We got to experience two of the most common natural disasters in Japan this weekend. Fortunately, both were extremely mild examples, and neither one required us to evacuate or even break out the flashlight from the emergency kit.
The weekend kicked off with a visit from TS15, also known as Tropical Storm Sinlaku. We'd been watching this on-again/off-again typhoon for over a week as it ambled northeast across the Pacific. After several days' delayed arrival, forecasts finally called for rain to begin Friday night and last through Saturday afternoon, with total accumulations of 250mm (almost 10 inches for all you non-metric folks). Winds were forecast to increase throughout the night and end up sustained at 45 mph with gusts to 65 mph. Well, the weather forecasters here are nearly as accurate as the ones in the States. About all they got right was the time the inclement weather would start. Rain was steady, but light--significantly less than 250mm. It was accompanied by three bolts of lightning, one of which knocked out power for about two minutes. There was a stiff breeze, with a few stronger gusts--not even powerful enough to pull the dead blooms off the hibiscus tree. The whole thing was over and done by about 3 a.m. By the time we got up Saturday morning, the sun was out! I've seen worse thunderstorms in Virginia.
Our second encounter with Mother Nature’s grumpy side came at 7:17 a.m. this morning. We were still sleeping, since earlier in the week Jim had declared Sunday a day of rest (he was tired from his trip last week, and had no chance to catch up this week due to a hectic schedule). I was in the middle of a dream when my body started trembling. As I was coming to consciousness, my first thought was that Jim was having some sort of convulsions, causing the bed to shake. Then he raised himself up and the shaking continued, so I thought I was having some sort of convulsions. Finally it clicked that we were having an earthquake. By the time I asked Jim, “Are we having an earthquake?” it was over. It wasn’t even strong enough to make the dishes rattle in the cabinets. We went back to sleep, and later in the morning I checked the internet for details. The magnitude 4.8 quake was a 3 on the shindo scale (measures the degree of shaking) at its epicenter near Tokyo, and what we felt was only a shindo 1. Japan averages 1500 earthquakes a year (there have been 5 so far today alone), so it seems inevitable that we will experience many more during our time here. Let's hope they are all as mild as today's quake.
Saturday, September 20--Shuffle Up and Deal
Move over World Series of Poker. The ultimate in high-stakes poker, the Captain's Cup Texas Hold 'Em Tournament, sponsored by MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation), took place at 1000 this morning. The Captain's Cup is a series of "sports" events, including softball, tennis, ping pong, and poker, that take place throughout the year. A command earns points by winning events. In addition to being recognized as the champion of a particular event, at the end of the year, the command that has earned the most points wins the overall Captain's Cup. One of Jim's coworkers is determined that their office will be represented on the Captain's Cup Wall of Fame. As a result, eight of us mustered at 0930 to secure our places at the poker tables. At the previous day's strategy meeting, it was decided that we would all sit at different tables (so as not to eliminate each other) and a side pot was established for the team member who lasted longest in the tournament (incentive to be patient and play good cards).
The tournament started with about 50 players, and within 30 seconds there was an all-in moment. I figured that was a pretty good indication we'd be able to hang for a while. In fact, four of us stuck around to the final two tables, Jim and myself included. I went out ahead of Jim, having only played two hands the whole tournament, and winning none. However, I managed to win third place in the women's division with that pitiful performance, earning a trophy and points toward the Captain's Cup! Jim went out right after me, but since there were still about 16 men left, no trophy or points for him.
At the end of the tournament, our team walked away with two trophies (also got 2nd place in the women's division--she was the side pot winner as well) which will be proudly displayed in the office's trophy case--as soon as someone gets around to building it.
The tournament started with about 50 players, and within 30 seconds there was an all-in moment. I figured that was a pretty good indication we'd be able to hang for a while. In fact, four of us stuck around to the final two tables, Jim and myself included. I went out ahead of Jim, having only played two hands the whole tournament, and winning none. However, I managed to win third place in the women's division with that pitiful performance, earning a trophy and points toward the Captain's Cup! Jim went out right after me, but since there were still about 16 men left, no trophy or points for him.
At the end of the tournament, our team walked away with two trophies (also got 2nd place in the women's division--she was the side pot winner as well) which will be proudly displayed in the office's trophy case--as soon as someone gets around to building it.
Wednesday, September 17--Say What?
It is not my personal philosophy, but if I were on a debate team, I could make the argument that knowing a little bit of a foreign language is worse than knowing none at all. Let me give you an example.
Today, I was out in the front “yard” pulling weeds. I heard footsteps, then some scrabbling out in the street and looked through the reed fence to see a man in a white hardhat and blue coverall setting up a barricade around the telephone pole on our property. He then shuffled off to the gate and rang the doorbell, so I made my way around the house to see what he wanted. When he saw me approaching, he said, “Konnichiwa,” which I know—it is the middle-of-the-day greeting. I replied, “Konnichiwa,” and I cannot even describe the look of immediate relief that passed over his face. It was like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him. This gaijin speaks Japanese! So he immediately launched into what I assume was an explanation for his being there. He looked toward the pole, and I think I heard the word “telephone,” so I gathered he was doing something with the phone. Given that he was in work clothes and I had seen him setting up the barricade around the pole, I didn’t think he was in trouble and wanted to use my telephone. But that was about all I could rule out. He could have been telling me that he was going to work on the telephone, so it would be out of order for a while, or he could have been saying please don’t use your telephone while I am working because you’ll electrocute me. Heck, for all I know he was warning me that he was going to be climbing the telephone pole, so I shouldn’t run around naked upstairs because he’d be able to see in the windows. Obviously, I need to work on my “I don’t understand a word you’re saying” look, because he seemed perfectly satisfied that I knew why he was there and what he was doing and took off to the next house.
Luckily, this was not an emergency situation, where it was critical that I understood what was being said. But what about next time? This small encounter just drove home the point that I need to get serious about studying Japanese. Three years is a long time to live somewhere and not be able to communicate. It’s a very isolating feeling to know that you don’t understand the language and cannot be understood in return. In a country with 125 million people it would be unlikely to find yourself completely alone, but the language issue could make it very easy to be lonely.
Today, I was out in the front “yard” pulling weeds. I heard footsteps, then some scrabbling out in the street and looked through the reed fence to see a man in a white hardhat and blue coverall setting up a barricade around the telephone pole on our property. He then shuffled off to the gate and rang the doorbell, so I made my way around the house to see what he wanted. When he saw me approaching, he said, “Konnichiwa,” which I know—it is the middle-of-the-day greeting. I replied, “Konnichiwa,” and I cannot even describe the look of immediate relief that passed over his face. It was like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him. This gaijin speaks Japanese! So he immediately launched into what I assume was an explanation for his being there. He looked toward the pole, and I think I heard the word “telephone,” so I gathered he was doing something with the phone. Given that he was in work clothes and I had seen him setting up the barricade around the pole, I didn’t think he was in trouble and wanted to use my telephone. But that was about all I could rule out. He could have been telling me that he was going to work on the telephone, so it would be out of order for a while, or he could have been saying please don’t use your telephone while I am working because you’ll electrocute me. Heck, for all I know he was warning me that he was going to be climbing the telephone pole, so I shouldn’t run around naked upstairs because he’d be able to see in the windows. Obviously, I need to work on my “I don’t understand a word you’re saying” look, because he seemed perfectly satisfied that I knew why he was there and what he was doing and took off to the next house.
Luckily, this was not an emergency situation, where it was critical that I understood what was being said. But what about next time? This small encounter just drove home the point that I need to get serious about studying Japanese. Three years is a long time to live somewhere and not be able to communicate. It’s a very isolating feeling to know that you don’t understand the language and cannot be understood in return. In a country with 125 million people it would be unlikely to find yourself completely alone, but the language issue could make it very easy to be lonely.
Saturday, September 13--Mystery Solved
If you remember, we have a good deal of unidentified flora in our front "yard." Did a little research while waiting for the exterminator to arrive, and have concluded that the tree with the pretty white flowers is a hibiscus. The blooms are gorgeous, but last only one day. Then they curl up tightly, drop off, and stick like glue to my windshield. I try to remember to pick them off by hand before leaving, because if I use the wipers to scrape them off, everyone thinks that the dumb American still can't remember which side the turn signal lever is on!Thursday, September 11--To the left, to the left
To get to our house from the base, you turn right out of the main gate. We have never, in the six weeks we’ve been here, turned left out of the gate. To the left lies an unexplored world, full of mysteries, and if the rumor is true, shopping! Today I vowed to venture forth into the Left, to conquer my fear of the unknown, and to return with a recycling bin that will accommodate as many different types of trash as possible.
Armed with a full tank of gas (the journey is supposed to be around 5 km—less than 3 miles), some vague directions, and emergency rations of water and granola bars, I bravely headed out. The drive, short as it was, was actually through a very pretty area. The road runs along the coast, and there are large palm trees along the median. There was a feeling of more space, even though stores were still closely packed and high rises towered alongside the road. Not sure what the difference was—maybe being able to see the ocean and an actual horizon to my left?
The two stores I went to were adventures in themselves. It seems that most stores of any size around here are divided into multiple floors, and it is difficult to locate specific items, or remember where it was you found something. The stores today were on one level (I don’t know how this happened—it must seem like a colossal waste of space to many Japanese), and reminded me of the big-box stores from home. Ave was kind of like a Walmart, having a little bit of everything. A lot of the products are American (Dove soap, Pantene shampoo, Hanes t-shirts), but packaged for Japanese tastes. There is also a supermarket within the store, but I did not explore that today. Home’s (I know that is not the correct use of an apostrophe, but that’s the name of the store) is a Target meets Lowes superstore. Lots of familiar hardware, lumber, and gardening supplies here. The most noticeable difference between Home’s and Lowes—there were not half a dozen aisles devoted to paint. There was a single section filled with paint cans (I don’t remember seeing any color swatches), brushes, and rollers that took up only one side of one aisle. Guess if everything is wall-papered, there isn’t much demand for paint. (I can understand with the humidity here, paint must take weeks to dry, but by the same token, I do not understand how the wallpaper stays on the wall. I’d think the paste would stay gummy, and the paper would just slide down the wall to puddle on the floor.)
Overall, the voyage into the Left went quite well, and I’m very pleased with myself (Rocky theme playing in the background here). I was even able to get out of the parking garage by reading the exit signs which were only written in Japanese! (Yeah, okay, it’s true. If you showed me those signs in a different context, there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. Just let me pretend for a minute I’m making progress with this new language!) By the way, I did find a recycle bin, that when combined with our regular trash can (if it ever arrives), will handle most of our sorting needs.
Armed with a full tank of gas (the journey is supposed to be around 5 km—less than 3 miles), some vague directions, and emergency rations of water and granola bars, I bravely headed out. The drive, short as it was, was actually through a very pretty area. The road runs along the coast, and there are large palm trees along the median. There was a feeling of more space, even though stores were still closely packed and high rises towered alongside the road. Not sure what the difference was—maybe being able to see the ocean and an actual horizon to my left?
The two stores I went to were adventures in themselves. It seems that most stores of any size around here are divided into multiple floors, and it is difficult to locate specific items, or remember where it was you found something. The stores today were on one level (I don’t know how this happened—it must seem like a colossal waste of space to many Japanese), and reminded me of the big-box stores from home. Ave was kind of like a Walmart, having a little bit of everything. A lot of the products are American (Dove soap, Pantene shampoo, Hanes t-shirts), but packaged for Japanese tastes. There is also a supermarket within the store, but I did not explore that today. Home’s (I know that is not the correct use of an apostrophe, but that’s the name of the store) is a Target meets Lowes superstore. Lots of familiar hardware, lumber, and gardening supplies here. The most noticeable difference between Home’s and Lowes—there were not half a dozen aisles devoted to paint. There was a single section filled with paint cans (I don’t remember seeing any color swatches), brushes, and rollers that took up only one side of one aisle. Guess if everything is wall-papered, there isn’t much demand for paint. (I can understand with the humidity here, paint must take weeks to dry, but by the same token, I do not understand how the wallpaper stays on the wall. I’d think the paste would stay gummy, and the paper would just slide down the wall to puddle on the floor.)
Overall, the voyage into the Left went quite well, and I’m very pleased with myself (Rocky theme playing in the background here). I was even able to get out of the parking garage by reading the exit signs which were only written in Japanese! (Yeah, okay, it’s true. If you showed me those signs in a different context, there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. Just let me pretend for a minute I’m making progress with this new language!) By the way, I did find a recycle bin, that when combined with our regular trash can (if it ever arrives), will handle most of our sorting needs.
Sunday, September 7--Jail Break
The crime wasn’t hers, but Alina did the time.
Japan is a rabies-free country, so they have some very stringent animal import laws to keep it that way. There is a very rigid protocol that must be followed in order to bring a pet from the States into Japan (unless you happen to live in Hawaii, which is also rabies-free). The whole process takes a minimum of 180 days, but closer to 210 days—which we didn’t have between finding out we were going to Japan and actually getting on the airplane.
First, your pet must be microchipped (thankfully done by the SPCA before I adopted Alina). Then the animal must have two rabies shots, at least 30 days apart. After the second rabies shot, blood must be drawn for a rabies antibody titer test (which can only be performed at two labs in the entire U.S.A.). From the day of the blood test, the pet must undergo 180 days of quarantine in the home country before being allowed to enter Japan. I still don’t get that part—there are absolutely no guidelines about the conditions of the quarantine. No one in Japan knew that I had a strictly indoor cat—for all they knew, I let her run free in the woods with rabid foxes and raccoons.
I followed every step of the import procedure, including filling out about 16 different forms and getting half of them stamped by the USDA, but we could not meet the 180 days of quarantine before we left. Instead of leaving Alina behind to be shipped over as cargo later (she may have done very well with this, but the thought of it gave me an anxiety attack), we brought her with us and arranged for her to finish out her quarantine at the kennel on base. For 34 days she stayed in kitty prison, listening to other cats meowing and small dogs yelping incessantly.
On Thursday, I paid her bail, and Alina got out of jail. She happily climbed into her carrier for the ride home, but was confused when she had to sit on the “wrong” side of the car. Once home, I showed her where her food and litter box were, then she seemed content to explore the rest of her new surroundings on her own. I thought she was adjusting pretty well, but she prowled around and cried most of the night. The next morning, I found her curled up in my sink in the bathroom. Today, when I went upstairs to make the bed, she had crawled down under the comforter, all the way to the foot of the bed. She’s having a hard time finding her comfort zone—at home it was under our bed, often in one of the duffel bags we kept stored under there (she wouldn’t go anywhere near the comfy kitty bed we put under there for her). Hopefully, once our stuff arrives, things will seem more familiar and she will settle down (like the rest of us).
Japan is a rabies-free country, so they have some very stringent animal import laws to keep it that way. There is a very rigid protocol that must be followed in order to bring a pet from the States into Japan (unless you happen to live in Hawaii, which is also rabies-free). The whole process takes a minimum of 180 days, but closer to 210 days—which we didn’t have between finding out we were going to Japan and actually getting on the airplane.
First, your pet must be microchipped (thankfully done by the SPCA before I adopted Alina). Then the animal must have two rabies shots, at least 30 days apart. After the second rabies shot, blood must be drawn for a rabies antibody titer test (which can only be performed at two labs in the entire U.S.A.). From the day of the blood test, the pet must undergo 180 days of quarantine in the home country before being allowed to enter Japan. I still don’t get that part—there are absolutely no guidelines about the conditions of the quarantine. No one in Japan knew that I had a strictly indoor cat—for all they knew, I let her run free in the woods with rabid foxes and raccoons.
I followed every step of the import procedure, including filling out about 16 different forms and getting half of them stamped by the USDA, but we could not meet the 180 days of quarantine before we left. Instead of leaving Alina behind to be shipped over as cargo later (she may have done very well with this, but the thought of it gave me an anxiety attack), we brought her with us and arranged for her to finish out her quarantine at the kennel on base. For 34 days she stayed in kitty prison, listening to other cats meowing and small dogs yelping incessantly.
On Thursday, I paid her bail, and Alina got out of jail. She happily climbed into her carrier for the ride home, but was confused when she had to sit on the “wrong” side of the car. Once home, I showed her where her food and litter box were, then she seemed content to explore the rest of her new surroundings on her own. I thought she was adjusting pretty well, but she prowled around and cried most of the night. The next morning, I found her curled up in my sink in the bathroom. Today, when I went upstairs to make the bed, she had crawled down under the comforter, all the way to the foot of the bed. She’s having a hard time finding her comfort zone—at home it was under our bed, often in one of the duffel bags we kept stored under there (she wouldn’t go anywhere near the comfy kitty bed we put under there for her). Hopefully, once our stuff arrives, things will seem more familiar and she will settle down (like the rest of us).
Wednesday, September 3--No Green Thumb Required
For anyone who heard me complain about the size of lots in neighborhoods we visited in the States, I take it all back. Here, you are lucky if you even have a lot. Since the entire population of Japan (127 million) lives in only 19% of the country’s land area, there are a lot of high-rise apartment dwellers. For those fortunate enough to live in a house in the suburbs (like us), you better like your neighbors. There is literally less than 10 feet between our house and our neighbors’ homes. This means that if you are outside or have your windows open, you can hear your neighbors talking, rattling dishes, playing the piano, closing cabinet doors (remember there is no insulation in the walls to help with sound-muffling).
This also means that yard work is a snap. Our yard does not have the first blade of grass in it! Not because grass won’t grow (the weeds do quite well) but because there’s absolutely no way you could cut it, short of getting on your hands and knees with a pair of scissors. Our yard is about 40 inches deep on the sides, and less than that in the back. You might be able to make a single pass with a small lawnmower (if it weren’t for all of the strange miniature manhole-type covers stuck up everywhere) but you’d never be able to turn the corner from the side of the house to the back. Even if you tried to cut the grass with a weed-whacker, you’d end up slicing off your feet at the ankles trying to maneuver in that small space. Consequently, our “yard” is gravel around the sides and back. The only maintenance required is weed-removal. The house had been vacant for several months when we moved in, so there were quite a few weeds, yet pulling every last one by hand today only took me about 45 minutes. Now that’s the kind of yard work I can handle!
The front “yard” is larger—possibly close to six feet deep. But there is no grass here either. Instead, it is full of trees and bushes, selected to give as much privacy from the street as possible. I recognize a crepe myrtle and several azaleas, but everything else is a mystery. Once Jim gets home with the camera (yes, I foolishly put mine in the pile of stuff to arrive via ship instead of carrying it with me) I will post pictures and y’all can help me try to figure out what else is out there. I feel like I should recognize some of them…especially the tree that is flowering now, with pretty white blooms that close up tight then drop off. Except for pulling weeds, there's nothing for me to do in this part of the yard either. A gardener comes twice a year, I assume to trim the precisely shaped shrubs--what else could he possibly do? If I want to exercise my own horticultural skills, I'm going to have to either create some container gardens for the front entrance or start collecting house plants again.
This also means that yard work is a snap. Our yard does not have the first blade of grass in it! Not because grass won’t grow (the weeds do quite well) but because there’s absolutely no way you could cut it, short of getting on your hands and knees with a pair of scissors. Our yard is about 40 inches deep on the sides, and less than that in the back. You might be able to make a single pass with a small lawnmower (if it weren’t for all of the strange miniature manhole-type covers stuck up everywhere) but you’d never be able to turn the corner from the side of the house to the back. Even if you tried to cut the grass with a weed-whacker, you’d end up slicing off your feet at the ankles trying to maneuver in that small space. Consequently, our “yard” is gravel around the sides and back. The only maintenance required is weed-removal. The house had been vacant for several months when we moved in, so there were quite a few weeds, yet pulling every last one by hand today only took me about 45 minutes. Now that’s the kind of yard work I can handle!
The front “yard” is larger—possibly close to six feet deep. But there is no grass here either. Instead, it is full of trees and bushes, selected to give as much privacy from the street as possible. I recognize a crepe myrtle and several azaleas, but everything else is a mystery. Once Jim gets home with the camera (yes, I foolishly put mine in the pile of stuff to arrive via ship instead of carrying it with me) I will post pictures and y’all can help me try to figure out what else is out there. I feel like I should recognize some of them…especially the tree that is flowering now, with pretty white blooms that close up tight then drop off. Except for pulling weeds, there's nothing for me to do in this part of the yard either. A gardener comes twice a year, I assume to trim the precisely shaped shrubs--what else could he possibly do? If I want to exercise my own horticultural skills, I'm going to have to either create some container gardens for the front entrance or start collecting house plants again.
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