Hey, where's the peacock?

I have come face to face with a very ripe deadline. In exactly fifteen days I have to send a healthy lot of drawings to Istanbul for a show. As of today, there is nothing finished. Commence panic mode. I must confess I love the crunch time of a deadline, so rare is it to have one post school, I tend to savour the madness of it. Uta however...

He let it slip that he hates drawing. What?! He tried to laugh it off, but its true, I have not given birth to someone who likes to draw. Drawing as a means to play he's all for, if it can be cut out, reassembled and transformed into an action figure, he's on board. But just tacked to a wall, lying flat like mine, not his cup of tea. The photos seen here may lead one to believe otherwise. This drawing session lasted about thirty seconds, only long enough to snap these pictures. Oh well.

Uta prefers to observe. When I am drawing he often comes to comment on my progress. Today he was delighted to spot a peacock in one of the drawings. But a couple hours later when he checked again the peacock was gone. He cried. He decided the peacock was just wearing a dress and then went back to his legos.

Tamaki-chan

This is possibly the cutest little girl in all of Japan, and without a doubt the only Japanese speaker I can truly understand, though very likely she would say otherwise. But most of the time our conversations stayed on topics I could follow, and for that I owe her a big thank you. We talked about liking the color pink, being hungry, how it hurts to fall, and how super hero shows are not really very fun at all. Tamaki-chan is the youngest of the Noda clan (see previous post).

Tomodachi

During our stay in Japan, the only time Uta asked me how to say something in Japanese was when we were on our way to Narita airport to return home to NY. Our friends, the Noda family, were giving us a ride and a proper send off, with lots of waving and hand shaking. Papa Noda is an old friend of Papa H's. Over the years their friendship has grown right along with their families. Now we are all quite fond of each other, particularly Uta and their son Kiichi, who is just nine months older than Uta. Uta and Kiichi understand very few of each others words but remarkably they always seem to be in sync with what the other is saying. Together they conspired and giggled and battled their fathers, fortifying a friendship that may just last a lifetime.

Usually kids don't concern themselves with translations, which is why they learn new languages so swiftly, the route they take to understanding is direct, unencumbered with futile words from the old language. (I, on the other hand, can not say a single Japanese word without clarifying it in my mind with at least thirty english words. Slow doesn't begin to describe the speed at which I speak Japanese.) On this one occasion, however, when we were riding to the airport, Uta wanted to be certain that there was no misunderstanding. He turned to me and solemnly asked, "How do you say, Come to New York if you want to?" I told him. Then he turned to Kiichi. It took him a good five minutes to muster the courage to invite Kiichi to visit us in NY. Kiichi just smiled and softly grunted yes.

(Tomodachi means friend.)

Mandy

This is Uta’s pen pal Mandy. She sends Uta long hand written letters, sometimes with tiny (and silly) illustrations drawn in the margins that make Uta laugh. They are happy letters. Uta is always ecstatic when one arrives, for him (and me) it’s like discovering a buried treasure amongst the bills and junk that ordinarily crowds our mailbox. I think there is nothing better than getting a real letter in the mail. Today Uta received one on our way out. I read it to him while we walked to the train. Her letters are always loaded with delightful tidbits from her life, colorful details of everyday happenings that fill Uta’s mind with vibrant pictures. After I got through reading the letter I didn’t say anything, opting instead to let Mandy’s stories drift along with us in the silence as we walked. Uta smiled to himself for three full blocks before uttering a single word. (That’s a long time for Uta not to talk.) Then he said, ‘I love her.’

(Recently we got to visit Mandy in Maine. She gave Uta this party hat to prepare him for his upcoming birthday and generously let him run around abusing her camera.)

Living with balloons

I have never been able to interest Uta in a birthday party for himself, at least not one that included kids his own age. He got close to agreeing to it this year, he talked about sending out cards with yes or no printed on them, depending on if the recipient was invited or not. He even went so far as to whisper to his friend Willa on a recent play date that she would get a Yes card, but maybe not her baby brother. Not a very kind way to host a party, but in the end it was all a great big bluff, he refused to invite anyone.

Instead he had a birthday celebration in many parts over the course of several days. It kicked off with the balloons, and a small present. Two days later I baked a belated but much anticipated flourless chocolate cake with fresh whipped cream and raspberries, and Uta received a whopper of a present from Baba and Jiji, smuggled home in our suitcase from Japan. (Uta is mystified by this. How could it be that he was living under the same roof with such a glorious gift and completely unaware of its existence? How could I manage to get it home without him seeing it?) The following Day Pop took him to Coney Island to ride the free fall to his heart's content and splash about in the surf. And yesterday Grandpa T came with a present for every one of Uta's six years and the one thing Uta cherishes above and beyond all else, the willingness to lie on the floor and play. Grandpa T played, without breaks, for a good seven hours straight.

We are still living with more balloons than I care to count. A few have popped, several have shriveled, but most are healthy and strong, making a clear path through our railroad apartment a very far off dream. Uta thinks being six is fantastic.

Birthday boy

On the morning of his birthday, Uta woke up with his right ear beet red and swollen beyond recognition. We were upstate at Grandma's house and the previous evening Uta had squeezed his head between the posts of an old fence to get a closer look at some cows. At the moment there was no visible damage to the ear, no scrapes even, but by morning it was itchy beyond belief, and truly enormous, like one of Dopey's ears from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. On the train ride back down to the city the ear went from bad to worse, developing an oozing puss from the outer rim. I don't like the inexplicable when it comes to Uta's health, so as soon as we got to Grand Central I called his doctor and set up an appointment for later that day (twenty minutes later to be exact). After a mad rush to the lower east side, and a rather brisk visit with the doctor, we still had no answers as to why Uta had morphed into a very good likeness of Dopey. The doctor guessed it was an allergic reaction to something and not an infection and scribbled out a couple prescriptions, one topical and one oral.

When we finally got home it was after three, Uta was exhausted, and more than a little desperate to properly celebrate his birthday. I had hoped to get home the day before in order to make some special birthday arrangements, but aside from a gift stashed, unwrapped, on the top shelf of our closet, I had nothing. But when we opened the door to our apartment we were both blown away. Papa H had assembled a giant birthday greeting out of Legos and carpeted every inch of the floor with a rainbow of balloons. It was like walking into the middle of a field of poppies. Uta waded through the balloons completely awe struck and giddy. It took Uta some time before he believed that Pop could have created such a wonder, for him it was simply magic.

Uta is 6 !

In Japan...

You can buy giant live beetles at Toys R Us called Kabuto-mushi. When Papa H was a kid they captured them the old fashioned way, with a net at the park. Today there are none to be found at the park, so you'll have to go to the mall and spend about ten bucks. But that will just get you one, and that isn't any fun, because I assume anything with a giant horn protruding from its forehead is meant to fight. You will also need a cage and these little mini jello cups that apparently they like to eat. Kabuto-mushi are not only pets, they have inspired a whole subculture all their own. I have seen robots, action figures, amusement park rides, and of course superheroes, all in the likeness of this infamous beetle.

Metamorphosis of a Ninja (from Japan)

Home = Legos

We are still acclimating to New York, jet lag gripping our ankles, making our every step labored and slow. It’s already been one week, but going backwards in time is grueling. We left Tokyo at 7:30 on a Tuesday night and arrived in NYC at 7:00 that same Tuesday night. I don’t really understand why the change is so taxing on the body, going to Japan, jumping ahead in time, isn’t half as difficult. But this feels like running against the wind on a grand scale, like challenging the direction of the earth's rotation, if that were somehow possible.

On my first day out in New York I am struck by the sight of so many curves. Japan is not a land of hips and bellies. For the past five weeks I felt like the only woman in the country with a sizeable ass. Not everyone is bone thin, but it does appear to be the norm. Japanese legs somehow bypass the butt altogether and connect directly to the back, an anatomical feat I may never understand.

Riding the subway is a surreal experience; I can understand what people are saying! At first I think I am reading their minds. This is amazing. I’m a super hero! Oh wait, it's English, my native tongue. But still it feels miraculous to understand and to be understood. The first few days back I am uncharacteristically extroverted and chatty with strangers, delighting in how effortless communication can be.

For Uta being home has meant one thing, Legos!

Crash landing

I was raised with a healthy dose of religious skepticism (or maybe I should say resentment). Both my parents abandoned the church going/grace saying practices of their parents in exchange for more agnostic viewpoints. My own study of spirituality has lead me to the understanding that at their heart most religions are not bad, in fact they seem to be teaching the exact same thing. What I have gleaned to be most important is being present, being grateful, and being kind.

But a funny thing happens when I am sitting in an airplane taxiing for take off, all that contemplative thought goes out the window. The last traces of ancestral Catholicism coursing through my blood rises up. If I had rosary beads handy I would most certainly pull them out and through some divine inspiration know exactly what to do with them. I am all formalities, ‘dear god’, clenched hands, the whole shebang, praying repeatedly for our safe flight. This soliloquy of pleading is more superstition than prayer, the only defense I have against the visions of spontaneous combustion, detaching wings, and maniacal pilots that try to push their way into my thoughts.

Uta is more pragmatic in his flight preparations. He calmly reads the safety manual along with the flight attendants instructional video. Afterwards he recaps for me how to evacuate the plane in the case of a crash landing (he knows I haven’t been listening). He is not the least bit scared to fly, he finds all the reassurance he needs in knowing the key differences between land and sea rescues.

Ninjas are real!

Ropes course (Highlight from Japan)

Lonely

Our last night with Baba and Jiji was tearful. All the ordinary events of our daily life were suddenly saturated with the knowledge that it will be a very long time until we can do these things together again; the last time Uta will sprint to the fridge to retrieve another beer for Jiji, the last time Baba will prepare a whole fish in Uta’s honor. Baba busied herself with the cooking and the cleaning up, all the while repeating the same words over and over again to no one in particular. Jiji hummed in agreement. ‘Come again soon’, she was saying, ‘I will be waiting'. A word I did not know kept coming up, I asked for the meaning. Baba thumbed through the Japanese/English dictionary (always close at hand during our visits) and quickly settled on a page. With her index finger glued to the word, she extended the dictionary out for me to see. ‘Lonely’ it said. She will be lonely after we are gone.

White Toast and Coffee

I don't know how it could be, I've come to Japan and gotten completely hooked on dry white toast and instant coffee. In the land of possibly the freshest food on earth (yes, some so fresh it is in fact still moving when it reaches the table, the last twitches of life expressed right before consumption) I have developed an appetite for all that is stale, white, and completely devoid of any nutritional value. Please note, I am not a coffee drinker, normally I steer clear of bread all together, but suddenly that's the stuff I crave. Maybe it's the American in me rising up, demanding a little mediocrity, a tiny taste of home.

I love Japan, but I hate to travel. My stomach protests even the slightest variation in routine. And for the past two weeks we have been living like gypsies, sleeping in assorted beds, eating anything and everything offered to us. My stomach has quit, happy only with dry toast and coffee, light and sweet. And my brain? That quit a long time ago. After two weeks here I was filled to capacity with Japanese and have been tredding in a sort of language paralysis ever since. I guess its good we will be going back to New York tomorrow. I need to be back in my own home. But there is much to miss about Japan, and so our return home is heavy with sadness.

Forgive me for not staying current with entries. Our agenda shifted into high gear when Papa H joined us, suddenly no time to even catch our breath (a contributing factor no doubt to the sorry state of my stomach). I have a long list of things I want to write about, but I think I will only be able to gather my thoughts after we have come to a complete stop.