Wow! Nearly 2 weeks and no posting!! Sorry to those of you who keep up with my island life, but I seem to have been coasting along mindlessly on the tides of life and have had nary a chance to stop and look around.
Ayumi's wedding party was neat; a black-tie after-wedding ceremony just for friends and co-workers. (The real ceremony is often very private, family only.) The bride and groom arrived; he in a tux and an afro wig, Ayumi in a pretty pink party dress and lots of orange leis. The atmosphere was lighthearted as we grank champange and played bingo and other party games; I was drafted for a drink-a-beer, chug-some-wine, swallow-a-banana relay race (I drank the beer). My Japanese team-mate Masa was the banana-eater; after cramming it in his mouth he had to put the peel on his head. We didn't win, but it sure was funny! Masa told me that the young Japanese people felt 'freer' than usual-- more like individuals and less like a collective-- due to the presence of foriegners. Masa and I hit it off, discussing cultural differences and pros and cons of our respective societies at great length. We exchanged numbers.
Work, work, work. The lessons are getting mindless, so I often have to remid myself that the students are here to have fun, so I better try to enjoy myself, too. I'm finding it frustrating when the students come to class and then go out of their way to not participate, but I have to remember that some people have to come because their parents or companies make them.
I caught a cold-- my first in over a year, and not a bad one, but enough to slow me down and make me groggy. I had planned a trip to Osaka to see my friend Shannon (a fellow graduate from the OUC Fine Arts Programme, and now a fellow Nova instructor), and decided not to let my cold stop me. The bus ride was quite beautiful; nearly 3 hours long and over some of the biggest and most fabulous bridges I have ever seen. It was quite different from my terrifying, jet-lagged 1st bus trip to Tokushima! I met Shannon and his friend Caroline, and the three of us set off for Kyoto on the local trains, only 40 minutes and about 400 yen (about $4) away! We met Masa (who lives in Kyoto) and he presented us with plans A, B and C for our lunch-- complete with estimated travel times to each location, and the delicacies offered by each place and so on... Shannon opted for the organic vegetarian buffet, and I was so overwhelmed with the train rides and the fact that I was in a bustling big city with PEOPLE everywhere that I agreed-- I didn't even really hear the other options. Anyway, the food was good (woulda been better if there was meat in it) and we went from there to the tenemangu shrine market-- lucky me! Only open once a month, on the 25th! The chances that I'll ever be free on a sunny 25th in Kyoto are slim, so I took photo after photo. Stall after stall-- second-hand kimonos, antiques, junk, candy shaped like cats and unicorns and devils, AnPan Man masks, goldfish, fire a BB gun and win a pack of cigarettes, get your palm read... it was absolutely overwhelming, and this was just the hundred or so stalls around the outer part of the shrine grounds!! Once in the inner part we rinsed our hands ceremoniously (thank goodness for Masa who acted as our guide and caretaker for our entire time in Kyoto) and explored. We rubbed a stone bull and then touched our heads so our brains would grow intelligent. There was one BIG shrine, then many other smaller ones spread throughout the gardens. I threw a coin into the box at the little kitsune (fox) shrine, rang the bell, clapped my hands, said hello-- then did the same at the next shrine with Shannon when Masa told us that it housed the Art gods! I spoke with some junior highschool girls who were practicing their English. They took my picture, and I took theirs. I couldn't believe how many foriegners there were; I have to admit, I've gotten used to being visually different, and didn't like the feeling of being just one more gaijin tourist.
After the market, we parted with Masa, who had a dentist appointment to attend. We three headed back to Osaka, Caroline hopped off the train and onto another to get to her house and Shannon and I headed further out into his Osaka suburb of Fujidera. What a cute little town! More like what I expected Japan to be like; traditional houses, little paved roads and traditional gardens... actually, quite a lot like the suburbs of Tokushima but with fewer apartment complexes and more rolling little hills that take the streets up and down and off in exciting directions. We stayed in his wee one-room apartment that evening, making art together and talking and drinking beer. The next day was spent exploring Osaka; I saw some wild fashions and a beautiful little gallery with Ukioe prints, but we mostly went from cafe to cafe as it was raining and we were both exhausted. I would love to go back and 'do' Osaka properly; it's such a cosmopolitan town! But in all honesty I was glad to get back to Tokushima, my own little city. Afetr Osaka and Kyoto, it feels quite a lot like home, and I realize how lucky I am to be close to Mt. Bizan and my beautiful castle park, and my rivers and rice fields. Nothing like feeling like you are in the right place at the right time!
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
A Dutch Guy and A Funeral. Sounds like the beginning to a surrealist joke, but nope, that's my life. And oh yeah, a wedding tomorrow. But wait. Let's start at the start. Wherever that is...
First some news. This fiscal year NOVA has declared a 3 billion yen loss, due to an agressive expansion campaign, poor management and heavy competition. This explains the lack of a budget; since I arrived we haven't been able to get pens or paper or tape... or (more recently) garbage bags for our school. Or enough teachers, for that matter. They'll be closing 23 schools, and redistributing the teachers, and there's a chance my school could be one to go as it's so small, and thus not much of a money maker. I'll keep you posted on that.
Anyway... last week I kept missing calls on my cell that were marked as being from a payphone. I was baffled. Who was calling me from a payphone? Did I have a stalker? How did they get my number? Eventually I managed to answer the phone in time to have my fears relieved; a Dutch fellow I met about 2 months ago named Pele had returned from his trek around Shikoku island. I may have mentioned this before, but Shikoku is famous for the 88 Buddhist temples that ring the island, and during the spring (supposedly the most temperate and least rainy and buggy season) many devoutBuddhists and serious walkers make the pilgramage, which can take anywhere from 35 to 65 days. Pele is 21, and doing a "gap" year-- that popular and (I think) highly educational year off from school wherein one travels the world and considers the future from a global perspective. Good idea-- wish I'd done it. Then again, if I had, I wouldn't be here now. So.
I invited Pele to join us NOVA revelers that night as we bid a fond farewell to Brian at Ingrid's karaoke place. He enthusiastically accepted, and I arranged to meet up with him at Root Down first. Joanna and I arrived a bit late to find Pele was the only one at Root Down (aside from Norm, of course). He had his big backpack, his walking staff with the jingly bells (to keep the pilgrim ever-aware of the present moment) and his round straw hat and white shirt and pants, requisite of all pilgrims to set them apart and make them 'non-persons' in society. Apparntly the hat didn't fit him (he's about 6'10", and made out of elastic bands and toothpicks), so he just carried it for the entire journey. He was on the computer, pulling up his photos, and Joanna and I spent a good hour enthralled by the beauty and the severity of the pilgramage before Brian called, good naturedly demanding that we get our tushies over to Ingrid's.
Over at Ingrid's, the proverbial poop was hitting the fan; last week a gaijin 'someone' (I know who, and he's a bum-head) hit a Japanese man, apparently unprovoked. The man heard the word Nova, so all of us were grilling each other about so-and-so's whereabouts on Sunday evening... Anyway, it turned out to be a GEOS teacher, but the damage was done and Ingrid has been evicted; she'll be out of there by the end of the month, I think. Aside from the hushed tones and the tense atmosphere, everyone was having a good time and singing their usual songs-- me with my 4 Non Blondes and Madonna, Maz with some Red Hot ChiliPeppers, Jon murdering 'Bye Bye Miss American Pie'. The funniest was when Pele sang a Monty Python song... nothing like hearing someone with a Dutch accent say things like "jolly rotten"! I wasn't feeling super-duper, and had to work the next day, so I opted out at the early hour of 2 am and took Pele along; he had been going to stay the night with Norm, but all Norm had was floor space, and I could at least offer a fold-out futon-couch. The next day I woke early, cooked him breakfast and we had a good chat about the differences in the educational systems of our countries-- apparently you MUST take art in Holland, you just have to choose whether you want to do sculpture or painting or whatever. Also everyone must take at least 2 languages... which explains why Pele's English was so good. Anyway, now I have a couch to crash on the next time I'm in Holland.
The work week was long and difficult, owing to a lack of sleep and a surplus of bad weather and work (my art projects are coming due). Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day, a great day to have a day off, and at one point Joanna and I decided to go to the big supermarket and stop in at Bubu's for lunch. I was surprised to see that the shop was closed, as he's usually only closed on Mondays. I messaged him, asking Why are you closed? Are you OK? and he called me back promptly; that morning, his mother had died. I stumbled for words, not knowing what to say or how to say it in a way that would be comforting or understandable. After I got off the phone, I was racked with guilt; a few weeks before, he'd asked me to visit his mother in the nursing home, in the hopes that a foriegn face might be different enough to rouse her from her confusion and bring back her curious, light-hearted nature. I had been thinking about that promise just that morning, and had been meaning to ask him that day, When would be a good time for me to go and see her? Too late. Later on in the evening, Bubu called again to formally invite me to his mother's ceremony.
That was today. At 10:30am I stepped out my apartment door into the warm rain, dressed all in black. Bubu was waiting in his jeep, looking smart and peculiar (he's usually dressed for comfort and fun-- pink shirts and red bow ties). On the drive over the Yoshino River to the Bell Be funeral building, Bubu coached me; just watch and do what everyone else is doing. Buddhist prayer is not like Shinto prayer-- don't clap for the gods. He said also that there wasn't much sad feeling to the death, because he and his family had done the best they could. He felt that his mother's spirit was staying nearby, watching, and probably laughing. The image of a happy granny spirit hanging around and Bubu's own good natured view of the situation eased me a bit. The Bell Be building was enormous, not at all like a temple, not at all what I was expecting. The outside was non-descript, like a big tidy warehouse or winowless hotel. I entered with Bubu into the enormous lobby and headed up the big carpeted stairs to an upper level with two enormous seperate alcloves; we walked past the first one where another family's ceremony was nearing it's close. Bubu's family was scattered about the big room-- lined up all around the room were enormous floral arrangements with white mums and yellow lilies and orchids and birds of paradise-- well over 50 of them, each with a large wooden plaque declaring which important business partner had sent it. At the front of the alclove was an enourmous golden alter that took my breath away. The multitudes of flowers were arranged with mind-blowing symmetry, giant ornate golden lamps hung at either side, and a golden buddha sat snugly under a beautiful canopy of lacquered wood. Straight down from him between the sprays of orchids was a picture of Bubu's mother, beautifully framed. There were carefully arranged bananas and apples, spinning rainbow lamps, golden sculptures that looked like smoke or waves, great piles of garishly decorated cans of fruit and juice-- and there was two of everything, one on either side in this mind-blowingly perfect arrangement.
Bubu took me off to a tatami room to the side of the alter, where his family sat on cushions around the little silk-covered white coffin his mother was in. "She's only sleeping now, it's the Buddhist belief. When the monks come, the ceremony, then she will be died," he explained to me. "Come and meet her face; I think when you see her, you will know she is laughing now." I awkwardly bowed to the family and moved over to kneel by the coffin with Bubu, which was placed on the floor. Her tiny figure was dressed all in white silk and she had a little silver cloth tied round her forehead. She did indeed look asleep, placed on her side with her eyes gently shut and her mouth open as though caught in a snore. Beside her coffin was a painting she had done of the sakura (cherry blossoms) several years before; it was painted in the same park I painted the sakura. I recognized the place immediately, and was faced with a weird sensation of familiarity with this little sleeping woman. After 'meeting' Bubu's mother, I sat with the family in the room for a few minutes and was introduced as a close friend. We left the room and headed back down the stairs and through the lobby to a banquet room where lunch was waiting for us in bento boxes... I was so overwhelmed with the strange senstations and sights and the pressing desire to be polite and well-mannered that for the life of me, I cannot remember what we ate. I'm sure it was lovely. After lunch, we went to a cafe that adjoined the banquet room (is this like any funeral home you've ever heard of?) and had coffee. I happened to have my sketch book, and I was seated with Haruko and Eri (Bubu's wife and daughter), so I sketched Eri, which endeared me to her. For the first time she opened up to me and told me that she had wanted to talk to be before, but had felt too shy; I had previously taken her to be standoffish. After coffee Bubu took me to sign the register and get my gift-- at weddings and funerals (and all big events in Japan) the guests recieve gifts as tokens of the hosts' appreciation. Tucked into the wrapping paper was a card from the family (that I can't read) and a package of salt which I later had to sprinkle over myself before entering my apartment to prevent any spirits from following me in.
We headed back upstairs and were eventually seated; the 30 or so chairs closest to the alter were in two rows of threes. I sat directly behind Bubu and his family, next to an old auntie that kept on telling me to do things in Japanese that I couldn't understand (but had to figure out anyway!) I was a little nervous at sitting so close, in such a place of honor, especially since I was the only gaijin in the place. We sat quietly until two monks arrived in glorious cream robes with multicoloured mountain peaks printed on them, and golden sashes and corded ties. They seated themselves with their backs to us, the older one directly in front of the altar, and the other to the left next to some very old looking red cymbals on a stand. The older one pinged the bell-bowl, signalling the beginning of the cermony. We all rose, put our hands together, bowed. We sat back down as he began to chant. Incense burned, the bell-bowl resounded on its crimson cushion. Chanting, chanting, chanting. The grinding of a wand in a small brass bowl, waving of the wand through the streams of incense smoke, the tapping of the wand on the coffin, chanting, chanting, chanting. The two began to chant together, the younger monk began to grind his cymbals together in an ancient rhythm. I began to feel heady, uncomfortable and light at the same time. It was time for the family to rise in pairs, step forward to a tray with four bowls; two with a hot piece of metal imbedded in sand, two smaller ones with loose grains of incense. I watched carefully; step forward, bow centre, left, right. Turn to the altar, hands together, bow. pick up a pinch of incense, raise it to your forhead while looking at the buddha, then sprinkle it on the hot metal. Do this 3 times. Turn back to the mourners (now there are about 150), bow- center, left, right. The old auntie went up with someone else, so I thought I would be excused from the task, but at the end I was sent up with another auntie. It was quite unnerving, and by the time I sat back down, my head was spinning with the numbing chanting and the smoke and the dazzling excess of gold. After this, the coffin was wheeled up a bit and opened again to reveal the newly 'dead' body. The funeral home staff appeared with trays and began-- to my extreme shock-- to rip off the heads of the birds of paradise, the mums, pluck orchids and lilies and babies breath from the altar and the enormous gift bouquets, and pile these on the trays. I didnt realize what was going on until the family (myself included) moved up to lovingly fill the coffin with these flowers, and a book and a bento box filled with food for the afterlife. The lid was then placed on the coffin, and the funeral director took four gold nails and an ornate golden hammer and tapped the nails into each corner off the coffin. Then a square black stone was presented to Bubu's older brother, who tapped one nail 3 times. Then Bubu did this, then the older brother's son, then the older brother's wife. The director then gave the golden hammer to the young fellow, who went around to each corner and finished closing the coffin. One more time the family crowded around to look through the open 'doors' which were over granny's flower-framed face for one last look, then Bubu and his brother cermoniously shut them. Granny was wheeled forward and Bubu gave a speech to the crowd, and then she was wheeled away.
Are you ready for more? Because there's more.
From the lobby we took a shuttle which drove us 50 metres across the street to the crematorium. Once again we did the incense sprinkling ceremony, and had one more 'last look' through the doors at granny's sleeping face. We crowded around what looked like an elevator door-- there were ten of them all in a row in an enormous marble hall-- and watched as the coffin slid into the darkness of the chamber; the 'elevator' doors slid shut, obscuring any further view, and we all shuffled off to a tatami waiting room. At this point, I believe I was the only person still there that wasn't family, so I was grateful for the warmth and curiosity of Bubu's kin. Together we drank tea and ate sweet cakes; I sketched a poor likeness of Bubu that his family found hilarious. We waited an hour and a half while the body burned; I assumed that this was just to assertain that she was safely transformed. Well...
An announcement came over the loudspeaker that the Suzue cremation was complete. I followed the family back to the marble hall and to a room at the side of it, wherein granny's charred remains were on full display. My stomach turned a little; thankfully the next task was one I was excluded from. The family filed in while a crematorium employee used long chopsticks to break the larger pieces of bone into smaller bits. Each member of the family had to go in and use some long chopsticks to choose a bit of the ash or bone to put into the urn. Bubu went in first, and so came quickly back to where I stood by the door to explain that a little bit of every part of her had to be included. Eri came out quickly after and stood behind my shoulder snuffling while we watched; Bubu launched into a Buddhist chant which was at once protective and comforting as it covered over the low keening moans of the older women in the bone room. After 7X7 days (49), Bubu will meet again with his brother to put her ashes at her tomb.
After this we were shuttled back to the funeral home where we ate (or tried to) an enormous bento box stuffed to overflowing with an array of seafoods and fruit and amazing unidentifiable objects. I ate everthing that didn't still have it's eyes (there were 3 things in that category) including a piece of liver that Bubu mistakenly told me was a shitake mushroom. It's the first time in Japan that I've eaten something I wanted to spit out, but I managed to swallow it... apparently my facial contortions during this episode were 'cute' (according to Haruko)-- "Oo En-chan! Kawaii!" Let me tell you, the next time I have liver in my mouth, there will be no 'cute'.
Bubu drove me home, admonishing me to not forget the salt. I went up in the elevator, got in the apartment, used the toilet, opened my gift (a beautiful towel set), laid on the couch. Then I remembered. I dashed back out the door and sprinkled the salt all over myself, and came back in, amused with myself. If I've got to have a ghost in my house, who better than a laughing Japanese artist granny?
First some news. This fiscal year NOVA has declared a 3 billion yen loss, due to an agressive expansion campaign, poor management and heavy competition. This explains the lack of a budget; since I arrived we haven't been able to get pens or paper or tape... or (more recently) garbage bags for our school. Or enough teachers, for that matter. They'll be closing 23 schools, and redistributing the teachers, and there's a chance my school could be one to go as it's so small, and thus not much of a money maker. I'll keep you posted on that.
Anyway... last week I kept missing calls on my cell that were marked as being from a payphone. I was baffled. Who was calling me from a payphone? Did I have a stalker? How did they get my number? Eventually I managed to answer the phone in time to have my fears relieved; a Dutch fellow I met about 2 months ago named Pele had returned from his trek around Shikoku island. I may have mentioned this before, but Shikoku is famous for the 88 Buddhist temples that ring the island, and during the spring (supposedly the most temperate and least rainy and buggy season) many devoutBuddhists and serious walkers make the pilgramage, which can take anywhere from 35 to 65 days. Pele is 21, and doing a "gap" year-- that popular and (I think) highly educational year off from school wherein one travels the world and considers the future from a global perspective. Good idea-- wish I'd done it. Then again, if I had, I wouldn't be here now. So.
I invited Pele to join us NOVA revelers that night as we bid a fond farewell to Brian at Ingrid's karaoke place. He enthusiastically accepted, and I arranged to meet up with him at Root Down first. Joanna and I arrived a bit late to find Pele was the only one at Root Down (aside from Norm, of course). He had his big backpack, his walking staff with the jingly bells (to keep the pilgrim ever-aware of the present moment) and his round straw hat and white shirt and pants, requisite of all pilgrims to set them apart and make them 'non-persons' in society. Apparntly the hat didn't fit him (he's about 6'10", and made out of elastic bands and toothpicks), so he just carried it for the entire journey. He was on the computer, pulling up his photos, and Joanna and I spent a good hour enthralled by the beauty and the severity of the pilgramage before Brian called, good naturedly demanding that we get our tushies over to Ingrid's.
Over at Ingrid's, the proverbial poop was hitting the fan; last week a gaijin 'someone' (I know who, and he's a bum-head) hit a Japanese man, apparently unprovoked. The man heard the word Nova, so all of us were grilling each other about so-and-so's whereabouts on Sunday evening... Anyway, it turned out to be a GEOS teacher, but the damage was done and Ingrid has been evicted; she'll be out of there by the end of the month, I think. Aside from the hushed tones and the tense atmosphere, everyone was having a good time and singing their usual songs-- me with my 4 Non Blondes and Madonna, Maz with some Red Hot ChiliPeppers, Jon murdering 'Bye Bye Miss American Pie'. The funniest was when Pele sang a Monty Python song... nothing like hearing someone with a Dutch accent say things like "jolly rotten"! I wasn't feeling super-duper, and had to work the next day, so I opted out at the early hour of 2 am and took Pele along; he had been going to stay the night with Norm, but all Norm had was floor space, and I could at least offer a fold-out futon-couch. The next day I woke early, cooked him breakfast and we had a good chat about the differences in the educational systems of our countries-- apparently you MUST take art in Holland, you just have to choose whether you want to do sculpture or painting or whatever. Also everyone must take at least 2 languages... which explains why Pele's English was so good. Anyway, now I have a couch to crash on the next time I'm in Holland.
The work week was long and difficult, owing to a lack of sleep and a surplus of bad weather and work (my art projects are coming due). Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day, a great day to have a day off, and at one point Joanna and I decided to go to the big supermarket and stop in at Bubu's for lunch. I was surprised to see that the shop was closed, as he's usually only closed on Mondays. I messaged him, asking Why are you closed? Are you OK? and he called me back promptly; that morning, his mother had died. I stumbled for words, not knowing what to say or how to say it in a way that would be comforting or understandable. After I got off the phone, I was racked with guilt; a few weeks before, he'd asked me to visit his mother in the nursing home, in the hopes that a foriegn face might be different enough to rouse her from her confusion and bring back her curious, light-hearted nature. I had been thinking about that promise just that morning, and had been meaning to ask him that day, When would be a good time for me to go and see her? Too late. Later on in the evening, Bubu called again to formally invite me to his mother's ceremony.
That was today. At 10:30am I stepped out my apartment door into the warm rain, dressed all in black. Bubu was waiting in his jeep, looking smart and peculiar (he's usually dressed for comfort and fun-- pink shirts and red bow ties). On the drive over the Yoshino River to the Bell Be funeral building, Bubu coached me; just watch and do what everyone else is doing. Buddhist prayer is not like Shinto prayer-- don't clap for the gods. He said also that there wasn't much sad feeling to the death, because he and his family had done the best they could. He felt that his mother's spirit was staying nearby, watching, and probably laughing. The image of a happy granny spirit hanging around and Bubu's own good natured view of the situation eased me a bit. The Bell Be building was enormous, not at all like a temple, not at all what I was expecting. The outside was non-descript, like a big tidy warehouse or winowless hotel. I entered with Bubu into the enormous lobby and headed up the big carpeted stairs to an upper level with two enormous seperate alcloves; we walked past the first one where another family's ceremony was nearing it's close. Bubu's family was scattered about the big room-- lined up all around the room were enormous floral arrangements with white mums and yellow lilies and orchids and birds of paradise-- well over 50 of them, each with a large wooden plaque declaring which important business partner had sent it. At the front of the alclove was an enourmous golden alter that took my breath away. The multitudes of flowers were arranged with mind-blowing symmetry, giant ornate golden lamps hung at either side, and a golden buddha sat snugly under a beautiful canopy of lacquered wood. Straight down from him between the sprays of orchids was a picture of Bubu's mother, beautifully framed. There were carefully arranged bananas and apples, spinning rainbow lamps, golden sculptures that looked like smoke or waves, great piles of garishly decorated cans of fruit and juice-- and there was two of everything, one on either side in this mind-blowingly perfect arrangement.
Bubu took me off to a tatami room to the side of the alter, where his family sat on cushions around the little silk-covered white coffin his mother was in. "She's only sleeping now, it's the Buddhist belief. When the monks come, the ceremony, then she will be died," he explained to me. "Come and meet her face; I think when you see her, you will know she is laughing now." I awkwardly bowed to the family and moved over to kneel by the coffin with Bubu, which was placed on the floor. Her tiny figure was dressed all in white silk and she had a little silver cloth tied round her forehead. She did indeed look asleep, placed on her side with her eyes gently shut and her mouth open as though caught in a snore. Beside her coffin was a painting she had done of the sakura (cherry blossoms) several years before; it was painted in the same park I painted the sakura. I recognized the place immediately, and was faced with a weird sensation of familiarity with this little sleeping woman. After 'meeting' Bubu's mother, I sat with the family in the room for a few minutes and was introduced as a close friend. We left the room and headed back down the stairs and through the lobby to a banquet room where lunch was waiting for us in bento boxes... I was so overwhelmed with the strange senstations and sights and the pressing desire to be polite and well-mannered that for the life of me, I cannot remember what we ate. I'm sure it was lovely. After lunch, we went to a cafe that adjoined the banquet room (is this like any funeral home you've ever heard of?) and had coffee. I happened to have my sketch book, and I was seated with Haruko and Eri (Bubu's wife and daughter), so I sketched Eri, which endeared me to her. For the first time she opened up to me and told me that she had wanted to talk to be before, but had felt too shy; I had previously taken her to be standoffish. After coffee Bubu took me to sign the register and get my gift-- at weddings and funerals (and all big events in Japan) the guests recieve gifts as tokens of the hosts' appreciation. Tucked into the wrapping paper was a card from the family (that I can't read) and a package of salt which I later had to sprinkle over myself before entering my apartment to prevent any spirits from following me in.
We headed back upstairs and were eventually seated; the 30 or so chairs closest to the alter were in two rows of threes. I sat directly behind Bubu and his family, next to an old auntie that kept on telling me to do things in Japanese that I couldn't understand (but had to figure out anyway!) I was a little nervous at sitting so close, in such a place of honor, especially since I was the only gaijin in the place. We sat quietly until two monks arrived in glorious cream robes with multicoloured mountain peaks printed on them, and golden sashes and corded ties. They seated themselves with their backs to us, the older one directly in front of the altar, and the other to the left next to some very old looking red cymbals on a stand. The older one pinged the bell-bowl, signalling the beginning of the cermony. We all rose, put our hands together, bowed. We sat back down as he began to chant. Incense burned, the bell-bowl resounded on its crimson cushion. Chanting, chanting, chanting. The grinding of a wand in a small brass bowl, waving of the wand through the streams of incense smoke, the tapping of the wand on the coffin, chanting, chanting, chanting. The two began to chant together, the younger monk began to grind his cymbals together in an ancient rhythm. I began to feel heady, uncomfortable and light at the same time. It was time for the family to rise in pairs, step forward to a tray with four bowls; two with a hot piece of metal imbedded in sand, two smaller ones with loose grains of incense. I watched carefully; step forward, bow centre, left, right. Turn to the altar, hands together, bow. pick up a pinch of incense, raise it to your forhead while looking at the buddha, then sprinkle it on the hot metal. Do this 3 times. Turn back to the mourners (now there are about 150), bow- center, left, right. The old auntie went up with someone else, so I thought I would be excused from the task, but at the end I was sent up with another auntie. It was quite unnerving, and by the time I sat back down, my head was spinning with the numbing chanting and the smoke and the dazzling excess of gold. After this, the coffin was wheeled up a bit and opened again to reveal the newly 'dead' body. The funeral home staff appeared with trays and began-- to my extreme shock-- to rip off the heads of the birds of paradise, the mums, pluck orchids and lilies and babies breath from the altar and the enormous gift bouquets, and pile these on the trays. I didnt realize what was going on until the family (myself included) moved up to lovingly fill the coffin with these flowers, and a book and a bento box filled with food for the afterlife. The lid was then placed on the coffin, and the funeral director took four gold nails and an ornate golden hammer and tapped the nails into each corner off the coffin. Then a square black stone was presented to Bubu's older brother, who tapped one nail 3 times. Then Bubu did this, then the older brother's son, then the older brother's wife. The director then gave the golden hammer to the young fellow, who went around to each corner and finished closing the coffin. One more time the family crowded around to look through the open 'doors' which were over granny's flower-framed face for one last look, then Bubu and his brother cermoniously shut them. Granny was wheeled forward and Bubu gave a speech to the crowd, and then she was wheeled away.
Are you ready for more? Because there's more.
From the lobby we took a shuttle which drove us 50 metres across the street to the crematorium. Once again we did the incense sprinkling ceremony, and had one more 'last look' through the doors at granny's sleeping face. We crowded around what looked like an elevator door-- there were ten of them all in a row in an enormous marble hall-- and watched as the coffin slid into the darkness of the chamber; the 'elevator' doors slid shut, obscuring any further view, and we all shuffled off to a tatami waiting room. At this point, I believe I was the only person still there that wasn't family, so I was grateful for the warmth and curiosity of Bubu's kin. Together we drank tea and ate sweet cakes; I sketched a poor likeness of Bubu that his family found hilarious. We waited an hour and a half while the body burned; I assumed that this was just to assertain that she was safely transformed. Well...
An announcement came over the loudspeaker that the Suzue cremation was complete. I followed the family back to the marble hall and to a room at the side of it, wherein granny's charred remains were on full display. My stomach turned a little; thankfully the next task was one I was excluded from. The family filed in while a crematorium employee used long chopsticks to break the larger pieces of bone into smaller bits. Each member of the family had to go in and use some long chopsticks to choose a bit of the ash or bone to put into the urn. Bubu went in first, and so came quickly back to where I stood by the door to explain that a little bit of every part of her had to be included. Eri came out quickly after and stood behind my shoulder snuffling while we watched; Bubu launched into a Buddhist chant which was at once protective and comforting as it covered over the low keening moans of the older women in the bone room. After 7X7 days (49), Bubu will meet again with his brother to put her ashes at her tomb.
After this we were shuttled back to the funeral home where we ate (or tried to) an enormous bento box stuffed to overflowing with an array of seafoods and fruit and amazing unidentifiable objects. I ate everthing that didn't still have it's eyes (there were 3 things in that category) including a piece of liver that Bubu mistakenly told me was a shitake mushroom. It's the first time in Japan that I've eaten something I wanted to spit out, but I managed to swallow it... apparently my facial contortions during this episode were 'cute' (according to Haruko)-- "Oo En-chan! Kawaii!" Let me tell you, the next time I have liver in my mouth, there will be no 'cute'.
Bubu drove me home, admonishing me to not forget the salt. I went up in the elevator, got in the apartment, used the toilet, opened my gift (a beautiful towel set), laid on the couch. Then I remembered. I dashed back out the door and sprinkled the salt all over myself, and came back in, amused with myself. If I've got to have a ghost in my house, who better than a laughing Japanese artist granny?
Friday, May 12, 2006
On wednesday after work, I couldn't find my bike key. Not in my purse, my pockets, in the bike lock... nowhere. It was 9 pm, and raining, and you may recall that I live several kilometers from work, so I was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of walking home. Luckily Dan offered me a ride, and so I bid a fond sayonara to my blue Crispy and took the ride. I wasn't overly concerned about it, simply because I have a spare key at home, and it gave me a chance to talk with Dan; he'll be heading back to Australia soon, for good. So I soaked up as much advice and information as I could on the short ride-- a good place for Yakitori, how to make certain lessons interesting, which people that used to work at Nova were real Bitches, how the sale of his various accumulated belongings was going. It's amazing to me how many shards of humanity I come in contact with-- all of these random pieces of information, mundane and otherwise become lodged in my brain like shrapnel. Joe got his tattoo in Amsterdam in 1997. Bo thinks Asian women have skin that is as soft and smooth as marshmallows. D really wants to meet a guy, but she just isn't attracted to Asian men. This woman here used to be married to a Yakuza, that guy there had a three bedroom apartment to himself in Kansas about 15 years ago, and he only paid $150 a month for it. You see? What do I do with all of this random samplings of life?
Today I walked back to my Crispy bike with my spare key. It took about an hour and a half, and the day was bright and breezy, my favorite kind of weather. I wore my baseball cap (it says 'boogiiiieeee' and has a funny surfer picture on it) and big dark glasses so that I could stare at whomever I wished to stare at. I meandered; stopped to smell roses and peer over walls into secret gardens. I decided to cut through the Shikoku University campus, which I usually zip around on my bicycle. I'd never actually been on the campus before. I almost couldn't breathe; the liveliness of the colourful students was so thick and tangible. Everywhere were groups of laughing beautiful girls in tights and rainbow flats and scarves in their hair, everywhere were posturing young men, slim and carelessly elegant, calling out to one another, sitting on the grass, the benches, the low walls. The sound of Awa dance music reverberated from a hidden practice hall-- I felt the throb of the big drums, the high cry of the flutes and tamborines. At that moment I was stunned by a feeling of enormous regret; one life is not enough. I wished I could be young and beautiful and intimate with every culture, every country of the world. I want to dance all the dances, I want to fall in love over and over and over. In my heart I know that there is nothing better I can do than to fully inhabit this one life, to remain completely present and grateful for what I have, and to gracefully accept the inevitability of the passing of all things. To give thanks for what is, and what has been. To have enthusiasm and courage for the future, and the changes it will bring. But today I cried. Today I was unable or unwilling to be graceful about the passing of time. I wanted to hang on to the raw, optimistic power of youth, and never let it go.
As I passed through the campus and over the last of the three bridges I cross on my way to work, I opened my arms to the world and decided to accept it all. This is Me, this is Now. This is Japan, and I am halfway to 28 years old. I don't know what's next, but I am not afraid. Because right now I feel right and good and strong. I still have raw optimism and deep wells of power. And no-one said I had to let these things go.
Today I walked back to my Crispy bike with my spare key. It took about an hour and a half, and the day was bright and breezy, my favorite kind of weather. I wore my baseball cap (it says 'boogiiiieeee' and has a funny surfer picture on it) and big dark glasses so that I could stare at whomever I wished to stare at. I meandered; stopped to smell roses and peer over walls into secret gardens. I decided to cut through the Shikoku University campus, which I usually zip around on my bicycle. I'd never actually been on the campus before. I almost couldn't breathe; the liveliness of the colourful students was so thick and tangible. Everywhere were groups of laughing beautiful girls in tights and rainbow flats and scarves in their hair, everywhere were posturing young men, slim and carelessly elegant, calling out to one another, sitting on the grass, the benches, the low walls. The sound of Awa dance music reverberated from a hidden practice hall-- I felt the throb of the big drums, the high cry of the flutes and tamborines. At that moment I was stunned by a feeling of enormous regret; one life is not enough. I wished I could be young and beautiful and intimate with every culture, every country of the world. I want to dance all the dances, I want to fall in love over and over and over. In my heart I know that there is nothing better I can do than to fully inhabit this one life, to remain completely present and grateful for what I have, and to gracefully accept the inevitability of the passing of all things. To give thanks for what is, and what has been. To have enthusiasm and courage for the future, and the changes it will bring. But today I cried. Today I was unable or unwilling to be graceful about the passing of time. I wanted to hang on to the raw, optimistic power of youth, and never let it go.
As I passed through the campus and over the last of the three bridges I cross on my way to work, I opened my arms to the world and decided to accept it all. This is Me, this is Now. This is Japan, and I am halfway to 28 years old. I don't know what's next, but I am not afraid. Because right now I feel right and good and strong. I still have raw optimism and deep wells of power. And no-one said I had to let these things go.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Boys' Day has turned out to be a bit of a dissapointment, festivities-wise-- I suppose families just stay in and exchange gifts in the morning, and then go to the park to ride bikes and enjoy the sunny weather. It's like Christmas, except for the sunny weather part! And it really is beautiful today-- for a while I was beginning to doubt that the palm trees that dot the city were real! But now everyone's out in shorts and tank-tops, and the ladies are beginning to don their white gloves (to protect their hands from getting an unsightly sun-tan) and carrying their sun-umbrellas. White skin is so beautiful here; every other day I get some Japanese lady complimenting me on my white skin, to which I usually shrug my shoulders and say, "demo watashi wa gaijin," as if to say that it's not like I had a lot of choice in terms of my skin colour. But it is nice to not feel the usual early-summer pressure from the media to buy passes to the tanning salon or an array of browning creams; for once I can fully relax into my shockingly white body, and unabashedly smear myself with SPF 50.
My friend Yoshino had invited me out to Anan city for the day to try some of the local cuisine, but I'm glad I turned him down; it'll be nice to get out on my own and just have a day for getting things done. Although the banks and post offices are closed... sorry dad, looks like your birthday gift will be late too...
I had a nice day off yesterday, beginning with a visit with my good friend Brian. He'll be leaving to teach in Korea soon, and I'll really miss him. He's a kindred spirit, spirituality-wise. We talked at great length yesterday about our theories on the karmic cycle, and his experiences with Native North American shamanism, and the totality of yogic practice. He's had quite an array of experiences and it's been nice to learn from him. I'm thinking about trying this 10-day silent retreat in Thailand when my year in Japan is up... As a parting gesture, he gifted me with a wealth of books; Japanese cook books, easy Japanese language and travel guides, a dictionary, and a lovely package with two books on Japanese brush painting and the brushes, ink and paper... everything I need to get started. I now have 4 books on Japanese brush painting, and should maybe take it as some sort of sign that I need to refocus on my art practice. I've backed off quite a bit from my creativity since Joanna arrived, since I can't spread out in the apartment as much as I used to. That, and I've been over-booking myself socially. Fun, but not always productive.
So, from Brian's house I cycled waaaaaay out of town with my camera along the riverside, nearly out to the ferry terminal that takes one to the mainland. I took pictures of boats and sightseers and girls on bicycles. I watched 6 herons flying against the wind and dipping into the river alongside 3 hawks, all of them competing for a taste of a school of fish that was swarming up the river. I watched children slide down a giant pink octopus in an underwater-themed playground. I went shopping and bought my dad a birthday gift, and a hilarious device that looks like a cat's arm-- I have no idea what it's for, but you pull a little trigger and the paw curls and claws come out-- it's quite realistic and very strange! I ate at Mos Burger (I think I had a chicken omelete burger, but I'll never know for sure) and cycled back, enjoying the wind and the sun, the blowing green grass and the salty air. Of course, I was pulled over by the police to check my bike registration, but luckily it was the same guy who pulled me over the first time, so he let me go fairly quickly.
Last night Joanna and I went to Bubu's house for dinner-- Bubu was his usual congenial, jokey self, and told me right off that my nose piercing made me look like a cow. Whenever I get offended (which happens frequently since he like to tease about weight) he's quick to say, "Joke, JOKE desu yo!" (it's a joke, really!) I've gotten used to it. He happily presented Jonanna with the kanji for her name-- he said it was a "poetyist's" (poet's) name: JO (castle) AN (apricot) NA (leafy green vegtable)-- because she was born in Newcastle and she's a vegetarian. We worked on my name for a bit, but it was a little more difficult, and we didn't finish-- we got as far as EN (the connection you feel when you meet a special person-- the 'spark') DO (propriety or good manners) ... RE was undetermined, and NE is the person or being who connects the spiritual world with the mundane, like a priest or an angel. I'm stoked to see the finished product. Dinner was great; we ate pizza that we made ourselves, and pasta and salad and cake, and freshly caught sashimi... I ate far too much of everything, and feel a bit waddly today. Even Bubu and Haruko's daughter Eri joined in on the fun at the table-- she usually hangs back a bit and watches. Joanna pointed out that if her dad was constantly bringing home an assortment of odd young people for dinner, she might hang back too... fair enough! Through Bubu's dinners I've certainly met a lot of Japanese people I might never have met otherwise; a portrait photographer, a landscaper, a buddhist bishop, a sailor... a near-complete cross-section of society.
Anyway, it's a beautiful day and I ought to get out and play...
Namaste
endrene
My friend Yoshino had invited me out to Anan city for the day to try some of the local cuisine, but I'm glad I turned him down; it'll be nice to get out on my own and just have a day for getting things done. Although the banks and post offices are closed... sorry dad, looks like your birthday gift will be late too...
I had a nice day off yesterday, beginning with a visit with my good friend Brian. He'll be leaving to teach in Korea soon, and I'll really miss him. He's a kindred spirit, spirituality-wise. We talked at great length yesterday about our theories on the karmic cycle, and his experiences with Native North American shamanism, and the totality of yogic practice. He's had quite an array of experiences and it's been nice to learn from him. I'm thinking about trying this 10-day silent retreat in Thailand when my year in Japan is up... As a parting gesture, he gifted me with a wealth of books; Japanese cook books, easy Japanese language and travel guides, a dictionary, and a lovely package with two books on Japanese brush painting and the brushes, ink and paper... everything I need to get started. I now have 4 books on Japanese brush painting, and should maybe take it as some sort of sign that I need to refocus on my art practice. I've backed off quite a bit from my creativity since Joanna arrived, since I can't spread out in the apartment as much as I used to. That, and I've been over-booking myself socially. Fun, but not always productive.
So, from Brian's house I cycled waaaaaay out of town with my camera along the riverside, nearly out to the ferry terminal that takes one to the mainland. I took pictures of boats and sightseers and girls on bicycles. I watched 6 herons flying against the wind and dipping into the river alongside 3 hawks, all of them competing for a taste of a school of fish that was swarming up the river. I watched children slide down a giant pink octopus in an underwater-themed playground. I went shopping and bought my dad a birthday gift, and a hilarious device that looks like a cat's arm-- I have no idea what it's for, but you pull a little trigger and the paw curls and claws come out-- it's quite realistic and very strange! I ate at Mos Burger (I think I had a chicken omelete burger, but I'll never know for sure) and cycled back, enjoying the wind and the sun, the blowing green grass and the salty air. Of course, I was pulled over by the police to check my bike registration, but luckily it was the same guy who pulled me over the first time, so he let me go fairly quickly.
Last night Joanna and I went to Bubu's house for dinner-- Bubu was his usual congenial, jokey self, and told me right off that my nose piercing made me look like a cow. Whenever I get offended (which happens frequently since he like to tease about weight) he's quick to say, "Joke, JOKE desu yo!" (it's a joke, really!) I've gotten used to it. He happily presented Jonanna with the kanji for her name-- he said it was a "poetyist's" (poet's) name: JO (castle) AN (apricot) NA (leafy green vegtable)-- because she was born in Newcastle and she's a vegetarian. We worked on my name for a bit, but it was a little more difficult, and we didn't finish-- we got as far as EN (the connection you feel when you meet a special person-- the 'spark') DO (propriety or good manners) ... RE was undetermined, and NE is the person or being who connects the spiritual world with the mundane, like a priest or an angel. I'm stoked to see the finished product. Dinner was great; we ate pizza that we made ourselves, and pasta and salad and cake, and freshly caught sashimi... I ate far too much of everything, and feel a bit waddly today. Even Bubu and Haruko's daughter Eri joined in on the fun at the table-- she usually hangs back a bit and watches. Joanna pointed out that if her dad was constantly bringing home an assortment of odd young people for dinner, she might hang back too... fair enough! Through Bubu's dinners I've certainly met a lot of Japanese people I might never have met otherwise; a portrait photographer, a landscaper, a buddhist bishop, a sailor... a near-complete cross-section of society.
Anyway, it's a beautiful day and I ought to get out and play...
Namaste
endrene
Monday, May 01, 2006
All of the roads and alleys are scented with blooming flowers; there's so much cement everywhere that people make an incredible effort to make sure that every available nook and cranny is bursting with beautiful greenery and explosive rainbows of colour. All along the main roads the neat azaleas that have been green up to now are a riot of pink and white and fuscia. It's starting to feel like summer might actually come, and it might actually be really hot.
Right now McDonalds is featuring a green tea milkshake in honor of Golden Week-- could I be any happier? Golden Week has brough an influx of rowdy young Japanese, ready for some 'enjoy time', so propositions from strangers have stepped up a notch. Come on... I do not look like a hostess! I'm so buttoned down (thanks to Nova dress code) that I could pass for a mormon maybe, but not a hostess...
Didn't make it to the festival in time; it was all over by the time I got out of here. But Boy's Day is on the 5th and I have that off, so let's hope I can take part in the festivities! Already the big carp windsocks are sailing in the breeze-- one for each male member of a household. The biggest one I've seen so far was about 20 feet long, and decorated with gold along each scale. They are quite spectacular! You can buy mini-carp windsocks-on-a-stick with candy attached to a plastic cup, decorated with your favorite anime characters, like Pikachu or Anpanman (a very popular superhero made out of bread).
Last night was Joanna's welcome party, and little Mari's farewell party. She worked at the downtown Nova, and is much loved by both the teachers and the other Nova Japanese staff. She's leaving Nova to be a shufu (housewife)... it's still common for women to leave work once they have gotten married so that they can focus on making babies and caring for their home. I think that it's excellent, as long as it's what you really want to do. We had the party at Domo Domo, everybody's favorite izakaya (like an upscale pub) and it got quite rowdy: Bani did a very accurate hacka (spelling?), the Maori war dance/song... all of the Nova Japanese staff (women) were groping Joanna's G-Cup breasts and squealing with awe and excitement, Neil was going about to everyone and making them take shots of sake, and I managed to catch a glass with my skirt and break it --everyone's in stockinged feet, of course! Once the glass was cleared up, group photos were taken and we paid our bill, about 12 of us moved to the Karaoke Box next door with our party, and rented a room. Tambourines were provided and it wasn't long before we were bouncing on the couches and dancing around the little room like dervishes, singing Madonna and 80's tunes and sad Japanese love songs. Best song of the night: The JapSpanglish version of La Vida Loca, sung by one of the Japanese staff and Bani. Worst song of the night: Jon's rendition of Like a Virgin. Sorry Jon-- you do suck. The cool thing is that you keep doing it anyway... I've got to cut a cd of all the Nova teachers singing before I come back to Canada!
Right now McDonalds is featuring a green tea milkshake in honor of Golden Week-- could I be any happier? Golden Week has brough an influx of rowdy young Japanese, ready for some 'enjoy time', so propositions from strangers have stepped up a notch. Come on... I do not look like a hostess! I'm so buttoned down (thanks to Nova dress code) that I could pass for a mormon maybe, but not a hostess...
Didn't make it to the festival in time; it was all over by the time I got out of here. But Boy's Day is on the 5th and I have that off, so let's hope I can take part in the festivities! Already the big carp windsocks are sailing in the breeze-- one for each male member of a household. The biggest one I've seen so far was about 20 feet long, and decorated with gold along each scale. They are quite spectacular! You can buy mini-carp windsocks-on-a-stick with candy attached to a plastic cup, decorated with your favorite anime characters, like Pikachu or Anpanman (a very popular superhero made out of bread).
Last night was Joanna's welcome party, and little Mari's farewell party. She worked at the downtown Nova, and is much loved by both the teachers and the other Nova Japanese staff. She's leaving Nova to be a shufu (housewife)... it's still common for women to leave work once they have gotten married so that they can focus on making babies and caring for their home. I think that it's excellent, as long as it's what you really want to do. We had the party at Domo Domo, everybody's favorite izakaya (like an upscale pub) and it got quite rowdy: Bani did a very accurate hacka (spelling?), the Maori war dance/song... all of the Nova Japanese staff (women) were groping Joanna's G-Cup breasts and squealing with awe and excitement, Neil was going about to everyone and making them take shots of sake, and I managed to catch a glass with my skirt and break it --everyone's in stockinged feet, of course! Once the glass was cleared up, group photos were taken and we paid our bill, about 12 of us moved to the Karaoke Box next door with our party, and rented a room. Tambourines were provided and it wasn't long before we were bouncing on the couches and dancing around the little room like dervishes, singing Madonna and 80's tunes and sad Japanese love songs. Best song of the night: The JapSpanglish version of La Vida Loca, sung by one of the Japanese staff and Bani. Worst song of the night: Jon's rendition of Like a Virgin. Sorry Jon-- you do suck. The cool thing is that you keep doing it anyway... I've got to cut a cd of all the Nova teachers singing before I come back to Canada!
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