tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-276563252024-03-07T16:18:59.686+09:00Keeping up with the Tanakasquondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-4917141659061416392010-06-20T22:16:00.002+09:002010-06-20T22:48:09.848+09:00The End of the AffairI do believe my love affair with Japan has ended. Next month I will leave Japan for summer in California 11 years to the day after I departed LAX to begin my adventures here. I have been waiting for this trip since, well, since last September if I am honest. It was a long, cold winter and I don't do winter well, so it was easy to blame the frigid temperatures, my chapped, red hands, and the fact that I could see my breath in my own kitchen every morning for the slightly anti-Japan stance that I had been carrying around for a few months. I also sometimes blamed culture shock, knowing the beast to be cyclical in nature, only the cycle never turned. I hoped that having guests come to visit, would shake me out of my blues; excited by the opportunity to see Japan through fresh, new eyes. Instead, I was surprised to find myself without comebacks to their criticisms or counterpoints to their critiques of life in this country. I am afraid I was not a very good hostess. Though I enjoyed the bloom of Spring, it did not hold the glory this year that I used to write home about. I would go to take a picture of flowers and notice only the dingy, grey cement in the background. I would aim my camera at the clouds, only to be foiled by the endless wires. I am frustrated by the schools and their voluminous lists of rules. I am frustrated by the people who don't follow the rules and ride their bikes on the footpath causing what feel like brushes with near death for my children at least on a weekly basis. I am tired of being a foreigner in the place that is supposed to have become my home and I am even more tired of people calling my children, citizens of this nation, foreigners and complimenting them on their Japanese ability. I know I am ready for a break; I can only hope that absence will make the heart grow fonder.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-68347197644292009292010-06-12T17:01:00.003+09:002010-06-13T17:15:17.884+09:00Something's MissingSummer is within reach. It is a fact that keeps me sane when coupled with a copy of my flight itinerary. It has been almost a year since I have been home and though the nearness of the yearly migration helps me through everyday, having been away for so long has me on edge. It is as if I need to come up for air after having been submerged in what is still, yes still, a foreign culture to me. I miss all the usual suspects: my family, Mexican food, the California climate and browsing in bookstores. This time around though, I find myself missing all kinds of less obvious things. Here is a sampling of what I have been pining for: sidewalks, efficiency, trying on clothes, convenience, backyards, "bless you," clothes fresh from the dryer, artichokes, NPR, a garbage disposal, driving, being literate, diversity, swimming pools and hugs. Five weeks and counting.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-47113625062375260492010-04-15T07:45:00.003+09:002010-04-15T07:56:21.268+09:00WOW!There must be some comedian using this word as part of his shtick on Japanese TV because I have been hearing it everywhere. It is coming out of the mouths of high school students on the train, mothers at the school, the station master, and even my own daughter. I am not completely sure how they do it, but they manage to give the word four syllables when they say it. Something along the lines of "Wa ou uu wa!" It makes me completely insane! Particularly coming from my own offspring. I cannot tolerate it when she says "juan, tsuu, surrey!!!" or sings "ha pee baasu dey tsu yew!" If you are going to use English words, then please, PLEASE, use English pronunciation. That or stop making fun of the way my people speak Japanese.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-44229112228590007592010-04-02T01:38:00.004+09:002010-04-11T21:54:34.031+09:00A Ruined SeasonThere is a raging wind outside and I know it is beating down the cherry blossoms who were just daring to shyly show themselves after today's rise in temperature. It has been cold. The trees had not really gone into bloom and now, what petals were there will be strewn on the ground tomorrow. I understand that the allure of sakura is all about their fleeting loveliness, that they are a symbol of flux, a reminder of the cycles in everything. Still, I had been waiting for the glory of the cherry trees to renew my faith in the magnificence that exists in this world. I needed the blossoms this year. I longed for that week of stunning splendor. As I listen to the force of the wind rattling the house and the world around, I can feel actual anger rise up in me, met with sadness. Am I mourning flowers? I will try not to read too much into the fate of the cherry trees this year, and satiate my hunger for beauty with daffodils instead.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-44051689320225400592010-03-21T06:29:00.003+09:002010-03-21T06:57:40.276+09:00I Get By With a Little HelpThe last day of the school year. Mina and I are rushing to the station. It is Saturday, so the train schedule is different and I am afraid she is going to miss her train. We walk up to the gates. "Mommy, I don't have my train pass. . . ." I was just walking her to the station, so I didn't have my purse. "I don't have any money!" I say at a volume approaching a shout. I turn and find a man who lives up the street from us, and just happens to be fluent in English, pulling a 1000 yen note (about $10) from his wallet and I haven't even asked him to help us. I don't even know this man's name. I know where he lives, I know his dog's name, I think he works with the US military, I remember the first time he asked me, "How's it goin'?" like a native, but I don't really know him. Here he is, without hesitation, saving my butt. After Mina returned from school, we made a batch of chocolate chip oatmeal craisin cookies for him and I didn't even have to write the thank you note in Japanese.<br /><br />This situation reminded me of some ideas I had written down in a notebook and came across the other day. I will share one of those posts with you now. It is about four years old, yet falls under the exact same heading . . . I Get By With a Little Help.<br /><br />A rainy day. Delayed trains. The three train loads of people waiting on the platform are going to cram onto the already crowded approaching train and we are going to be amongst them. "You'd better collapse the stroller," one mother says and we all start in at once to free Sam from his belt, take off the rain cover, grab the umbrellas hanging from the back, juggle my bags around (because as if I weren't already carrying enough, I've decided to mail some books out today) and fold up the stroller just as the train doors open. I've got Sam, another mother takes the stroller, yet another has my bags and a third takes Mina by the hand. Mind you, they all have their own daughters to look after, but I am the only one with a younger sibling on hand, so they have all rushed to my aid, and thank goodness. As the train speeds us to the next stop (where the majority of passengers will get off and we will be able to breathe again), I notice that someone has placed a shower cap (a shower cap?!?!?!?!) over the wheels of the stroller to prevent them from getting anyone dirty. I resign myself to the fact that I will <em></em><strong></strong>never feel like I have my act together around these women and thank my lucky stars they are my friends.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-57518011799633855632010-02-16T11:39:00.004+09:002010-02-17T10:25:54.394+09:00Noisy Car Go AwayIt has been a firm policy of mine to refrain from patronizing anyone that comes through the neighborhood announcing their presence with a loud speaker. You would be amazed at their number. I am. There is the guy collecting used/broken/unwanted electronics (whom I have been told is a con man), the man selling laundry polls (Can a person make a living selling laundry poles? How many laundry poles can he hope to sell on the same block in one month? <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Apparently</span> several because I know his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">spiel</span> by heart). There is the faintly nostalgic call of the sweet potato seller (from whom I admit to purchasing one potato for the experience - the smell, the cart, the potato hot off the rocks, the weathered grandfather who could have stepped out of the distant past). Then you have the nationally recognized two tone whistle of the tofu vendor, the garbage collection truck blasting out music as it makes its rounds and the over-enthusiastic politicians screaming at you to vote for them, waving white gloved hands through the windows of their campaign vans as they announce their platforms at shoulder clenching volumes (this, by the way, would explain why there is no legislation regarding noise pollution). I always swear that I will never vote for someone who interrupts a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">child's</span> nap, a family dinner, my reading hour or train of thought with their cacophony, however it is an empty threat since suffrage is a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">privilege</span> I do not enjoy in this country. So, when I heard the tinny melody of Moonlight Sonata come and go down my street . . . it was with great hesitation that I took my wallet out of my purse and headed out to the green grocer's truck. There was no fruit in the house. As I made my way around the corner to where the truck was parked, a neighbor greeted me with a bright smile and the exclamation "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">mezurashii</span>!" "This is unusual!" It was raining so there weren't many people out. I picked out some fruit and the grocer asked after my mother-in-law, because I live in a neighborhood where everyone knows everyone, even in a city as large as Yokohama. It was then I realized that this truck and its annoying tune help create the sense of community that I so enjoy here. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening he provides an opportunity to come out, exchange greetings, catch up, find out who's cooking what for dinner and interact with the people surrounding us. I can now appreciate the value of what is really offered to us by the vegetable man. He isn't just selling broccoli and bananas, he is protecting us from personal isolation. For that, I can <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">forgive</span> his noisy jingle <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">piercing</span> my home and I probably will not be so hesitant the next time I feel the need to reach for my purse when I hear <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Beethoven</span>. There were sliced apples on the breakfast table and mandarin oranges in the kids' lunchboxes, but I still don't need any laundry poles.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-54826760628684963822009-10-21T17:05:00.003+09:002009-10-21T17:22:24.245+09:00Another Daydream GoneToday I noticed that a building I loved was torn down. I would see it almost everyday as we pulled into the station. It was very close to the tracks, on the ocean side, an old, run down two-story, painted white, obviously neglected and empty. I think the only thing that loved the building, besides me, was the ivy that grew all over, covering the outdoor staircase, enclosing it in a protective layer, almost obscuring the windows. The all-important windows. You see, the second story featured two sides of long windows, providing a 180 degree view of the world around it. It is rare to find a house with a lot of windows in Japan. These windows were the kind that have been around for a very long time, so long that they were slightly warped little squares of glass, set in checkerboard panes. When I would see the sun shining into the windows lining the sides of the second story, I would imagine myself up in that room, curled in a comfy chair, reading a book, the smell of the ocean coming in on a gentle breeze. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Isamu</span> could train watch from the comfort of his own home. Perhaps this little building wasn't even a home, I think it was owned by the train company, but I wanted to live in it.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-78497441663766934032009-10-05T21:24:00.002+09:002009-10-05T21:28:24.069+09:00Cameo - #1On a train between Shinagawa and Kawasaki, an Italian Greyhound was sitting in a striped bag on the lap of a Japanese young lady. His name was Pierre. A dog with an identity crisis. She could have at least named him Giovanni. . . .or Taro.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-51363517223572902122009-10-02T12:04:00.003+09:002009-10-02T12:24:17.522+09:00Sweet Potaoes Coming Out of our EarsPulling sweet potatoes is a right of passage for Japanese children. Most preschools organize a field trip and the kids get all dirty and bring home the fruits of their labor. My children's school offers them all kinds of wonderful opportunities, but sweet potato pulling is not one of them. I noticed a sign up at our local subway station advertising the chance to pull your own sweet potatoes, right in our backyard! I roped one of Sam's friends into the plan and we met at the station bright and early to try our hand at harvesting. I was so excited, you see, it was my first time too. I imagined the children tugging and pulling, laughing and falling back on their bums as they unearthed the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">precious</span> potatoes, simultaneously realizing that that food doesn't come from the supermarket and that it takes labor to get it there. Well, when we got to the field, most of the work had already been done for us. All of the entwined vines and leaves that grow above ground had been chopped off and a small power shovel had come along each row and loosened the earth around the potatoes. The kids walked up to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">stubs</span> sticking out, lifted them up and watched the dirt fall off the sweet potatoes. Voila! Satsuma <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">imo</span>! The kids loved it, but I was ready to complain, what the heck?!? What happened to breaking a sweat?!?! It was so much fun for the kids and so easy that they kept pulling and pulling and in about 15 minutes we had two large plastic bags full of sweet potatoes. Stop! Stop! We have to buy these you know!!!! The price was right, 300 yen for one <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">kilo</span>, but we ended up with 10 kilos of sweet potatoes. TEN! I maybe buy five sweet potatoes over the course of fall and winter, what on earth and I going to do with 10 kilos! I think these farmers have a scam running. They make it easy, so you pull out 20 potatoes before you know what has happened. On the way home, the kids and I delivered sweet potatoes to several friends and neighbors. We gave half of the remainder of one bag to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jiji</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Baba</span> and the other half to Aunt Yoshiko. That still left us with more sweet potatoes than I have consumed in the entire time I have lived in Japan. We made sweet potato cakes, had them steamed in all their natural glory, cooked them cubed with the rice, Mina has had sweet potatoes in her lunch box everyday this week, sweet potato tempura and sweet potato fries. I am sweet <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">potatoed</span> out. Then, after school the other day, Mina's friend's mom tried to had me a bag of, you guessed it, sweet potatoes. Sweet lord.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-38926481164364324242009-09-08T16:22:00.002+09:002009-09-08T16:33:08.346+09:00Never Too Early for Communication GapsAfter school today, Mina was babbling randomly as she was supposed to be doing her homework and I was playing around online while I was supposed to be giving my daughter my undivided attention. Something sinks in, she needs to take something to school tomorrow. Oh lord, please don't tell me I have to go back out again after I have just changed into my comfys! She needs lots of colors. I think she has to take balloons? Huh? What? When? Why? They have to be all in a row in the book and it is going to look so pretty. I ask her, you need to take balloons to school?!?!? No! She replies, FUSEN! Isn't that balloon?!?!?! She is stumped. I am stumped. I see the wheels turning, she walks over to the bookshelves and is scanning, scanning, what she is looking for is not there. She walks back to me and says, "Like the thing that is sticking out of the blue book that has all the maps!" Oh! Post-its! You need Post-its! Good thinking, Mina! She didn't know the word for Post-it (is there a generic name?) and she couldn't remember atlas, but she got her point across and, yes, I just happened to have some she could take to school.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-12620220578981456162009-09-06T15:26:00.003+09:002009-09-06T16:01:18.426+09:00Omiyage - SouvenirsEvery time I go to California, of course, I think a lot about all the things I want to do, people I want to see and foods I want to eat; you might be surprised however by how much energy I put into buying souvenirs. Not just for friends and family, but for Toshi's coworkers, the neighbors, Mina's piano teacher and on and on. It is very tricky. First of all, ideally the gift should be something actually produced or from the locale you visited. Do you know how difficult it is to find things made in the USA, let alone California? Secondly, you have to consider the value of the gift. You can't give something thought be too extravagant or you will make your neighbors feel obligated. If you give something too chintzy, it reflects badly on you. Chocolate melts. Oranges don't clear customs. Throw your budget into the mix and it all adds up to nightmares and headaches. Then there is this peculiar quirk of mine where I don't like to buy things just for the sake of buying them. I like to pick something out that I actually think the person I am giving it to might enjoy. This year it was Knott's Berry Farm Shortbread Cookies for the neighbors. Bath and Body Works hand soap for friends. And Lil' Kinz for the kids' friends (I know, I know, not made in the USA, but a very popular US trend that has not yet hit big in Japan). Throw some American snacks and candy into the goody bag and there you have it! Now, I think I have written about all of this before, so this time around I am going to share with you the items we received as omiyage. Sweet potato cookies. Special Hello Kitty furikake (rice seasoning sprinkles) only available from the northern region of Honshu. Kona coffee. A painting of Isamu's name. A flower pin for Mina's hair. Apple flavored Hi-Chew candy available only in a certain part of Japan. Mickey Mouse cookies. An Ariel key chain. It is fun to receive those little bags, handed to you in stealth, with a disparaging word of how uninteresting the contents are, but I wonder, does everyone else stress out about it as much as I do?quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-25572207571254341402009-05-09T22:15:00.002+09:002009-05-09T22:50:52.088+09:00Did you feel it?<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Yah</span>, neither did I. I suppose that is because after I dropped Sam off, I killed 30 minutes in Starbucks before the grocery store opened, did some shopping, returned home to be sucked into the computer, shared lunch with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Toshi</span> and then it was time to head back out again. Behavior like this is not going to cause the ground to shake.<br /><br />People have been asking me what I am going to do with all my time now that both kids are in school, but really, I am not sure where this idea that I'm going to have my hands full of empty hours is coming from. The bottom line is a maximum of nine unscheduled hours a week, subtract from that all the different meetings Japanese schools seem to be so fond of and I don't have much to work with here.<br /><br />Please, don't think me ungrateful. I am going to make the most of these hours and to prove it I will list for you the things I would like to do with my time.<br /><br />Read the newspaper. I mean <em>really</em> read it. Think about it. Question it. Know what is going on in the world again and maybe even form the occasional opinion of my own about those happenings.<br /><br />Tame the jungle. I am not a gardener, but I have begun to envy the spring blossoms in my neighbors' yards and I would love to do something with our little patch of green.<br /><br />Write letters. Because real mail is one of the great pleasures in life and my grandmothers are not online.<br /><br />Make the house presentable. I have always been a slob, however since I am supposed to be a responsible adult now, I figure it is time to make more of an effort in the cleaning department. Japanese people do not often entertain in their homes. This is a big mistake, because how else are you supposed to get motivated to clean?<br /><br />Read more books. I have read an average of 50 books a year for the last few years. This year I set a goal for myself of 75 books. Selfish? Yep.<br /><br />Write the next great American novel. That isn't going to happen, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Toshi</span> has more than once asked me to write the next Harry Potter. . . not as in fantastical children's literature . . . as in a book that becomes an international phenomenon making the author obscenely rich. Okay, honey. I'll get right on that and while I am at it, you discover an inexpensive, renewable source of clean energy! <br /><br />At the very least, I figure I should be able to keep up this blog.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-82546122789533730932009-05-07T16:58:00.002+09:002009-05-07T17:15:23.424+09:00That's My Boy . . .Tomorrow Sam will have his first ever lunch box at school. He is very excited about this, so I thought I would give him some choice in the matter. I asked if he would like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">norimaki</span> or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">onigiri</span> in his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">obento</span>. He answered, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mmmmm</span> . . . . <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">senbei</span>." This is roughly the equivalent of asking someone if they would like mashed potatoes or baked potatoes with dinner and they respond "potato chips!" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Norimaki</span> is rice rolled around various fillings, covered in seaweed paper and cut into bite size cylinders. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Onigiri</span> are often called "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">riceballs</span>" in English, but really, what image does that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">conjure</span>? Rice is pressed into the shape of a triangle around some type of filling, such as salmon or a pickled plum and covered in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">nori</span> (seaweed paper) to make an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">onigiri</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Senbei</span> are baked (or sometimes fried, naturally I prefer the fried ones) rice crackers. Somehow, I don't think the teacher would approve of a box full of rice crackers and yes, they do check. I have heard of mother's being called out for not providing enough variety, enough color, enough balance, enough cutesy inserts to make the lunchbox <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">appealing</span> . . . okay, I am kidding on that last one, but still. With Sam's first school lunch comes Mom's first morning at home on her own. Watch out! The Earth is going to shake!quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-38281621764503535292009-04-07T17:08:00.002+09:002009-04-07T17:23:14.790+09:00Survey Says . . .<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Toshi</span> often asks me to proofread his English business correspondence. Before he sends out any letters, he e-mails them to me. I clean them up and send them back to him. Sometimes I wonder how diligently I should perform this task. Today a letter came through with one of those charming translation quirks often found in letters written in a person's second language and I really had to think about <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">whether</span> or not to change it. You see, I used to work in an office where these quirks were a huge source of entertainment, brightening our days with a break from business as usual. Today <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Toshi</span> wrote a letter requesting a company to send him a "drawing of the guts of the T-4042 for making the parts list in Japanese." The guts?!?!! Isn't that fantastic? I am not making fun of him, the image puts a big smile on my face. Sometimes it is refreshing to encounter these language hiccups. Is it my job to deprive the recipient of the letter the same simple pleasure? It was a tough call. Now, I ask those of you taking the time to read this to weigh in, leave a comment and let me know, would you have left it or changed it and if you would have changed it, what would you have changed it to?quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-67792018434328157662009-04-05T16:12:00.005+09:002009-04-05T16:47:09.807+09:00Things I Love - #3I love the Japanese Postal Service! It is not just the fact that our letter carrier looks like something out of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">anime</span>, racing around on her little red scooter, all of four feet tall, her bangs hanging down in front of her coke bottle glasses, though I do get a cheap thrill each time I see her and she smiles, showing off her slightly buck teeth that are too big for her mouth, but seriously the service is excellent. If you aren't home when a package is delivered, they leave a slip in your mailbox. Okay, pretty standard so far, right? But wait! If you return home by 6 PM, and you call, they will make their way back to your house and deliver your package that very same day! Here in the big city, we have an automated service to call, but back in the good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ol</span>' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Omihachiman</span> days, I used to call the post office and tell them my name (which was pretty much all I could do in Japanese at that time) and they would know exactly who I was and why I was calling and send someone out to my little apartment posthaste to put the care package from home into my eager hands as soon as humanly possible. For someone as big on instant gratification as myself, this alone would rate them five stars in my book. But there is more! On rainy days, they have been known to put my letters and catalogs into plastic bags to keep them from getting damp. One particular Auntie at our local post office adores Mina and Sam and always gives them some treasure or another whenever we visit, from tissue to old fashioned children's toys. My favorite employee in another post office I frequent always checks for the least expensive, most efficient way for me to send my books overseas without me even having to ask. We went to a new post office the other day to buy additional postage for letters we were sending out and the kind woman who helped us got the stamps, handed the envelopes back, gave Mina and Sam each a stamp, showed them the damp sponge on which to wet the stamp, instructed them where to place the stamps, and then praised them for being such wonderful children. I almost wanted to ask her to adopt all three of us, she was so sweet. Awhile ago the Japanese Postal System was privatized and I was worried that it would bring unpleasant changes, but no, I still love Japan Post!quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-83927492536499657002009-04-04T23:13:00.004+09:002009-04-05T16:46:36.170+09:00It finally happened!Today was Mina's first day in the elementary age group classes at the pool. She has been feeling apprehensive about starting elementary school, swimming with the big kids, riding the trains, making new friends and facing all the changes coming her way this week. I have been dealing with lots of this: "I don't want to go to the pool. I don't want to go to school. I want to stay with you forever, Mommy." Today, hurdle one, the pool. Her class is now during a different time slot than Sam's, so she doesn't have her little brother's hand to hold anymore. To make matters worse, we switched our lesson day, so she didn't have any friends at the pool today either. She went without complaint, but the insecure body language was on full display. She couldn't keep her fingers out of her mouth to save her life. Once class started, she was fine and things kept getting better from there. When I went to meet her in the locker room, she quickly noticed that there were no mommies in the changing area with the big girls and said to me, "I am okay by myself!" I know you are sweet pea, and I am so glad you finally figured that out for yourself.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-69547635229134177542009-02-04T00:51:00.003+09:002009-02-04T01:09:57.359+09:00Nimotsu - or - The BaggageI arrive at LAX with one bag. One large suitcase that without fail causes my mother-in-law to exclaim at its <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">enourmous</span> girth upon our departure from Japan and my dad to ask upon our touch down in Southern California, "that's it?" The amount of baggage when I leave the good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ol</span>' US of A? Well, now, that is something to talk about. You see, in that one suitcase are four rolled up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">duffle</span> bags waiting to be filled with my treasures, waiting to bulge with excess, tip scales into the red zone, test the limits of the generous trunk space of my mother's boat and cause the first tiff between <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Toshi</span> and I of the new year. So yes, people wonder, what has she got in there? Besides the Christmas presents we received, which this year included a full size umbrella (okay, I asked for it) and hobby horses (didn't ask for them, but adore them), new clothes for the four of us, English workbooks for the kids, 42 Children's story books and 24 novels for mom, here is a list of the random things I unpacked from the first suitcase: two Thomas wooden wacky tracks (they were 50 percent off!), Planet Earth DVD set, three magazines, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">biscotti</span>, doll clothes, children's vitamins, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">omiyage</span> chocolate, two bags of cookie mix, a framed picture of Tinkerbell in the palm of Mina's hand in from of the castle at Disneyland, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Neutrogena</span> make-up removal sheets (the Japanese ones make my skin sting!), two boxes of hot chocolate (hey, if my mom buys it for me, I am not going to turn it away!), a bag of pink and purple hair accessories for Princess Mina, hot fudge (you just can't get it in Japan), two Mickey mouse sweatshirts, a Monorail (of course it's a toy!), a new raincoat for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Toshi</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">notecards</span>, three shoe boxes of miscellaneous crap (spices, confetti, printer refills, medicine, Sharpies, knitting needles, taco seasoning, scented candles). Things that are cheaper in the US, things that are better in the US, things I can only get in the US and things that give me little spots of sunshine on dark days. Now you know.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-4662212480329575212009-02-04T00:26:00.004+09:002009-02-04T00:47:22.772+09:00The TripHome for the holidays, there is nothing better. Everyone in Japan keeps asking what I did while I was in California, but do they really want to hear about taking a walk with my sister and smiling as her husband lifted Sam up onto his shoulders, playing cards with my mom, checking out the new artwork in my aunt's home, having a slumber party with my sisters, meeting my brother for Super Mex, stocking up on bear hugs from my dad? This trip was all about family. It had been a year since I had been back and I only had two weeks to soak up the love. I was busy! Still, it was so great to browse in a bookstore where I could actually read the books, to try on clothes in shops where things actually fit, to place an order for coffee without confusion because the person behind the counter was not stunned by the Japanese words coming out of the American mouth. We went to Disneyland. I went to a King's game. Walked around Target for hours. I played Wii for the first time ever. I laughed. A lot. I ate. A lot. Enchiladas, nachos, burritos, tamales and best of all, my mom's chorizo breakfast. I drove. Pig man and his daughter descended upon the movie theatre. We celebrated Mina's 6th birthday at American Girl Place. I ate lunch with my father on California Pizza Kitchen's patio. Made egg rolls. Drank Cherry Coke. Had the best Sunday brunch of my life - yes, the food was good, but mostly I think it was the company.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-23571631438737411052008-12-17T21:50:00.003+09:002008-12-17T22:11:53.783+09:00My Mother's DaughterI was looking for the satisfaction of retail therapy and decided I would take advantage of the 25 percent off everything sale Eddie Bauer was having. They were also <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">offering</span> free shipping on orders over $100, so I couldn't pass it up, besides I think I am the only mom in the school who doesn't have tall boots to wear with her skirts in winter. I used to think tall boots were a fashion statement I didn't need to make when I lived in California, but now that I live <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">somewhere</span> where the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">temperature</span> regularly drops low enough that you can see your own breathe, I realize they actually serve a purpose! I went through the entire process of adding the boots to shopping cart, entering in my addresses and then . . . THEN . . . the site would not let me enter in two promotion codes at one time. WHAT? So much for that shopper's high I was after, now I was ticked. I sent an e-mail to customer service and turned off my computer in a huff. The next morning, I had a reply waiting for me, stating that if I went ahead and placed the order, then e-mailed customer service with my order number, they would refund the shipping charges. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. I hope the boots fit. Now, the above story might seem normal, but I really started to worry about myself this morning.<br /><br />Sam and I took Mina to school, ran a few errands and had about 20 minutes before the department store opened and we could shop for a new umbrella to replace the one that had just broken in a gust of wind. Sam doesn't like Starbucks. We went to Mr. Donuts on Monday. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">McDonald's</span> is a bit of a walk from the station and we were umbrella-less on a rainy day. I suggested to Sam that we try a new place. Tully's coffee shop. We get to the counter and I ask about children's drinks. The cashier apologizes, but they don't have any special drinks for children. I say fine and order a short orange juice for Sam. She rings it up and the register displays the price of 390 yen. Four dollars for orange juice?!?!?! Mind you, it was "Valencia Blood Orange Juice," but Sam is three, like he cares! Instead of sucking it up, I told the lady, "I am sorry, but 390 yen is too much to pay for a child's drink, we will go somewhere else." As we walked out the door, I thought to myself, "Oh my god, it has happened, I have officially turned into my mother."quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-38115001760663043172008-12-14T15:54:00.004+09:002008-12-15T22:05:05.173+09:00faux pasI can't sew. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Pre</span>schools in Japan require an unbelievable number of little bags that should, if possible, be hand sewn by mom. Seriously. Mina has: a gear bag, a bag for indoor shoes, a bag for outdoor shoes, a bag for her PE clothes, a bag for her lunch box, a bag for her cup. Okay, so that is only six little bags, but it seems like a lot when you don't have a clue as to how to make them. I was in a panic about the bags Sam would be needing before he had even been accepted to the school. Every year the moms organize a bazaar at the preschool and sell all of these little bags. Different moms make them and all the proceeds go to UNICEF.<br /><br />I put Sam in daycare, took the early train and was one of the first in line to enter the bazaar. My mission: to purchase a gear bag with a boy's design. The gear bags go quickly and I didn't even know if there would be one designed for boys available; I'd be happy with something neutral. I made a beeline for the table where the precious navy rectangles were laid out. There were two boyish designs! One, I loved. It had cross <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">stitched</span> red double <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">decker</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">buses</span> all the way around, the design was simple, but it cost about $65.00. Ouch! The other had a helicopter, a quad, a boat and a bicycle sewn on by machine. They looked like patches. The lining didn't match and the back had a line of random ribbon with anchors sewn <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">across</span> it. I didn't really like it, but it was $45.00 and I figured Sam would prefer it. In spite of my fears of jinxing Sam chances by purchasing his gear bag before he had even had his interview, I bought the bag. I wasn't really happy with it, but it was better than anything I could make.<br /><br />Fast forward, two months later. We are riding home on the train. Mina's friend's mom, making conversation, asks me if I have all of Sam's bags ready. I tell her that I bought a bag at the bazaar, but don't really like the design. She then <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">proceeds</span> to tell me that she made a boy's design gear bag for the bazaar, but she didn't see it on sale, maybe one of the bazaar committee members bought it. She worked so hard on it, it had four different vehicles on it, she was really happy with the way it turned out. Gulp. I glance down at her daughter's gear bag. It has those machine sewn, patch type designs on it. Brenda, you idiot! You can't go around telling the mothers you don't like something you bought at the bazaar - THE OTHER MOTHERS MAKE THE STUFF FOR THE BAZAAR!!!! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">AAAAARRRRGGHHHH</span>! I am 100 percent certain that the bag I bought for Sam is the bag that was made by Mina's friend's mom. Now he can't use it. Now the second school bazaar, where they had really cute boy designs for a change that I didn't buy because I already had a bag I didn't like and didn't want to waste it or any more money, has come and gone. I will have one more chance to buy a gear bag. Sam may end up with flowers or kittens or ballerinas on his gear bag. The bag I bought didn't jinx Sam's entrance in to the school, but it is certainly cursed! I will donate the dreadful thing to the school bazaar next year. UNICEF loves me.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-22219561083198244152008-12-13T21:32:00.003+09:002008-12-13T22:04:20.262+09:00Second ThoughtsA few weeks ago, Mina had to attend a health check at the local elementary school. Even though she will not be attending the school, the principal of our preschool advised us to go the health check because our elementary school does not have one. So, we took Mina out of preschool early and headed over the local elementary school. The campus is about a three minute walk from our house. On the way, we met up with some neighbors who were also heading to the health check. Mina was happy to see her friend, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Natsumi</span>, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">playdate</span> buddy since before either of them could walk. The two girls held hands as we worked our way through the different stations of the health check. The school building is very old, but it had a cheerful atmosphere. The halls were decorated colorfully with the children's artwork; every classroom surface displayed Japanese calligraphy or photo essays. The teachers were kind and helpful and the checks were completed efficiently. The mothers joked about the scent of cafeteria food lingering in the air and the really strange thing is that it is the same cafeteria smell as in the States! How can that be? I know the menus are different! As I laughed with the other mothers and Mina smiled with her longtime friend, I began to have second thoughts. Did we do the right thing, putting her into a private school? Is this school so bad? Maybe we made a mistake? When I think about her riding the train everyday, I often wonder if it is worth it. Plus, the little "outskirts of the big city" local school has only 52 first graders this year. That means two classes of twenty six children. The class size at Mina's school is shocking - 42 girls in one class. Then, I remember that the local school consistently has low test scores in comparison to other Yokohama schools. Then, I heard that when Mina's was in the classroom with the teacher during the interview portion of the check, they played a game of rock-scissors-paper where the teacher tells them what she is going to be and they have to figure out how to beat her. This is a game SAM plays in his little class! When we got home after the check, I decided to ask Mina. Where do you want to go to school, Mina? She chose her private school. Whew.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-6818098171358322432008-12-12T22:10:00.003+09:002008-12-12T22:42:02.836+09:00Thankful for ThanksgivingIf Christmas is approaching too quickly for you, allow me to take you back to Thanksgiving. I always battle with myself over whether or not I am going to do Thanksgiving. This year the decision was taken out of my hands when a friend invited himself over for Thanksgiving dinner. I decided to make it a party and invited another family. So, we had three crazy Americans, two bewildered Japanese husbands and four wild Indians (read children ages 3-7). I ordered a turkey from <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.fbcusa.com"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">FBC</span></a>, my first turkey ever! When I told my mom it weighed 8 pounds, she told me that I didn't have a turkey, I had a big chicken. What can I say? I was more concerned about it fitting into my Japanese oven than I was about having enough to feed everyone. I started to stress about the delivery of the turkey. I feared it wouldn't defrost in time. I started to fret over the fact that I planned to cheat with instant mashed potatoes (oh my gosh they taste so good, I never knew, please don't tell my mother). I started to worry that my guests would not like my stuffing, that the turkey wouldn't cook, that I would run out of drinks, or someone would find a hair in their piece of pie. Then, once I started to make the stuffing and the smell of butter, onions, celery and sage started to fill my home, I relaxed, smiled and was grateful my friend decided we needed to have Thanksgiving. My mom sent seasonal napkins, confetti and other festive decorations. I used my Aunt's china that I brought back from the States last Christmas. Broke out the only item I ever had in my non-existent hope chest - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Lenox</span> crystal wine glasses and filled them with cola because none of us are drinkers! My friend brought her Waterford serving utensils for her vegetables and we pretended we were sophisticated grown ups. Then we proceeded to laugh so hard and so much that the <em>kids</em> told <em>us</em> <em>we</em> were being too loud and had better settle down. It was great. It felt great. It tasted great. And I hope it will become a great tradition.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-87014944448396556682008-11-18T06:39:00.003+09:002008-11-18T06:41:29.912+09:00You Know You Live In Japan When . . . .You walk into the living room and discover that your children have organized a Grand Sumo Tournament for their stuffed animals. Just in case you were wondering, the Bullfrog beat the German <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Shepherd</span>.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-34340039969381990452008-11-06T22:40:00.002+09:002008-11-06T22:50:14.343+09:00You Deserve a Break TodayWhen I first arrived in Japan, I was excited to discover an unfamiliar menu item at McDonald's. A Bacon Potato Pie. It was just like the Apples Pies, but filled with creamy potatoes and savory bacon bits instead. Yum. And in Japan, they still deep fry the pies. This thing was so good, I could not figure out why they didn't offer them in the States. Then one day, my new found friend just up and disappeared. Well, guess what?<br /><br />"Now, Come Back! KARI KARI outside, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">TORORI</span> inside <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ATSU</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ATSU</span> mashed potatoes and tasty bacon. . . Good for your snack time!"<br /><br />That is what is says on the pie sleeve and I can't say it any better. You have to count the simple pleasures in life.<br /><br />So there you have it, the Autumn 2008 McDonald's Japan Update. . . reporting to you live with crumbs on my shirt.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27656325.post-3273037064929615982008-11-06T22:38:00.003+09:002008-11-16T21:23:29.104+09:00Money, Money, MoneyThe yen was so strong last week that when Toshi went to the bank, they were SOLD OUT of Traveler's Checks in US Dollars and Euros. Crazy.quondamdreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17474410748120994861noreply@blogger.com0