American Indulgences & Japanese Setsuden

I am finally home after my month long indulgences in American life- using the air conditioning day and night, using both a washing machine and a dryer to do the laundry, driving everywhere, and sharing or avoiding completely cooking and grocery shopping duty. I feel relaxed. I am kind of surprised. The kids will start school tomorrow so I will be up to my armpits with schedules and homework to oversee soon enough, but for today, for this moment, it feels like nothing matters too much in a good way- a bend like a willow kind of thing.

Do I need anxiety? Does it serve a purpose besides winding me up so tight that I annoy myself? Perhaps, if only momentarily,  I have quit striving. I have no idea what the next year will bring, but a path beckons: we have a house, plans for retirement, and I feel calm. The calm before the storm, the lull before the hurricane hits, possible, but I like it.

Saving Energy for Japan
We had a gentle but long aftershock tonight. The Mule went under the table. I have noted that here, back in Japan, half of the lights are still off in the shops, most of the lights are off tonight in my neighborhood, and that friends comment on the coolness of our house - I have one dehumidifier on so that my gas stove will light at will and so I can have some no sweat time each day. There have been no black outs since those initial days after the quake.

The Japanese government may have changed prime ministers every year that I have been in Japan, but everyone is following the government's recommendations for reducing energy usage (20% is the target)- so much so that it both practically happened overnight and the usage levels are still down. I am not as confident in the annual leadership rotation plan, but there is wiggle room in this world for conserving energy setsuden 節電.


Ten Conservation Tips from Japan
These are the conserving electricity tips being dissiminated here in Japan that I have found useful, amusing, or somehow noteworthy:

1. Reduce indoor air-conditioning to 82ºF (28ºC).

2. Hair cuts "The Tokyo-based construction firm Maeda Corporation has requested that men have a short back-and-sides and women have a 'cute' bob with a longer fringe that can be swept to one side. Company spokeswoman Chizuru Inoue explained: 'Our company is very keen on protecting the environment and we encourage our staff to adopt many environment-friendly actions.' She added: 'We are not sure of the data yet, but we believe if people have short hair, they do not need to use their hair driers for so long and they will use less water.'"

3. Use LED lamps instead of overhead lights.

4. Turn of lights in unoccupied rooms and turn off computers not in use.

5. Energy Usage Meters "Tokyo, a bustling capital famous for its neon lights, has now turned into a city of darkened buildings and slower running trains. Billboards at major crossings flash daily rates of power consumption that tell whether the city has conserved sufficient energy to avoid a blackout."

6. Spend time with your family- instead of gallivanting around I think is the idea.

7. "Spend as much time as possible outside" such as the park or a movie theater.

8. Relaxed clothing- Patagonia anyone? Ok, Uniqlo is good too and cheaper.

9. Cool, quick showers? In the land of bathing! Just go to the onsen or try a public bath- those old fashioned communal ways have their merits.

10. "A near empty fridge is just wasting power keeping a few things cool, but a well-stocked fridge has a mass that’s easier to cool. Just be sure you don’t overload it and restrict air circulation. Letting leftovers cool to room temperature before putting them in the fridge also helps keep the icebox icy and cleaning the dust off the coils in the back will up efficiency. Cooks should also refrain from using the oven, which gobbles up electricity and heats the house. Microwave and stovetop cooking are far more eco-friendly."

Anniversaries & a Tour

I splurged today. In an annual tradition which began in my teen years, I bought the September issue of Vogue. I generally read magazines at the library, but I bought the September issue because it is my birthday month and because it is the largest issue with the fall fashions- so many pages to rip! I would save my favorite photos in a box. As time went by I enjoyed looking at the saved pages again and again to see which images stuck with me, what I continued to like over time. Every now and again I would purge the box and wonder at my interest in keeping fashion magazine spreads for which I had no outlet. I never came up with an answer, and I can't say I knew of anyone else doing the same in those years. Now I understand the box of ripped pages more as an idea board. I wish I had kept them in books though to see the evolution of my tastes and interests over time. Now you can copy images from the internet and make idea books on your computer, but I never print those out and it is not the same as ripping all of those pages out and going through page after page on a lonesome rainy day.

Happy birthday to me will also be the tenth anniversary of 9/11. I was driving by the Pentagon that morning- I missed the plane crash by twenty minutes. A friend of ours was in there and managed to both survive and save someone that day. I mostly remember when I finally got back home to Capitol Hill, where we lived at the time, that there wasn't much to do and that it was a beautiful day. It seemed the whole neighborhood was out, we had no commute, no work, and no idea of what to do. We sat in cafes and drank coffee discussing that if another plane came that we were likely toast so all the better reason to be savoring the moment. There was a plane meant for us but thanks to others the Capitol was spared. The year before I had been in the Middle East. It struck me that day that I had been safer in Bahrain than there in the capitol city of America. In the year that followed, a heated and painful debate began escalating about Iraq. For me that was the darker time- too many unknowns and too much trust placed in the hands of warmongers. I am not surprised we are still there and still trying to get out.

Batteria de San Antonio

We toured Fort Barrancas today. The Moose and Mule enjoyed going through the fort with it's tunnels and cannon stations. Thanks to the thick walls, it was pleasantly cool inside. We trekked out to the Spanish Water Battery known as Batteria de San Antonio and climbed up top for the view; that was a sweaty affair. In the museum, the Park Rangers kindly showed the kiddos the various gadgets for firing cannons and had cannon balls to attempt to pick up along with bags of "powder" in six pound increments to give us a sense of the physical labor involved in the process of firing off shots. The Moose called it, "the best day ever." I wondered about war and peace, but kept my thoughts to myself. Later he had a giant meltdown and reversed his decision, calling it "the worst day ever" and something about "a bad old mama." He was overcooked and hungry, but food eventually restored him to himself, thankfully.

There is a tradition of soldiers from the front returning home and writing of their battlefield experiences that speaks to the pain of war better than any pacifist. For example, I have on my bedside table a copy of Robert Leckie's Helmet for my Pillow. He was inspired to write of his war experiences after walking out of the movie South Pacific saying, "I have to let people know the war wasn’t a musical."

How to reconcile forts and cannons, instruments of war, with children? It is all so muddled and difficult for me. How to explain to a six year old boy that the sword and mace were used to brutally kill another man at close range? You don't, but I wonder how we teach conflict resolution and peace when we spend so much money on weaponry and warfare. Once, in a state of frustration, I asked the Moose, "How many people do you see with guns everyday?" My point being that guns are not an everyday item. However, my children noted, "There are guns at the base." The Navy base guards wear guns, the kind I don't know, but the counterpoint was that there, on the base, they are an everyday item. It will be interesting to see where this interest in warfare and guns ends up in another fifteen years. The fort was awesome to explore- we had the tunnels to ourselves. The older parts of it kind of glow a golden pink color from the brickworks, the repaired parts are whitewashed and bright.

Tunnels inside Fort Barrancas in Pensacola, Florida

Mulan and The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo

Design Thought from Bruce Mau

#2 Forget about good.
Good is a known quantity. Good is what we all agree on. Growth is not necessarily good. Growth is an exploration of unlit recesses that may or may not yield to our research. As long as you stick to good you’ll never have real growth.  

Bruce Mau Design's Incomplete Manifesto for Growth (1998)

Goodwill Shopping
While waiting for my dad to see the doctor we went across the street to the Goodwill shop. I have dropped off more than I have shopped mostly because if I go there it means I am on a purge binge. Today was about passing some time pleasantly and books always attract my attention. The Moose tackled me and had me reading before we even left the store. The nice thing about a Goodwill shop is that they sell furniture so there was a comfy loveseat for us sit on and read.


Mulan & Pippi
The story book was Mulan, but not the Disney version. The movie is based on the Chinese story The Ballad of Mulan and the book supposedly follows the original Chinese legend. In particular the book speaks of the two soldiers working together, a yin and yang match of opposites, and that Mulan is not discovered until the end when she returns home because she reveals herself as a woman. I liked this version better. I was finally inspired to look up who sang "I'll Make a Man Out of You." It was performed by Donny Osmond. Mulan is one of the more tolerable Disney princess stories for me- I like the epic adventure setting and that she uses her wits. This could also be why I liked The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo. The protagonist is supposedly an interpretation of a grown up Pippi Longstocking, but still about adventure and wit and a whole lot of dark freaky stuff that some how keeps you turning the pages.

Some topics are hard to let go of partly because they have something to teach us and because they are difficult. There are some things I just don't want to know about people- the world has some dark souls. I don't want to repeat my own mistakes, but still some of them mystify me. My best guess is that time and pressure shape the best of us.

Stories like Mulan and Pippi Longstocking, old or new, work by taking us on adventures that reveal other perspectives. The backstory Steig Larson wrote of in the series (The Girl with...) was about the the position of women, extremism, and racism, were all events that had happened in real life. I think that is why the books haunt you a bit, there is a part of you that knows the pain is true. You get to learn along with the characters.

Truth has been known to be painful and hard, but it is needed for growth.

Noticing

I moved from Pea Ridge, Florida, to Rota, Spain in January 1981. It was my first bout of jet lag. It took nearly a month to acclimate to the eight hour time shift. When I finally started school, I was asked more than anything else to, "say that again." I was horrified. I was a genuine southerner to their ears. You wouldn't know it now, but back then I had to work hard to loose my drawl- I had to learn to enunciate.

Tonight for our reality show digest I couldn't resist watching the Food Network's show Restaurant: Impossible. Some old tired wild west restaurant in Pennsylvania was redesigned. The chef, Robert Irvine, goes in and takes a look and says what no one has said for over thirty years to the owner and then throws everything out and poof, out with the old and in with the new. Change is tough, and the owners took it hard, but accepted it when delivered via the TV platform. Seriously, the power of TV is in that it creates change by reflecting a picture back like nothing else. I wonder what could be accomplished if the TV showed up at an office nearby? TV adds an element to lives that would not be there otherwise. Watching that man let go of parts of his restaurant and his micromanagement of the kitchen said a lot about the power of being watched. Maybe that's why we change so much in high school- we begin to realize that we are being watched. I had never considered my accent until I was asked to repeat things again and again. Awareness of my accent made me want to change it. We can only change what we notice.

We had a boom of thunder today which wiped out thoughts of going to the pool so we watched a movie, Secretariat. Part of the lore of this horse story was that the horse knew when people were looking at it, that it knew who its competition was, and that it knew who its owner was. The horse also had an oversized heart for a horse which might account for it's winning the Belmont Stakes by thirty-one lengths in 1973, a standing record. Apparently, the big heart was a genetic gift from the female bloodline, an amazing athlete that horse. Perhaps being watched made him run faster too.

Do we change when we are noticed? Brenda, a character, in the now defunct HBO series, Six Feet Under, contended that too much observation in childhood had caused her ruin. Perhaps a reminder not to pay too much attention to the developement of children, but to give them space to be so we don't change them by our observation (meaning the stories we tell them about themselves versus what they learn from their own experiences and feelings). Fresh eyes to see ourselves, however, and space for the new could be interesting.

This is from the Food Network site and is the recipe Robert Irvine demonstrated to the Dodge City restaurant, it looked like a good idea for grilling:

Hanger Steak
Recipe courtesy Robert Irvine's eat! All rights reserved 2010.

Prep Time:10 minInactive Prep Time:30 minCook Time:20 min
Level:
--
Serves:
3 to 9 servings
Ingredients
1/4 cup grapeseed oil
1/4 cup dark balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon garlic puree
1 teaspoon minced rosemary
1 teaspoon salt and pepper blend (60 percent to 40 percent mixture)
Juice of 1 lemon
1, 2 or 3 pounds hanger steak
Potatoes, for serving
Directions
In a bowl, start the marinade for the hangar steak by blending the oil, vinegar, garlic, rosemary, salt and pepper blend and lemon juice and whisk together well. Place the steak in an 8 by 12-inch casserole pan and generously coat with the marinade. Allow to marinate for 30 minutes to 1 hour under refrigeration.

For cooking, preheat a grill or chargrill over high heat.

Remove the steak from the marinade, straining any excess marinade. Removal of the excess marinade will prevent flaming or charring of the steak during cooking. Place the steak on the grill and cook over high heat, 8 to 9 minutes per side, or to desired doneness. Remove from the grill and allow the steak to rest before slicing. Slice the steak on the bias, top to bottom, against the grain, 1/4 inches thick. Place the sliced steak over potatoes and serve.

Word Jelly

Why Write
"Why write?" I keep asking myself. I get cantankerous when I don't get time to write and yet I ask myself, "What are you writing about that's valuable to other people?" I guess it comes down to a selfish like of writing. Thoughts swirl in my head all day. Having time to write at day's end allows these thoughts to congeal into a kind of substance, a word jelly if you will, which forms mysteriously unexpectedly. I have no idea where I am going to end up and that interests me, but still I wonder if I need a purpose for it. Do we have to have a purpose to what we do?

Other Blog Ideas
In search of ideas, I explored the competition. Some blogs are funny but crude, some are funny and well written, some are full of beautiful art or photographs, some seem off on deep ends. Some have a narrow purpose and some have a general purpose. More popular blogs appear to have a specific purpose and provide a lot of links and resources in one place.

Checklists for increasing blog traffic include writing frequently and well, commenting on other blogs, and asking friends to link your blog to theirs. I started with wondering if my blog has any broader appeal, what is it's purpose, and whether I could do more to promote it. I ended up thinking there are so many words in cyberspace it is any wonder that my own mother can find this and make time to read it.

Art for Art's Sake
I read somewhere that William Blake, the English poet, was all about art for art's sake. Of course I also think of some successful writers who manage a few bucks with some weak themes that some how sell. Ok so I have't actually read the Purpose Drive Life or Think and Grow Rich, and I hated The Shack which I read for a book group but all those book sales demonstrate that those stories are just as valued or needed as Charlotte's Web and Anne of Green Gables and Le Petit Prince, but I can't feel it. I wonder if it is the same readers who buy these books or if it's different groups of readers?

I received an evite to take an online class with Oprah. I deleted it thinking I already have too much to do. Yesterday I noted a blogger asking for input for an online class- stuff about finding yourself wherever you are in life- transitions like career or relationships. I inwardly groaned thinking, "we find ourselves when we aren't looking so damned hard." But today I keep thinking that even if my notion is to stop searching and looking, existing and being are tough. I want an answer, not the ambivalence, like everyone else. My husband tells me that many a patient has wanted a Dr. Phil to tell them what to do, but that it doesn't work.

We have to do the work ourselves. I may ponder, "Will my writing have any meaning beyond me or my circle?" but the truth has a hard edge- I don't know and I will likely never know. The issue is if this unknowing will keep me from the doing? When I think about it like that, I hope not. It took me forty years to start writing. I desire to write and when I do, something appears on the page that I did not expect. That alchemy is why I come back, why I make the time. Can I ask more than that of myself? Is there a story in me? Maybe. I am back to ambivalence which is where I think most of us need to get comfortable anyway; we don't know much about anything. Heck the East Coast of America has earth quakes, who knew.

During my extended trips home, especially at my parent's house, I tend to watch TV. I call it, "my annual dose," as I don't watch much the rest of the year. Popular this summer? Game shows where under time pressure, bakers bake, cooks cook, and decorators decorate. My overall impression is that the outcomes though interesting are clearly not what they could be if allowed to be more fully executed. Last summer I had watched a few shows from the Cake Boss whiling away a rainy afternoon in a hotel with my daughter. I loved seeing the cakes. I couldn't believe what could be done with cake. This year there is a show with a contest whereby three cake makers compete, get distracted with their personalities and infighting, and oh also decorate cakes under serious time pressure. You feel kind of used up afterward. I am not sure it is good to watch it even though at the time it is exciting and you must know the outcome so you sit there with every commercial and stick it out. It reminds me that just because something is successful doesn't mean it is good.



The Work
The doing of the work is less glamourous without the film crew rolling, but it is the work, time spent on our callings, that give meaning. So you go to Harvard or you get a job at a Fortune 500 Company or you win the contest, then what do you do? I love To Kill a Mockingbird, but it mystifies me that Harper Lee never wrote another book. I can't believe that someone compelled to write would only write one book and then never touch the pen again. A writer writes. She won the Pulitzer Prize and then nothing to say ever? My mom says, "She perfected it the first time out. She called it quits while she was ahead," as if it is settled. I can see that for an NBA basketball player that has played for twelve seasons and chooses to retire while at the top of their game, maybe, but even there so many of them can't help but want to play again. If you play ball, you play ball. If you write, you write. Some people are more successful, but success is also about doing what you love every day. Harper Lee supposedly said of her not writing again, "I have said what I wanted to say and I will not say it again." That means she was done writing in 1960. I can't imagine not writing or having another thought to share for the next fifty years. What do you go for: prize or process? I'm staying with word jelly.

Buoyancy

a beach in Florida

My northern family members make fun of my inability to immerse myself into the cold waters of lakes or beaches further up- the Atlantic, the Pacific, or the Great Lakes. I pack a spring wetsuit when I go to Lake Michigan in summer and still I don't really like to swim there- the water is too cold. Frankly, from the shores of the Mediterranean to the shores of the Pacific to the Red Sea, I have walked on some swank beach front, but I always compare it to the sugar white sands of the Gulf of Mexico on a perfect day. Today with three dolphins frolicking in the waves of the clear blue green waters, with schools of shiny fish swimming about, and with sea shells rolling past by the hundreds, I fell for the Gulf all over again. The sandbars shifted continually, creating pools in which to swim and shallow places in which to walk and search for shells. Wearing a snorkel and mask, I floated luxuriously in the undulating water (not too warm and definitely not cold) and watched the fish and shells under the chaos of the surf. It was a perfect day at the beach made better when the Moose joined me, wearing his mask, and held my hand; we drifted as one with the tug of the surf. It felt timeless.

Picking up sea shells

I like the white sand, but it is the water and the shells that really do it for me. There is no place quite like it in terms of the temperature of the water, the shifting sandbars, and the lives present from the seagulls to the dolphins to the schools of fish to the seashells. I suspect the shells are coming in because a storm is brewing in the wider Gulf, perhaps pushing them ashore. The Mule's thrill at finding the dolphins in the wild will be remembered for a while considering she wants to be a dolphin trainer when she grows up. Admittedly, after the attractions of the manmade summer conveniences I had wondered if the beach would captivate them as it had me in my childhood.

There needs to be better sun gear for swimming mothers though. My kids have great sun shirts with long sleeves to protect them. The shirts match their swim suits and fit well. Sun shirts do not work on women or more pointedly on breast. Someone needs to design fashionable sun protective swim wear for women. Wearing a swim shirt just doesn't work- they flow about and feel unpleasant. A bathing suit should be available that protects you from the sun, that you can swim in, and that fits attractively. Why is it there are four hundred of the same things for sale, plunging necklines for example, but not one of something different? I am going on my yogurt rant here- have you ever noticed how many kinds of low fat, no fat fruit flavored yogurts you can buy in an American grocery store? Take a look. Then go back and try to find full fat plain yogurt- the original real product all those others are based on- there is usually only one choice if your lucky. It always riles me up.

Finding Sea Shells at the beach

Dinner was fried potatoes and a green salad with the remaining bottle of Japanese dressing for the munsters. I added goat cheese, walnuts, and tomatoes to the salad for the grownups. We ate this with the leftovers from the weekend grill. It seemed a satisfactory yet easy day on many fronts.

There is something primordial about the push and pull of the surf. I am so grateful for our perfect day at the beach. It has some how restored my buoyancy, my ability to come up in the midst of our long break from home.

Swords, Boys, & Passions

I had a sword fight today. Actually, I sword fight a lot of days with my son. He has recently taken to ambushing me as well. He aims for surprise. I think he is getting better at it. He "got me" when we were up in Ohio at his grandparent's house. I had been outside thinking of some errand or not much at all when I came into the house and out of no where I was ambushed by a screeching moose. It was a good one. He asks me to read a lot of history and battle details. He likes most of the stories we read whether they are fiction or non fiction, but when it is fully his choice, it is about history or warriors or a mixture.

The Moose sets up an Ancient Army

I saw an article about boys not reading in The New York Times. Not so long ago I had listened to a podcast from TED Talks about re-engaging boys in learning. failing out of schools, and not being captivated by learning at school which shied away from topics that interest boys. I am familiar with some of these topics- guns, wars, duels, death, battle formations, weaponry choices, tactics, commands. My daughter is not at all interested in any of these themes. My son's first walk was also the beginning of his stick collection. He continues to collect sticks and uses them as swords, pikes, maces, arrows, bows, and other weaponry. His fascination with fighting mystifies me. My husband attempts to reassure me from time to time that he spent a fair portion of his childhood playing with GI Joes and creating battle formations. The reassurance is that my husband turned out to be a pacifist despite all the battle engagement play. I suspect that in allowing the fascination with war and weaponry to follow its natural course that it is then allowed to play itself out.

Surprisingly, my son is squeamish when watching movies with battles. Once by accident on youtube, he came across the opening battle scene from Gladiator whereby the head of the opponent is delivered to the Roman general. That beheading can still work him up a bit so its not the violence that interests him. It seems to be about dueling and costumes for now.

Still, I can see why teachers might steer boys away from gore and war and want them to write or read on more mundane topics in school, but I also sense that this misses the heart and soul of what drives boys to spend their time building battle scenes and wearing costumes of warriors and to read about them.

In yochien preschool in Japan, the teachers help students roll ever tighter paper swords and show them how to strengthen their swords with extra paper and tape. No comments are made either positively or negatively about sword fighting. My sense is that it is to let nature take its course- let the boys love the swords as they like. Kendo Japanese sword fighting is a sport available to young boys in Japan more than in the States, but it comes after soccer and baseball in popularity. Violence does not appear to be connected to the love of swords. I don't think we help by avoiding it or by steering around it.

This week while on vacation at a swimming pool, I watched my son and another boy practically drowning themselves as they wrestled. The other parents did not flinch or seem to notice what the boys were doing mostly because the parents were busy guzziling drinks from the poolside cabana. I noted the boys though were not put off by each other. The Moose was hard pressed to leave. He begged to stay. He wanted to wrestle and tangle with the other boy who so willingly engaged him in a way no one else has in a long time. I relented and stayed back with him while my parents took the Mule to visit another pool. The Moose and the other boy continued to wrestle non-stop. At the end, when we did leave the Moose told me, "I don't get to play like that very often. Can we come back tomorrow?" He liked being able to wrestle and tussle. It kind of surprised me, but still it was contained to some degree as they were not punching or hurting each other but more like testing the strength in each other and themselves.

When I see discussions about boys falling behind in reading or engagement in schools, it increases my awareness of the need to validate what my children themselves enjoy and love to do whether I do or not. Having a boy and a girl means that I aim for activities we can all enjoy and then for time for each of them to enjoy. So sometimes I have sword fights and sometimes I play with dolls, but I also aim for fair play.

I hope that someday my son will befriend another boy who loves swords and history as much as he does, but I also hope that if he wants to write a story about a battle or a fighting style that he will be allowed to do so even if it is graphic or violent. I'd hate to see anyone kibosh his passion. Passion is such an undervalued gift.

Rotten Brains

Truth is I feel out of sorts. Extended time away from home, out of routine, feels chaotic. It is lovely to visit family we've missed. We've enjoyed some tasty meals, swimming at the pool, a day's adventure at the water park, movies, playing games on the Wii, putting puzzles together, playing Mexican dominos and other fun, but it's beginning to feel like I ate ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner- too much excess. We'll go home ready to work again which is what vacation should help you do. I also hope this will be our last super long trip home. Perhaps next year we'll at least live in the same country and not have so far to travel.

I've heard of people who have never left the county in which they were born. I've heard of people who have never been separated from their husband or wife for more than a day. I've heard of people who never vary their routines for years at a time. I am not one of those people, but I think there might be fewer of them left in the world today. I think there is somehting worthy of seeking adventure nearer to home though.

I prefer stillness and yet I open myself up to chaos because I return to visit everyone back home. I can't fathom not going, but it feels like too much- too much living out of a suitcase, too much food, too many other people. I feel frustrated with the day being about this and that with no quiet time and no solitude for days on end.

We had dinner on the road tonight. We stopped at Cracker Barrel. The fireplace had a large hearth with a swivel arm on each side, each arm had a cooking pot. It looked primitive and simple. I sat there thinking of how complicated everything has become- from a fire to prepare food to a huge restaurant chain feeding us as if we were visiting Grandma's house. I'd like to be in a house with just a fire, no TV, just prepare food, no places to go, and a long porch with just rocking chairs to rock and maybe a conversation to have. I don't think I am alone considering the success of Cracker Barrel, but I think, sadly, that the Cracker Barrel may be as close as most of us will get. No one seems to live quietly anymore- TVs are everywhere, fake and fast food has taken over, no one bakes their own cakes, fake ice cream is served all summer, there is no ice cream bucket to crank in the driveway, there is no intergenerational games of Hearts and Spades, there is no sitting with hours on end before you in a quiet attic full of treasures to explore. I guess I am thinking of some of my favorite childhood summers.

We spent the weekend at the beach but we barely saw the beach. Instead we were swimming in pools- pools with fountains, pools with slides, pools with other kids, and pools with waves- but still a pool is fake. The fakes have come to replace the real. The pool is clean and safe. The kids loved playing Wii Sports. I can see the attraction, it is fake sports but only better- no equipment to buy or haul, enough players, fair rules and play across the board, no sweat, no sunstroke, no injuries, no pain, no meltdowns, no traveling to or from, and you can go from the baseball diamond to the boxing ring in a few minutes. Real things are being replaced by fake protected experiences whether it be the beach or a sport with a pool or a video game. No one seems to mind, but I keep thinking about it- as a tragedy.

The Moose, acknowledging that he had watched a lot of TV a few days back, asked me, "How do you undo rotting your brains out?" He was referring to my oft repeated phrase that, "TV will rot your brains out." It amused me that his concern hit him after his binge but at least after the fact he was worried about his brains, not unlike us grown ups who eat the fudge sundae and then wonder how we'll get rid of it. The remedy for the brain rot though? "Read a book," I suggested. I'd venture to recommend going without the TV for a month, cooking every meal from scratch to include eating less meat and making a cake, establishing a daily routine, and pursuing activities that do not include gadgets might be a step toward less brain rot, but that is just a thought or perhaps, more accurately, just a fantasy. To think, I could go to Fantasy Island and ask for an authentic experience and end up with a shark bite, cooking for twenty people for weeks on end, and organizing a barn raising, to cure me of it. Where is "de plane, de plane?"

A Book, a Repairman, Poverty, and a Word

It was the second time I had picked up The Help and could not put it down- until forced by exhaustion at nearly four in the morning. At seven in the morning, my dad heading out for work asked me to answer the phone: the air conditioning had stopped overnight and a repairman was to call. I murmured agreement without opening my eyes or noticing the warmth creeping into the house.

Within minutes of his departure I was vertical and attempting to speak on the phone. I was greeted by a cheery morning person. He stated his name and business- his name rang a bell. Within minutes the door bell rang. "Is your air conditioner on Ma'am?" he asked. "I think so," I said as I walked him over to the thermostat. It was not; he turned it on, saying, "I need to take a look at the unit," and then headed outside. Minutes later, the repair finished, the repairman explained the problem and part change while I stood in my pajamas and the Moose watched cartoons. We were the first stop of the day and conveniently he lives nearby. In my befuddled sleep deprived state, I did not confirm that we had been classmates in eighth grade.

I am too spent by my reading efforts to accomplish much today. It kind of reminds me of summers as a kid- reading and reading. I didn't expect to like The Help so much, but as I read about the women, southern culture, and race relationships, I thought of my early years in the South and of racisim and of poverty. Poverty seems more prevalent than I remember here.

Compared to my life in Japan, America seems poorer. More people here seem hard off and look a bit more ragged as a result. Perhaps I have gotten used to the slick suits, trim waists, poofy hair, and urbane chic of the working commuters in Japan. Here, I notice the obesity that screams fast food diet, shower shoes worn as dress apparel, scroungy hair that needs to be both washed and cut, and unflattering stretchy clothes that reek of unemployment. This snap shot reflects my summer impressions. It is not a distinct all or nothing existence of poverty in either country, more that I see the poverty here and not there for no particular reason beyond it is more obvious to me in my travels here.

A woman approached us in the yard, asking, "Is there any jobs I can do to earn money?" Nothing wrong with asking, but the general absence of soliciting and pan handling in Japan increases my awareness of it's return. Reading The Help reminds me of the precarious position, the vulnerability, the poor bear in our communities. This weak position calls for taxes and political changes, to me, yes, I know, verboten words in America and particularly in the South. However, a weak community needs adjustments and assistance to both push and pull it into a stronger position: sprawl equals unhealthy lifestyles reliant on driving and cheap food; suffering equals punishment of the victims of policy and abuse; and kindness is line of sight, if and when we encounter each other, which we don't- gated communities, spheres of influence, glass ceilings- not much interaction between the haves and the have nots.

It's as if I am seeing a large fleshy wound that can't heal, here in America. I want to push the edges together and sew them up, but as a nurse I know it has to heal from the inside out. How to reach inside, into each life, and pull out the good stuff in the presence of need, pain, chaos, and the pursuit of the wrong trail? I can only think to form thoughts into words of encouragement to say, "you are good." It does not meet the present need, but without valuing the good, it is harder to reach for better.

The maid tells the child while she can in The Help she is good- before the child sees that her own mother doesn't care for her and before she is taught to see a difference between a human being with black skin versus a human being with white skin by her culture at school and at home. My favorite quote from The Help:

"You think I'm dumb?"
"No," she whispers hard, like she means it so much. She look sorry she said it.
"What that tell you about Miss Taylor, then?"
She blink, like she listening good.
"Means Miss Taylor ain't right all the time," I say.

People believe the things said about them until they learn not to. Once you get away from a reliance on others for who and what you are, you are free to be more and less than a description. We have tape recorders in our heads that rewind and play messages that are not necessarily good for us. Consider this: stop pressing the play button, let it be, quit trying so damed hard, and sometimes, give someone else a good thought to chew on.

For our bedtime reading tonight I continued The Trumpet of the Swan by E. B. White. Chapter five is about a trumpet swan that has yet to make a sound, Louis. His father calls him, "dumb," but seeing that he has upset his son, he explains that there are two meanings to the word- one being of the opinion that the other lacks intelligence, and two, "A person who can't see is called blind. A person who can't hear is called deaf. A person who can't speak is called dumb." May we enable each other to speak and to speak up for those who cannot in our words and deeds.

Rule Number One

Rules for Small Town Living

"Rule number one, do not flip anyone the bird- they might be a customer," a friend suggested over beers as we celebrated, at last, our home purchase and coincidentally our wedding anniversary. There was a fair amount of laughter and head shaking agreement over the interconnectivity of businesses and folks in these parts. During our week of vacation and business, we had encountered some of these connections. My husband relaying our efforts to change the title of our car from Florida to Ohio learned that the barber is married to the Clerk of Title for the County. While registering to vote, the office worker noted our last name and verified that we knew my husband's parents; she attends church with them. Noting the nice tomatoes at the music shop, I learned they were dropped off by a farmer who trades produce for lessons. When I talked beer with the brewer, I learned that the brewery sells Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream- the base is made by Snowville Creamery. The Seller's realtor went to high school with my husband's brother. My husband swam swim team in high school with the lawyer we consulted. Considering how much overlap there is in a small community, it is advisable for newcomers and old-timers to be honest and direct in business dealings and to follow rule number one even when someone cuts you off.

In Search of a Contractor

Part of our vacation time was used to find a contractor for some renovations on our new old house. The first contractor, a tall soft spoken man with an excellent reputation and several recommendations, seemed a perfect fit. We were tempted to not even meet with anyone else, but at the insistence of others we met with the second contractors, two brothers, also with excellent reputations and recommendations; we again felt a perfect fit. I couldn't find one person to say a bad word about either one all week, instead everyone was singing their praises. Remembering back to our house remodel in D.C. this was a welcomed quandary, but still how to make the decision? A game of rock, paper, scissors has been used more than once by the Japanese mamas to decide close calls. I am sure there will be more reflections on this experience over the coming months as we manage this project from afar. It kind of gets back to rule number one, it pays to have a good reputation.

A New Direction

It feels odd to buy a house and then leave the next day. There are things which need to come together before we can return to live in it, mainly the remodeling work, an early release for the kids and I to leave Japan, and eventually my husband's retirement. We'll see how things evolve. For now, the direction we are heading feels good.

Food Culture

Funnel Cake at the Fair

Our annual treks home often unearth some new diet concerns in American culture- perhaps it is the fear mongering abundant in American media? Food topics of concern have run the gamut from carbohydrates generally to fat to cholesterol to wheat. No one is complaining about the wretched state of bread in America- surely you know of crunchy baguettes from France or perfect loaves of sandwich bread in Japan? It seems in America the focus is on the ingredients and not the product or the way in which we eat and live. I find this disheartening. Drive to to the gym, but don't walk or ride a bike daily. Fat substitutes, but no butter. Diet yogurt in twenty flavors, sure, but full fat yogurt is treated as if it has the plague. Sugar substitutes, but no honey, maple syrup, or fancy sugar crystals. No wheat, but how about a half pound of meat? Sigh. I think I found an American food culture I can respect- an active farmer's market with baked goods, honey, goat cheese, fruit, vegetables, beef, pork, organic coffee, and a lonesome banjo player; a local dairy with grass fed cows; and lots of local food products and restaurants including a brewery.

Pony Ride at the Fair

We left late for the Farmers Market after realizing there would be no house signing. We had to pull the Moose away from the soldier collection his grandfather had retrieved from the attic. Before Lego and Playmobil, there were still little boys who set up battlefields and elaborate sets- the Moose is apparently the third generation, maybe the forth, to do this. We took the Moose's Warrior book along in the car and managed to tempt him out of the car to chat with the beekeeper at the market. The Moose and the Mule identified the queen while observing the bee hive. We rustled up tomatillos from the Shade River Organic Farm and pork from the Pig Man for chille verde that my husband kindly cooked later for dinner. I will have to wait for next summer to make jam.

Children's Day (free admission) at the County Fair seemed to bring out a lot more children and a few hillbillies. The people watching was exceptional. We avoided the spin and puke rides. Instead the munsters opted for pony rides and the bungee cord trampoline. Lunch was from the Burrito Buggy and dessert was a funnel cake. We even had lemonade. It made for a satisfying fair experience, and it kept the Moose from pining for his toy soldiers.

Cows head in for milking time

We then set off to tour the Snowville Creamery. It was not a production day so we were able to tour the production line and see: how the milk is processed- a lot of pipes; the microbiological testing that is done; the cream separator; the packaging setup- only half gallons; and the analytical math skills required to match cows milked to percentage of butter fat to production needs amongst other things. We tasted samples of chocolate milk at the end of our tour and then watched the cows make their way into the milking barn, eighteen at a time. The cows have nearly an acre apiece to graze. The dairy sells milk as far away as Washington, DC. This dairy is the real deal- you know the picture of a farm used by industrial farms to represent their animals, the cartoon version of a cow or farm? Snowville uses pictures of the cows they milk on the land the cows eat- I now know the exact spot my favorite Snowville Dairy photo was taken. I thoroughly enjoyed it; the kiddos tolerated it though they were our excuse for going. We talked about the nutritional value of grass fed milk noting that chocolate milk is a better energy source than a power bar with more calcium, as well as why they sell cream in half gallon cartons (that's the only packaging machine they have), and a potential yogurt development (please, please). I asked a lot of questions, including the State of Ohio's milk regulations for cheese production (raw milk sales are not allowed to individuals).

The cows were certainly surprised to see us as they made their way to the barn- a few stopped and stared, stalling the line, only to be head butted by another cow, eventually. We even heard a moo or two. I enjoyed the cow's frank regard of us, their stare as if to absorb these alien invaders. There was one lone farmer in the rear insuring the herd made it's way together, but mostly the cows like and know their routine, and it is a quiet place, peaceful.

Snowville Creamery Tour 8/2011

A Fair Strategy

Deep Fried Oreos anyone?

I barely awoke for my nine o'clock hair appointment. The Stylist did her magic so that two hours later I was able to meet a building contractor some what in possession of my faculties. Nothing like time at the hair salon. Unless of course you are at The barbershop. My husband and the Moose got their respective buzz cuts while catching up on the latest grizzle. I have to say this year's findings were a bit more personal and grim. The barber's son was recently hit by a car and left in the road which resulted in a nineteen day hospital stay. The health insurance company realizing they had made an oversight in keeping the son on their rolls thoughtfully dumped him without paying a dime! I say "thoughtfully" because in a time of family duress the health insurance company was quick to correct their error and NOT take care of the bills at hand- isn't that their problem since he was on their rolls at the time of the accident? The victim had been left for dead by a driver (hit and run). However, he qualified for a special fund set up by the State for victims of hit and run accidents. At least he can walk, but it is a sad commentary on both the insurers and the people who would consider these particular outcomes (abandonment) reasonable courses of action.

Rabbit Judging at the Fair

The Moose, being six years old, came up with this strategy for the county Fair. "Let's see all of the animals, then go on the rides, and then have a treat so we don't get sick on the rides," he said. "No lemonade!" he said. I agreed, saying, "So that's your strategy? Sounds good." We watched the cows being shown in the arena. We saw the rabbits being judged- my favorite won, a handsome black and white Rex. The Moose refused to go into one of the poultry barns due to the unmentionable smells emitting from the entrance. We did managed to visit the horse barns, another poultry house, the rabbits, goats, sheep barn, and the piggies! I haven't seen pigs up close for a while, and I can report that even sleeping pigs have happy smiles on their faces.

Bungee Cord Jumping

A day at the county fair seems a perfect cap to having rently read Charlotte's Web on summer vacation. That is until the swings. It seems the twirly cups set up the "swing stomach event" resulting in one munster covered in her lunch and looking very pale. The young men running the swings were very nice, tossing a bucket of water onto the swing to clean it off and asking after us. I did my best to rush the Mule to the fairground's bathroom, but it was, of course, far away. I washed everything off in the bathroom sink with hand soap. We let the Moose do a few more rides while the Mule sipped a Coke. His favorite ride at the end of day? "The bungee cord!" he said. "Can we come back tomorrow?" asked the Mule as her dad carried her on his shoulders to the car. "We'll see," he replied.

Tomorrow we hope to close on our house, but apparently it is not a settled deal due to there being a variety of problems with the paperwork provided by the appraiser. We'll see what happens, tomorrow.

As the munsters enjoy an episode of Olivia, dada is making gumbo, and mama is thinking about a whole lot of nothing. I did tell the Mule that she is officially an Ohioan now that she has thrown up at the fair. She's thrilled that the pressure is off for eating corn to qualify for that designation.

Cricket Food and a Sequel

Cricket food in the fridge anyone?

There is a frog from Texas living in a terrarium in the library below. It arrived in a pickle jar. From a best guess and basic research, it appears to be a tree frog. It lives off of crickets. I know this because there is an uncommon jar of cricket food in the fridge also below. Apparently, the frog will only eat crickets that are alive. My sister-in-law has to buy the crickets at a pet shop and keep them alive for this purpose. She is a braver woman than I.

My sisters-in-law and I have decided thta the sequel to the unmentionable "children's book" should be the even more unmentionable mother's book titled Leave me the F**k Alone. We realized that we each harbor fantasies of being left- at a Best Western in Toledo all by ourselves for a day for example. Not that any one of us would object to something fancier but the key is being left to our own devices. Husband's sigh over having to leave the family and take in room service meals at even fancy hotels or at being left alone for weeks at a time. Meanwhile, mothers yearn for uninterrupted thoughts and changing maxi pads in bathrooms all by themselves. There were a few confessions of locking the bathroom door to keep children out while enjoying a reprieve from motherhood duties. My sisters-in-law came up with a wealth of rhymes for alone- bone, zone, groan, moan, trombone, phone, cologne, etc. A better poet than I will have to work up the wit on this one, but we had ourselves in stitches. You can only laugh if you have been there. The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat so to speak. Any mother worth her salt has had a moment of desperately wishing she could just have a moment to herself. Young children know no limit of invasion of your personal space. Husbands think you should know where even their socks are located. It begins and ends with mama. Mama just wants a break.

The cousins are sleeping after a full day of "I have no idea what they are doing," but I am grateful they are doing it because they leave me alone. Time to laugh and reflect on those early and more demanding years remind us to enjoy these quiet moments at hand.

The Cousins

A Children's Book Makes Me Cry

Bocce Ball in Pajamas

Maturing children that can play for long stretches of time with minimal intervention are a welcome turn of events in the life of a parent. Summer vacation with cousins means an ample supply of playmates with the occasional but tolerable bumps in the road when small children get overtired or hungry or burned out. It is much better than being home with only mama! The best thing so far has been my sisters-in-law's introduction to a children's book for parents that had me crying and laughing at the same time. It gets to the heart of parental agony at bedtime. Let me quote from it:

The cats nestle close to their kittens now.
The lambs have laid down with the sheep.
You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear
Please go the f**k to sleep.

It isn't the most polite language, but truly the laughter comes from the unmentionable thought lurking in my mind in these bedtime moments. That last line without the please is both the title of the book and the refrain throughout the book in various guises. The audible version read by Samuel L. Jackson is a classic. The pictures are all cozy and sweet making them a lovely contrast that aids the humor factor.

Jet lag seems to be off of our immediate horizons as we each settle into the current time zone. A late night thunder storm with gusty winds kept us from a swim in the lake today, but while on a walk along the shore we did see a surfer riding waves and a parachute water skier flying about- I am at a loss as to what to call this particular activity- but it does speak to the size of the surf on Lake Michigan and to the gustiness of the wind.

A House Visit & 2 Wake Ups

We Head North, a Road Trip
Driving north to Michigan, passing field after field of corn, we count deer crossing signs and look for animals. We spot lots of horses and cows. America has so much open space. The downside of not being in Japan is the food.

American Food
Lunch at a fairly nice Italian restaurant was notable for it's absurd meat portions, sugary drinks- "we serve Pepsi products," said the waitress, and having to say, "no thank you" to the appetizers and twice to dessert. I can't help but connect the sugary drinks, lack of fresh food, large portions, and slabs of meat to the body sizes around me. Navigating restaurants and food on the go is tricky. On the airplane Saturday, I was eyeballing a Japanese woman's onigiri and wishing I had thought to bring one myself. Why is it in Japan fresh onigiri rice balls that are healthy and tasty can be had at a 7-11 for a buck while here I can't even get a healthy and tasty meal for fifteen bucks? My food tirades will likely continue.



Our Future Home
We finally toured our future home. I have to say the internet photos make it look in better shape than reality. It is more rundown than I expected. I would not recommend internet shopping for a home. A major renovation will be in our future.


2 Wake Ups
Being a guest and having small children do not help one recover from jet lag- evening conversations happen just when I want to roost in my bed, meals are served when my stomach is asleep, and children wander into my room at all hours. I have trouble getting into longer sleep cycles.

In my losing battle to quiet down the talking, singing, whistling, and ongoing chatter of the Mule, I suggested she watch a video or play a game in another room. My fatigue was entrenched after two hours of cajoling her back to sleep. Within ten minutes of my suggestion to go elsewhere, I was racing down the stairs to the screech of the house security system. I wasn't wearing my glasses so it was more of a blind stumbling through the dark. Some how my fingers typed in the code I heard mentioned once last year. I was momentarily proud of my brain cells for pulling that out of thin air. Returning to the Mule I asked, "Why did you try to go outside? It's dark." Her reply, "I wanted to get the newspaper." Having saved the household from being awakened, I resigned myself to morning and made breakfast for the Mule and I. Later, when the rest of the family awoke, I asked, "Did you hear the alarm go off?" No one had. My sacrifice of sleep was in hope that my husband, the driver for our trip north, would be well rested.

The night before it was the Moose who was unable to sleep. We had breakfast at four in the morning, followed by another breakfast at nine with everyone else. What is needed is simply to go to bed when one is tired even if it is five in the evening. Eventually day light straightens you out. It feels painful to be this tired, but there are no short cuts in life.