has many little food and drink shops to make for easier partying. We, however, had already stopped at the conbini and filled our coolers with sandwiches, snacks, sweets, water and chu-his. Only after I finished my first chu-hi did I realize that we bought the “strong” instead of the normal. In my wimpy postnatal ways, apparently it only takes one now. Whew! I digress. We spread our blanket and chairs, which looked more than a little American against the backdrop of blue plastic tarps that every Japanese person uses, and then spent the hours either lounging and snacking or meandering around the garden snapping pictures. We were slightly early for the blooms last weekend, at least in Yokohama, as most sakura trees were just starting to break their buds open to full on pinkness. Still the garden had plenty of other blooming trees and plants to take in. And the best part is really to watch the people around you enjoying their hanami. This isn’t rude and even has a name… kenbutsu-suru… so I felt comfortable staring at the four person group behind us who were getting seriously intoxicated. At one point, I almost felt compelled to help the one woman to the bathroom, but instead stuck with my vantage point and watched her stagger away. Now don’t go thinking I was being rude with my voyeurism. They watched us as much as we watched them. And when our Japanese friends had wandered off for a stroll, they even talked about us more loudly than they probably thought they were. Little did they know that an American friend in our midst is perfectly fluent in Japanese.

And so went our wonderful afternoon.

This week, the blossoms are more fully engaged, leaving me unable to resist another day and another hanami invite with a different group of friends this afternoon. This time, with the right kind of drinks packed, hence I will remember the afternoon with less of a wacky chu-hi high.

A Koryu Shoohkai School Demonstration

2009-03-20T15:33:00.012+09:00

Yesterday had born another gorgeous spring day, perfect for the day I had planned. My drive to Kamakura Park Hotel for an Ikebana International event brought me along the Zushi and Kamakura coastline and, although Mount Fuji was obscured by haze, the blue green waters filled with wind surfers was still enough to make the scenery magnificent. Our March program for I.I. was for a historic demonstration in the Japanese Ikebana world. You see, the demonstrator, Riou Semba comes from the Koryu Shoohkai School, a school that recently lost its Iemoto (or headmaster) due to the premature death of our demonstrator’s father. When a school loses its Iemoto, generally there is someone who has been groomed for some time to take their place. That person was yesterday’s demonstrator. The historic part of the day was that this demonstration would most likely be his very last prior to being named the tenth Iemoto of the Koryu Shoohkai School at the beginning of April, when he will be renamed in tradition to Rihou Semba III.

Of course, it is well known that Japan carries a special love for its sort of unofficial national flower, the cherry blossom. This being spring in Japan, many areas are already seeing the cherry blossom blooms. In honor of this flower, Mr. Semba chose to use this special flower to create works of art the likes of which I have rarely seen. Before he began the demonstration, he did begin with a presentation he had specially prepared for our Kamakura Chapter, which was to pay homage to his father and the more traditional roots of his school. Using illustrations he found in an antique book dating from 1776, Mr. Semba spent much time recreating these designs and showing us the results, allowing us all to see that they are still fresh ideas in today’s contemporary world. At the end of the presentation, he began his work with three different cherry blossom blooms. The first piece had already been done and had taken him eight hours the day before to prepare. This piece was sitting on the far right of the stage when I had arrived that morning. My untrained eye had observed it and taken the curving willowy nature of the branches to be natural. To my shock, Mr. Semba explained that those curves had actually been created from the long branches he held in his hand by taking tiny wedge slivers out of certain points until the branch curved gracefully in its current position. Let me explain… we are talking solid tree branches here… that have been cut and bent just so to create something even more magnificent than the cherry tree already looks. If this had been me trying to manipulate those branches, I would have accidentally snapped the branches off at all the worst places when trying to bend them.

Mr. Semba then worked on the middle design again showing the graceful curve for which his school is famous for. I guess that curve is best illustrated in the other work of art he had also done the day prior, using pine branches in bamboo containers that all curved in the exact and perfect way as the next one. One last piece was created by three ladies of which I didn’t entirely hear, but I am guessing that they are all sensei in his school. He described this piece in its most traditional form… as a work of art that demonstrates a mountain. The blooms at the top would only be just emerging. The blooms in the middle would be fully opened. And the branches at the bottom of the mountain where it is warmest are already displaying the greenery of leaves.

Sadly, at this point I had to leave. My babysitter was ever so kind to watch Kimono Pipsqueak for me, but with kids of her own, I didn’t want to be an inconvenience on her time. There was to be a Japanese calligraphy demonstration next followed by a four-course French lunch to round out the day’s program. Instead, I picked up my wee one and decided to treat myself to some ribs from the Chili’s restaurant on base before heading home. It was a treat that even KP was fortunate enough to join when one rib jumped from my hands, only to land sticky side down on the child, splattering barbeque sauce across his face and over his head. Perhaps it was a good thing I didn’t stick around for the fancy lunch. I was surely dressed up, but proved once again that you just can’t take me out.

Travelin' Little Man

2009-03-02T09:11:00.002+09:00

While out with an American friend and his Japanese girlfriend this past weekend, I took the opportunity to get some answers about Japanese moms from her. Now, she is not a mom, but her sister is… with a child only about a month older than KP. Perhaps it is my overly sensitive nature, but I get the impression from an American or two that they find it odd I don’t run around Japan as much as I used to. I have explained the biggest reason before… why run around when you have something so small and so perfect in your own home to occupy all of your time. And I have explained the second reason… that it just isn’t as easy to run around here with an infant like it is back home in the states… but I think that one is pooh-poohed a bit. When I spoke to my Japanese friend, I didn’t state any of these reasons, but simply asked her about what Japanese women do with their infants. Her response – “they just don’t go many places the first year, beyond the occasional trip to the mall.” This was wonderful news to my ears and, frankly, made me feel like much less of a failure as a hip, modern and mobile mom.

There are good reasons why Japanese women do not travel that first year too far with their wee ones. First, if you recall, the major mode of transportation is train, and still my favorite way to get around for many reasons. However, here are the downsides now that I travel with a little man. Trains can be enormously crowded. Strollers are pretty much an absolute no-no, if only for the simple fact that it would be hell trying to roll yourself and a stroller out of a crowded train before the doors close and it moves on. The only option therefore is to wear your child – which I love to do – but have you ever worn a 17 pound chunk all day long? I can assure you that it takes at least four Tylenol to work the kinks in your neck and back out the next day. Trains are also silent – babies of which are generally not, as they love to coo (nice to hear) and whine and cry (not so nice to hear). Train stations are not right outside your front door, nor is your destination immediately outside the exit. You have to walk to and fro, again with your heavy child who is quite likely digging his hand down your shirt and exposing more than you hoped to ever show outside of your private boudoir. Heaven forbid your train trip takes longer than the short time between feedings (now a three hour window) or you will be figuring out a way to skew your own neck aside so that the long bottle can be plugged into the tiny mouth outlet which screams for it. Need I address diaper changing? Well, you just don’t on the train of course, but thankfully the larger train stations in the cities do usually have very nice changing station amenities. Of course, what if you are far from your destination and the diaper change is imminent. I don’t know how the Japanese feel on this one, but I sure don’t want the front of me drenched in anything that may get squished onto the front of my baby-wearing self, so I just get off and have to get back on a later train. The worst is if you travel by yourself. So here, you have the 17 pounder strapped to you… there is no stroller to carry the luggage that has to be carted around for said chunk, so you have to figure out a way to wrap yet more weight across your body and still walk a straight line when fully loaded.

Drive you say… you have a car! Unfortunately, my car cannot read Japanese road signs and refuses to go all Night Rider on me and drive itself to our destination. I do drive locally, so I do get out to the towns in my own area often. And there is always walking… if I don’t have to go too far or too long. We just have to have the right place or restaurant in mind ahead of time. One where, say, a stroller might possibly fit, which narrows it down to about a third of the restaurants in Japan. We actually went to a restaurant recently where the waiter ushered us right back out after seeing the wee one in a stroller who was tagging along. At another, I tried to book us a trip through a Japanese travel agency to Nagano where we could see the wild snow monkeys. The young lady was as polite as any Japanese person, but it was exceedingly obvious that she was trying every way possible to talk me out of the trip with my little one.

These are not complaints, but simply observations. Observations which will hopefully quiet some of the tsk-tsk-ers that have wagged their little fingers at me for not getting out more. Thankfully, the Japanese are perfectly on board with my new stay-at-home kind of life. Some have actually have scoffed at me on the few occasions where I dared bring my child out into the elements that could kill him. I have oft been told that I should stay at home and skip something because the temperature was below 50 degrees. All of this advice is always so well meaning and kind. And I should certainly only expect more of the same as I continue down this motherhood path. Honestly, the conflicting comments from culture to culture really crack me up. Let me repeat what I have said before… I like this quieter lifestyle! A lot!

We did just have a wonderful visitor to Japan… Kimono Pipsqueak’s paternal grandmother made a trip here to meet him. Before she came, I asked her over and over if she wanted to see Japan or just be at home and spend time with her new grandson. Each time she stated that it was to be a quiet trip for spending time with him; news which I was grateful to hear repeated. I couldn’t just entirely skip Japan though, so we did tackle the train one afternoon and evening to head to Chinatown in Yokohama. I wore KP, while we hopped the train and walked all around the neon lit streets. On the crowded train ride back, there was a new understanding light in Grandma’s eyes. Seeing is believing!

So what do KP and I do all day? We eat out with girlfriends several times a week. We take walks around our neighborhood. We run errands and go to appointments. At the end of each day, I am always shocked at how fast it has gone by. This time with my baby is already flying by. Why would I want to miss a minute of it by stuffing in excursions that would leave me harried with the details of the day? We do have several upcoming trips in the works including: weekends in Tokyo, multiple days and nights on an Australian beach and an extended vacation in several states come summer.

As much of the Japanese culture that I have been able to experience alone or with KH in our years here, it has been amazing to experience it in this new and eye-opening mommy way. It does make me wonder though… when we make our next move… who will I choose to be? The Japanese mom or the American one?