Scribbler's Cafe: 10.2004

This is Kiomye and her best friend Toma at the playgroup Halloween party.

Another shot of the view outside our balcony.

This is some of the lovely details from the shrine on the side of the mountain.

This is the "mountain" in the forest preserve behind my school campus.

Kio and Matt goofin' around. So THIS is what they do when I'm at work. :-)

The most beautiful witch EVER!

Random act of learning

Did you know that your proprioceptive sense (based in the joints and muscles) tells you if one thing is heavier than other.

Well, now you do.

Sometimes things go right

On Sunday morning, two days ago, I drug myself out of bed, stumbled into my walking shoes and headed out the door to finally climb the mountain behind the college where I work. I love walking through the neighborhoods early in the morning. There are few people out, and those up and moving are the locals walking their dogs or watering their plants. Everyone smiles and calls out “Ohiyo Gozimasu!”

I followed a curving road up behind the college and into the forest preserve. The forest preserve is a very large patch of green on my map that I had yet to explore as I couldn’t find the entrance. Now I wish I’d found it sooner. The preserve was amazing. It was huge and filled with winding paths and trails lined with leafy trees. It would take me two days straight days to follow all the trails to their destinations. This is a welcome oasis in my concrete jungle, a welcome reprieve from sidewalks and skyscrapers.

As this is Japan, down the trails I found many vending machines from which I could choose a variety of drinks, not to mention five types of coffees with varying degrees in cream and sugar and available hot or cold. I even found a cup-o-noodle vending machine. Fantastic.

At the center of the preserve, is a beautiful sculpture garden, with a long long walk leading to two giant water fountains. The place is overrun with cats. Kitties of all colors and sizes prowl this way and that, looking for a patch of sun or a handout from the picnickers. Some of the braver souls run up to me to wind themselves between my legs.

In the midst of the kitty patch, I heard some rustling in the bushes. I assumed that the noise was simply some hidden cats chasing a mouse or squirrel. The bushes parted and I watched, not a cat, but a wild boar walk into the clearing. A wild boar! With tusks! Of course, my first reaction in these instances is always inappropriate and stupid – I whipped out my camera and started to advance on the beast. (At least I didn’t run after it like I did with the bobcat I saw in Colorado. Yes, my instincts are very very off.) Better sense soon overcame my initial excitement and I climbed up on a bench to take my pictures from a safe perch.

After the wild boar incident, I wound my way through the forest and found a discrete clearing to rest. Sat in the shade an munched on a rice ball. Across the clearing, an elderly man sat with a guitar of sorts. He was very still. I didn’t notice him until he started to strum and sing. I lingered for a long time listening to him.

After my break, I walked to the large temple and took pictures of the shrines, then I climbed up to the top of the little mountain to look out over Osaka, Kobe and the bay. The view stretched forever. Gorgeous. I climbed back down and met two wonderful older women that invited me to climb back up to the top with them. I declined on behalf of my calf muscles, but was sorry for the missed opportunity as the women were so friendly and their English halfway decent.

Later that evening, two of our nicest neighbors watched Kiomye for a couple of hours so that Matt and I could get away by ourselves. We took the train to Sannomiya and discovered the China town. We strolled down the long long street buying food from almost every sidewalk vendor. Everything was fried and delicious.

It was a fantastic day. One of the best in a while.

The mafia lives!

The following is a clip from the Japan Today newspaper. I realize that this is real life and not a movie, but I can't help but love my mafia daydream. (Someday - I will be THE boss!)

"Gangster killed, 3 injured in shootout at Tokyo hotel:
TOKYO — A member of a crime syndicate was killed and three others were injured Sunday afternoon in a shooting that was apparently carried out by a rival gang in the coffee shop of the Asakusa View Hotel.

Police said the four were in the coffee shop when two men from a rival gang entered and fired shots at them around 1:50 p.m. They were taken to a nearby hospital, where one of them later died, the police said. The two men fled from the scene after the shooting but were later arrested by police. (Kyodo News)"

Funny note: someone responded on the website to this article by saying that they (the gangsters) were obviously drinking expresso.

blech

I am so confused. When my teacher partner comes to me and says, "In Japan, we teach Enlgih by grammar, not by situations. So, I hope you won't be offended, but here are some grammar books for you to go over." and then hands me a stack of books that weighs more than my daughter, I can't help but wonder that maybe I'm not doing something right.

This is where I get confused. What am I not doing right? He raved abut my first lesson - said it was "genius". My last lesson I went over with him three times - I even took away a grammar section when he suggested I should do something cultural. Why say "I hope you're not offended" if you're not making some sort of insult or complaint?

I am so confused.

The perilous fog of dreams

My head is stuck in dreams. I cannot shake the heavy cloud of diaphanous thoughts from my mind so that I may perceive my day with clarity. I am lined up for a great number of conversations with my students today. It is a struggle even to pretend to be interested in their struggling attempts at conversation.

Many factors led me to this state, for one, it has been a week since I have worked on my stories in progress and my mind keeps turning to my fictional plots for hope of a conclusion. Then there have been many meetings this week in which the speeches were all made in Japanese. When I must sit there and listen to an incomprehensible stream of language for hours on end, I have no where to turn but into my mind. I am almost conditioned to daydream upon hearing the sound of spoken Japanese. Then there is the walk to and from work, for which I allow myself extra time so that I may stroll and breath the air and crunch the leaves. Then there is the book that I am reading, the L’engle about love and God and writing and self. She has put new ideas into my head that are rubbing uncomfortably against some of my old ideas and dancing merrily with others. My mind is a mess. The world conspires to make it so.

Today is marked on the calendar as the day that prospective students visit the school. The hallways are filled with strangers, yet they are not school children. No, they are nicely dressed mother’s, the decision makers in the household. I haven’t seen a single prospective “student”, only prospective mothers.

Yesterday, I took Kiomye to a play group for Japanese and international mothers and their young children. Kiomye loved it, of course. They conduct many of their activities in English, despite the fact that the majority of the mothers and children are Japanese. So, once again, Kiomye was able to shine with her brilliant comprehension. Although, she was most admired for her ability to spend the entire three hours running around at a break-neck pace without stopping to rest. She also organized a small conspiracy and led three other two-year-olds out onto the balcony, then on a mad race down the hallway to the grass patch outside. This was not a sanctioned outing.

I have received no less than four emails today from mothers from the playgroup thanking me for coming and inviting us back to the next meetings. I am constantly amazed by the easy kindness of Japanese women.

Wiley Weather

I walked to school today with a typhoon hanging over my head. It's as if the pacific has inverted itself over my island. I quickly realized that classes were canceled when I saw the sidewalks empty of the usual throngs of students.

Of course, the teachers were all still expected to come to school to recieve the official warning from the principal that the weather is too extreme to come to school.

Of course.

I made some quick sketches when Dan and I went Azuchi to see the castle ruins. These two paintings are the restuls of those sketches. There's a third, but it is bad even by my loose standards, so it's not getting posted.

Shrine detail.

Those balloons didn't stand a chance!

Round-and-round Kio goes!

Kiomye tames the wild woodchuck.

Taking a little breather

The much talked about MEN'S LATTE!!!

The View from Japan

The evening news here shows very different images of the war in Iraq than the news back home. In Japan, I am shown pictures of wounded children and hear the story of a woman who lost her entire family. There are no graphics of flying eagles or high flying flags.

I am showing my English movie class “Three Kings” – the movie about the imperialistic American soldiers in the Gulf War that gain a more global, empathetic awareness and abandon their greed to help rescue a village of people. I asked my students if they would ever like to be soldiers. They all said no and gave good reasons why.

“I am afraid of war.”
“I don’t want to miss my family.”
“I don’t want to shoot anyone.”
“I don’t want to die.”

Today during chapel we were shown some old footage of four American soldier deserters from the Vietnam war. The film was called “The Intrepid Four: Patriotic Deserters”. A young American, just 19, spoke into a huge microphone. He said that though he may never be able to see his home, his friends or his family again, it was worth it to stand up against the killing and the war. The sound of sniffling filled the auditorium.

Often, I am horrified by my country’s violent global actions. I wonder if people outside America think that all Americans hate Muslims, or that we are all greedy for oil and blood. I am so ashamed of my government and my president. From outside, the horrors of our military’s actions are obvious and unthinkable. Inside America, they are rationalized and watered down. We aren’t allowed to see pictures of our own dead. Fox news doesn’t show us the little Iraqi children with big gaping wounds across their heads, or let us hear their pitiful whimpering. I wonder how people outside America could possibly gain a positive, empathetic view of Americans. I am grateful that so many people seem to understand that a government’s actions does not always reflect the will or morals of its people.

Notes from the front

Written in my notebook at the scene:

Kiomye and I are at Kid’s World in the Daiei department store. Kio is jumping around in the windy balloon tornado and I’m sitting on a safely padded bench taking in our surroundings. The overhead stereo is blasting the ABC song, but the song keeps the letters in order only until J, then it mixes it up at random: “s,o,u,x,y,z.” Kiomye has flopped her bear on a padded merri-go-round and is shouting “Faster! Faster!” She has already tired of the bouncing room and the giant rotating bear room.

Many of the mothers brought their cameras. Each has taken at least one picture of Kiomye. Her dark blonde hair and blue eyes sill get a lot of attention wherever we go.

The trains were packed full on our way here. Our first train pulled up with people already pressed against the doors. Crap. I had Kiomye in the stroller. There didn’t appear to be enough space for us. There were no affordable alternative means of transportation to our destination, so I said screw it, turned around and backed my way into the tight crowd. Not a soul would have offered to make room for my stroller; I’ve been riding the trains long enough to know that. So, I simply made room using my backpack as a barge and repeating “sumimasen” in my sweetest foreigner voice.

Turns out there was plenty of room after all.

Gender Biased Coffee Drinks

On my way to work this morning, I decided to mix things up a it by swinging into the convenience store a couple blocks earlier than the one I usually frequent. I headed straight back to the cold coffee drink section for my usual plastic bottle of caffe latte. To my surprise, I spotted a product that I'd never seen before: Men's Latte. That's right. Let me write that again.

Men's Latte.

Of course, I immediately yanked the bottle out of the cooler and twisted it all around to see what made this latte especially for men. The packaging was similar to that of the gender neutral coffees, except that it featured a little more silver. Then I started to look around at the other drinks. Is there Coke for Ladies? Women's green tea, young boys orange juice. Nope. Just the men's latte.

I had to buy it, of course. I now have it placed prominently on my desk. I'm hoping to get scornful looks that I can write about later.

Mt. St. Helens making noise again

So, the mountain near my hometown is letting out a little steam and lava. No biggie, not like the last time it blew it's top. I've been following the reports closely. I found this description of the lava in an article that I absolutely loved.

"The emerging magma is rough at first, Major said — like the crusty end of toothpaste from a tube that has been left open. In time, it may flow more smoothly."

Fantastic. This guy "Mayor" should be a writer!

Chasing the Green

On my continual quest for green space in this country of concrete, I picked a patch f emerald on my map and took three trains to journey to see it in person. The map assured me there would be a zoo and a park. No such luck. A new department store was being constructed smack dab on top of my supposed green spot. Well, crap.

I’d come so far already, so I decided to continue down the road I was on. It headed towards the ocean – I was fairly sure. I hadn’t seen the Pacific since we landed in Osaka almost two months ago. I had a new goal.

I walked for, um… FOREVER down a horribly ugly road. There was no end in sight. The wind picked up and I could smell salt in the air, so I trudged on. After assign my fifth Family Mart convenience store, I spotted some leafy green ahead. A huge park lined the waterfront – complete with an amazing pirate ship to play on. The boat was life size and had double masts and a cool gang plank.

I walked through the park then climbed over a stone wall and found – the OCEAN! The bay was brown and choked with barges – but dear Lord – here is my ocean! The signs told me that it was an area protected by the Environmental Ministry. I looked at the concrete slabs, the milk cartons floating in the water and the plastic bags wrenching themselves free of their receptacle prisons to fly off in the wind. The ministry should be fired.

I saw my first homeless Japanese men. They had a small tent city in the park – packed full of clutter and Tupperware. Two of the men sat on the ground in front of their tents, watching the sun go down over the ocean and chatting away on their cell phones.

Yes. Cell phones.

Even the homeless lifestyle is much faster paced here.

Azuchi

This weekend I went on a day trip to Azuchi with Dan. You can read about it on his blog: Click here for Dan's blog.

Skipping Chapel and Other Outrageous Sins

I am currently skipped a chapel service at the school where I teach. Nothing new, really. But, I happened to notice that everyone is looking especially sharp today. Mid-terms are this week. I have just about nothing to do all week, except attend a big meeting on Wednesday, but I can suffer through that if it means I don’t have to interact with the students for an entire week.

While I enjoy talking trash about them, I really do love my students. I particularly love the class that I have completely to myself – a group of first years that have previously lived in the U.S. and so have a higher level of English ability than their classmates. Those kids are great.

My returnee students expected to do nothing but sit around and play board games – as their last teacher allowed them. Not in my class, kiddo. The first couple of classes they were rather shocked to learn that I expected them to do actually work. Not only that, but the work I give is very challenging. They don’t know all the answers. While difficult, the work I do give is a lot of fun. We write our own comics and play communication games. They each had to make their own hand-stitched journal and they write weekly essays with such topics as “the day I shrank…”

An amazing thing happened. After just a few classes, the kids started showing up excited and ready to work. Not only have they completed every single one of their assignments, but they can’t wait to show me what they’ve written. They’ll even ask if they can read their stories out loud. This is incredible participation by Japanese standards. The kids are still befuddled by my grading system. I work on a pass/fail basis. If you do the assignment, you get 100% - no matter what – even if it’s crap. If you don’t do it, you get zilch. This way, the kids try everything I throw at them, even if it’s above their level or comfort zone. I think the teacher I report to is also still befuddled by the 100% scores that keep coming out of my class, but my students are obviously working hard and engaged with their English in way they haven’t been before.

Man, those kids are great.

Contemplating Beauty

At the English camp, I stole away during the night to wander through the pitch black forest and gain some intimacy with the land of Japan. Now I ponder the ripples on the pond. I may never be able to describe with words their beauty on that onyx summer night, and I worry. Does this mean that because I cannot describe them, the ripples never existed? Or, is it that of course the water bent and distorted in patterns; but merely it is the beauty of the occurrence that needed human eyes to recognize its existence? Does beauty not exist if unseen? Is beauty left unspoken beauty lost to the world? Is it enough to be witnessed by one human soul?

Maybe this is why God exists – or, more rightly – why I exist. There is always someone with which to share what we see, what we experience. Maybe that is why I live, not to write for myself and others, but to share the beauty of existence with God.

There are those close to my heart that say they do not believe in such unsubstantiated things as God. I ask, how do you explain beauty? I truly am curious.

I love painting frogs. They're my favorite. So funny looking.

This is the strange, gourd-like veggie that sits on my desk.

Random berries.

Strange big-eye fishy.

Random meals

Another typhoon came and went. We caught the eastern most edge of this storm and barely felt the disturbance, yet the sky was packed with the kind of clouds that make me wish I am a better painter.

We ate out at a little restaurant the other night that had the feel of a mountain drinking lodge. Lots of wood paneling, warm lights and mugs of beer. Of course, this isn’t Telluride, this is Nishinomiya. So, of course we couldn’t read a single word on the menu. Every item was pictured. The place specialized in Yakitori – which is like shish kabobs. The pictures were small and somewhat blurry. Matt and I did our best to search out the pork, beef and chicken from the bunch and pointed , Kore, kore, kore (this, this and this).

The waiter asked us about ten more questions in lightening fast Japanese and we answered as we always do when we haven’t a clue. Hai.

The first dish came – teriyaki Chicken. Score!
The second dish arrived – gizzard. Doh!
The final dish arrived – crusty, salty long things on a stick. Hmm. We had no idea what the final item was. We made some guesses, but none were palatable. Whatever it was, it was thoroughly deep fried and came with a lemon slices to add some kick. We ate it quickly and pretended it was a crispy fish stick.

We walked home in the dark, full and content. The weather has cooled, but the nights are still warm enough to wander without jackets. We took our time on the way back, winding through narrow alleys filled with windows and plants. We happened upon an ice cream shop, still open, and treated ourselves to giant cones of soft sweet strawberry ice cream. It took Kiomye the entire climb up the hill to our house to finish hers, and she walked at the pace of a cheetah on Dramamine. Pink sticky stuff covered her face, hands and clothes. She went directly from our doorstep to warm bath.