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.