Other Mothers

My husband's best friend from childhood wrote this on Facebook recently:

I'm now FB™ friends with (the) mother of my best friend from childhood. If I committed some sort of crime in Athens, Ohio (1970 - 1984) by the time I got home my Mom knew already because of (her). (She) is the reason that I didn't end up like Curt Cobain. Okay, I have no musical talent, but you get the idea.

They met in kindergarten and graduated from high school together. Stories I have heard over the years include tales of a particular yard they mowed; books, then albums, and then MTV videos they watched along with memorable moments from graduation, to films made, to meals eaten as well as the various drinks they consumed. Their mothers looked after each of them over the years. For her birthday my daughter got "Tell Me" a card game that asks lots of questions. She asked her dad, "What have you done with a friend that you would not have had the guts to do alone?" He mumbled, "Buy beer." I laughed, and immediately thought of his old friend.


My daughter ditched me yet again- at the school festival on the weekend. I can see the wariness emerge and then the physical distance grow between us as we near the school yard. I finally asked, "Are you embarrassed when I speak English to you at school?" "Yes. I don't like the attention. The boys ask me over and over to translate everything. I don't like that." "So does this mean that you'll talk to me when you are in American schools?" I asked. "Yes," she said. Mystery solved- shy around the boys.


I wonder how my children will think back upon their childhood memories of Japan. They belong here and yet they don't. It is a complicated thing. My own identification with Spain during my high school years lead me to the realization that though I loved Spain, I was not Spanish but it took a while to understand the difference. I had few ties beyond my friendships- there was no excuse to return as my  parents are from Ohio not Seville, I am not Catholic (it seemed as if to be Spanish you had to be Catholic), and I did not speak Spanish fluently even if I loved the place. Though I am good at making patata fritta and love garlic chicken, gazpacho, and olives, I can barely  say, "Hola," to the other gaijin mother in my daughter's class who happens to be from Peru. My very little Japanese has embedded in the same places Spanish once resided. Cross cultural experiences are certainly defining moments, but they don't make us something we are not. 


I rely more on the other mothers than my children. I can barely help with their homework (particularly Japanese or math word problems); follow the school schedule, PTA announcements, or class notes (all in Japanese); or understand the rules of etiquette without help (because I have no Japanese cultural reference points of my own). 


At the school festival an impromptu chat with the mother who rescued me last year, I felt the flood of tears pierce my eyes yet again. Gratitude resides where pain once did because of her.  Facing a roomful of mothers sitting properly at their children's desks, starring across the classroom at nothing, at each other, each mother was given a few minutes to introduce herself and say something about her child. When it was my turn to speak, it was if a  knife turned and entered into my heart with a suddenness and with a sureness I could not lessen, bereft of words, but awash in the painful realization that as an immigrant mother I could not speak, I could not read, and I was not the master of the way. Everyone tried politely to ignore my pain in the afternoon's quiet with no mask out of place but mine. The mothers, the teacher, giving me a moment to collect myself and hide my feelings, but I could not. I have no practice with this cultural expectation. Still, it was my turn, tick tock, but I was paralyzed by the overwhelming pain of incompetence. Then this mother got up, crossed the room, and moved a desk to sit by my side, stepping over her own cultural barriers in a small act of kindness that sensed my need for a friend. I stammered something out. She translated.


I feel vulnerable when I go to my children's school. I wander around in a haze of unknowing that I am not truly at peace with. I try to remind myself that you can know through knowledge and intellect and through the heart- in  my heart I think it is good for my children, but tough for me. This poor mother saved me, but all I can do is feel my heart overflow. My heart is littered with a trail of helpful mothers that have kept me afloat and helped me at just the moment I could take it no longer. However, I can't always recognize the mothers that help me , like my husband's childhood friend did on FB, in a way that equates their act of kindness with it's impact on my heart, and sometimes those feelings come in the form of tears since I have no words to express my gratitude. 

Being the Lego

For the Moose's third birthday, he wanted to dress up like Spider Man. I suppressed a laugh. With a sister born on Halloween his idea of birthday parties was that you wear costumes. Over the years they have accumulated a few dress up items which are kept on the floor, on the couch, under the coffee table, or in the chest in their room. They often root through the box throwing things asunder so they can run about in the day's flight of fancy. Transferring this kind of play to Lego or Playmobil figures seems to be in the same vein.

The Moose's love of history books with pictures particularly of soldiers combined with his inability to read  English has locked the graphic details into his mind. He spends inordinate amounts of his free time in various guises- World War I fighter ace, English Musketeer, American Patriot, Civil War Soldier- Confederate and Yankee, Mongol, Mughal, Knight, Vaquero, Maori, French Chasseur, etc. It is all about weaponry and surprise tactics. Sometimes I think he has become the Lego.

I first saw the "Animals at Play" video listening to the show now called On Being. Krista Tippet interviewed Stuart Brown in a show titled "Play, Spirit, + Character." The clip of a husky and polar bear romping in pure joy despite a likely empty stomach on the bear's part is a compelling call for play. It is what I remember when I start to stew about not enough time to get school, piano, homework, and English work done everyday because my kid's need to play! So in case you need an excuse for having no purpose kind of fun or letting your kid's have fun, watch this:

This was used in his 2006 TED talk below:

Evolution of a Halloween Pumpkin

The Beginning

My husband and I met on Halloween. I was a gypsy fortune-teller. He claimed he was J. Robert Oppenheimer. "Oh, the nuclear guy," I replied. He thought I was brilliant (for the South). I asked him, "Are you a pilot?" "No," he replied. "Good, then you can talk to me," I said. Our auspicious beginning.

Time Passages

Ten years later we were in an hospital room three weeks too early. I knew I wasn't going home despite the test results the doctor was just bringing into the room. I started to cry. The doctor looked up from the paper he was carrying and said, "You can go home. Why are you crying?" I boohooed, "My water just broke, and I'm not ready." As if you are ever ready for children.

Eight more years later, a cowgirl with her horse and a Roman with his shield run about the darkened paths enjoying trick-or-treat with a few friends in Japan. The weather is fine though with the sunset at 16:46 p.m., my camera flash struggles to light the evening's events: trick or treaters rushing about, birthday cake chomping, and piñata bashing. On past Halloweens, we've had a baby, a pumpkin, a princess, a jack-o-lantern, a bear, a duck, a mermaid, a shark, Darth Vader, a ghoul, Indiana Jones, Totoro, the Tooth Fairy, and a few stubborn moments of refusing to wear costumes at the last minute.

This is a self-indulgent trip down memory lane, but I am happy to count my blessings. Happy Birthday!

Halloween Münster Arriving 2003 

Pumpkin Patch 2004

Halloween Pumpkin 2004

2004

Pumpkin Patch with the her new baby brother, the Moose,  2005

2005 

A Duck & a Jack-o-lantern 2005

Teddy Bear, Halloween, 2005? 2006?

Princess, 2006- she loved this dress and wore it to shreds

A Mermaid, Halloween 2007

2007- the dress reemerges

Birthday 2008- refused to wear her costume

Darth Vader & a Fairy 2008

The Tooth Fairy, Halloween 2009

A Ghoul, Halloween 2009

Totoro & Indiana Jones, Halloween 2010

Sheik, Halloween 2010

Jedi OBen-one-kenobi & Princess Leia, 2011

A Roman with his shield, Halloween 2011

Happy Halloween  2011

A Cowgirl and her horse and a Witch, Halloween 2011

Erasing Lines: Thoughts on my Kitchen and Bath

Kitchen Designs

"What if I move this over here or that over there?" I ponder the architect's drawings of our kitchen. I don't want to live in a house and wonder for the next forty years, "Why did we put the counter there?" or "Why is the sink so far from the stove?" Details wear me out so as I exhaust every possibility, I also exhaust myself. I know the architect, the builder, and the kitchen planner are probably wondering about me way over here on this side of the world plotting out my kitchen- I tinker with their suggestions. Maybe if I was there in person or maybe if I had actually lived in the house, I would have a better sense of what would work both for my family and for the house. Instead, I sit with paper, whiteout, a pencil, an eraser, a tape measurer, and a pair of scissors so I can cut up the architect's work and move it around on the paper, adding a line here, erasing a line there, trying to see what could be.

A Little Help from my Friends

I have also solicited input from my design friends. I love their, "What if ...?" Our friend, also an architect, studied the paper one fine afternoon with great intensity. We had asked him for input on moving a wall. Finally, I asked, "What do you think?" He said, "I want to move the bathroom," pointing to the half bath in the Sunroom. He wasn't so interested in the wall as in the bathroom. I thought that was interesting because when my other friend had said the same thing, I dismissed it, thinking that moving the bathroom was impossible. We didn't come to any grand conclusions, but a week later when our architect and the builder suggested we move the bathroom instead of the wall, it was an easy decision.

Another moment of valuable input came with this question: "What are the dimensions of this bathroom?" As we stared at the white paper with it's black lines that made everything look perfectly in its place, I said, "I don't really know." Then she said, "I was in a friend's bathroom this summer. It was so big, I felt naked in there." I knew what she meant, a bathroom needs to feel intimate. We split the bathroom into a study and a bathroom.

Chewing on things helps. The more I think on how I will use something and how much time I spend in the space, the more ideas on the space I am willing to consider. It is not a quick process- you find merit in one idea and that leads to something else so you have to consider the compromises. I'm in search of functional space that has chi or flow as well as light, but we are limited to the confines of an old house which is probably good- the possibilities are finite. I heard they jacked up the living floor three inches this week- should be level now.

My husband is pretty good with spacial perception so I am hoping that we can talk through some of the ideas and conclude this process. He is tired and irritated with the daily haurangings over minutiae, but I try to remind him, "Think about it now so we never have to think about it again."

Notes from a Lecture by Ruskin

In 1853 John Ruskin delivered three lectures on art and architecture to an audience in Edinburgh, Scotland. They were later printed in a book titled Lectures on Architecture and Painting. I read this book in March while lying on a mattress on the floor in a rented beach house as everyone but me slumbered thanks to jetlag.

...every farthing we spend on objects of art has influence over men's minds and spirits, far more than over their bodies. By the purchase of every print which hangs on your walls, of every cup out of which you drink, and every table off which you eat your bread, you are educating a mass of men in one way or another. You are either employing them healthily or unwholesomely; you are making them lead happy or unhappy lives; you are leading them to look at Nature, and to love her—to think, to feel, to enjoy,—or you are blinding them to Nature, and keeping them bound, like beasts of burden, in mechanical and monotonous employments. We shall all be asked one day, why we did not think more of this.

John Ruskin

Working Things Out

I wander around all day muttering to myself. Thoughts come to me about something to write but in the midst of my labors I can only hope at day's end that I will remember some of them. To remedy this, I repeat the thought over and over, hoping for the chance to write it down. The reality is that I mutter the same thought for long intervals, end up not writing it down, not attending to my task at hand, and having the same thought all day! I lost a few good thoughts, today, perhaps they will find me again, someday.

I am breaking one of my big diet rules. Yes, I have diet rules for myself. Admittedly, being American, rules are made to be broken, but these general guidelines keep me healthy, not that I am a paragon of health, but I did get pretty chunky in my twenties. My college roommate, herself fit and healthy, suggested we try the raw food diet. Raw broccoli and raw mushrooms still make me gag. I became a believer in eating real food and real fat. The basics are- eat three meals a day- the more of them you cook, the better; eat treats only you or someone else make by hand- no processed food; drink water with each meal, and, the rule I violate the most except when stressed, stop when you feel full- do not clean your plate- which is not a problem in Japan, only in America. Halloween is killing me as I have been munching on (processed) Reese's peanut butter pumpkins and mini Baby Ruth bars that are meant for treat bags. My guts are screaming for mercy, but I can't stop myself. There is an addictive chemical in them. Seriously, the impact they are having on my insides is remarkable. It's like that scene in Supersize Me when he eats all the McDonald's food and then that night his body feels like it is undergoing a metamorphosis from health to illness- he can't breathe and he feels weird. Processed food is bad, my body which has been free of junk for a long time is gurgling so loudly that  you could hear it if you were in the room with me, across the table.

While whining about my processed candy diet was not on my inner tape loop today, I have forgotten what was. I spray painted pinatas, contemplated kitchen plans, worked on the cookbook which makes me batty because the software is sooo slow, went to piano lessons with the munsters, stir fried chicken and beans with tobanjan for dinner- that stuff is amazingly spicy, and I did six loads of laundry as I had to wash the munsters's bedding while the weather was fair- takes flannel forever to dry otherwise- which did make me think of the bug we have for a pet.

The bug house sits on my son's dresser so I pass by it daily. The bug never comes out in the light though so I have no worry of seeing it. My husband and my children who have a greater interest in the bug have reported that it is getting really fat, pray for me- that there are no babies coming. The bug is nocturnal. My husband often comes in late so he checks on the bug when he goes into kiss the munsters (they share a room). The Mule reports that her dad sprays the cage, to keep it moist, every night. He has his rituals, and I have mine. I never look in the bug house. So while I was stripping and later making the beds, I thought about the bug- Is it a happy bug? Is it house proud (like the Edward Gorey bugs in the story)? Will it have babies?

When I met the Moose to go to the piano sensei's house, he appeared uncomfortable and wouldn't look at me directly. When I inquired, he said, "I don't want to talk about it." I stopped on the sidewalk and got down on his level and said, "I'm your mama, it's ok to tell your mama if you want to." He responded, "You look different today." I laughed because my whiley hair was all poofed up in a barrette that I haven't worn in a very long time. I told him, "You know mama's hair!" Dada always jokes about it being an indicator of the weather, the humidity, my stress level, etc. "Today the weather is fine so my hair is different!" He laughed because he recognized the truth in what I said. At bedtime tonight, he was stewing about Alice in Wonderland, the movie- it gives him the creeps, "I can't stop thinking about it" he said. He watched it in August. I read a chapter from the Little House on the Prairie series. He went to sleep.

My husband told me a story about a little girl playing with toys. He asked her, "Where is the daddy?" She said, "He's dead." He asked, "How do the brother and the sister feel about that?" "They're ok," she said playing with the toys. He asked, "How does the mommy feel about it?" She replied, "She's ok, she killed him. She ran him over with the car." Her parents are getting a divorce. He said this is not uncommon for kids to work things out like this.

I guess we all work things out in our own ways even as grown ups.

Dodging Bullets

A friend called to thank me for helping her dodge a bullet. I was flattered and stunned by the bullet's calamitous trajectory, but I didn't help her dodge a bullet. She dodged the bullet. I showed up, I challenged her thinking some, but she listened and she chose differently as a result. She made some hard choices, and I am sure it helped to have someone goad versus glad-hand, but still, she deserves the medal not me. In that moment, I felt the hero's confusion of, "I was just doing my job" or in this case, "I was just being a friend."

Challenging a friend's strongly held beliefs is tricky. Rarely are you given one on one time to engage in the Socratic method of inquiry. Who shows up to talk to you alone? Who let's you ask contrary questions? Who let's you cry when you feel pain? She did, and I am grateful.

There is much . Hold true to yourself and bring the blessings of all you encounter with you.

Now the heart's dream turns to requiem,
Offering itself a poultice of tears
To cleanse from loss what cannot be lost. 

Through all the raw and awkward days,
Dignity will hold the heart to grace
Lest it squander its dreams on a ghost. 

Often torn ground is ideal for seed
That can root disappointment deep enough
To yield a harvest that cannot wither: 

A deeper light to anoint the eyes,
Passion that opens wings in the heart,
A subtle radiance of countenance:
The soul ready for its true other. 

John O'Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us, from For Broken Trust

Dragons, Samurai, & Onsens

Ashi Lake in Hakone, Kanagawa, Japan

Maybe every lake has a spirit. This one has a dragon spirit- legend has it that a nine headed dragon- Kuzuryū (九頭龍 nine-headed dragon)- lives here. Maybe it was the rain and mist, but it felt like a dragon could be lurking. Though we don't have dragons anymore, we still love stories about dragons. I wouldn't have been surprised if a dragon erupted from the water and gobbled up our toes. It also reminded me of Haku from Spirited Away. He is a river spirit that has forgotten his name- if you forget your real name, you are trapped forever.

Ancient Samurai painting on display

The Hakone area has been long visited for both onsens and it's proximity to Tokyo- originally the route connecting Edo with Kyoto. We went for the onsens.  The Moose asked about moving to Hakone to be nearer to the Hakone-jinja Shrine's Samurai Museum. Our friends told us that Hakone has many power spots and that the shrine is important for businesses; they will soon open a restaurant thus our pilgrimage. It also has a long history associated with the Samurai and the museum offers some cultural artifacts that fascinated one Moose, in particular the Shogun's swords, many drawings and books about the Samurai and the history of the area, as well as these original tubs for bathing. Note the Moose is on his father's shoulders- the tubs are large; they were used at the lakeside by travelers to bathe in the volcanically warmed hot springs. The majesty of the large trees and the fog surrounding the lake must have made for  a mystical traveling experience.

Original onsen tubs from Lake Ashi in Hakone, Samurai Museum

We opted for rest, time in hot water, and the Hakone Open Air Museum. The fall colors are barely beginning, but the break from the daily routine and the natural surroundings were pure pleasure.

Foot Bath at Hakone Open Air Museum

Snoozing on the tatami mats after our onsen baths

The great outdoors with sculpture

Mochi Making

The Mule wielding the Mochi Hammer

Mochi is a chewy rice cake made from mochi rice and water. As a foreigner I first saw it made at a New Year's event where mochi pounding was done with big hammers. I had no idea that mochi could be made at home using mochi rice. There are special machines that make mochi, but mostly you buy it in shops, purchase it as dried bricks to grill in the toaster, or use mochi powder to mix up the balls to boil at home. Kendo Mama's bread machine makes mochi, but, alas, mine does not. Not to be deterred, I wanted to lay eyes on the process to determine how to do it with my rice cooker and Kitchen Aid mixer.

This method uses both a rice cooker and standing mixer. You must use mochi rice which is a short grain rice that differs from regular Japanese rice, and put the hot rice immediately into the stand mixer with the dough hook on after the rice is cooked. Fresh mochi made this way has a natural sweetness and though a tad grainy compared to mochi pounded out in shops with thwacking machines here in Japan, this works and satisfies the taste buds and yields the chewy texture.

Then it's all about the toppings. My children's favorites are kinako powder and black sesame paste both mixed with a bit of sugar, but you can dip the pieces of mochi into nearly anything, think peanut butter, nutella, or soy sauce with a small knob of butter.

Have a bowl of water at hand and a pair of kitchen scissors to work with it. Place some water in a shallow dish for the mochi to sit. Keep a small bowl of water to dip fingers and kitchen scissors. Fresh mochi is sticky. Cut off pieces of mochi and dip them in the toppings. Prepare the toppings while the mixer is stretching the mochi.

Fresh Mochi in a Stand Mixer
Mochi Rice, 3 cups
Water, 3 cups

Start with dry Mochi rice, do not substitute the kind of rice. Rinse, wash, and drain the rice three times. For the final drain, let it sit for 30 minutes. Cook the rice in a rice cooker. Immediately after cooking, put the hot rice into the stand mixer (cover with a towel to keep it warm) and knead with a dough hook for about 40 minutes until it is one mass of sticky white dough. It is done when all mixed together and formed into a mass. In a shallow dish place a bit of water and the fresh mochi. Using a small bowl of water, keep your fingers and scissors wet to cut the mochi into small pieces to eat. Serve with toppings such as kinako powder (finely ground roasted soybeans) with a bit of sugar added, barley or maple syrup, anko or sweetened red bean paste, chocolate syrup, sesame paste mixed with sugar, peanut butter, etc. Leftovers can be wrapped in plastic wrap and eaten within a day. You can even dry it out if you have a spot that is dry enough and not disturbed, but I haven't done this.

My friend says this is their Saturday morning breakfast routine. Try it!

Mochi at home- serve with toppings

A Lesson in Humility from a Monk

Engaku-ji Temple in Kita Kamakura

I don't actually do Ikebana flower arranging, but I enjoy visiting temples and seeing Ikebana demonstrations. Yesterday, the Ikebana International Kamakura Chapter held an event at Engaku-ji Temple in Kitakamakura.  Kendo Mama and Ikebana Mama were able to join me which added to the fun- so rarely do I get to offer them a new experience.

Head Priest of Engaku-ji Temple speaking to Ikebana Int'l Kamakura Chapter

The head priest of the temple offered us a story for contemplation. Engakuji is a very important Zen temple in Japan and is one of the places that trains priests and offers zazen to the public. Not all of the temples are fortunate enough to have the space and resources to provide this kind of training. Monks are graduates of universities and part of their training is about public service and part of it is about "being good behind closed doors." The priest's story: Years ago, when still a young monk himself, he was preparing the temple for a large influx of trainees when the then head priest called him to a meeting. He was thinking of logistics, meals, supplies, and arrangments. The head priest said to him, "Please train our workers [monks in training] to clean the toilet. That is it. That is our job." As the head priest himself now, he said, "The monks do cleaning the toilet at night. So that nobody knows about it- this is very important."

Headmistress, Meikyo Ichifu IV, from Enshu school of Ikebana

There are many schools of Ikebana in Japan. They each use different tools and ways of arranging plants and flowers. This particular school focuses on bending branches, cutting stems, and using wedges to make shapes. The sensei demonstrated some of the schools techniques and tools as well as show cased some of her Ikebana book collection which are hundreds of years old.

Old Ikebana book

Branch bending seeks a round form

Special wood brackets are used to hold the branches

My heart is full of respect for the care taken to form the shapes. I marveled at the hands of the diminutive older woman using a blade and other tools to create a form of beauty she saw within the stems. The theme was Mt. Fuji. She explained that the branches are arranged to "live together, supporting each other, like a wife and a husband."

Mt. Fuji theme demonstration

Branches supporting each other

Container designed by Enshu School- Rain

Stone walkway in Japanese garden, bamboo fence

Temple Entrance with lantern

Eat Your Rice

The honorable bowl of rice- in this case topped with shiso and ginger

The Mule went to bed with her tummy protruding so full of rice that her belly button was sticking out. I had to laugh thinking back to when she was little and drank so much milk that you could hear it jiggling in her belly and see her belly button sticking out. She had absentmindedly asked for more rice at dinner, and I had absentmindedly served too much in her second bowl.

kome kanji for rice

This week her class learned the kanji for rice, kome, though she said, "O'kome," meaning honorable rice. The sensei told the children they should never waste rice; that it a very ancient grain; and that they must eat all of their rice- even if they are very full, even painfully full. Thus the reason the Mule was compelled to eat all of her second bowl. Her sensei had told a tale of having to eat a whole bowl of rice when she had asked for too much. I laughed knowingly as I have heard a few friends tell the tale of when they were forced to eat all of the rice in their bowl, a shiny empty bowl is the goal. It comes up when I warn my Japanese friends to abandon their country's custom of eating everything on their plate when I take them to the American style restaurant, Chilli's, on the base. Our dinner table discussion unleashed a litany of boasts by the Mule and Moose who had to pronounce, "I always eat all of my rice!" Neither of them usually ask for seconds. Knowing the rice rule, I aim to serve an appropriate amount- the Mule gets a generous serving, and the Moose gets a smaller bowl because despite his claims at the table, he doesn't eat rice the way the Mule does.

The Mule is thin and there is a long line of string beans, at least through adolescence, in our families. When she was a baby, the doctor harangued me about her weight- it was never quite what or where it should be on the curve or on the chart. When i told him, "She sleeps great though!" He asked, "How much does she sleep?" I bragged, "Twelve hours!" Expecting "wow, you're lucky" or perhaps "you are doing a great job at something," but that didn't come. Instead, he said, "That's too much! You need to wake that baby up and feed her! No wonder she's not growing!" She gets sleeping twelve hours a day honestly too. You ever heard what happens when you wake up a grizzly bear? You don't wake up a sleeping baby either. The doctor had no children. That was the beginning of taking what the pediatrician said with a grain of salt.

This month the Mule will turn eight years old. After having to attend school on Saturday, school was off on Monday. I scheduled her annual physical on that day, a motherhood coup meaning I was able to avoid having to take her out of school on another day. The pediatrician noted she was in great health, but that she could improve her fat and protein intake (she eats mostly vegetarian by choice, hers not mine). She also eats extremely healthily- she dislikes fatty foods and most sweets. I said, "Please use your position of authority and encourage her to try to eat more!" He did, and she has- between the doctor and the sensei's messages- she has been asking for extra portions from time to time of yogurt and rice. Now if the rest of us had these dietary problems!

Americans in particular resist the "white food diet." However, there is something extremely healthy about eating cooked rice and tofu- you feel lighter and more energetic. I eat lots of bread and pasta, but I don't feel quite the same as when I eat onigiri. Every summer when we return to the States, the meat gluttony sinks my feeling of well-being along with the jet lag as I adjust to the higher meat consumption from summertime BBQs and more restaurant meals. This year we did teach the cousins about yaki onigiri; it is amazing what a little soy sauce and grill time can do to a humble ball of rice. Consider trying a basic Japanese meal of rice, miso soup, tofu (instead of meat), and a small serving of a vegetable yourself. I bet you'll feel better too.

Tofu- part of the white diet- lots of protein and no fat

Yaki onigiri cooking on the grill

Bicycle Safety in Japan or Not

Children attending bicycle safety class in Japan

A Bike Accident

Recently, my husband, riding his bike in the neighborhood, was hit by a moped driver going too fast in a narrow alley with a blind spot. The impact sent my husband flying over the bike's handle bars which resulted in many abrasions, a broken bone in his hand, and a great deal of blood. The old man who struck him asked, "Daijoubu?" and then rode off. This is equivalent of saying, "Are you ok?" and then leaving the scene.

Sharing the Road

Sharing the road is part of life in Japan. Bicycles, pedestrians, school children, mopeds, motorcycles, delivery trucks, cars, and buses often share a mere two lanes and sometimes a sidewalk. It is nerve wracking to have a taxi cab blast by with a rush of wind as you walk down the road, have a bus pass within inches of your corporeal body as you pedal your bike, praying you don't wobble, even an elementary school baseball player with his bat tucked into his backpack riding his bike down the sidewalk can catch you unaware. A neighborhood Prius, with its stealthy engine, has snuck up on me once too often. In our neighborhood, an older part of town, one lane and no sidewalk is the norm- goat paths of a sort that are now paved. Road sharing is exacerbated in Japan if you consider population density- the Moose calls it an ant farm, cell phone texting with heads bent down (whether walking or riding a bike), carrying an umbrella and texting on a cell phone- Japan is beautifully green thanks to lots of rain so umbrellas are a frequent accessory, decreased sensory awareness with headphones plugged into MP3 players, or balancing two kids and a basketful of groceries on a bike while navigating cars, tight places- it is easier to balance with forward motion, and then there are the wandering absent minded children and teenagers.

A Bicycle Safety Class

It rained Saturday night. In the morning though the sky remained overcast, it was dry enough to ride our bicycles to shogakko for a bicycle safety class. Upon arrival we were directed to park our bicycles and go to the gym. The obstacle course portion was cancelled due to the wet ground. We watched two films interspersed with lectures and questions by the volunteers. The biggest laugh from the school children resulted from a scene of a child riding an adult's bike which was so big that the child wobbled about, finally crashing into unsuspecting pedestrians. I was amused by the head bobbing parents snoozing in the darkened corners of the gym.

Tired parents head bobbing in the distance

My husband was thunderstruck by the information presented at the bicycle safety course to the children because he said, "No one does it!" His amazement is due to the sharp contrast of rule abiding Japanese society flagrantly ignoring safety rules that are clearly needed. The Daily Yomiuri, newspaper often shows statistics for bicycle accidents- including this graph in an article titled, "More Bike Accidents in Tokyo since Quake." I asked Kendo Mama why so few people pay attention to the rules of the road on a bicycle. Her response, "People think of the bike not as a car. They think of it like walking on the sidewalk." This rationale does reflect what I see and experience- bikes on the sidewalk, no helmets, and few hand signals. It is a bias at work in my own mind- I see a bicycle as a vehicle, not something pedestrian. No wonder our confusion. Westerners are clearly identifiable in their use of bike helmets alongside a smattering of children.

Daily Yomiuri Online

2 Obasans Walking

Yesterday, I came upon a confluence of two obaasans, in this case both kyphotic older women who can barely look up- one with a cane and one with a push cart walker- moving slowly through a narrow spot. I showed up on a bicycle unsure if I should attempt to pass them as they had just come in opposite directions and were nearly shoulder to shoulder with a small gap between them, just enough for a bike to pass, but it bothered my sense of space, seeming too rude to blow by them, so I stopped to wait. Suddenly, two cars from opposing directions closed in on the three of us- in the end, the cars acquiesced and backed out of the way to allow the obaasans to pass. The women had each stopped in deference to the cars not quite aware that there was not enough space for anyone to pass with one of them on each side. In this moment, the Japanese drivers exhibited greater patience than is often exercised by my American compatriots particularly in the Washington, D.C. area, they waited patiently as the obaasans creeped along- it took several minutes. One of the women seemed to be holding onto the wall she was pressed up against as if she was hurrying too much. After the women passed each other,  I called out, "Daijoubu desuka?" It earned me a small grin from one of the obaasans as she lifted up her head just enough to see who was speaking. Her grin told me enough, I rode around.

Observing Shogakko

Making art projects in 1st Grade classroom

"Did you go to school on Saturdays when you were little mama?" asked the Mule. Indeed not for open school day, but "probably for something," I replied. Observing their Japanese school day, what stood out for me was that generally things ran smoothly despite parents wandering in and out, despite the pupil to teacher ration of thirty-five plus to one, despite the special education students that are main streamed into each class. Routines with children comfortably aware of the flow of the day and engaged in activities with everyone humming comfortably along, seemed more about an everyday activity than a special, "Oh, the parents are coming day." During the break there were exuberant children running the halls and even a small fight between two boys who spent a few minutes hitting and kicking each other before the teacher came over to speak firmly of his disappointment with them. All of the other parents ignored this eruption while I could not stop myself from saying to the boys, "No, no," and gently patting them on the back while pushing them apart. No one sent them to the office, no one tried to pull them apart. From my yochien years, I learned that this kind of behavior is tolerated and seen as "just being boys" kind of stuff. A few of the other children also gently patted their friends on the back and encouraged them to move along, let go. I was impressed by this. There was no chanting of, "Fight, fight, fight!" or oogling of bad behavior run amuck as from my grade school memories.

All of that spinning about wore the Moose out

The Moose's class made an art project and spent time trying to spin the devices. The Moose colored a cross on one side and swords battling on the other. They performed their play again, though with the larger crowd, it lacked some of the zeal of the day before. At the morning's end, the teacher played a song on the organ while the children sang facing the parents who had been standing in the back of the classroom for two hours. Two students lead the class- this job rotates to other students during the year. Every quarter the Moose is assigned a new job- currently I think he is in charge of securing light switches and other sundries. I think the team approach insures that the children help each other to remember the finer points of the job as well as to create an overlap for absences.

1st Graders singing a song to the parent's at morning's end

The Mule ignored me most of the morning while I observed her class. The best smiled captured was while she was working on an assignment with her classmate. I grew weary of this when all of the children disappeared and the other parents began milling about in the hallways. Thinking it was a bathroom break, I was a bit confused by it's length. Turned out it was "break time" so some did head for the bathroom, while the Mule went to the library. Later I said, "You know I don't speak Japanese. Why won't you talk to me at school? I was confused about what was going on." Her reply, "I'm busy Mama." Her concentration and focus are on school, on her routine, as it should be. My husband responded to this tale with, "It's not about you Mama." And I thought she was just seven going on seventeen. Her class made clay animals and wrote a story with a partner. They also did a group reading exercise.

The Mule discussing the story with her partner- 2nd grade

That evening, I had to chuckle (and grab my camera), a Roman and a Cowgirl were eating the pizzas I had been busy making. My husband had kindly made the dough in the birthday bread maker that I'm too busy to learn how to use. They went to bed easily while I reflected on the calm and order that they are learning and that is such a part of life in Japan.

These costumes might be worn out by the time Halloween gets here