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.

Well, that last blank space was meant to show a picture of me and my 'boyfriend'-- I pulled a face next to an ad for some over-the-top video game, and came out looking a lot like the effeminate anime hero I was posing with. Oh well... this is just further proof that I am not ready for the technological age. Half the time I'm a determined technology-hater. I think rude thoughts about the people who ride their bikes and type text-messages on their cell-phones at the same time. I imagine that I could be very happy living in the woods and bathing in a creek, never hearing the sound of a PC humming or an i-pod blaring, only listening to insects and owls and the wind. Then I realize my own dependance on my cell phone, my fondness for espresso from the high-speed machine, my satisfaction at typing out my stories. I could do without, but how would I do, really?

I made dinner at Bubu's house last night for him, Haruko, Eri, Yasu and Kayo. I was feeling a little under the weather, and Yasu and Kayo were fabulous kitchen helpers, chopping onions and toasting almonds. I made split-pea soup (which was close to as good as my mom's, but not quite there), an autumn salad of my own design, and ginger-pineapple chicken sandwiches. All went well up to the point of serving the sandwiches; I accidentally made 5 instead of 6, and feeling as I was, I burst into tears. Everyone was quick to console me and stop me from rushing back into the kitchen to cook up one more chicken breast-- "Daijobu, Enchan. You made American-size sandwiches! It's too big! We can share it!" I think the soup was the most successful part of the meal; the baugette I used for lack of proper sandwich bread was difficult to tear with the teeth, and soon we were all covered in chicken juice and laughing. The salad was good, but needed a little more salt or something. But the soup-- well, Yasu had three bowls, so I'll consider that a success. "You will make a good wife, Enchan," he assured me with his mouth full.

There's something about this weather that is thrilling me to my core. I'm quite lucky-- it feels as though summer has just ended. It's cool and blustery and sometimes rainy. Maz swears that the wind knows when we will be riding our bikes across that kilometer-long bridge, and shifts accordingly so that it's always against us. But I can't feel anything but acceptance for the direction of the wind, whether it's with me or against me. If it's with me, I can race the cars. Wheeee! If it's against me, I get more exersize, and the strong breeze keeps my body cool and comfortable. When I'm riding my bike through town and my hair is whipping all around me, I can chase the leaves and crunch them under my tires. I can feel the electricity of possibility that autumn always seems to bring.

As for possibilities, I'm not sure what Tokushima has got up it's sleeve for me. Some major changes have shifted the vibe in the gaikokujin (apparently, the more polite way to say 'foriegners') community. The top stories: Some of the rowdier Australian guys skipped town a couple of months back. One of them didn't even give notice at his job; he just got fed up and one morning, he was gone. Let's see, what else? Apparently some Canadian girls are giving us good Canadian girls a bad name by sitting around downtown and flashing their boobs to passerby. And-- the Kicker-- Norm closed Big Brothers! Well, not 'closed' exactly, but it doesn't exist as a sandwich shop near the station anymore. He's moved the sandwich operation into Root Down, his night club. This should make his life a little easier-- maybe now he'll actually have a life, and get to see his girlfriend more often. But for the rest of us... I don't know where to go for a midafternoon coffee and gossip. I'm not really into going out in the evenings anymore, it's expensive, and typically pretty sedate. You sit in your pre-determined group, you drink your pre-determined drink, and some people tell the stories or moan the blues or sing the karaoke songs that you've heard a thousand times before. The two dance clubs I used to go to are over-run by Eastern European hostesses, who are stereotypically unfriendly to the English teachers. (The female English teachers anyhow.) So. What's a girl to do? I've been devouring books, hiking, drawing a little more. I might get an interview in a local magazine as a Foriegn Artist (important-looking capitals my own addition). I've been going to the onsen with Miho and Kayo pretty regularly, and learning more interesting stories from Bubu. Did I mention the Chinese parable about not touching your shoe in a watermelon field, and not touching your hat in a pear orchard? How about why Japanese people put two little dishes of salt on either side of the entrances to their businesses?

Ask me if you want to know...

Everyday I am faced with little surprises of understanding-- for example, today when I came into the internet cafe and the proprietress told me "san-ju-ban" I didn't hesitate to walk to cubicle number thirty. I didn't even have to interpret her words in my head-- I just knew. Language is such a strange concept, when you think about it. All these little noises like codes to be intercepted and recieved... and so much of what we say has no use whatsoever, no real purpose for furthering a discussion or improving a situation. That said, it's nice to know whether a discussion is being advanced or not. Yesterday morning when I got into the elevator, I said 'Ohaiyo gozaimasu' (good morning) to the petite 40ish man in the elevator. He responded in kind, and then went on to express his surprise at my ability to say good morning, and to compliment my Japanese ability. I don't take this seriously anymore; you could say 'dozo' (please) and get a compliment. So the most important phrase I have learned so far has been, "Iie, jouzu ja arimasen,"　（No, I don't have any skill). He laughed at this, and continued talking as patted my waist to gently encourage me out of the elevator before him. But he had forgotten that the anatomy of a woman two feet taller than he might be a little different, and he inadvertantly missed my waist and patted my bottom. I know that it was a mistake as he was quite shocked at the bounce of the flesh he had touched and was quite suddenly brisk and red-faced as we left the building.

Jouzu ja arimasen.

Time is rocketing, as it has a tendency to do as we age. Each year becomes a smaller percentage of your overall lifespan, and therefore goes by a lot more quickly. When you're two, one year is 50% of your life. Now, one year is only 3.7% of my life. Next year will be 3.57%. And so on. I7m feeling compelled to consider What's Next with a new intensity. How long will I stay in Japan? Where do I see myself in five years, ten years? In what financial situation, in what country? Are there kids, a family, a dog, a cat, a house? Or am I living in a van down by the river, shelling wild peas and chopping firewood? If there's one thing I can count on, it's for life to offer me some unforseeable twists and turns. If I'd followed my plan as I had imagined it at the age of eighteen, I'd be married with two kids, making my living as an artist and living on Vancouver Island as of now. Here I am, single and fabulous, sleeping on a futon and teaching English on the other side of the world. I guess I should just keep being myself, wide open and ready for whatever comes next.

****

And as an addemendum, yes, I did miss Alex, Dan and Jon when I was mentioning departed (as in resigned) NOVA employees. Sorry Alex! And I'm REALLY sorry Dan! (whom I should NOT have forgotten, seeing as he was my manager at Kitajima!) As for Jon-- no apologies neccesary. He left NOVA, but he didn't leave town! I still see him in the grocery store.