It dawned on me today that I haven’t seen anyone I know in almost two months. No, I haven’t become a hermit—I see my students each week, my friends on the weekends, and sleep next to Jim every night that he's in town.
When we first arrived in Japan, I saw someone from home everywhere I looked. Obviously it wasn’t really someone from home, but hairstyles, clothing, gaits, and mannerisms all combined to play tricks on my mind. I saw the twins of former students, college roommates, coworkers, and family members, including my grandfather who had passed away nearly twenty years ago. I assume this phenomenon was some kind of coping mechanism to make the culture shock less jarring. Apparently, the shock has subsided, and my sub-conscious has decided I can handle unadulterated reality now.
It’ll be interesting to see whether the twins reappear after our upcoming trip to the States.
Saturday, July 4--It's Just Not the Same
No smells of hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the grill. No rousing patriotic songs blaring from the radio. No squealing bottle rockets being lit by the teenagers down the block. No bunting flapping in the breeze from the neighbor’s porch. The Fourth of July outside of the United States just ain’t the same. I wouldn’t say I actively celebrate the holiday, but I definitely felt the loss of all the traditional goings-on in this, my first Independence Day out of America. The base, to its credit, did try to recreate that hometown atmosphere, with a 5K run, games for the kids, BBQ ribs, and a first-rate fireworks show. Driving off the base, dodging the crowds of Japanese who had come to see the fireworks, ended the illusion of being at home. And it was completely surreal to go to bed in silence, with no random bursts of firecrackers in the street to jolt me back from the edge of sleep.
Thursday, July 2--Wait, something's missing
As I was driving to a lesson this afternoon, I saw a young Japanese woman walking down the street and immediately I thought something was completely out of whack. As I continued down the road, glancing at her retreating form in my rearview mirror, my mind was trying to piece together the facts to determine what’s wrong with this picture. She was a couple inches taller than the average Japanese woman, but not tall enough to be considered unusual. So what was it?
A couple kilometers further up the road, after passing several “normal” Japanese pedestrians, it clicked. That woman wasn’t carrying anything. Nothing. Not a purse, or a messenger bag, or a backpack, or a kid. No groceries, no coffee in a can, no flowers. No appointment book, no iPod, no cell phone (gasp!). She didn’t have a dog leash in her hand or an umbrella on her arm. This woman was completely “naked.” It dawned on me that in eleven months of living here, I have not seen a single person—man, woman, or child, young or old—who was not carrying something. How very, very strange.
A couple kilometers further up the road, after passing several “normal” Japanese pedestrians, it clicked. That woman wasn’t carrying anything. Nothing. Not a purse, or a messenger bag, or a backpack, or a kid. No groceries, no coffee in a can, no flowers. No appointment book, no iPod, no cell phone (gasp!). She didn’t have a dog leash in her hand or an umbrella on her arm. This woman was completely “naked.” It dawned on me that in eleven months of living here, I have not seen a single person—man, woman, or child, young or old—who was not carrying something. How very, very strange.
Thursday, July 2--Singing the praises of JMSDF
I know I talk a lot about JMSDF, but it’s really hard not to. Working there has been such an incredible experience, probably one of the things that will always stick out in my mind once we eventually leave Japan.
Today, the three students I had from the SAPO class amazed me yet again. The topic for today’s conversation lesson was music. After we talked about their favorite artists, favorite songs, and musical experiences, I wanted them to hear one of my favorite songs. It’s by the country artist Bucky Covington, and I explained that the reason I liked it and wanted to share it with them was because it could have been written about my own childhood. Titled “A Different World,” the song brings back lots of good memories and creates a vivid image of the life of an American child about thirty years ago.
To make it more of an educational activity, I printed off the lyrics after replacing several of the song’s nouns with blanks. I wanted the students to listen and try to fill in the blanks, a challenging task anyway, but made even more difficult by Bucky’s strong country accent. After listening once, the guys had managed to fill in about half of the blanks, so we talked about the rest of the missing words and what the song meant. Then I played it again so they could read along with the completed lyrics, and darned if all three of them didn’t sing the entire song out loud.
Getting my third graders, who were supposed to be young and uninhibited, to sing a song they knew was like pulling teeth, yet here were three twenty-something Japanese sailors, whom I would expect to be reserved and self-conscious, singing a song they’d never heard before, in a language that is not their own. Their participation far exceeded my expectations—I was so thrilled I could have hugged them.
Have I mentioned it will be difficult to go back to teaching elementary school in the U.S.?
Today, the three students I had from the SAPO class amazed me yet again. The topic for today’s conversation lesson was music. After we talked about their favorite artists, favorite songs, and musical experiences, I wanted them to hear one of my favorite songs. It’s by the country artist Bucky Covington, and I explained that the reason I liked it and wanted to share it with them was because it could have been written about my own childhood. Titled “A Different World,” the song brings back lots of good memories and creates a vivid image of the life of an American child about thirty years ago.
To make it more of an educational activity, I printed off the lyrics after replacing several of the song’s nouns with blanks. I wanted the students to listen and try to fill in the blanks, a challenging task anyway, but made even more difficult by Bucky’s strong country accent. After listening once, the guys had managed to fill in about half of the blanks, so we talked about the rest of the missing words and what the song meant. Then I played it again so they could read along with the completed lyrics, and darned if all three of them didn’t sing the entire song out loud.
Getting my third graders, who were supposed to be young and uninhibited, to sing a song they knew was like pulling teeth, yet here were three twenty-something Japanese sailors, whom I would expect to be reserved and self-conscious, singing a song they’d never heard before, in a language that is not their own. Their participation far exceeded my expectations—I was so thrilled I could have hugged them.
Have I mentioned it will be difficult to go back to teaching elementary school in the U.S.?
Friday, June 19--Meigetsu-in
After hearing rave reviews, I ventured out to Meigetsu-in this morning. Also known as the Ajisai Dera, or Hydrangea Temple, Meigetsu-in attracts thousands of visitors each June when the hydrangeas are in bloom. I was advised to go on a weekday, preferably early in the morning, to avoid the crowds. Apparently “early in the morning” did not mean one hour after the temple opened. I should have been there waiting when they unlocked the gates at 8:30. By the time I got there, the place was mobbed by school children and tour groups of old men (each group was identified by a different brightly colored bandana tied around the neck). So, as in other sightseeing endeavors, I found myself sucked into the crowd, and propelled along with no real say in my direction of travel.
Now, I don’t know a whole lot about hydrangeas, but from my travels around town in the past few weeks, I knew that they came in a variety of colors. That’s what I expected when I walked through the grounds of the temple. I was disappointed to see that about ninety percent of the blooms were blue. I was hoping for more purples, pinks, wines, and pale yellows. (Did you know that there is an old Japanese legend that says pink hydrangeas are colored by the blood of an old man or old woman buried in the ground below?) When I mentioned the temple’s limited palette to a friend, she told me she thought hydrangea colors depended on the pH of the soil. I looked it up on Google, and sure enough, the pH and amounts of certain elements such as aluminum affect the flowers’ color. Lends some credibility to that old Japanese legend!
Now, I don’t know a whole lot about hydrangeas, but from my travels around town in the past few weeks, I knew that they came in a variety of colors. That’s what I expected when I walked through the grounds of the temple. I was disappointed to see that about ninety percent of the blooms were blue. I was hoping for more purples, pinks, wines, and pale yellows. (Did you know that there is an old Japanese legend that says pink hydrangeas are colored by the blood of an old man or old woman buried in the ground below?) When I mentioned the temple’s limited palette to a friend, she told me she thought hydrangea colors depended on the pH of the soil. I looked it up on Google, and sure enough, the pH and amounts of certain elements such as aluminum affect the flowers’ color. Lends some credibility to that old Japanese legend!
Thursday, June 11--Bad hair season begins
Oh yippee. The rainy season officially began yesterday. Ironically, yesterday was the sunniest day we’ve had in a week (not counting today), so I asked some of my students why yesterday was chosen as the beginning of the season. They all looked at me with puzzled expressions, and speaking to me like I was mentally challenged said, “Because the meteorology department said so.” Of course. How silly of me.
Turns out it doesn’t rain every day during the rainy season. The season lasts about six weeks, but on average only about a dozen of those days are total washouts. However the potential is always there. The humidity is up around 80 percent or so (so high you wish it would just rain already), and it’s a crapshoot whether the clouds that are constantly forming will let loose a deluge or drift off and break up.
Umbrellas are always close at hand, scooter riders are clad in rubber suits, and an amazing rainbow of galoshes and Crocs has appeared on the feet of my fellow train-riders. I have been looking in vain for Japanese who are having as bad a hair day (…week…month…) as I am. How is it they all have hair that looks perfect in the rain or in a gale or after a sweaty hike to the train station while mine resembles a Brillo pad inserted into a light socket?
Turns out it doesn’t rain every day during the rainy season. The season lasts about six weeks, but on average only about a dozen of those days are total washouts. However the potential is always there. The humidity is up around 80 percent or so (so high you wish it would just rain already), and it’s a crapshoot whether the clouds that are constantly forming will let loose a deluge or drift off and break up.
Umbrellas are always close at hand, scooter riders are clad in rubber suits, and an amazing rainbow of galoshes and Crocs has appeared on the feet of my fellow train-riders. I have been looking in vain for Japanese who are having as bad a hair day (…week…month…) as I am. How is it they all have hair that looks perfect in the rain or in a gale or after a sweaty hike to the train station while mine resembles a Brillo pad inserted into a light socket?
Friday, June 5--"The Way of Tea"
Tea was first introduced to Japan in the 9th century, but it wasn’t until the 13th century that the tea ceremony began to evolve. These somber rituals, influenced by many aspects of Buddhism, remained primarily a pastime of the wealthy until the 16th century. By that time, tea was being regularly enjoyed by all levels of society, and a prominent figure in the history of the tea ceremony, Sen no Rikyu set forth four principles that are still key to the “way of tea” today—harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility. The most important tenet of the tea ceremony (or any aspect of your life, for that matter) is “ichi-go, ichi-e,” which means that each moment is a once in a lifetime occurrence unable to be replicated, and therefore must be treasured.
The staff of JMSDF arranged for the American instructors to experience the “way of tea” this morning. We only got an introductory course to this important cultural ritual, rather than the full four-hour ceremony (much to my great relief—I was worried about having to sit Japanese-style for so long). In a demonstration, we learned the importance of simplicity of the room (the only decorations are a single scroll and an ikebana flower arrangement in an alcove) and how the design of the tea tools is to be admired and appreciated. We saw how the guests enter the tea room, how the hostess welcomes guests, and how she makes and serves the tea. Everything about the ceremony is learned through years of instruction—each movement is carefully choreographed, and many are too subtle to be noticed by an untrained eye. You can see some of this graceful action in this short video.
After observing the ceremony, we were taken to the dining room where half of us became hosts and were taught to make tea to serve to the “guest” sitting across the table from us. The tea used in the ceremony is powdered green tea, or matcha, which we carefully measured out from a lacquer container into a bowl using a bamboo scoop. Hot water was added, and then the mixture was whisked with a bamboo whisk until it was foamy. While the tea was being prepared, the guest ate a small sweet to cut down on the bitterness of the tea that was to come. The host passed the tea bowl across to the guest, who rotated it so as not to drink from the front. The tea was sipped (only about three sips-worth in the bowl), then the bowl was rotated back to its original position and returned to the host. We then switched roles, and hosts became guests. As a host, I felt like all thumbs as I was trying to handle the tea tools gracefully—I see why it takes years of practice to become proficient at this. As a guest, I was pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the sweet (most Japanese sweets do not live up to the title), and how effectively it cut the bitterness of the tea. I was perplexed, however, by the front of the tea bowl—I saw nothing to distinguish the front from the back or the sides. Turns out you have to pay attention to the way the host presents it to you. The side facing you when she passes it automatically becomes the front, and you must remember how far you turn it before drinking, so you can restore it to its original position before handing it back.
I enjoyed this taste of Japanese culture, but I don’t think I’m up for the entire four-hour ritual. It is supposed to be a calming experience, but I would be stressed trying to figure out all of the nuances of the ceremony.
The staff of JMSDF arranged for the American instructors to experience the “way of tea” this morning. We only got an introductory course to this important cultural ritual, rather than the full four-hour ceremony (much to my great relief—I was worried about having to sit Japanese-style for so long). In a demonstration, we learned the importance of simplicity of the room (the only decorations are a single scroll and an ikebana flower arrangement in an alcove) and how the design of the tea tools is to be admired and appreciated. We saw how the guests enter the tea room, how the hostess welcomes guests, and how she makes and serves the tea. Everything about the ceremony is learned through years of instruction—each movement is carefully choreographed, and many are too subtle to be noticed by an untrained eye. You can see some of this graceful action in this short video.
After observing the ceremony, we were taken to the dining room where half of us became hosts and were taught to make tea to serve to the “guest” sitting across the table from us. The tea used in the ceremony is powdered green tea, or matcha, which we carefully measured out from a lacquer container into a bowl using a bamboo scoop. Hot water was added, and then the mixture was whisked with a bamboo whisk until it was foamy. While the tea was being prepared, the guest ate a small sweet to cut down on the bitterness of the tea that was to come. The host passed the tea bowl across to the guest, who rotated it so as not to drink from the front. The tea was sipped (only about three sips-worth in the bowl), then the bowl was rotated back to its original position and returned to the host. We then switched roles, and hosts became guests. As a host, I felt like all thumbs as I was trying to handle the tea tools gracefully—I see why it takes years of practice to become proficient at this. As a guest, I was pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the sweet (most Japanese sweets do not live up to the title), and how effectively it cut the bitterness of the tea. I was perplexed, however, by the front of the tea bowl—I saw nothing to distinguish the front from the back or the sides. Turns out you have to pay attention to the way the host presents it to you. The side facing you when she passes it automatically becomes the front, and you must remember how far you turn it before drinking, so you can restore it to its original position before handing it back.I enjoyed this taste of Japanese culture, but I don’t think I’m up for the entire four-hour ritual. It is supposed to be a calming experience, but I would be stressed trying to figure out all of the nuances of the ceremony.
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