Tokyo

We are back in Osaka now. Uta says Tokyo was as sticky as glue. In Japanese the apt description is mushi atsui, which means humid, but directly translates as 'bug-hot'. Our time in Tokyo was equally split between visiting family and friends and seeing super-hero shows. There is much I want to write about but that will have to wait. Our trip is quickly spinning to a close, every day remaining is packed with much to do. Today we embark on another road trip, off to the seaside with Baba and Jiji to soak in a hot spring.

How to be bad...

Papa H was a troublemaker in his youth. Uta and I both love to hear stories of his bad doings, particularly because they are just so Japanese. Since we arrived in Japan Uta has been asking to hear again and again how Pop used to poke a wet finger through the shoji screens in his home. Why, Uta wants to know, with his own mischievous sparkle glinting in his eyes, would Pop do such a thing?

Today Uta got to experience for himself a taste of being bad, Papa style. Baba and Jiji will soon change the papers of the shoji screens, so Uta was allowed to poke to his heart's content.

Like being the first to track footprints after a snowfall, there is great satisfaction in destroying a pristine surface. I don't have such tales from my own childhood; no doubt I was too shy to purposefully attract that kind of attention. But Grandma S wasn't too shy. Uta cherishes the story she tells of punching her fist deep into her brother's birthday cake. Maybe that reenactment is next.

Tokyo here we come!

Papa has finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. Did I mention that I have been living with my in-laws for the past three weeks? That aspect of my experience in Japan is everything you would expect and more. A little escape is just what I need, and luckily we are on our way to Tokyo. I hope to post from the road, but if not, there will be lots of updating on our return.

Omedetou Uta

After a full week in school Uta is not speaking fluent Japanese, but he is shoveling rice into his mouth at top speed in true Japanese kid style. He is singing new songs, ones I do not know, but ones that Baba and Jiji proudly join in with after just a couple notes of recogniton. The teacher said he rarely spoke a word, but he ate, and he slept, and he played big. And everyday afterwards Uta said it was really fun. And for that, it was a flying success. It is amazing to me how such a little fellow can muster up so much courage. He was terrified to go the first couple of days, but his resolve was steadfast. I know little of what really went on at school. Every day I asked tons of leading questions, a little desperate to string together all the details. But long gone are the days of knowing intimately every minute of his days. He is carving out his own independence one triumph after another. And me, I am bobbing in his wake, proud, to say the very least.

Baba and Jiji honored him with a whole Tai fish. Tai is an auspicous fish, often eaten on special occassions. The word 'Tai' is the last sound in the word 'Omedetai' which means 'Happiness'. The word 'Omedetai' is closely linked to the word 'Omedetou' which means 'Congratulations'.

Lets go Tigers!

I always thought cheerleaders were girls in super short skirts with toxic smiles who entertained drunken sports enthusiasts during lulls in the game, like half times and what not. Granted I am not a sports enthusiast, maybe you can tell, but I have grown to tolerate baseball, maybe even like it, a little. I have no choice, I am surrounded by people who love the game. Anyway I've always been glad that baseball has no cheerleaders, except the fanatic in the stands who desperately wants to marry the shortstop and jumps and jiggles waving a poster board proposal above her head. Where am I going with this? Oh yeah, in Japan I have discovered the true meaning of the word cheerleader, and it has nothing to do with long legs.

Uta and I went to a Hanshin Tigers game (the local big league team). (In the above photo Uta is seated with his great Aunt and Uncle. Jiji and Baba could not accompany us because of the funeral mentioned previously.) The experience put American baseball to shame. In Japan every stadium has cheerleaders, I mean real cheerleaders who actually lead the crowd in cheers. They are more like conductors, the whole stadium packed with fans their orchestra. They are dressed a lot like soccer referees, sporty track suits in team colors and bright white gloves. They are spaced at even intervals around the stadium so that no matter where you are seated several are easily visible. Trumpeteers and drummers in the same uniform are positioned close by, together they have the entire stadium cheering, and singing (and even taunting the other team) in unison from the start of the game to the finish. The vendors double as roaming cheerleaders, singing out at the top of their lungs, all the while selling beer and ice cream without missing a beat.

Uta observed the following differences between NY baseball and that in Japan. The ball boy chased after the batter once on base to retrieve his glove. When the pitcher is changed, the new one is driven out in a tiny golf car shaped like a baseball. Everyone in the stands brings these baseball bat shaped clackers with them that they bang along with the cheers. For Uta, the highlight of the game was the releasing of screaming balloons. Around the seventh inning all the fans blew up enormous balloons and then on cue released them. The balloons went spiraling straight up into the sky, whistling loudly until they ran out of air, and then plummetted to the ground, where a crew of people were waiting to collect them.

The Aunt we visited in the hospital passed away. Baba returned home early from work to deliver the news. Jiji soon followed and a long series of phone calls pursued, all spoken in a loud formal voice. Baba sat next to him flipping through her address book, finding number after number to add to the line up. Between calls, hushed exchanges between Baba and Jiji, and then the occasional update of events floated in my direction. After the calls were finished Jiji put a drop of black ink directly on the kitchen table and with a long thin brush filled out the backs of two white envelopes, one tied with black and white ribbon, the other with silver. Jiji looked at me, gestured toward the silver one and in english he said, 'big money inside'. They quickly dressed all in black, explained that Uta and I were on our own for dinner, and then were out the door.

Around ten that night I received a rather cryptic call from Baba. They were about ten minutes from home, and could I please do something with the salt or the sugar? Something about the milk box outside? Baffling. (You see, the problem with my Japanese is that I understand maybe every fourth or fifth word, which is pretty good, but still completely useless.) Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. Uta ran to answer it. Baba and Jiji stretched their heads to the doorway, being extremely careful not to step in front of it, and asked Uta to bring them the salt. In Uta's words, they dumped some on the ground and then they walked through it.

The next day, Baba went early to have her hair done. They again put on formal black clothing, Baba in a long black dress and pearls, Jiji in a black summer suit, and then got set to go. When I asked what time they would return Baba said she had no idea. After the body was cremated everyone would pick through the ashes for all the remaining bits of bone. There's no telling how long that might take she said. At least, that's what I think she said.

Homesick

Last night Uta had his first bout of homesickess since we arrived. We have been here two weeks already. He cried. Mostly it was a longing for his toys and an uncertainty that our apartment in New York is in fact still there. I reassured him that it was. I dug my house keys out from the bottom of my suitcase and he embraced them like a long lost friend. I told him if he wished we could return to New York in the morning, but he quickly refused my offer. He doesn't want to go home, he said, he just misses home. Fair enough. He fell asleep with the house keys in his hand.

After school the next day we went to the bakery... Uta could choose whatever he liked. He picked a donut, french toast and a mango shake. (It never hurts to sweeten the experience now and then!) Just as we were leaving the sky turned dark and it started to thunder and pour. We had to wait out the storm at the bookstore nearby. We looked through assorted picture books about ghosts and warring insects. Then the sun broke through and we picked one book to buy before returning home, a book called 'Ghost Train'. There are hardly any words, except the sound of the train and the announcing of station stops along the train's journey. Each page is crammed full of harrowing figures, and gruesome details. Uta can't get enough of it.

There are some grandparents out there that are prone to worry, you know who you are. So for you I will conclude by saying that the homesickness was fleeting. By morning there was no trace of it at all.

Four Walls

Some may think it odd to travel so many miles to stay within the confines of four walls, but that is exactly what I plan to do this week. Uta is in school, his first full week. Last week he only went one day because the school was going to the mountains for a camping trip. But this week he is off to school by nine and doesn't return home until four in the afternoon. It is a very short walk to school, no need to allot time for drop off and pick up like in New York. So for seven hours each day I have the luxury of solitude, which I relish. It is an extravagance to be plucked from my responsibilites. At home there are always errands to run, and I am a master of putting everything and anything ahead of what I love to do. But at present there are absolutely no excuses hanging before me, I am gifted with a mini sabbatical in Japan, and I am using every minute of it to draw.

The room is spare, but lovely. Six tatami mats, sliding paper doors, nice soft white light filtering through. I can't wait to see what manifests.

At the playground...

At the playground this morning an old man emerged from the bamboo surrounding the park. He was wearing pajamas, holding a walking stick with one hand, a baseball with the other. He walked towards us, tossed the ball at Uta's feet, muttering all the while, and then disappeared again into the bamboo.

Language gap

Yesterday when I woke up, a long (Long!) letter was waiting for me at my spot at the table, it was written in Japanese. I worked at it for some time, trying my best to assimilate the words, but its exact meaning evaded me. It had to do with chopstick etiquette, of that I was certain, and it was also clear that I had commited some chopstick faux pas the previous night at dinner, but the details of that blunder were unclear to me. Later a long explanation took place, Baba and Jiji both doing their best to make me comprehend, but no, not even a spark of understanding. Next, a game of charades, but still no. All their efforts were futile. Still I have no idea exactly what they were trying to tell me. Oh well.

Conversations between myself and Baba and Jiji are like that, each one a small mountain to traverse. My day is peppered with tiny Everests. Sometimes I choose to go around them, opting to be misunderstand, the effort just too great and my Japanese too lacking. I weigh the importance of true understanding at every moment. To what end will it bring? At times I do forge through the language barrier, offering bits and pieces of broken Japanese in hopes of understanding. When we are able to truly communicate it is like a window of light being opened.

Birdland

Toy Addict

Now I am forgetting English...or maybe they don't have a name. What are those machines called that dispense gumballs and super balls? In Japan they are called 'Gachya-gachya' and are a completely different breed than their associates in the States. Uta is addicted. You can find them everywhere, sometimes just a few and other times a whole wall lined with them. Uta is pulled to them like a magnet, his eyeballs spinning with desire. They cost 100 to 300 yen, which is roughly 1 to 3 dollars. But here 100 yen is a coin and feels like a quarter to me, so some how they are more easy to part with. Uta is fast growing a collection. Here is what he has amassed so far.

Ikebana

Yesterday we joined Baba in her monthly flower arranging class. The teacher and two other students come to Baba's house. They have been doing this together every month for the past thirty years or so. The students make two very traditional arrangements under the watchful eye of the teacher, then they all clean up and indulge in something sweet. (On this occasion it was green tea, a cream puff and red bean pudding.)

Uta was allowed to use any discarded scraps that hit the floor. He busied himself collecting all the snipped stems and fallen buds. He then stuck the buds into the stems and created his own flowers. The teacher was blown away. She said he has a very natural sense. When Jiji returned home from work he asked him for two real flowers from the garden and added them to his arrangement.



I got to try my hand at an arrangement that loosely translates as 'bent stripe', I think. I was shocked when the teacher insisted I take these long elegant flowers and bend them in half. I thought she was teasing me, which she is prone to do, but no. The bent stems create these wildly sharp triangles that you can arrange every which way like I did, or organize them in one single direction for a totally different effect. The result was an arrangement that was quite light and fun, another student remarked that it felt like a cool breeze.



The third arrangement pictured below is Baba's. She is quite advanced in Ikebana, and from what I could gather this particular design is quite difficult.

Tanabata

Tanabata (Star Festival) is based on a chinese legend about two lovers, Kengyuu (the star Alter) and Orihime (the star Vega), who are separated by a great river, the Milky Way. Only once a year, on July seventh, are the two lovers able to meet. On this night Japanese people celebrate by writing wishes on small pieces of paper called tanzaku and hanging the wishes, along with origami ornaments, on branches of bamboo.

Uta wished for toys. Jiji wished that Uta would eat well and grow big.

Old me

I just had a birthday. On the morning of my birthday Uta saw my wedding photo on the bureau and was astonished at how young I was then. No, I protested, I look exactly the same, don't I? No, he said, one of your eyes is growing smaller than the other. When I checked the mirror, a single white hair was poking out from the top of my head like a flag of surrender. Later Baba showed me how to shave off the calluses on my feet with a razor. Happy Birthday.

That afternoon we went to the Tachibana cemetery plot to clear the weeds that had grown up through the gravel, prune the bushes and replace the dried up flowers with fresh ones. We washed the tombstone with a scouring pad and water, lit incense and candles and prayed for the good health and happiness of our friends and family.

Afterwards we visited a dying aunt in the hospital. She was sleeping when we arrived. Uta stood beside her and studied her monitors. When she awoke she stared at Uta for a long time, tears welled up in her eyes.

To formally celebrate my birthday, Jiji and Baba took us out to dinner.

When I put Uta to sleep that night he was sad. He said he tried to ask Baba to help him make a cake for me but she didn't understand. She thought he just wanted to eat cake and kept saying no. The next day I explained this to Baba and she snuck off with Uta to buy a cake at the bakery. He chose one covered with whipped cream and fruits. It tasted like a cloud.

For Papa

Poppo

A few days ago Uta went for an informal interview at a school a few blocks from our house. (The name of the school is Poppo. Poppo is the sound a pigeon makes.) I admit it took a small bribe to get him willing, the idea terrified him. But after seeing the classroom he was really enthusiastic about the prospect. Its brimming with toys, train sets, and legos. There are several tanks of tadpoles, and a crayfish. When we peeked in all the kids were wearing their pajamas (it was just after nap), running wild in every direction. It felt like walking into the middle of a flock of chickens. Uta was awestruck.



His first day was a success. When we arrived in the morning one of the teachers was sitting at the piano leading the entire school in song. When she spotted Uta she asked some boys to move over a bit to clear a spot for him. Uta was visibly nervous, walking stiffly to his seat, but he gave me a thumbs up, our signal that its ok for me to go.

I picked him up right after lunch, a half-day so as not to overwhelm him. When I met him he was pouting because he didn't want to leave early. He told me he already has lots of friends and he thinks maybe everyone wants to play with him the most but he's not sure about that yet. The teacher made him this red origami airplane to take home.