“Caw, caw, caw,” I hear. It is the first sound of morning. Followed soon after by the hum of cicadas so loud that I am sure a plague is imminent. The heat of summer lingers here, plants creep closer, thicker; I suspect it was once a wild jungle. If we all disappeared, the people, it would be wild within a year. Life lives; I hear it.
Early morning hours are artistic hours. I rarely have these hours to try my hand. My time is usually carved at day’s end. To awaken from slumber and tread down the hallway seems so selfish, but today is my birthday. It is what I ask of myself- to let down barriers which aren’t up this early in the morning and to let truth find me if even for the moment.
The morning assault interests me- so much comes at us- an assault on our senses. I awaken aware of my consciousness, thoughts begin percolating and forming from where they left off the day before. As the other household members awaken, there are the intrusive thoughts of others. Click on the media outlet of choice and scream, “Incoming!” Or is that just the paper, the television, or you clicking on the email? Still, they are projectiles from somewhere else, incoming into your being. Now breakfast, perhaps medicine, incoming. You are officially awake and where you were yesterday.
Yesterday, I learned that like Sushi Bars there are Tempura Bars in Japan. An exquisite experience: you take time to enjoy each sampling of tempura cooked before you. The chef was friendly, spoke a bit of English, the setting was aesthetically pleasing, and the food was hot, crunchy, and ever so light. I will not be able to eat tempura in America- no one makes it this light. We drank beer in the afternoon, we drank sake, and we drank with friends. Thank you Fu and Nobu for these delights. We watched. We admired the cooking, the tastes. A good moment to return to, take a look:
 |
| Tempura Bar in Ginza |
 |
| The entrance |
 |
| The menu in kanji- the Chef speaks English so no worries |
 |
| Tempura eggplant with crab and a sesame tofu type of dish |
 |
| Tempura pots- electric range |
 |
| Okra with tempura- so light, so crunchy |
 |
| For the love of pots- I had a great seat for watching too |
 |
| Tempura over rice- donburi I think it is called |
 |
| Thank you my friends! |
 |
| A delicious birthday surprise |
 |
| Walking in Ginza- they close the streets off on weekends |
 |
| "Please be careful not to lean against the person sitting next to you should you fall asleep" Sign in the train station. Truth is after that beautiful two hour lunch with beer and sake, we all snoozed a few minutes like this- felt great! |
“Caw, caw, caw,” I hear. It is the first sound of morning. Followed soon after by the hum of cicadas so loud that I am sure a plague is imminent. The heat of summer lingers here, plants creep closer, thicker; I suspect it was once a wild jungle. If we all disappeared, the people, it would be wild within a year. Life lives; I hear it.
Early morning hours are artistic hours. I rarely have these hours to try my hand. My time is usually carved at day’s end. To awaken from slumber and tread down the hallway seems so selfish, but today is my birthday. It is what I ask of myself- to let down barriers which aren’t up this early in the morning and to let truth find me if even for the moment.
The morning assault interests me- so much comes at us- an assault on our senses. I awaken aware of my consciousness, thoughts begin percolating and forming from where they left off the day before. As the other household members awaken, there are the intrusive thoughts of others. Click on the media outlet of choice and scream, “Incoming!” Or is that just the paper, the television, or you clicking on the email? Still, they are projectiles from somewhere else, incoming into your being. Now breakfast, perhaps medicine, incoming. You are officially awake and where you were yesterday.
Yesterday, I learned that like Sushi Bars there are Tempura Bars in Japan. An exquisite experience: you take time to enjoy each sampling of tempura cooked before you. The chef was friendly, spoke a bit of English, the setting was aesthetically pleasing, and the food was hot, crunchy, and ever so light. I will not be able to eat tempura in America- no one makes it this light. We drank beer in the afternoon, we drank sake, and we drank with friends. Thank you Fu and Nobu for these delights. We watched. We admired the cooking, the tastes. A good moment to return to, take a look:
|
| Tempura Bar in Ginza |
|
| The entrance |
|
| The menu in kanji- the Chef speaks English so no worries |
|
| Tempura eggplant with crab and a sesame tofu type of dish |
|
| Tempura pots- electric range |
|
| Okra with tempura- so light, so crunchy |
|
| For the love of pots- I had a great seat for watching too |
|
| Tempura over rice- donburi I think it is called |
|
| Thank you my friends! |
|
| A delicious birthday surprise |
|
| Walking in Ginza- they close the streets off on weekends |
|
| "Please be careful not to lean against the person sitting next to you should you fall asleep" Sign in the train station. Truth is after that beautiful two hour lunch with beer and sake, we all snoozed a few minutes like this- felt great! |
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