I remember writing about autumn-blooming flowers. Now I'm seeing the late-late-autumn flowers, the winter flowers. The tsubaki and the other brilliant fuchsia and white flowers that I cannot name. And the weather is icy-cool, and windy, and the palm trees blow and rattle. And it snowed for the first time this winter yesterday; random, splattery gobbets of snow that didn't stick and didn't stay... I was so dazed with fatigue that I hardly noticed them. I regret that now. I should have at least tried to catch one on my tongue.

We walked through the snow as we were leaving the bowling alley. Alex, Melissa, Jenna and I had two games in the bustling Dia Lanes that is across the street from my apartment. I finally managed to break 90; my final score was 110... hooray for me! My bedroom (actually, my only room) faces the plain white wall of the bowling alley, and at night it sounds like thunder; once I got used to the sound, it became oddly comforting. On the other side of the apartment building, there are train tracks. I am blanketed by sound from all sides, all hours of the day. I woke up at 5am a couple of weeks ago, and in the stillness, I could hear my left neighbor singing (which he always does) and my right neighbor rustling paper. Yes, rustling paper. On the other side of the wall by my head.

My apartment has seemed more and more like a sad little squirrel's nest as time has gone by. I used to think that I wanted to live in a van and drive across the continent of North America. Maybe I still do. But the live in a van part has lost some of its appeal. Maybe the right van would be bigger than my apartment, though. And when I stepped out of the van, the scenery would be different every time. Not just the quick and narrow street that separates me from the white wall of the bowling alley. And I bet you that a van would have more than one range in the kitchenette.

I said I was dazed and fatigued yesterday; with good reason. I mistakenly believed that with most of my co-workers out of the country for vacation, I would revel in the lull and do things like vacuum and organize and write letters and shop for delayed Christmas gifts. I would hermit myself away and read the Dhammapada again. I would draw and paint. I would go to bed early and rise early. I would live out all of my best intentions, get a good start on my New Year's resolutions.

Ha!

Reality-check. I seem to be an inherently social animal. I love my time alone, but I am easily swayed and distracted by a phone-call or text message promising a good time. I worked the last two shifts after Christmas and before this holiday like a robot; I used what little energy I had to try and appear alert and eager for my students. After my shift on the 27th ended, Jenna, Melissa and I caught a brief second wind, borne of the promise of a full week off. No Nova. No explaining what "what's new" means to lower-level students every forty minutes. No obsessive upper-level students wanting detailed explanations of nonsensical English idioms. "'It's a piece of cake'? But how can that mean 'it's easy'? What about cake is easy? And 'The cat has my tongue?' Why? What if I have the cat's tongue? Is it the same?" (If you have a 'cat's tongue' in Japan, it means that you can't handle really hot food. I know better than to ask for an explanation.)

I digress. We went for a drink in a little cafe-bar that is dark and sparse but comfortable, and mural led in a decidedly Rap-1992 style. We went home. I went to bed early. A good beginning, or so I thought. The next day broke clear and bright, and my good intentions went out the window with a text-message from Satoshi; or did I send the first one? Anyway, we had a fabulous afternoon of coffee and yammering about everything in all directions and window shopping. I sank a bundle on a beautiful watch; an early birthday-gift to myself. It's one of those ones that never needs to be wound as long as you are wearing it; perpetual motion. It's gold with a turquoise face. I love it. Satoshi tried on an alligator-strapped watch with an enormous face that had a price tag equal to that of a new car; my stomach spun at the sight of it. I can't imagine owning something that entails such a high degree of responsibility. But mi-e needs are big in Japan. Mi-e (as I understand it) is that it's the look of a thing (or a person) that is most important. So young women will often go hungry for the sake of a designer handbag, identical to every other designer handbag of every other woman that works in her office.

Further digression. I bought my brother a fuzzy frog-suit for Christmas (you'll love it, dude) and Satoshi and I rounded off our day in the Puri-Kura (print club) booths, getting ridiculous stickers made with me peeking out of a toilet and stars exploding out of our heads. Standard fare. I made my way home, fully expecting to vacuum and hermit and read and paint, when I got a message from my old friend Shin, aka Shrine Boy, whom I had not seen for 8 months. Did I have time? Could I meet him for his last party of 2006? I met him at 'our' shrine and we biked many chilly blocks to his apartment; which was astoundingly smaller than mine. When I saw it, I wasn't surprised that the 'party' was only going to be him and me. He's a sweetheart, a little brother of a guy, only 20 years old and impossibly good-natured and full of idealism. We drank beer and ate pizza and watched Japanese comedy shows. I tried to explain the lyrics of a James Blunt song to him; he also loves the Backstreet Boys and Daniel Powter. He was drunk after one can of beer. I decided to go as he was rubbing his eyes and yawning like a three-year old; he biked me to a point where I recognized my surroundings. As I thanked him for the pizza and took my leave, my phone rang. Another friend. Where was I? Could I come out for a drink? Like, now?

Long story short, I went to sleep at about 6:30 am. I woke up at 8am, long enough to text message an apology and a cancellation to my private student. Again at 9 am to take my mom's phone call. Again at noon to get up, and go bowling. After bowling, after glancing nonchalantly at the falling snow, I announced that I was going home for a nap.

I woke up 17 hours later. That brings us to today. Today I made a list, and stuck to it, sort of. Maybe my hermity resolutions are a little too strict, after all. I better ought to stick with my friend's father's favorite saying: "Everything in moderation, including moderation".

Happy New Year.

Christmas eve saw me scrambling to pack up my bags and bike the two-ish blocks to the Boobie Palace. Pancake mix? Check. Gifts? Check. Pajamas? Check. Weighted down, I was lucky that I only fell over once, and managed not to break the bottles of wine and champagne. When I arrived, I was happy to find the place decorated with an array of sparkly garland and a mini tree (about 12 inches high, but a tree is a tree). Joanna and Kat ducked out to get some snacks and some more wine, and Melissa and I chatted and I checked my email. Christmas eve commenced with their return; wine and chocolate consumption, chit-chat and The Scissor Sisters (I regretted not bringing over my two Christmas cd's). We waited until midnight, and then celebrated with a group hug and the opening of some of our gifts. Melissa delighted the three of us by giving each of us a gorgeous pot of flowers; red for Kat, pink for Joanna and white for me. As I was sleeping on the couch, I had the final word on bed-time; I told everyone to get to sleep, otherwise Santa wouldn't come.

I played Santa, and after everyone awoke and emerged, the stocking were opened; a bottle of real maple syrup was included for each girl. I cooked pancakes and eggs (and bacon for the two of us non-vegetarians) and we drank pink champagne mimosas and toasted the bright sunny Christmas morning before scooting off to work.

Work was weird; the teachers were unhappy and incredulous that the students could sign up and arrive to lessons as though this was just any other day. I had expected it though, and so brought a little photo album to work with me, and I began every lesson with it: look, this is my mom, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunts, uncles, cousins. This is Aldergrove in the winter. This is the Santa Claus doll that my brother and I have had our picture taken with for twenty-six years running. This is our Christmas tree. My family has Scottish heritage, so in this picture, my brother and dad are wearing kilts. Sharing my Christmas traditions with the students made the lessons bearable; they appreciated where I was coming from, and I felt like I had given them a different perspective on the holiday.

After work I joined forces with Travis and Neil; we hit the liquor store where I bought the ingredients for poor-man's champagne (apricot brandy and ginger ale; my mom's family Christmas cocktail). The man working at the checkout was dressed in a head-to-toe Ruldoph costume. Ridiculous, but cute. Next, to my tiny apartment to grab the half-cooked ingredients for Christmas dinner. We made our careful way back to Neil's bigger place and I began to cook; Neil helped me locate utensils as Travis mixed my drink and got the carols playing. More folks arrived; soon the apartment was filled with animation. Joanna and Kat madly prepared vegetables (Jeff peeled the carrots), drinks were poured, the breeze was shot in the living room on Neil's enormous heated fuzzy rug. Yes... Heated. FUZZY. Rug. I could live on that thing... Melissa and I made a run to the Lawson's convienience store for some milk. We all ate heartily, including my somewhat runny squash pie with whipped-cream-from-a-can, applied by the skillful hand of Chris, our newest staff member from Los Vegas. We played spoons, and an aptly-named game called 'Once Around, You're Drunk'. We drank too much, and we spilled booze on Neils rug. We laughed. We laughed a LOT. Anyway, it wasn't the Christmas I expected. Maybe it wasn't exactly the Christmas I wanted. But it was great.

Wow, I've over-stayed my yen at the internet cafe and I think I've got to make this quick... mucking about doing research and email and chatting and what-not. It's easy to lose track of time at this cafe; I've started coming to one closer to my house called 'Moby'-- it's awesome because there's a non-smoking section and free ice-cream, in addition to all the other usual delights. Coffee, pop, melon-flavoured slush, all you can drink! Comic books! Billards! All for the low-low price of 100 yen every 15 minutes!

I emailed my Christmas Greetings this year, seeing as I haven't had the time or the patience with the staff at the post office to get much off, other than cards to my immediate family. Sorry to those of you who have enjoyed previous editions of my Christmas 'Muse Letter' (I'm such an anachronistic geek)... I'll try and get a New Year's version off during my holiday, which begins on the 27th. New Years cards are the 'thing' in Japan, anyway. As for Christmas-- well, I can't recall if I said, but I'll be helping to cook dinner for a small group of us Nova-ites, and I'm pretty excited about the menu. I've already been shopping and making lists-- I even asked my friend Neil to look up 'hot toddies', though they don't sound as appetizing when you know the ingredients. Might opt for apple cider instead.

Wow! Christmas is almost here! The space under my festively decorated potted palm is bursting with packages from home (thank you, thank you), but I'm undeniably most curious about the contents of the one my brother sent, on which he scrawled 'Granny Panties Suck' in magic marker. My brother sent me underwear? Thoughtful, or creepy? Well, Sandy isn't really the creepy type... he's just... special. Right, bro?

Anyway, I better go pay my bill... shame I didn't have time for one more melon slush-vanilla ice cream screamer before I left... I suppose my butt will thank me. There's one advantage of the holidays in Japan-- no tempting evil Christmas cookies everywhere! (Though I did consume a quarter of the box of shortbread my grandmother sent me last night- tasted like home!) To all of you out there; happy holidays, and best wishes for you and your families and friends. Make the most of the love you've got around you, because there isn't anything better than love...

Namaste

Endrene

Breathe a sigh of relief, everyone. The ordeal is over, I can sleep again; Nova has decided to renew my contract for another year. Now remains just the pithy business of signing the new contract and getting my new visa. I text-messaged most of my friends and co-workers within minutes of getting the news; as per usual, some the Japanese comments were sweetly funny:

Miho: I can't express how happy I am now! c u day after tomorrow!

Bubu: Sounds good! NOVA took the best way! Because they noticed your ability and what is the most important thing? You got wins!

Yasu: Congratulation!! I am so happy! please enjoy together forever in Japan!

I also recieved invitations to two congratulatory dinners; Satoshi is going to make me something green and healthy on Thursday night (as per my request-- the whole not-using-my-knees-thing has not been kind to the size of my bottom) and then I'm going to blow it the next night at Jenna's cheeeeesy macaroni and cheese party. I've never eaten Scottish macoroni and cheese before. I wonder if it's different somehow? More Mac-tastic, maybe?

I've recently taken a liking to how Bubu puts his hand over his heart whenever he's talking about his mind- the word kokoro means heart, soul, and mind. I'm wondering if Western people would find a greater degree of peace in their day-to-day lives if they could make a greater connection between the three. Anyway, I've been noticing a lot more of the 'small' things lately, since I was under the impression that I was going to be sent home soon. Like how Miho constantly asserts that she's a 'safety driver,' even though she's been corrected several times ("it's safe driver, Miho,") and even though she's not-- she drives that little pink bread-box of a car like a screaming Mimi. Also, things like how the decorative singular vegetables that float in the miso soup are cut to reflect the seasons; in the spring, the paper-thin daikon was shaped like cherry blossoms, now the slices of carrot are shaped like autumn leaves. I'm also trying to pay more attention to how food is prepared; I don't think I could go back to a strictly Western-style diet. I want to know how to make okonomiyaki, tako-yaki, miso, onigiri... and especially how to make the salad dressings that blow my mind. Bubu and Haruko have taught me how to make Niku Jaga-- and they teased me throughout the entire process. Apparently when I attempted to text-message my request for the recipe to Bubu in hiragana, I mispelled and asked for the recipe for Mick Jagger. Mmmm... Rolling Stone Stew. Anyway, it was fun; I'll get around to posting the recipe here one of these days.

As for Christmas... well, only a few days to go, hey? I've been trying to insert Christmassy activities and behavior into my day-to-day life as much as possible, so that I won't feel like I've missed it entirely. The nice thing (in my opinion, anyway) is that all the stores and malls play Christmas music, and have put up lights and little displays. I even heard Kenny and Dolly singing "I'll be Home with Bells On" in the Kiyoei supermarket and Anne Murray crooning over the sushi display at Fuji Grand. It's not exactly the same, but then, I couldn't expect it to be. The plan is to spend Christmas eve at the Boobie Palace with the girls so that when I wake up on Christmas morning, we can open gifts together and enjoy Christmas breakfast. Christmas day I work, but I'm off at two-ish, so I'll head over to another friend's house and start cooking dinner for a few of us. Then hopefully we can gather and drink hot toddies and cut out paper snowflakes and fa-la-la-la-la, and all of that. I'll certainly miss my family, but I'll be with good people that I love, and that love me. What more could I ask for?

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year...

endrene

Let's hope no news is good news. Still waiting...

Still waiting... only two days to go until Friday. Decision day. As it's my day off, I'll be calling in to talk with my Japanese manager, so see what the verdict is. Last night as I was putting on my coat for the long bike ride home, she shook her head, and said, "if you go, I quit too!" Support feels good.
To answer P.Phobic's question, yes, I have looked into teaching for other companies, and have actually already gotten several suggestions (and even an offer) from teachers at other Eikawa schools. However, I really want to come home next summer for... well, either for the summer or forever, I haven't made up my mind yet. And I can't ethically feel OK signing up with another company, only to dump them mid-contract. And there isn't any company that would be willing to give me more than 10 vacation days a year, so... I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, as they say. But I'm greased up, baby! And if you squeeze me too tight, I just might shoot sideways. Watch out!

Living under the black wing of Nova is getting to be some pretty sticky business. I got a thorough scolding from the current woman-in-charge of Nova instructors and their comings-and-goings. I thought I had my visa in the bag, but apparently, my calling in sick 5 times this year (and being late twice when I was new and confused) qualifies me as an "unreliable" instructor.
"You know," she said (in a rather sickeningly patronizing voice, I might add) "it just doesn't look good. If you could promise me that you would make an effort to be on time in the future, if we were to renew your contract..." Here I was spurting and choking on words; half of me wanting to say whatever was necessary to make it right, and the larger part of me burning with a white-hot fury that I am unaccustomed to. Hmmm. Kiss her ass, or tell her where to go, and what to do when she got there? She added that everything else looked so good, but there was just the problem of my attendance...
Not wanting to burn any bridges, I went the ass-kissing route. I also had to write a letter, promising that I would be a good and timely little girl in the future. What chafes me is that I have never called in sick when I haven't been sick. Every time I might have liked to extend my vacation, or recover from a hangover, I doggedly went to work and did my job. I'm starting to get really annoyed with working for a company that sees punishment as a more effective means of control than praise. That, and I recently discovered that the Japanese staff members get bonuses twice a year, while foreign personnel get none... what's going on here? At any rate, my kissy-kissy letter might help plead my case for visa renewal. Apparently I'll know for sure on the 15th... my co-workers think it's just scare tactics. I think it's make-me-feel-like-poo tactics.

Dammit, I'm a good teacher. I have never received any complaints from the students. I love and respect the people I teach, and I seem to get the same in response, especially from the kids. But I'm really tired of feeling like a bad guy when everything else says I'm doing a good job. The universe might be pointing me in directions I was previously not ready to go in.

My black mood shattered this morning.

Yesterday, when I woke up, I had a headache that throbbed regardless of Advil or bed rest or cups of tea. I shut the curtains. First I cancelled my private lesson, then when the headache still hadn't dissipated by 3pm, I cancelled my evening shift at Nova. (For that I will pay the penalty of one day's pay; there are no sick days at Nova allowed, especially when called in after the 11am deadline. And I mean pay-- they won't just cut off a day's salary. I owe it to them.) I lay on my back on the heated floor pad, hiding under the kotatsu table like a child, covering my eyes and my ears. My hurt knee bothered me more by its existence than by any actual pain. Ever since I came to Tokushima, to Shikoku island, I have been harbouring a half-secret dream to attempt the 88 Temple Pilgrimage around the island. It's one of the main reasons I requested Shikoku as my first choice for placement when I became a Nova hack. And now... Well, the Doc said to use my knee as little as possible. Walking 1000 miles for three months doesn't exactly fit in with his recommendations. (See this web page for more info: http://travel-write.com/travel_articles/asia/shikoku_88_temple_pilgrimage/index.htm )

I phoned mom this morning after a long loll in bed with a cup of tea and a mildly soppy Christmas romance novel she'd sent in her latest care package. (I only read these things once a year, I swear!) I wanted a sounding board. Was I doing all right here? She assured me that I was all right, that everyone is very proud of me, etc, etc, everything I needed to hear and more. And, apparently, all Capricorns (her, me, my Auntie Joy and her daughter Cathy, my Auntie Flo) are right out of whack. Our planets are doing the funky chicken or something and all of us feel wonky or dissatisfied, and like our work is getting us nowhere. What do you say fellow goat-girls? True or not true? Are you feeling like greasy-grimy-gopher-guts too? Anyway, it felt good to not feel alone in my fog.

Full appreciation of my life hit me like a wall of roses. I have finally got enough rest. The memories of my Kyoto vacation are starting to percolate now that I've recovered from the assault of the hectic adventure. I finally have an idea about what to do for my family for Christmas (albeit, the gifts will be late). I can choose to be happy. I am relatively healthy. My knee hurts, but I talked with Dad-- he had had a similar knee problem a few years ago, up to the point where doctors were going to operate. He started taking sharks cartilage capsules, and hasn't had a problem since; lucky me! The only thing I recognize in the drug store are the bottles with the pictures of sharks on them! And though the thrilling newness of being in this country may have passed away, it doesn't mean that my learning is complete. It doesn't mean that I'm finished discovering.

Here's one of my recent adventures to prove it:

When we got to Nara, I was surprised to see the deer immediately, and was also surprised by their size. I thought they'd be smaller, more delicate. But they were hefty like large goats, and just as persistent, immediately hounding anybody who stepped towards a deer-snack vendor. Thankfully, most of the males had had their antlers lopped off. I say thankfully because you have to remember that it is autumn in Nara-- these animals are in the full swing of rutting season. The bucks strutted sideways through the busy intersections with arched necks, flashing the whites of their eyes and waggling their genitalia at their opposition. Taxis drove carefully around them, as the deer paid no heed. Ume and her mom and I walked on past them, determined to get to the Daibutsu. The deer swarmed all around. They perused the souvenir displays along the path. They napped on the lawns. They followed terrified children who threw the deer-cookies at the animals rather than risk getting close. As we came up the last stone steps through an arbour of golden ginko trees, we had to stop. A wily buck who had escaped being de-antlered was pursuing a doe; she was trying to hide behind groups of people. The buck was getting very frustrated, and let out his horrible deer-scream of a mating call. It wasn't music to the doe's ears, either. She took off through the trees with the buck in hot pursuit. The three of us breathed sighs of relief between exclamations of "abunai!" (dangerous!), and continued on to the Daibutsu.

This guy is big. Re-e-e-eeeally big. He is dark grayish green, with his eyes slitted thoughtfully and his enormous right hand held up in a gesture of peace. He is housed in the worlds largest wooden structure. All around his base, people from everywhere swarm and try to snap his picture in the gloom. Incense burns. Dim sunshine streams through the slats on the sides of the structure. We could walk right around him; behind him and to his left, there was a sort of hole hollowed out in the base of one of the enormous wooden pillars that supports the building. Ume had told me about this hole beforehand. "It's the same size as the Daibutsu's nose-hole. When I was in junior-high-school, we had a class trip to Nara. So, if you can fit through the nose-hole," here, she gestured with a fisted arm, "you will be clever in your life. One of my friends couldn't fit through! We laughed at him so much!" So I understood that if I could fit my arm through the Buddha-sized nostril-hole, I would be granted eternal cleverness. Sweet. However, I had misunderstood. It wasn't your arm you had to get through this nose-hole. It was your whole self! (I told you the Daibutsu was big!) I stood with the rest of the large group of onlookers as child after child scooted through, slick and quick. The adults seemed to just be watching. I wasn't going to let this opportunity for lifetime cleverness just pass me by. I crouched down and examined the hole. "It's pretty big," I thought. "And I can fit into a Japanese 'L' size now... so here goes nothing." I dove in. My arms, my head, my shoulders slid in, no problem. Then... my butt. Oh NO, my butt! I'm stuck! Ume came around the front of the hole to snap a photo of me looking flushed and maniacal. I wriggled and tried to use my feet to push me through; I felt helpful hands shoving at my waggling rump. It was no use, I backed out with a sheepish grin and a red face and exclaimed "saiyaku!" (that sucks!) to the incredulous and giggling crowd. The promise of lifetime cleverness, snatched away! Ume soothed me and pointed out that I had emboldened the rest of the adults; now the previous onlookers were diving through, one after the other. Ume's mom said that what I really needed was for the Daibutsu to have a big sneeze-- that would have pushed me through. I asked her who had been trying to help me through, her or her mom, or...? "Some old ladies," she replied. You can always count on the kindness of strangers in Japan!

I have chondromalacia of my patellae. At least, that was the phrase the doctor pointed to after showing me my x-rays. Am I scaring you yet? No big deal, really, it's just mild chondromalacia of the patellae. What it comes down to is that I used my knee too much in Kyoto, walking up and down temple steps and racing to catch trains and buses, and through shopping arcades and over and through and around and under and back. Then to Nara, to see the deer among the flashing golden colours of the park, the Daibutsu (giant Buddha) with a pinkie finger as large as an average Japanese man, and shopping, and a jillion million leaves in rocket red and alarming yellow and flourescent coral. I saw the thousand red tori gates of Inariyama. I saw the golden temple. I saw the famous zen rock garden. I saw Ninna-ji, and one of the three great gates of Kyoto. I saw the second palace of the... guy. An important guy. And of course, I saw Takarazuka. I think I got myself too hyped up about it; the first story was a historical drama about a samurai named Sakamoto Ryoma and his lover-- not bad, but hard to follow the politics. The stage decoration was weak, the costumes were pretty simple. Ryoma was murdered before intermission, so part two was a disaster called "I LOVE CHOPIN!"... bad dancing and weird costumes. A little trippy, a little laughable-- my friend Ume fell asleep.

Whew. An amazing adventure, to be sure. A million little details assaulted my mind, and I am sure that they will come filtering out in my art and writing for years to come. For now, I am coping with the trauma of being back in Tokushima. God, I make it sound like some horrible thing, being here, now. It's not so bad, it can't be so bad. There are no wars, no starving people. There is a good job, and an apartment in need of dusting, and my little bit of loneliness. I am working on remembering all the good things in my life, to be thankful, etc... and then there are days like yesterday when I just stand in the laundry room sobbing into my clean socks.

I can't say what the matter is, because when I try to figure it out myself, I feel ungrateful. I have so much, and so many good people in my life who hold me up and support me in so many ways; my friends and family who send me thoughtful gifts and postcards and email messages; my Japanese friends who tour me around Kyoto and drop work to take me to the Orthopedic surgeon. I don't lack for love. Only for assurance. What am I doing here?

Tomorrow morning at 8:45 am, I'll be on a bus bound for Kyoto for four days. This is balm to my spirit, as lately I've been feeling a little crappy. I've been having weird dreams and terrible nightmares; in the weird dream category, one of the strangest was when I discovered that I was some sort of wonderous beast that, when milked, gave orange juice instead of milk. My cowrorkers were lined up with glasses and arguing over who got to get the juice first. I think I was some sort of weird-looking creature, fuzzy and orange in colour, part unicorn, part goat. I remember feeling vaguely embarrassed that my coworkers didn't recognize me as Endrene, and now they were going to drink my juice. In the terrible nightmare category, I awoke in a dead panic two mornings ago after dreaming that my dad was drowning in some sort of filtration pond, and I couldn't save him. I phoned home right away to make sure he was still alive (he was). Mom asked why I was having these awful dreams (I had phoned her two days previous, with a nightmare of her hating Christmas... which is impossible!).

Well, the rug is moving under my feet, as it is apt to do. My boss (and good friend) Maz, is leaving Nova in a matter of days; I've already had my final shift with her. That means I am now the senior staff member at my school. What?! Have I ever been the senior anything? Also, two days a week I'll be working at the other school, which means that I will no longer be teaching my favorite kids classes; I'm tearing up just thinking about it. I love those little booger munchers. I'm also on pins and needles awaiting approval from head office so that I can renew my visa. Without it, I'll be back in Canada in January, and I'm not ready to go. To top it off, I seem to be having a somewhat severe attack of homesickness... 'Christmas' (or Kurisumasu') in Japan seems to me to be a farce, a completely commercial holiday. Not to say that it isn't similar back home. However, at home the commercialism would be tempered by advent and the contemplation of the coming of Christ's birth. I can't claim to be as completely Catholic as I once was, owing to the fact that I think all forms of spirituality and thanksgiving are good and equally valid. But I am a girl with a yen for ceremony and deep meaning, so I find myself aching to go to church in a way that I haven't felt in years. I want to sing some expectant carols and smell incense and pine and hear the story of the baby in Elizabeth's womb leaping for joy. You know? I've made do with the purchase of a pointsettia and two Christmas CD's which I have been playing ad infinitum.

So, there's Kyoto to look forward to, to take my mind off of things for a bit. It's still Autumn here; the leaves have just hit their peak in terms of colour and splendour, so I couldn't have planned the timing of this trip better. I'll be meeting up with Ume and her mom at Kyoto Satation. We're going to see the famed Golden Pavilion, and some garden that was featured in Memoirs of a Geisha (dunno which one) and then it's on to Nara to see the Daibutsu (giant Buddha) and hopefully the little deer... and then... Takarazuka! I can't believe how excited I am about Takarazuka!

Taken from Wikipedia:

The Takarazuka Revue began in Takarazuka, Hyogo Prefecture, Japan in 1913 founded by Ichizo Kobayashi, the president of Hankyu Railways, who had the idea to boost sales by staging Western-style musical shows using only young, unmarried women. The name of the troupe comes from the Hankyu Takarazuka Line in suburban Osaka. The Revue had their first performance in 1914, and by 1924 the company had become popular and obtained their own theatre, the Dai Gekijō. Currently Takarazuka performs for 2.5 million people per year. Most fans of the group are women.
Part of the novelty of Takarazuka is that all the parts are played by women, like a mirror-image of Kabuki. The women who play male parts are referred to as otokoyaku (literally "male role") and those who play female parts are called musumeyaku (literally "daughter role"). The costume and set designs are incredibly lavish, and the performances are melodramatically emotional.

How cool is that? I'll be writing all about it following my return next monday... until then,

Namaste

Endrene

Bubu's Impression of Turkey
(as taken from a text-message he sent to me)

"We ate a turkey's meat. My impression which is not birds it is animal's taste and born. Nobody think it's born are birds. It is to much big and fat one for us. This is our first impression about turkey's taste. Thank you very much for your kindeness. Gochisosama deshita."

I phoned my brother during the late afternoon today, which meant that it was pushing midnight in BC. "You're calling me from JAPAN? That's so cool," he slurred. Uh, yeah dude. I'm kinda living here... Sandy's working as a firefighter in Kamloops, BC, and now for the second year in a row, he's travelled down to Vancouver with a group of other firefighters to string Christmas lights up in Stanely Park for some children's charity. The had finished their work for the day, and had moved on to some pub to celebrate a job well done.
"Did you tell that Japanese creeper to screw off?"
"Nah, man, I haven't dealt with it yet."
"WHAT? Did you get my email? I dressed up like Mike Holmes from Holmes on Homes for Halloween, and I sent you a picture... I look really scary. You can show it to the dude and say 'HE NO APPROVE'."
"What? Who is Mike Holmes?"
"He has a home improvement show..."
"I have no idea, man. I'll Google him."
"So, what's new?"

So, what's new, what's new... Went to Jeff's Annual American Thanksgiving Party last night; I half thought about cancelling, because it was raining. Then I remembered... the smell of turkey. Stuffing. Mashed potatoes. Didn't I say a month ago that I could do without this stuff? I lied. I braved the rain and the dark and the windy kilometer-long bridge, and arrived dripping wet, the first guest. Just in time to mash the potatoes. The cheesy, garlicky, buttery mashed potatoes. Jeff also made lovely little spinach balls, and was surprised to find that no-one else had made or eaten them before. Eventually he had a pretty good turnout; Me, Tomomi, Calvin, Maz, Andy, Jenna, Kat and Melissa. Pretty much everyone brought a bottle of wine, and most of the evening was spent quaffing the contents of the various bottles, praising the spinach balls, talking trivia, and avoiding Jeff's mean dog 'Buu', who is inclined to bite strangers. We also listened to Bani's karaoke recordings. Have you ever heard a largish Australian-Assyrian man sing 'Man, I Feel Like a Woman' by Shania Twain? It's an unparalleled experience.

Today saw me finding my way to the Uchimachi Culture Fair, where some of my artwork was on display. It was a lovely little community 'do, with gorgeous diplays of Japanese quilting, miniature gardening, photography, and artwork by various hobbyists and professionals. I went with Satoshi, and my friends Miho and Yasu joined up with us for a little while. In the farthest room there were tables set up with ink and fruits and vegetables and an encouraging volunteer; I found Miho and Yasu conspiring like kindergarteners at one corner as they painted a red pepper and a bunch of mushrooms, respectively. I sat next to an older lady and we shared a kaki (persimmon) as model between us. It was fun to paint a postcard and have the white-haired ladies come and peer over my shoulder, chanting 'jouzu, jouzu!' After we all finished, the sensei stamped our postcards with the hiragana for the first part of our names ('mi' for Miho, 'ya' for Yasu, 'e' for Endrene). Miho and Yasu left shortly after I had relocated Satoshi, who had been doggedly avoiding an overtalkative gentleman. We went for coffee and shot the breeze for a while, then parted; he for an early night at home, and me-- well, here I am, but I've been traipsing around a bit before now.

I've been going out a little bit more frequently lately, but I'm thinking about dropping of the face of the Tokushima-Night-Life earth, as my natural tendency to attract oddballs has been landing me in one creepy situation after another. I know Bubu thinks that I am responsible for some of the further graying of his hairs: "Sometime you make me more worried than my own daughter!" Probably I tell him and his wife too much about my goings-on, but it's nice to have someone worrying after you. Even if it means that he counts the nights that my apartment light isn't on when he walks home, and then accuses me of "over-play" the next time he sees me. Tonight (avoiding the enormous task of writing and addressing Christmas cards) I cooked them some apples (I found some for only 98 yen a piece!) in brown sugar and nutmeg and placed them, still-warm, on a layer of cookies, and hoofed it over to the shop.
"Remember how I promised to make you apple pie?"
Bubu poked at the plastic wrap and lifted the bowl into the light to inspect it. "This is apple pie?"
"Well..." It was the best I could do without an oven. "It's apple pie En-chan style."
Haruko thouroughly enjoyed the apples and asked for cooking directions. Success! We got to talking about why my apartment was dark last night.
"I went to a Thanksgiving dinner."
"Oh? What foods did you eat?"
"Mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey-"
"Wait, wait, wait, chotto matte-yo, chotto-matte-yo... What? Turkey?"
Turns out turkey is the stuff of dreams. In the Land of No Ovens, the concept of buying and cooking a forigen twenty-pound bird seems well-nigh impossible. With round eyes, Haruko gestured hugely, indicating a big bird, and I nodded-- yes, it was a big bird. I forget sometimes that normalacy is all relative. I explained how Jeff had brought his American oven over in a cargo container, how he had bought the turkey from the Foriegn Buyers Club. Bubu and Haruko pressed me for details of a turkey's appearance, preparation, flavour.
"We have never tasted like this," he said wistfully.
Suddenly I remembered the leg Jeff had sent me home with. "Do you want to? Do you want to try turkey right now?" I scampered to my apartment and back in less than five minutes; the size of the drumstick was exclaimed over, and they both sniffed it curiously. I left, feeling I had done a good deed. Not five minutes after I was back home again, my phone rang; Bubu was making a dinner delivery as a show of thanks. Miso soup! Rice! Shredded cabbage and potato croquettes! That's what this girl likes. Besides... I've joined the Japanese camp on one opinion; I genuinely reccomend a Japanese diet to any regular gas sufferer!

The past week's wealth of experience has left me a little short of words. Ha! Who am I kidding-- me! Short of words!

Hmmm. Where to begin? Well, the Sushi Pimp* issue has still not been resolved, though I am trying to get it sorted. I looked at the Caramel Fritter's ideas for coping, and had actually already planned on going with a version of Option A) My Father Does Not Approve and Here is Your Money Back. But I don't actually want to see these people ever again, so it definitely has to be in a letter. Some wires got crossed with Kenji-- I had asked him last week to write a letter in Japanese for me, and I thought he had agreed; but when we met last night for our language exchange, he asked me if I had written a letter yet. So I think I might just plow ahead and try to write the letter in Japanese myself. It's going to be terrible to behold since I am still abhorrent at forming coherent sentences, and I have no training whatsoever in writing kanji, but maybe all of my inaccuracies will only serve to highlight how little I understood of the situation in the first place.

*The Sushi Pimp... sounds like a good idea for a comic book, doesn't it?

Enough of that mess. We have yet another new arrival in Tokushima-- a girl named Melissa from Chicago who has moved in with Kat and Joanna in the Boobie Palace. She'll be working with me and Maz and Kat and Andy out in Kitajima. I've only met her once, but liked her well enough; she's quite high-energy and excited to be here. She's quite tom-boyish in comparison to Kat and Joanna, so it'll be interesting to see how the dynamics at the Palace are affected. I myself am once again thanking my lucky stars that I made the decision to move out on my own-- no offense to the others, but I love having the relative peace and quiet of my own place. (Relative because I can still hear every sniffle and giggle that my next door neighbor makes).

I spent a great day with Satoshi last Thursday; we went out to Bunka No Mori, a park that I visited in the spring with my friend Brian. It was a lovely clear day and the fountains were running. Unfortunately the prefectural library was closed-- too bad, as Satoshi wanted to get some books, and I have heard that there is a decent English section. We walked through part of the park and chatted about this and that, and found ourselves at the fantastic deserted children's playground. We ran around like maniacs for a while, swinging and sliding and scampering. We stopped at the cat temple before leaving. To my delight and heartache, there was a basketfull of kittens alongside the temple gatehouse; a teeny calico came teetering out of the basket to contemplate the enormity of my lap. Of course, I lifted her in and cooed ridiculously to her. Not to be outdone, Satoshi cuddled her stripey brothers, saying "come to daddy," in a high voice that cracked me up. Even though the basket was lined with a blanket and there was a wealth of kitty food nearby, it was a painful parting. Poor little homeless kitties!
We made our way back into town, stopping at an ancient little 'Donkey Bread' shop... something nostalgic that Satoshi hadn't eaten in a good long time. The little old lady inside the shop insisted that we eat inside (and not outside in the sunshine as I was wont to do) and she brought us tea and made conversation with Satoshi. I listened as intently as possible, but only caught little bits of it. The donkey bread was slightly sweet and a little gummy; I liked it, but I imagine it's a bit of an acquired taste. I imagine a Japanese person might have a similar feeling for tortierre pie. Wasn't terribly filling anyhow. By the time we were all the way back in town, I was ravenous, and so we had... katsu... hmmm. I can't remember the name. Fried pork cutlet thingies. The coolest part was that they brought a motar and pestle with sesame seeds for each of us; you grind up the seeds, add some sauce (tatses like HP a little), mix it up, and that's your dip for the pork. It was melt-in-my-mouth fabulous.

I participated in Zazen (Zen Buddhist meditation) that same Thursday evening with Bubu. We went to a temple out in the dark far reaches of Kitajima, at about 7pm. The temple is famous for a ginko tree of enormous girth that grows on the grounds-- it's about 7 meters around, and over 500 years old. The Bishop who runs the temple (an old school friend of Bubu's wife) told me over and over that the tree was famous for it's "big waist". This Bishop is the same one that I met many many months ago at one of Bubu's home parties-- a roly-poly jolly fellow who speaks English in the same way that I speak Japanese-- in fits and starts, and completely without structure... didn't matter. He still managed to get his point across, and I admired him for it. He showed me about the temple as the other practitioners slowly arrived-- all middle-aged women, who seemed to me like your typical hodge-podge of church ladies. There were about ten of us all together. The temple itself was floored in tatami and there was an alcove area with a series of altars leading to the back of the space. The alcove was jam-packed with scrolls and mandalas and lush gold dangles (I touched one surreptuously and was surprised to find it was just gold-coloured plastic). The altars were overflowing with bells and gongs and incense, gifts of food and drink for the Buddha (including potato chips and beer), wilting flowers, books and pamphlets. There were paintings depicting the lineage of the eight great buddhist teachers from the first Buddha in India, to his disciples in China, leading up to number eight, the fellow who brought a reformed version of Buddhism to Japan. (Keep in mind that I haven't done much research on this subject, and most of what I am saying here is pretty patchy.) The mandalas on either side of the altar that was set deepest into the alcove showed the two halves of heart and mind that make up the whole of the Buddha-- the feminine side based on great love, and the masculine side based on great intellect. Around eight o'clock we were all summoned to come sit on our cushions before little scrolls, all identical, set about a foot in front of each cushion. For 20 minutes we were to sit stock-still, looking and meditating only on the image on the scroll. The scroll itself was midnight-blue with a pale moon-circle in the center, about a foot in diameter. In the moon-circle there was a dark-gold coloured kanji character hovering over a lotus blossom. The character (as I understood it) said 'the son of the sun'. I settled in comfortably enough into the seiza posture (sitting with my legs folded underneath me) and stared intently at my scroll as the others droned through a sanskrit chant. The chant ended and the silent meditation began. The uneality of time began to seep in; there was no looking right or left. The only things that were in my field of vision (since I couldn't move) were my scroll, an unoccupied scroll to my right, and a lady and her scroll to my left. My legs began to ache and buzz. I began to think that I was cutting off my circulation permanantly- gangrene would set in! I would never walk again! Should I move? No. I started to accept the situation. Okay. So maybe I would never walk again. But right now, here I am. This is it. This moment is all there is. Okay. The slighty lighter outline of the dark-gold character began to flicker and glimmer a little. The moon-circle was luminous. Then very suddenly, it was all over; the time was up. People stood up, stacked cushions and put away the scrolls, while I sat dazed on the floor, trying to wake up my sleeping legs. I still can't really say what it was I experienced, but it was something new... something to do with a new feeling for the unreality of time as we know it in a day-to-day way. Anyway, after Zazen, the ten of us retreated to room on the side where we ate honeydew melon and mochi sweets and drank green tea, and Bubu regailed the small crowd with the now-familiar story of how he came to know me. The ladies listened politely, asked a few questions, and said the other now familiar things that embarrass me-- isn't she pretty! isn't she clever- she can use chopsticks! what lovely blond hair! look, she can eat Japanese food! The Bishop's ancient mother brought out a box of beer and gave us all a can; as everyone was driving, the beer was tucked into purses and bags. I thought that was pretty funny; it reminded me of how my Granny Endreny used to wrap sweets up in napkins at church teas and smuggle them home for Grandpa.

OK. That's it for today...

Namaste

Endrene

PART II

Well-- suffice it to say, the outcome of my meeting at the sushi shop was less than fantastic. In fact, I know think of my old Sushi Master as the Sushi Pimp. Here's how it went down last Thursday:

I arrived in good time with a box of chocolates for the Master and his wife, as a token of my appreciation for their previous kindnesses. I sat down between the Mama and an older customer; a portly, graying old guy. Assuming I was waiting for the arranged 'date' fellow to arrive, I made polite conversation (to the best of my ability) with the Mama and the customer-- he had just been to the dentist and his cheek was puffed up. I should have clued in more quickly- who wastes good money in a sushi shop with frozen taste buds? It started to slowly dawn me that this greasy old fellow could be the fellow... ice-cold fear trickled into my guts. The Mama wrote down dates-- which date was I free to go on a Date? Still playing dumb, I asked dare desu ka? (with who?). With him, of course. With the guy next to me with the mouth full of crooked yellow gravestones and the glasses as big as coasters. The sukebe oyaji. Oh god, oh no, with him!
I have always been one to err on the side of polite behavior. There have been far too many times in my life where every nerve ending has been humming with the refrain 'get the the hell outta here', but I stayed on in attempt to seem affable and diplomatic. Unfortunately, this was one more of those times. I grinned my terror-stricken grin and chose a date. I kept half hoping that someone would start laughing and say "Ha-ha! Got you En-chan! It's just a joke!" No such luck. I guess I felt that in some way, I could understand the good intentions of the Master and his wife. They must have assumed I was desperate though, to have chosen for me someone older than my own father, someone who couldn't speak any English, someone so absolutely unsuitable. He left shortly after arrangements had been made to his satisfaction, on account of his sore tooth. He dropped a man (about 100$) on the counter in front of me to pay for my dinner-- I tried to refuse it, to give it back-- I was too freaked out to eat anyway-- but the Mama gently but firmly tucked it into my purse. He left and I excused myself from the sushi bar shortly thereafter, bowing and expressing watery thanks for the tea. I made my way home with wobbly legs and my head spinning. What was I going to do? How was I going to get out of it this time? I couldn't ask Bubu-- he had made it very clear once already that I was far too trusting of others. He would be disappointed to know that I had given the sushi Master a second chance, when Bubu had warned me against him. I couldn't ask Miho-- she tells Bubu everything anyway. I can't do it myself-- I'm terrified to go back to the shop. That, and I can't explain my situation sufficiently in Japanese-- how can I politely extract myself? How can I say, "Gee, you know, I really don't think my family would approve of this situation. I don't approve of this situation. Here is your money, thank you, goodbye forever!" Tonight I have a language exchange meeting with my friend Kenji; maybe if I buy him coffee, I can convince him to write me a letter of repeal and apology. No matter how I look at it, I'm going to be changing my bike route to work permanently-- no more passing that sushi shop, thank you very much.

On a positive note, everything else in life is going fairly swimmingly. I had my contract evaluation and got some really positive feedback about my teaching abilities; I can renew my contract if I wish (and I do). I'll have to go by train to some other city to get my visa updated, so that will be an adventure in itself. Let's see... I'll have my art displayed at the Uchimachi culture fair next week, so that will be nice; always good to get a little more artistic exposure wherever I can. Maybe this time I'll actually sell a painting or two... you never know! And on an extremely good note, Satoshi is back in town. I met him almost a year ago when I first arrived. He's a Tokushima guy who has been studying in Adelaide, Australia-- for what? Three years? I dunno. But his English is fabulous, he's super-bright, well-traveled, and just unconventional and funky enough to hold my interest. I didn't really get to know him very well before he left last-- March? and he confessed to me that he had found me to be aloof. I probably was. For one thing, when I was new in town I was overwhelmed with new companions, so I probably didn't pay him too much attention. The other thing was the way he dressed. He didn't get the nickname (sorry Satoshi, now the world will know) 'The Gay Pirate' for nothing! Back in Canada, fancy dress for a guy involves wearing a discreet silver chain with your T-shirt and jeans. It took me some getting used to hanging out with guys who were more colourfully dressed than I was! Guys here are like peacocks, fitted out with the most alarmingly loud clothes and the biggest hair, and a variety of accessories including long necklaces and bracelets and rings. Just today in Uniqlo (the Old Navy of Japan) I saw a braided pink leather belt-- in the Men's section. Anyway, now I've pretty much completely changed my opinion about men's fashion, and I have difficulty remembering what was so great about looking boring. Here's to every purple-jacketed, big-haired, pink-belt-wearing guy in Japan! I love you guys! Keep it up!

The autumn is still dazzling me, and the leaves are still changing with a delicious slowness. One of the best sights has been the kaki (persimmon) trees-- all bare aside from their wealth of shocking orange fruit. I went on the train to Anan a couple of weeks ago on a walking tour and got some really dazzling shots of the coral-coloured fruits against the astonishing blue sky. Christmas has also been creeping in to my consciousness... tacky santa-and-reindeer-and-angel decorations are up all over the place; even the life-size Colonel Sanders statue outside the KFC has been decked out in a Santa Claus outfit. During the week before and after Boy's Day in May he was wearing a samurai costume. I'm beginning to think I can measure the seasons according to Col. Sanders! Got to start writing Christmas cards, I guess...

Namaste

Endrene

Selling my soul for sushi. Yup, that's what I'm doing.

You see, a few months ago, I had a falling out with the Master at my previous favorite sushi restaurant. You may recall that there is a sushi restaurant I used to frequent two big steps across the road from the Boobie Palace where I used to live. Alarmingly convenient. I went there with quite a few friends, and often on my own. It was kind of thrilling to navigate conversations entirely in Japanese, although I often lost the thread, and would get hopelessly lost, nodding and agreeing to God-knows-what. Typically the Mama (the Master's wife) and I would communicate in baby Japanese, big gestures and through other patrons of the shop who could translate a word here and there for me. But the Master himself speaks not a word of English, and doesn't like to slow down his speech or repeat himself, so I had to communicate with him mostly through feeling-- try and sense the gist of things, you know? It was between the Master and I that the most sense of friendship developed, though.
Anyway, one night in there with a girlfriend, I was exaggeratedly explaining my loveless plight, using my few words of Japanese to say I was on a "Boy Hunt" (gyakku nam) and I dramatically made my point by casting my eyes about the sushi bar with a hand shading my eyes like a scout on an expedition, calling out, "Iiiii Otoku? Iiiii Otoku?" (roughly, "nice guys, where are you?"). The Master and the Mama launched into an animated series of plans from which I could only catch bits-- they were going to set me up with a suitable man. It was going to cost me a lot of money. I started to choke on my ika. I was just messing around... I didn't want to actually go on a blind date, especially considering my piss-poor Japanese skills. But they pushed and pushed, and decided it wouldn't cost anything, and I eventually agreed to a Friday meeting. After leaving the restaurant feeling steamrollered, I realized I'd double-booked; I already had plans to go to an onsen with Miho and Kayo. Thank God.
I knew that backing out of the meeting was going to be a messy business, and terribly impolite, so I wasn't looking forward to it. I enlisted Bubu's help to write a letter of humble explanation and apology. I chose one of my favorite small framed artworks from my summer show and packaged it up. I took these things to the shop, and was met with icy disapproval. Although the Mama made happy sounds over my artwork, I was quite obviously a major disappointment to the Master-- being of samurai spirit, he took my word as my word, and was disgusted with my lack of honor. Folks-- backing out of an engagement here is not like it is back home! I left the shop feeling horribly cowed and shameful. I didn't ever want to go back. About a month ago, I finally found a new shop, closer to my new apartment, run by a couple about my parent's age and their handsome son; yay for me. Sushi deprivation problem solved.

Fast forward to today. I'm sleeping in late, sick from some bug I picked up from the sneezy kinders that I give constant high-fives to. My phone rings-- it's local, but it isn't a number I recognize, so I think maybe it's Satoshi, back from studying in Australia... Nope. It's the Master. I'm groggy and confused. Our conversation is 90% "huh? eeeh? wakarimashita? wakarimasen. I don't understand." Something about Today. Now. and then the magic word: maguro. My ears perk up. Tuna. Now? Well, I can't say no to that... and to be honest, despite the convenience of and the good view in the new shop, the Master's shop really is unbeatable. Especially his miso soup... slavering a little, I get dressed, hop on my bike, and ride the three blocks to the shop. I'm also tired of avoiding the shop; I pass it every day going to and from work, so I would invariably speed by, lest I see the Master or the Mama and revisit that shame. I wanted to forgive, and be forgiven.
I arrived to a warm welcome of "hisashi-buri!" (long time no see!) and good god, what a feast! It was just the Master and I, and he fed me as though I was stick-thin and starving. He showed me the place of honor over the door where they had hung my little painting. He talked incessantly, and I was able to catch enough to understand. (And I had wisely brought my dictionary for the first time ever.) It had been too long since I had come to the shop. He didn't want any bad feelings between us. (Here he poured enormous glasses of wickedly-strong shou-chu for the two of us; we clinked and said kampai, while my still-tender stomach flipped in terror). He felt that I had a good heart; I brought good feelings to the shop. My lunch was free; it was 'service'. Did I have free time tonight? Could I meet his friend? Oh god...

To be continued...

It is SO gorgeous outside right now that it is a pure sin to be sitting in this smoky cafe and not out in the liquid golden sunshine. Tokushima is pure colour right now, such that I walked all over downtown today with my eyes glazed over. The air is clear, clear, clear and crisp, and everything growing is rolling over from green to burgundy; shadows are long and violet and periwinkle blue, the mountains are painfully close and richly textured. The lichens on the rock walls are silver and lush, the brown leaves are crisp and rustly. My new favorite shrine was awash in sunshine and shadow, and to add a gut punch to the already shocking loveliness, multicoloured lanterns are strung all the way up the steep stairs-- yellow! pink! blue! orange! green! red! I have no idea what is being celebrated, but I am celebrating too. Maybe it's because the gods came home. Bubu told me that for the entire month of October, all the gods abandon their shrines and go to a meeting at one particular shrine. Which is weird, because in October I stopped at just about every shrine I came across, many more than usual. I thought they seemed a little emptier than usual. I can't tell if I actually felt an additional emptiness at the shrines at the time, or if that's just an emotion I'm projecting onto the memories due to my new-found knowledge. Either way...

Last week I went to Tokushima Zoo with Y and had a pretty good time; I brought my sketchbook, and captured some animals I have never seen before. It's an old-style zoo, such that you can get a little too dangerously close to the animals (with the exception of the bears, wildcats and the elephants). As I was eyeing a lone Japanese goat, I remembered Grandad telling me about the old Game Farm in Kaleden, where I did most of my growing up. (I grew up in Kaleden, not the Game Farm!) The Game Farm was there for years and years-- even when I was in elementary school, sometimes from the playground you could hear the lion roaring distantly. Anyway, before I was born, the fences were similar to those at the Tokushima zoo-- you could get right up close, possibly poke a finger through and touch an animal if you tried. One time a goat or a mountain sheep at the Game Farm rammed the fence, and gored a little girl, killing her. So, they changed all of the fences so that the only animals you could touch were in the children's petting zoo (and the giraffes, who would reach their long necks over the fence to lick you with their black tongues). Anyway, they had to protect the people from their own curiosity and stupidity, and protect the animals from their own innate behaviors. Therefore, at Tokushima Zoo I was surprised by how close you could get to the animals. I was walking through an exhibit, eating an apple, and I'm sure I upset the lesser panda, who stared at me ruefully with her tongue hanging out, and I nearly caused a riot among the ring-tailed coatis. I could have easily reached over and placed my apple into their curious little hands (to see one of these things, check this out) http://www.cotswoldwildlifepark.co.uk/animals/atoz/ring-tailed-coati.htm but I knew better than to do so, as it could upset their digestion or make them sick somehow. I hurried out of the exhibit and finished my apple quickly. I have to wonder how long it will be before the zoo changes radically... I was pretty shocked and embarrassed by Y's behavior. First he walked into an out-of bounds area in the tropical bird aviary to shake a tall pole that several birds of paradise were resting on-- this caused them to freak out and squawk and flap crazily, disturbing all of the other birds. A zoo staff member came in and cast his eyes about accusingly, stopping on me, the only foreigner in there. Not wanting to get kicked out of the zoo for something I didn't want to have any part of, I high-tailed it out of there. Next, Y had brought an orange in his pocket, which he teasingly held out to every group of primates, then tucked back into his pocket. Their hairy arms came shooting through the bars, and the look of palpable hope and longing shifting to hurt outrage was so human, that I refused to walk anywhere near Y. I was pretty upset by his cruelty. So-- I have mixed feelings about zoos. I think they're great for educating people, and encouraging us to respect all species. But I also have to wonder about quality of life, and who it is that really deserves to be behind bars. As for Y and retribution... in the petting zoo, there was a monkey aviary, packed with agile little guys leaping through the trees and eating bugs and fruit. As I was bending over to look at one, another monkey jumped onto my back to sit there and eat his bit of mango-- I was surprised by his feather-lightness. The monkey-guard lady nodded her assent. All of a sudden, Y was set upon by three at once, including the 'bite monkey' who was marked with a little orange ear tag. The monkey guard shooed them off excitedly, and Y booked it out of there, while I stayed for an extra ten minutes, enjoying the antics of my tree-top friends. Unfortunately, the 'bite monkey' didn't bite, but I've got faith in karma.

The night of Bani's leaving party (last Sunday) was a wild, weird one. As I started riding my bike home from Kitajima in the dark, I was struck by the enormousness of the full moon, and the odd fact that it had a huge misty ring encircling it. Then in the distance, I was amazed to see a gigantic towering cloudbank, flashing with silent lightening. It was like an Olympian stage, set for a dangerous parable. I stopped at the first bridge to stare at this strange dichotomy-- simultaneous full moon and threatening skies-- and looked down in the water to see the surface swarming with huge dark fish that I have never seen before. I started to get really creeped out, and spooked myself for the rest of the ride home, thinking about omens and paranormal phenomena. I wasn't sure I should go to the party. But I did. And it was a blast! So many people came to see Bani off. We started at Root Down and Norm made him the freaking biggest burger I have ever seen in my life. We drank and caroused and eventually moved on to Ingrid's where I drank one too many gin-and-sodas and sang a lot of middling karaoke. I sat for a while leaning my head on Bani's chest, telling him not to go, although I already knew very well that he had made a wise choice based on an inner knowing. When the time has come, and you've got all the signals to go, you'd be a fool to stay. So, good for you Bani! Good luck in Australia. As for the omens-- well, it didn't rain frogs, and the earth didn't shake, but MAN, did I have a headache the next day...

I wanted to talk a little bit about products.
Every product, when it arrives in Japan, undergoes a little makeover before it hits the market, so that it will better appeal to Japanese tastes. This causes some things to be vastly improved, and other things to be (in my foriegner's opinion) vastly weirdified.

As for weirdified-- well, my toothpaste is black. It tastes of... grapes and licorice, and something else I can't identify. At first I was horrified by it, and couldn't look into the sink after I spat, because it made me gag. I did a whole lot of brushing with my eyes closed! But now I really like it, and find that how gray the sink is indicates whether I've rinsed enough! Another strange thing (for me) is peanut butter. I know I can get jars of Skippy if I want to, but I thought I might try Japanese peanut butter since I was in Japan. I bought a stand-up yellow tube with a picture of Snoopy on it. Snoopy's Nut Cream. Well, let's just say that Snoopy's Nut Cream was a little outside my realm of experience-- it was too weirdly smooth and creamy and sweet, the taste of peanut almost entirely over-ridden by sugar and oil. It was really pale, too-- almost whitish. I've since found that any 'Peanut Butter' product is invariably graced by Snoopy's Nut Cream, or something just like it. No thanks.

As far as product improvements go, I would have to say that packaging, in general, is ingenious and interesting. Half the time the best part about buying a box of strawberry pinecones (or whatever) is the opening of the box, the peeling back of the layers of brightly coloured and carefully detailed wrappers. There are typically more layers of wrapping than you would find with western products, but this enhances the feeling of suspense and enjoyment for the consumer. The downside to this is the waste involved. If ever I've been aware of a consumerist society's impact on the environment, it's been here in Japan. You find garbage everywhere, heaps of it left for months, maybe years. Mostly because there's nowhere for the garbage to go. The garbage system in Tokushima is designed to try to cope with this-- two days a week for burnable trash, once every other week for recyclable plastics (which there are a lot of), a couple of times a month for bottles, cans, newspapers, cardboard, and once a month for non-burnables like razors and lightbulbs and what-have-you. But then there's the things that don't entirely fit one category or another, and they are left to moulder wherever they fall-- bicycles, damaged bowling pins (you recall I live near a bowling alley now) fishing waste like anchors and nets, etc, etc, etc. No-one would dare to pick up a piece of random litter because it then becomes a burden to dispose of correctly. Public trash bins are pretty much unheard of.

Oh-- and while I'm on the subject of products, I was informed in TOPIA today that I can indeed buy brown rice. It's kept with all the other rice in the grocery store, just in such small packages that I didn't spot it right away. And you should keep it in the fridge if you buy it, because it spoils quickly. I was privy to this information because there is a lovely Canadian girl who works at TOPIA-- she came across this blog while poking about on the 'net. I'm finding I'm gaining some small-town notoriety as the writer of this thing, and to be honest, it makes me a little nervous. Especially since there's now a link to pictures of me dancing! I have to be more and more particular about what I say, and about whom, which makes this less a confessional and more of a carefully edited travelogue. I suppose I can always use pseudonym's...

So! Pseudonyms away! I went to one of M and K's wedding parties on Saturday. The Japanese tradition is to have party after party, with multiple changes of clothes for the bride and groom. This particular party happened about a week after the 'real' wedding, and was held in a hotel's cafe. It was for the 'younger' crowd; high-school friends and M's co-workers from NOVA and K's job in the City Office. M looked absolutely stunning in a volumnous wine-red ball gown. I arrived a little late, and couldn't fit at the NOVA table, so settled in at an all-male table of K's junior-high-school buddies, which was a blast! There were speeches and toasts and lots of food and dirty quizzes and bawdy games. I entered almost every game, being a bit of a sucker for attention when I'm feeling high-spirited. I failed miserably at the beer-chug contest. Next I tried to blend in with a row of Japanese girls while the blindfolded groom grasped our hands, squeezed our upper arms and allowed his hand to be kissed in an attempt to locate his bride. I was so embarrassed by his exclamation of "Zen-zen chigau!" (No WAY!) when he grabbed my upper arm, that I bit his hand rather than kissed it. He ended up choosing the wrong girl anyway (number five instead of number one), and received a smart slap across the face. Finally I played a game that I ended up being very good at. I joined another line-up of girls, and everyone was given a ping-pong ball and a male partner. My guy was a funny Japanese fellow who came up to my shoulders. He stood, with the other guys, on chairs before the girls-- on the signal of GO, the girls had to thread the ping-pong ball up the inside seam of the guys' trousers, over the crotch, and down the other leg, and then reverse the process! I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, but seeing as my partners legs were short and my arms are long (and my spirit very competitive), I had the task completed in no time flat. (Little Mari was paired with Neil, so she didn't have a chance!) I celebrated by yanking my partner off the chair and hoisting him into the air. There were enormous cheers and laughter, and shouts of "Kiss! Kiss!"-- my partner tried to escape, so I behaved badly and forcibly grabbed him, spun him around and smooched him hard on the lips. Poor guy! (When I told this story to Maz, she said, "Oh, you were a scary gaijin!" I have no doubt that's exactly what I was.) At any rate, I won a lovely prize; an ionic facial steamer. I haven't tried it yet... The party continued at another bar, but lost a lot of it's velocity when the groom accidentally put his arm through a plate-glass door; I was in the bathroom when it happened, and came out in time to see the shattered glass, the droplets of blood, and the groom with his arm tied up with kitchen towels before they rushed him off to the hospital. So much for that! I stayed for a while and flirted a bit with H, but I've been told before that he's not interested in dating gaikokujin girls because he is 27-- he's getting 'old' and wants to find a nice Japanese girl to settle down with and marry. I know that not all Japanese people feel this way, but many do. There seems to be an expiry date on people, and desperation sets in as one approaches thirty-- one stops caring about who they marry, and just worry about getting married at all. It makes me sad, because I can't imagine marrying someone I wasn't crazy about. And I've met a lot of nice Japanese guys, some of whom I'd love to date, but I am just so outside of their perceived range of dreams for the future, that I am undatable to them. I seem to be of greater interest to older married men-- no thanks! I don't worry about it though... the one thing I am certain of in my life is that the right thing will always happen. So whether I date or I don't is really no big deal in the grand scheme of things. And that, my friends, is one of the tricks to developing the habit of happiness...

Until next time,

Namaste

I got off the bus from Kurashiki about half an hour ago and came straight here; had a glass of iced tea, checked my email, breathed deeply. I have a serious art-induced hang-over. Kurashiki is a wealth of amazement; the usual city center bustling and suckling at the teat of the big central train station, then the historical Bikan district-- twisty-turny old-style Japanese streets with houses straight out of a movie set, and then there was the Ivy Square-- big old textile-factories-turned-galleries. I can't say that my creative headache comes from seeing too many paintings; the Ohara Museum had an excellent showing of Futurist works, and I may one day rue the fact that I didn't see them. The truth is that I quickly tire of looking at dead people's paintings, and I also get discouraged by them. I start to think that every pencil-mark, brush-stroke, and ink-splatter to be made has already been performed, so what's the point? I'm much better off floating about in Endrene-land, chasing down my own creative animals rather than viewing the bounty of others. So that's what I did.

Yesterday I arrived at Kurashiki station after an early, silent, 3 hour bus ride. I shouldered my pack, shook my blonde side-ponytail (the rage in Japan), put on my big dark sunglasses, and stalked away from the station purposefully, with intent to find something pretty to look at and to be something pretty to look at. I met with success on both aims. I caused some rubbernecking and did some of my own as my trot turned into my characteristic meander. I found a little pocket of peace off the main road; an empty garden courtyard, looking as though it belonged to a restaurant's patio. It was in fact, made for passerby like me, and it was walled with baskets of purple and orange flowers. I ducked in to smell them and circle it's circumference. I set off a motion sensor that started up the fountain, moving the red leaves floating in the water beautifully. It also turned on the auto-sprinkling feature, and the hundred or so baskets got a spray of water. It tickled me to think that I could give the plants so much more than admiration just by showing up! Anyway, as I was exiting, I spotted some weird thing on the wall that looked like art, but by serendipity's chance was a map to the Bikan historical district-- which I would have missed if I had kept on with my original route. I was flying by the seat of my pants, you see. I didn't bring a map, and didn't look once at the detailed instructions that Bubu gave me, nor the Point-And-Speak guidebook Miho lent me. I just went. And by gum, here I am, alive and Yakuza-free!

The Bikan district is what every tourist really expects from Japan, whether they admit it or not. Canals rimmed with weeping willows and brimming with orange and black koi, traversed by arching bridges and navigated by gondoleers in round straw hats. One time, the gondola (or whatever it is called in Japanese, I really don't know) had two ladies in kimono riding in it; you should have heard the sound of cameras being torn from their cases. The buildings are stunning and undeniably Japanese; wood and stone and roofing tile and perfectly formed pine trees all orchestrated in a way that left no room for doubt about authenticity. I poked around for a bit, followed the crowds in and out of the shops (the store entirely devoted to luck-cats was my favorite... although they were playing that brain-scathingly annoying Christmas record with cats' meows screeching out 'O Holy Night' and 'Blue Christmas'). I eventually detached myself from the crowds, and as is my favorite thing to do, looked for narrow empty alleys to peer into (insert father's heart failure here). It's just that I think most of real life goes on in the alleys. You see laundry strung up, smell compost and see the secret gardens. I met one nice woman who was repotting a plant; we had a broken conversation half in English, half in Japanse. I have no idea if we understood each other, but we both smiled a lot. The Kurashiki Bikan alleys were pretty near spotless. I eventually popped out onto a street, and to my delight, found three artists working on oil-paintings of a comely structure. Thinking serendipity had intervened on my behalf yet again, I parked myself next to them on an empty step and got out my watercolours. We didn't say much to each other, although all three did come over at some point to inspect my progress. We acted as buffers for each other; the Japanese tourists had a quick peek at my work, then moved on to talk to the Japanese artists, and the English-speaking tourists stopped to chat with me. This included: a Japanese young man from Kyuushu who had lived in G.A, USA long enough to aquire an accent- eg: "Ain't that sumthin,'"; a Japanese-American man home to visit his mother with his gorgeous American wife in tow; an Australian man years in love with Kurashiki; and a Japanese lady who wanted to practice her English and gave me a candy that tasted of sweet burnt woodsmoke. I painted until the light changed and it got cool. My compatriates packed up, and so did I. I wandered some more, ate an apple in the drifting orange sunlight, admired the autumn floral displays outside the slowly closing shops.

Had I been painting that long? It was time to find a hotel. The first two were full, lucky number three was near the station. I checked in, kicked off my shoes, watched a programme that involved-- well, this deserves detailed explanation. There are two teams of 10 children per team, led by one adult per team. The adults are locked in cages and wearing helmets. The children are astride a long row of blocks. First the Pink Team has a go. There is a word puzzle to be solved. As the children attempt to solve the puzzle, there is an enormous balloon slowly inflating in the cage, pressing the adult against the bars. Everytime a child gets the wrong answer, a mechanism in the block tips the child over onto his or her back, until only one child remains upright among the little legs waving in the air. She tries to solve the puzzle; she is wrong. Down she goes. The rate of the balloon's increase speeds up until the pretty lady in the cage is squealing-- then BANG! the pink balloon explodes into bits and the lady regains her balance, stamps her foot, and pretends to cry. You can see why I stuck around to watch the outcome of the Blue Team's attempt. (A kid got it; the guy in the cage was noticeably relieved).

Eventually I emerged to find my dinner; alley wandering in the dark was out of the question, so I stuck to the main thouroughfare. I chose the happiest looking restaurant I could find; a riot of sunshine yellow and blue, called 'The Bustling Table'. I was one of two customers, and so was eagerly waited on by both the cook and the single teenaged waiter; neither one had much English, but again, all the best communicating happens with smiles. The waiter brought me a silver dish with a mysterious white tablet in it that said 'COIN' and a mini teapot. I was baffled. Do I eat it? Is he telling me that in this restaurant, a tip is required? After I asserted that I didn't understand, he nervously set the silver dish down and began to pour water from the pot onto the 'COIN'. To my vast delight, it expanded and was transformed into a hot wet towl for me to wipe my hands on! I clapped my hands and exclaimed "Omoshiroii!" (Fun/Interesting!) I was served a lovely peppermint water (much more refreshing than regular water) and a powerful grapefruit cocktail. I ordered the seven-salad-sample-set, and suspect I got extra-special service. I didn't know which salads were best, so I said "Nan demo ii" (Anything is OK) and five out of the seven salads turned out to be hot mini entrees; ginger beef and glazed pork and sweet chili chicken and honey-garlic prawns, and smoked salmon penne. Wow. A vegetarian's nightmare-- thank god I'm not! After dinner I blew kisses and enthused loudly for all the other patrons to hear, and made my way back to the hotel for more educational television and an early bed.

Up at six-thirty this morning; back to Bikan for another wander and a vain attempt at locating breakfast. I eventually sat by the canal and ate cold boiled fish paste glued by some unnatural force to a piece of bamboo. I fed half of it to the carp. Some school children found me there and surrounded me, getting their sensei to snap photos. This cheered me immeasurably, and I happily got back to my ambling; I went to the El Greco cafe, ate a second unsatifying breakfast of matcha and bean paste, and sketched in there for about on hour and a half. Next I went out to the Bikan main road and painted one view for about three hours. The highlight of that was being discovered a second time by the southern-accented Japanese dude-- he left me with the best compliment: "Be great, man-- just-- Be Great." It was cool because it was sincere. I stayed until I was nearly sick from the sun and the multitudes of "Joozu!"'s I recieved. You may remember that Joozu roughly translates as 'My, aren't you talented!', but every Joozu must be taken with a grain of salt. I get this compliment on my Japanese all the time, and I KNOW my Japanese is rough at best. At best.

I made for the peace and calm of a post-lunch-crowd (it was, by then, 2:30PM) French restaurant. I had a lovely pumpkin soup, real French bread, a glazed onion pork thing, and a killer little cup of coffee with thick, thick cream. After that, I meandered a little more, drew a little more, made my way to the station, and to my bus. Three hours and half a Steinbeck novel (albeit, a short one) later, here I am.

And now, I am off to bath, to bed, to the rest of my book. Refreshed and ready for another week of cramming English into (mostly) eager minds. It's so good to get out of town once in a while. To remember that there is vibrancy to living all around, all the time, if I'm open to it...

I sent an email out to some of my friends, asking them to define me in one word. I don' t usually do the forwarded email thing, but seeing as I'd been feeling a little lost lately, I figured I had the karmic go-ahead for fishing for a little character reassurance. Here are the replies I've gotten so far, in alphabetical order (thanks everybody!):

Ananda (RF)
Audacious (TM)
Brilliant (BCW)
Canadian (MB) (Uh, duhhh. Thanks, Mike!)
Cordate (SC)
Free (AM)
QUIDNUNC (JT) (Yeah, I dunno what it means either...)
Radical! (MM)
Renaissance (AB)
Unique (JM and KD)

For the record, Ananda was a principle disciple of the Buddha, and the guardian of the Dhama; an Audacious person is someone who is unrestrained by convention or proprietry; and Cordate means 'to have a heart-shaped outline'. Again, thanks to those who replied. You kind of put me back on the centre track.

To see what I was doing on tuesday night, check out this address. http://picasaweb.google.com/lairdtravis/DrinkDrinkDanceDance Let's just say, I wanted to go and eat yakitori, but No-o-o-oooo. Neil had already eaten, so I hung out with Neil and Travis and consumed copious amounts of Kirin Lager instead. The dancing began when Jamiroquoi came on-- I cannot sit still when Jamiroquoi is on-- and it progressed into a full-scale three-person dance extravaganza. Nothing else for me to do but dance-- had candy in my heels that night, baby! Neil is my dance partner in the photos-- our dancing was pretty sloppy in part because I have the annoying habit of trying to lead. And if you look at the pictures, you'll see that Neil is not of the leadable size variety.

Culture-wise, all is well. I still get a lesson from Bubu every time I go in to his shop (whether I want one or not), which I do at least once a week. Today I was carefully informed to use a respectful form of the verb 'go' in most of my everyday dealings. However, I don't really know how to use verbs at all, so it was a bit of a confusing lesson! I'm also going on a two-day jaunt to Kurashiki next week, so Bubu and Haruko were making me take notes on where to go and what to see. Kurashiki is on Honshu, close to Okayama-- it's a bit of a cultural centre. It was left completely unravaged by WWII, so there will be lots of old architecture to enjoy. I had planned to go yesterday and today, but it was a spur-of the moment plan (wake up, stuff a backpack, walk to the station and ask "Kurashiki ni ikitai?") and I had missed the bus by the time I got to the station. Undaunted, I bought tickets for next week. Initially, Bubu was horrified: "Who will go with you? No-one?! Unbelievable!" He told me that the city is crawling with yakuza at night-time, and to watch out for any cars with triple-digit licencse plates-- those are the yakuza cars. I don't know what a yakuza would want with me! But seeing as I am keeping my activities strictly daytime-based-- art galleries and what-have-you, I should be safe.

Now that the air-conditioning is officially off in most buildings for the autumn season, the smell of cigarettes has intensified almost unbearably.



I'm homesick like crazy lately. I saw a pile of beautiful apples in the grocery store and burst into tears; I was thinking about Bear's Fruitstand in Keromeos, BC, which by now would be piled high with verdant displays of apples and squashes and pumpkins in every size and shape and colour imaginable. The air would be sharp and cool and perhaps tinged with sweet smoke from the burning leaves and prunings in the nearby orchards. Here I have a stinky internet cafe and perfectly organized piles of Hokkaido apples at 300 yen per apple. (About 3$ CDN... yikes!)

Nahhhh. I'm being too narrow, too negative. There are things here that still thrill me, but it's true that the rate of discovery has dropped significantly. I'm a little tired of being regarded as a painting or a circus animal might; something to admire or visit with, but never to touch. Little niggly doubts about the future of my relationship with Japan are beginning to creep in. At the same time, there's so much depth to it all, there's so much I can still learn. It would be a shame if I didn't soak up a little bit more of the fabulousness before I moved on...

I am still picking bugs out of my hair. Today I rode my bike and ride my bike and rode my bike. I rode as far out as I could. Tokushima extends out into the ocean to a ferry terminal and an industrial man-made island. I found a squatters camp beside the sea; a park full of giant pines with their roots partly out of the ground like they were trying to walk away, and laughing children playing among them; secret piles of ocean garbage-- styrofoam, anchors, nets, flotsam, jetsam; a mountainous pile of stone and concrete buddhas; sparkling watersides, good smells, bad smells, a lot of concrete, and many many smiling curious people. It was a sunny breezy day, and my head was full-- I needed to just go and go and let the salt air wash me out. Autumn is always a tulmultuous time; particularly now that I don't have the newness of school to look forward to. No new classes or new friends or new school clothes. I'll have to go and buy some nice stationary for my Japanese lessons, fill the void. At least I know why I feel funny, and I don't have to spend ages stressing about why I'm stressing. I think I'm buying into the melancholy theme that is marketed here in Japan to go with the shift in seasons; as the leaves change colour, one is meant to contemplate moodily and moon about over failed romances and days gone by. I don't regret any of my history, but I am a little homesick lately and anxious about what comes next. I have my contract evaluation in a week. Mom and dad want to know where exactly I'll be in August of next year. I don't know! Depends on whether Nova want to keep me on, whether I want to keep on with Nova. I don't know, I don't know. I can only trust that I will know, eventually.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Actually, I wouldn't have had a clue that it was today if my family hadn't called me this morning to taunt me with turkey tales. Not that I'm crazy about the stuff, but there is a certain nostalgia attached to the taste. The smell of the linen tablecloth, and the glow of the candles, the sparkle of the good silverware and dishes, the hum of activity as place-cards are made and gravy is stirred and mom yells at me and my brother to put on some nice clothes, our grandparents will be here any minute! I want to miss it, but I don't-- not really. I miss my family, but given the choice, I'd rather have a campfire with them and roast some hot-dogs than get dressed up and eat gravy and stuffing. I say this now; give me another two months and I'll bet you that I'm dying for some cranberry sauce!

I had my first Japanese lesson today-- forgive me, I know I said MONTHS ago that I would be starting classes, but I just never really got around to it; I was reluctant to give up my free time when I was still new to the city and wanted to explore as much as possible. At any rate, I am SO glad I went. I have a new sense of empathy for my own students now! Tamura-sensei is a kind woman in her 50's or 60's (I can never tell, as these women age so beautifully). She exudes all the warmth and patience of kindergarten teacher, and I find myself wanting to hug her and pick her bunches of dandelions. But class wasn't so easy-- the rate was pretty quick, as most of the other students have been studying on their own up to now. There is a good mix of students; two from China, one from the Philippines, one from Brazil and me from Canada. Mr. Brazil sat right next to me and corrected my pencil strokes as I hashed out my hiragana. I felt a little flushed and annoyed-- everyone else sat at least one seat apart. But his corrections were motivated by kindness, so I accepted them as gracefully as I was able. I better practice so I'm a smoother student next week! Maybe then Tamura-sensei will give me a gold star!

The autumn-blooming flowers have been dazzling me... I don't think I realized that such a spectacle existed. You have to admire these plants, motivated by the sudden chill in the air to give one last killer show of scent and colour. At first I thought that maybe the bulbs in the ground were confused, mistaking the seasonal change for a second spring, but the flowers are alien to me. Patches of wee lilies like elongated snowdrops, bright bursts of the richest red like frozen fireworks on slender green necks, and then there are the candy flowers... The candy flowers have been driving me mad for a week! Everywhere I rode my bicycle, these walls of beautiful sweetness were riding on the wind and smashing into my brain. I couldn't see them. I could only smell them, sweet and good-- like candy necklaces, like froot loops and orchards of ripe apricots and nectarines. Last night I hunted them. I had to see their faces, scrutinize these coyly beckoning flowers. I found them, little innocuous clusters of orange blossoms on bushes with shiny dark broad green leaves. I was surprised by their simplicity and their power; I think of them as the lilacs of the autumn now.

I wrote this today in an email to a friend of mine, and thought I'd stick it here, as it encapsulates how I'm feeling now. (Thanks, Jamie):
"The nights lately have been clear and sharp-- last night I wandered about the quiet streets taking photos... it's been my favorite activity since discovering the night-function on my camera. There wasn't a soul around, and it was 11pm on a National Holiday night. This city is so sweet and tarnished. It's all goodwill and quiet nights and the smell of chicken-on-a-stick, dried grasses growing in the cracks of every sidewalk. I wish I could wrap the experience up and send it to you in a marzipan ball so you could eat it whole. Big and small, full and empty, sweet and sticky, lively and still... and that's life, wherever you are. One thing I've really realized here is that life is the same pretty much everywhere. That gives me power, because now I know I can be me wherever I go. I can't stop smiling into the wind."

Pear orchard, watermelon field and salt dishes on either side of the doorsill... Jess wanted to know, so here are the Chinese parables, as told to me by Bubu (and with my own flourishes here and there!):
The first two have to do with maintaining a sense of honor-- or a good reputation. Bubu explained them to me when he was telling me that he would never come to visit me in my apartment without his wife (not that I expected or wanted him to). "If you don't want anyone to think that you are a thief, never touch your shoes in a watermelon field, or touch your hat in a pear orchard." I find the idea that you could hide a watermelon in your shoe a little ridiculous, but who knows how big the watermelons are in China...
As for the salt: A long time ago in China, there was an emperor who had many many concubines, as emperors are wont to do. Something about being in power makes them feel like they have to spread the wealth of their wonderfulness (whether or not anyone else thinks they are all that wonderful). At any rate, this emperor must have been at least a little bit wonderful, because all the concubines wanted to have him to their selves. Perhaps if they produced a heir, they would get a few more goodies out of the deal. Goodness knows, it's not all fun and games being a concubine. But the emperor was noncommittal sort of fellow, mostly because he didn't want to have all of his wives of his getting pissed at him because he was spending more time with one than another. "If you think one wife is difficult to handle," he often thought. So, being marginally clever, he devised a plan. He decided to let his oxen choose which of the concubines he would visit. How is that possible, you may be asking? Especially since oxen are less than marginally clever? Well, the emperor was royalty, so he didn't do that much walking around. He preferred to ride in his fancy double-oxen powered cart. He would ride around the concubines' quarters (there were so many of them that they all had separate houses in a little concubines-only town) and instead of driving to Lily's place or Mai's house, he would drop the reins and let the oxen wander until they decided to stop and munch on Li-Li's roses or whatever. The king would consider his partner for the evening chosen, and hop out of his cart and get down to business. However, there was one concubine who was more than marginally clever and she knew the one thing that oxen liked better than Mai's tulip bulbs or Li-Li's roses. Salt! So each evening before the emperor got into his cart, she would put a little dish of salt on either side of her door, one for each ox. Of course, although the oxen were pretty dim-witted, they managed to find the salt, and it wasn't long before they were beating a path to the clever concubine's door every night. We can assume that she lived a long and happy life and had bushels of children, etcetera, amen. So now the tradition continues in Japan! To attract customers to their businesses, everyday a fresh little bowl of salt is put on either side of the door frame.