A Glimpse of Beauty

the birds that fly away
are never exactly the same as those that return 

Anne Pierson Wiese, "Everything but God" from  Floating City: Poems

I watch my children and marvel at their strengths, despair at their faults, and wonder at what I know and don't know of them. As babies I was better than anyone else at predicting their wants and needs. I am in tune with their rhythms and needs more than anyone else even now. I watch them, I care for them, and I'm besotted. They are such interesting people to me, so fully themselves, so uniquely different from each other, and so impossibly beautiful as every world is to the frequent observer.

How is it that beauty has an edge of pain? I am sometimes gripped by a sadness when I feel the flash of beauty upon a moment.

I stared at a lot of paintings, and other things deemed physically beautiful, traipsing about cathedrals and museums in Europe. I can recognize a painter's skill but it is characters, story lines, and words that allow me to enter into beauty. Maybe others know music or paint or dirt as their gateway.

If you have ever meditated, you may have heard the analogy of the glass jar full of dirty water. As the jars jostles along in the day it is cloudy and difficult to see through until it sits quietly with time to allow things to settle which is when clarity comes. When you sit and let things fall away, things settle down and you can see better. In search of this quiet depth, I read and read. Sometimes I think I read too much, and sometimes I think I don't read enough.

Last night I read of Jack, Laura Ingalls Wilder's dog, dying. Tears sprang to my eyes. In a flash I went from reading the story which had lurched forward five years with the start of another book in the series, to watching my cat on the last day of her life from my front steps. Maybe it's the goodbye. I'm not good with them because I know how much change goodbye means-- they mean not seeing someone for a long time, if ever again.

Friends walk in and out of your life. Sometimes life conspires to bring you together again, maybe if you're from the same town, at a random concert and spot each other across the crowd, or because you always stay open to each other. The loss is when their presence is not part of the continual probing and exploring of your life. When you make giant strides across the globe, parts of your life are lived here and there, leaving a lot of holes behind. Connections that root you to people and places weaken.

I'm built like Swiss cheese, full of holes but firm enough. I think I'm supposed to be like Brie, soft and squishy, but it feels like the world is built for hard cheddar, firm and smooth. Nothing is smooth about goodbye or beauty to me. The wellspring of beauty is love and pain. Love and pain are the sources that beauty draws upon. A few holes may allow the light to penetrate. Maybe some beauty will come of it in ways never imagined.

The wellspring of beauty is love and pain.

Who Does it Serve?

I live in a giant bubble. A language barrier prevents my absorption of local political ads, and no television hook up insures none inadvertently poisons my movie time, about once a month. I limit my political intake to reading the paper and online news sources. I find that I'm more capable of discriminating between relevant news and political marketing this way at least some of the time.

There is certainly room to read more. However, I find binging on injustice, hate, fear, and ridiculous bureaucratic policies serves paralysis, convenient for the powers that be, those with the money and in control, but not the individual trying to get a foothold on a meaningful political step.

Online repost of vitriol political issues that for an actual voter or consumer change nothing, mean my bubble has been burst. These reposts merely serve to poison the fresh ground of internet time. Instead of seeing new thoughts flourish, the same old mindless thinking perseveres.

Introducing a contentious issue that is not even on the table merely serves to divide and distract. Roe vs. Wade was decided in 1973. If we are divided, we can be conquered. Dividing over political issues that are not even an option is for what end?

Every time I see this divide and distract technique used, I ask, ""What's actually at stake here?" It comes down to not much. We are creating tension, distrust, and anger over meaningless mindless political controversies. Consider: Who does this serve? Who will it benefit? Is it fair or just to all or only a few?

I'm all for sharing ideas that can be mulled over, chewed upon, but they should be worthy of consideration. The political sharing written by news sources, containing a lot of fluff about someone's connections and values but little on the details of what will change or be done, offer divisive views that are beyond impact.

Find something more nourishing- empty calories make us fat, bloated, and unhealthy in the long run- it can happen to your mind, body, or spirit.

Got some political angst? Write a letter to Congress; follow a specific issue, bill, industry; go deep, but always consider: is this a fair policy, would I want the tables turned? When you get there, sign me up. This isn't about politics, but mindless consuming. You've got something better to share, something personal, something meaningful, and it's something that can't breathe in the same room as that TV.

I'm happy to mindlessly consume train station food in Japan- this is in a train station!!!

Birthday Boy

Wife: Did you take off your birthday?
Husband: No. It's just my birthday. It's not a big deal.
Wife: It's a big deal to your children, try to get home.


Our children were thrilled that their dad was heading home in time for them to see him on his birthday. I had not believed it would happen and thus found myself in a lurch with no birthday cake. I ran out to get a birthday cake and instructed the munsters to take their baths. I got back with the cake and they were wearing pajamas. I was impressed.

The Mule asked if she could hold a vigil outside while she waited for her dad to come home. It was close to his arrival time so I let her go. My husband arrived home laughing. The Mule had run half way down the yochien bike path in her pajamas and crocs. She squealed with delight to greet him on his birthday bike ride home and then ran all the way back shouting for joy.

I'd say for your birthday bang it doesn't get much better than that. But that cake with seventy percent cocoa was pretty tasty.

No birthday is complete without cake & candles

Happy Birthday Honey Bunny

Things to Admire, A Kimono Sale

Green Grass Gets Me Everytime

The hill behind my grandparents' house was thick with lush green grass, good for rolling down hill in summer, driving the riding lawn mower, and for nights out in a tent. In college as the stress mounted, green lawns wooed me. I wished to be a cow that had an excuse to spend all day in the grass, chewing, sniffing, being. Of course motherhood and breast feeding cured me of any desire to ever want to be a cow again, but lawns, lawns lure me. I do not have a lawn in Japan, few do. A friend recently held her last soirée, she will depart soon. She has a lawn, and I was invited. I enjoyed the luxury of eating my lunch as I gazed at soft green grass. Then, I went inside to admire the goods.

Unsung Housekeeper Duties

As my children transition into full-fledged elementary school children, my daytime hours, their school days, are freer. I liken it to being on a spree, gorging myself for a few short hours to unpack later as I stand at the stove, the sink, while hanging laundry, etc. Yup. Despite modern technology and new roles for women, I'm basking in the unsung housekeeper duties wondering how I can find my Alice (the housekeeper from the Brady Bunch). It took five years, but I finally made the time to go to my first kimono sale.

The Kimono Sale

The kimono sale was all I expected and more. There were good deals, there was nice stuff, and there were obasans. Japan needs to find an Olympic sport for these women to compete because they would medal. The look older, tiny, sweet, quiet, and fairly non assuming, but they will take you out, they will riot, and they will win.

To go to the kimono sale you have to get a number about an hour before the sale. The ideal number being within the first one hundred to be amongst the first group they let into the shopping space which is in a community center. The first one hundred assemble about ten minutes prior and wait with their numbered ticket in hand. Shopping bags resembling clear plastic garbage bags are passed out.

The organizers told us to form four columns. The obasans were outraged. The tenor and pitches of the Japanese voices rose up; they were mad, near riot. I can't translate directly, but the yellow tickets we had been given were waving in the air, the ladies were shouting at the organizers, and so the organizers relented. We were to reassemble by number. I was holding number thirty-seven and standing in the first row. I was now force shuffled to the ninth row. I may be younger and taller, but those old ladies moved me eight rows back with shoves, pushes, and brute elbow force. Nothing comes between an obasan and her shopping, I don't care if she is seventy, she will force you out. Not surprising, I landed next to number thirty-five. My feet didn't move, just my body.

My prep had included reading a friend's blog, an idea of what I wanted to purchase, a backpack to keep my hands free, and an extra bag for carrying loot homeward. I had envisioned kimonos being ripped off the racks as I rushed forward or some horrific Christmas sale type nightmare, but beyond the jockeying for position, the obasans were their usual shopping selves. My advice, don't come between an obasan and her merchandise. She won't outright shove you out of the way, but she will needle you repeatedly until you give a quarter and then she will take over and block you out.

All that said, there was plenty! I felt like a kid grabbing for candy which tamed me a bit. There were embroidered obis for ten dollars, yukatas for three dollars, and even kimonos for twenty. Amazing deals depending on your likes for colors, fabrics, and styles. The prices zoomed up and down, but they were good.

It is finally learning to sew that motivated me to go. I was after fabric for that future quilt I plan to attempt. I'm not sure I got enough after getting home and realizing that some of the fabrics weren't cotton and that my son expected a gift as well as my daughter (they want their own stash for sewing and costumes), but I hear there will be another sale in the summer. Since I just might be here, I plan to go back.

Show & Tell

Alas, I am dithering from the green grass and the lovely luncheon. My friend hosted the post kimono sale luncheon for everyone in return for a show and tell with their loot. The lure of the grass and the chance to chat with another friend one on one (too rare in my life) meant I missed some of the goods, but seeing a few was enough. Old things became new treasures and some have plans for future repurposing like my someday quilt. It was a lovely adventure and a perfect day you can have only in Japan.

A kimono and obi for a little girl I know

A wedding obi from the Kimono Sale 1500¥

Laughter & a Simulation

My Kid is a Gaijin, but He Doesn't Know it

"What's a gaijin?" my son asked. My husband and I looked at each other and laughed. We explained it as a foreigner or someone from another place who has a different way of speaking, dressing, or interacting. We laughed again. Our children have attended Japanese schools the past five years and they do not physically blend in. The beauty of it though is that they don't feel different or have any particular awareness of it. It is a great testament to how the other kids have treated them, like other kids.

Slowly, I am simmering down about having to spend summer and possibly fall in Japan. It helps that the sun shined and to have sewn with friends. Despite my epic ability to bungle directions spoon-fed to me, I have a few projects nearing completion.

A Navy Simulation to try at Home

My biggest chuckle came from an email my husband forwarded: How to Simulate being in the Navy. I was laughing so hard I cried. My kiddos wanted in on that so I read a few, starting here. They were rolling on the bed, hooting, and laughing too. I was laughing at the absurdity and truth in it. It's a mystery why the kiddos were laughing at it. Use an official neutral voice and read aloud the parts in quotes as if you are speaking over a loud speaker, I cupped my hands and spoke into them for effect.

20. When your children are in bed, run into their room with a megaphone shouting, "Now general quarters, general quarters ! All hands man your battle stations!"

26. Every week or so, throw your cat or dog into the pool and shout, "Man overboard, port side!" Rate your family members on how fast they respond. 

27. Put the headphones from your stereo on your head, but don't plug them in. Hang a paper cup around your neck on a string. Stand in front of the stove, and speak into the paper cup, "Stove manned and ready." After an hour or so, speak into the cup again,"Stove secured." Roll up the headphones and paper cup, stow them in a shoe box. 

29. Build a fire in a trash can in your garage. Loudly announce to your family, "This is a drill, this is a drill! Fire in hangar bay one!" 

31. Next time there's a bad thunder storm in your area, find the biggest horse you can, put a two-inch mattress on his back, strap yourself to it and turn him loose in a barn for six hours. Then get up and go to work.

I stopped here as we were laughing so much, and it was bedtime. The world is a big place, but there is room for sharing, kindness, and belly laughs. This might require hanging with small children who think everything you say but "goodnight" is insanely funny. The thing is, the more they laugh, the more you do too.

The thing is, the more they laugh, the more you do too.

Falling Petals

Observation Day at Shogakko

Shogakko Japanese elementary school observation days fill me with appreciation and dread. I stand about listening to "wah, wah, wah...," clueless as to what is being said, the point of the exercise, and I miss all of the humor. The Mule's class is always the toughest for me. Some how my mama friends in the Moose's class manage to surround me and carry the day, I'm a member of a group there.

Here, I'm standing in the back of the third grade classroom observing a lesson with other parents but feeling very alone. An orb of anxiety grows in my gut with all that I can't comprehend. Even the Mule refuses to speak to me at school because I speak English, and she does not want anyone to see her speaking English. 

In Want of Support

Walled off, my mind spins. I become furious with my husband for not making the time to be here. I'm yet again by myself, and I'm not liking it one bit. In need of relief from my thoughts, I walk out to the hallway to distract myself. I spot drawings on the wall and recognize my daughter's name in hiragana. This is her picture.

Sakura cherry blossom petals falling

A dad wanders by and eventually begins a conversation with me with a smattering of English. I am grateful nonetheless. Dads are more likely to use English in business so I find that they will spontaneously chat with me versus the other mothers who unless they know me from before, do not speak to me. One question he does ask me is, "Where is her Papa?" Boy isn't that a novel idea. I managed to contain myself and explain that the Navy doesn't slack off much with the ships in port, not that there were a lot of other fathers there, but I would have liked the support.

Skipping Meetings

When the kids departed school, and I made up my mind to skip the parent meetings. I collected the agenda, but I skipped both the all third grade and individual class meetings. I couldn't do it. I was too close to that feeling I had two years prior when I broke down in tears when they asked me to introduce myself- it was all those papers I couldn't read and all of that Japanese I couldn't understand. Now it is mainly that I have had enough, why isn't her father helping me with this stuff, why am I still here, and how much longer do I have to be an idiot. Yep, I'm feeding that wolf again.

Later, I told the Mule I had skipped the meetings because it felt too hard to do. I didn't really have an excuse or any bits of wisdom, but I wanted to be honest, clear.

Perseverance

After pizza, we mostly make pizza on Fridays and this was a Friday, I went up to the office while she and her brother watched an episode of The Backyardigans. She came upstairs with an obento she had made for me- a peanut butter sandwich and a green salad with a bottle of dressing. She said, "Putting the dressing into the bottle was the hardest part." She had persevered; I had not.

Hulaing at the Spa

The Mule's Hula Recital

A cold, unlike Spring, Day

It was maybe fifty degrees, windy, and Enospa wouldn't give me our shoes, but hey, girls gotta dance. The Mule also forgot to tell me she is supposed to braid her hair the night before so that she can have wavy Polynesian hair. At least they don't spray her down with "tan in a can." Where in the world is Kamakura's spring? It was a cold day to be outside barefoot in a hula outfit but she had lots of company.

The Spa has my Shoes

Enospa is one of the few nearby spas that you can visit coed and wear a swimsuit. They have a rule though, children must be at least seven years of age. The Moose turned seven last month so we decided to hit the spa before the "Hawaiian Festival," onsen junkies that we are. The Mule had to be ready forty-five minutes before the show started. Being an efficient mama, I instructed my husband to keep the Moose occupied in the pool and meet me in a half an hour.

The Enospa staff however would not let my daughter and I have our shoe keys or pay the bill without our "whole party." This is Japan where rules are followed to an absurdity. I left the Mule, barefoot and wearing her hula costume, when she spotted a classmate.  I returned inside the spa to hunt down my husband and son. I found them in the cave pool.

"Honey, they won't let the Mule have her shoes until we all leave together," I said. His response, "You're kidding me?" "Nope." They departed for the showers. At least they dance the hula barefoot on the stage, and I remembered to record it this time.

The festival dancers ranged in age from yochien preschoolers to senior citizens. The grace and beauty of the hula dancers was punctuated by the shrill calls and headdresses of the Tahitian dancers. I loved the hip wiggling, but my husband's favorite was MC'd as "Hurra Frlies" which turned out to be "Hula Eyes."

After all of the dancing, I returned to the spa to ask about a parking pass since the spa staff had spent ten minutes interrogating us to include having us point out on a map where we had parked. Their answer, "No," followed by the "X" crossed fingers. On previous visits we had received parking passes to feed into the parking meter. We left empty-handed and bought ice cream cones from a street vendor.

Let's hope for blue skies and sunshine for the upcoming Kamakura Beach Festival where I will remember to bring a zip-up not pullover fleecer for my Hawaiian girl, a fancy garment bag for the costume instead of rolling it into a backpack, and some braids the night before for the wavy hair look. After all, I just want to fit in.

A Youtube clip

Organize Me

Magic Incantation
‎"Piles, piles, everywhere, find a place for everything thing that is everywhere," a magic incantation I wish would work!


Disorder
Our home office fills me with dread. Toys are piled haphazardly along the perimeter, guitars line the window, amplifiers are stacked in a corner, bookshelves flank the desk, Christmas decorations block access to the front of one book shelf, snow skis lean against the desk and cover access to the power cords, crafting supplies spew from a cabinet, camera bags and lenses block the closet which is loaded with DVDs, linens, towels, and military uniforms, and an old computer sits on a stack of plastic bins, usable, but so slow that even the seven year old avoids it. What to do?


Organizing Mantra
The organizing mantra is "like with like" and "everything has one place to live." Meanwhile, I have office supplies in my dining room, stamps in my kitchen drawer and wallet, markers in the bins near the kids's backpacks, and more scissors than fit into a cup in yon window sill. The tea is in the kitchen and the teapot is in the dining room. Like is not with like. Things live in several places.

I want to organize my house, but I fear it will take too much time. My sister-in-law suggested I tackle things in fifteen minute intervals. This feels like it is just long enough to uncover a mess, become distracted by children or some random task, and there by make a bigger mess. Each week I think maybe this week. Some weeks little bits get done, but truly shaping and organizing and creating a meaningful system in which to work and interact has not happened. To find one place for everything, I dream.

The higher the pile, the greater my urgency. The mess taunts me, speaks of waste and inefficiency. My husband grumbles about storage, but I sense this is more of a system problem.

As we approach a move, a career change, and a long term commitment to one house, we have the opportunity to free ourselves of the vague unease created with so much excess. It is part of what is driving me crazy- I want to move and then sort it out in the new house, but that move feels farther away each week instead of nearer.


Time to Seize the Day
I am a woman in search of a better system for managing life, papers, and the bits of sentimental clutter that find their way into the many piles that are choking the air that I breathe. I long for space, serenity, and a system where I know exactly what to do and what belongs where. It is time to seize the day.

Feeding Wolves

Momentary Troubles

Wound up with my recent frustrations, it all came pouring out in a conversation while sewing. My friends were empathetic and kindly listened to my puffs of steam. I felt so much better after naming that which is unkind, unfair, and unlikely to change. Time alone with my thoughts had led me to feel trapped, but a long chat with friends made me realize these are merely momentary troubles. Conversation can right the world!

Serendipity

Despite my shift in perspective from being heard, conflicted feelings lurked for having dumped my troubles on my friends and into my writing. Within my new found emotional clearing, I considered the strengths and goodness of my Navy experiences and wrote of my pearls of wisdom as a Navy wife. I also thought about my constant struggle between naming injustice and letting it go. Then serendipity intervened. I hit play on my iPod and a story made sense of my struggles.

A Wolf Story

We attended Capitol Hill Presbyterian Church when we lived in Washington, D. C.  Pastor Andy Walton baptized both of our children. I get behind, but I do still listen to his sermons. Only now it is on a podcast. This is my transcript of a part of his podcast “Speaking Our Imagination” from Capitol Hill Sermons released on 3/13/2012. It punched me right between the eyes. I loved how he told the story with his native Georgia drawl.

An elder Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life, and he said to them, “A fight is going on inside of me. It’s a terrible fight, and it’s between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. And he said to his grandchildren, “This same fight is going on inside you and inside every other person.” And his grandchildren, wide-eyed, thought about this for a minute and one of them asked, “Which wolf will win?” The wise elder simply replied, “The one you feed my child, the one you feed.”

By naming the wrongs and feeding my self-pity, I had fed the first wolf. Left to my own devices to mull over troubles, I tend to fall into a vat of anxiety. The healing power of conversation and listening restored me to my senses. However, my recording of the anxiety in a popular blog is perhaps a totem of warning to allow for more time to pass before sharing strong feelings and experiences and to wait until I can look at them sideways as another friend suggested.

I aim for a path as a truth sayer as much for you the reader as for myself the writer. I keep feeding two wolves instead of one, but I'm not ready to give up yet.

Delish!

Yesterday my mama friends fed me something wonderful. We had a long meeting in the afternoon for shogakko observation so we went out to lunch first. Mama friends are also working at this popular restaurant. The wonder was in the boneless fillet of Aji (鯵), Japanese jack mackerel, filled with the ever sour, ever salty umeboshi paste and bits of shiso, most delectable! Ume are called plums in English but they are really a type of apricot. The sour plums make for an awesome mouth experience. You can find umeboshi paste in Asian groceries or online. If you like sour tastes, try it with pork, fish, or inside a rice ball. Besides, everything tastes better deep fried.

Fried fish (aji) with umeboshi paste and chopped shiso inside! Beyond oyshi!

Onigiri Rice Balls with Furikake Sprinkles

Rice Balls in Japan

Onigiri rice balls are ubiquitous in Japan and are easily found in grocery stores and quick marts like 7-11. They are the staple of many an obento lunch box and an excellent base for a trim waistline. Onigiri rice balls accommodate many kinds of flavors. Some have a tasty morsel like an ume pickled plum, tuna with mayo, or a bit of salty salmon nestled inside lightly salted rice. Some have a seasoning mixture like furikake sprinkled on or in with the rice.

Furikake rice sprinkles come in a variety of flavor packets and are easy to store. Below are two kinds of furikake rice sprinkles. One, goma shio, has black sesame seeds and salt, and the other,  yukari, is from the purple leaves of the perilla plant mixed with salt. Look for  furikake sprinkles in an Asian food store-- there are numerous varieties.

Adding nori seaweed sheets as an outside wrap is a healthy addition, but onigiri rice balls are also eaten on their own, naked. They should be eaten the day they are made. Wrap the onigiri with plastic wrap if they will not be consumed immediately. This will keep them fresh and lock in their moisture.

As summer approaches, these handy rice balls offer sustenance in the heat, energy to climb mountains, and your swimsuit will thank you later. They are healthy for your body, easy to make, portable, and delicious.

JAPANESE RICE INSTRUCTIONS
You must start with a Japanese style of rice, a short or medium grain rice. It is sometimes labeled as sushi rice. The shape is generally rounder and fatter in the middle than other kinds of rice. (The Italian aborrio is not the same thing.) Rice balls do not work with other kinds of rice. Measure the rice so that it is level-- no extra, no less-- using either 3/4 cup measure or a Japanese rice cup, which is a 3/4 cup measure that comes with many rice cookers. Wash the rice. Put the rice in a bowl with water, swirl it around with your hand for several minutes, drain off all of the the water. Repeat until the water runs clear or nearly clear, about 3 times. Allow the rice to drain about 30 minutes. Add equal amounts of (dry) rice measured to equal amounts of water. In a rice cooker, follow your instructions. If you don't have a rice cooker, use a heavy bottom pot with a tight fitting lid, bring the rice to boil over medium heat, immediately cover with the lid and reduce the heat to maintain a low simmer until the water is gone and the rice is tender, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Idatakimasu I humbly receive,
Kim


Onigiri Rice Balls with Furikake Sprinkles
Ingredients
Cooked Japanese short or medium grain rice, 1 cup per 3 onigiri needed
Furikake rice sprinkles, 1 Tbsp (adjust to taste!) such as Gomashio Sesame and salt or Yukari

Equipment
Sturdy plastic wrap or a bowl of water and some heat tolerant hands
Small bowl or ramekin for portioning out the rice
Rice paddle for scooping out the rice and packing it into the ramekin

What to Do
Stuffed Onigiri
Using a rice paddle, gently mix the cooked rice with a some salt and adjust to taste to lightly season it. The salt acts as a preservative as well. Use a ramekin to portion out the rice. With a rice paddle, fill a ramekin with rice and gently pat it down. Turn the rice out and onto a plate or sheet until all of the rice is used up. Hold back a chuck of the rice. Use either a bowl of water and your wet hands or a piece of plastic wrap to form each loose portion of rice into a firm, dense rice ball. Firmly press the rice together forming it into either a triangle or round shape, keep the sides flat and the edges smooth. Hold the loosely shaped rice in one hand and use your opposite hand to apply firm pressure and shape the onigiri. The rice needs to stick together so press firmly, but you don't need to smash it. Shapes get better with practice. Press from the edge into the center to create a pocket. Place a bit of chopped ume or tuna with a dab of mayo inside the indent. Press gently around the top of of the enclosure to seal it. Add back the chunk you put aside to the top of the hole and gently apply pressure to shape the onigiri and encase the treat. Please note: the plastic is there to prevent your hands from getting too hot and not for pulling it so tight it breaks-- use your hands to apply firm pressure to bring the rice together.

Sprinkle Onigiri
Using a rice paddle, gently mix a cup of cooked rice with a tablespoon of furikake rice sprinkles such as sesame and salt or yukari, adjust to taste. Use a ramekin to portion out the rice. With a rice paddle, fill a ramekin with rice and gently pat it down. Turn the rice out and onto a plate or sheet until all of the rice is used up. I get 3 onigiri from a cup of rice using my ramekin, but this will vary depending on the container used. Use either a bowl of water and your wet hands or a piece of plastic wrap to form each loose portion of rice into a firm, dense rice ball. Firmly press the rice together forming it into either a triangle or round shape, keep the sides flat and the edges smooth. Hold the loosely shaped rice in one hand and use your opposite hand to apply firm pressure and shape the onigiri. The rice needs to stick together so press firmly, but you don't need to smash it. Shapes get better with practice. Please note: the plastic is there to prevent your hands from getting too hot and not for pulling it so tight it breaks-- use your hands to apply firm pressure to bring the rice together.

Triangle shape: Place the base edge of the onigiri into the palm of your left hand (non dominant), keep your thumb down so as not to press into the rice and use your fingers to gently hold the rice in place. The rice should be sitting up. Drape your right hand (dominant) over the top. Cup your hand to form a triangle. Apply firm downward pressure. Turn and repeat to shape each corner of the triangle.

Round shape: Lay the loosely formed rice on its side into the palm and fingers of your left hand (non dominant) with your thumb draping over the top side. Cup your right hand (dominant) and firmly press inward along the outer edges. The round shape is formed as you turn the rice.

Prep Time: 10 minutes (if you have cooked rice)
Yield: 3 uniform onigiri rice balls

A rice maker is handy

Furikake Rice Sprinkles: black sesame & salt and Yukari

Hot cooked rice

Gently mix the furikake sprinkles into the rice with a paddle

Use a ramekin for uniform portions for your rice balls

Loosely portioned onigiri rice balls

Plastic wrapped onigiri rice balls ready to go

Thoughts from a Navy Wife

I'm not sure what a typical Navy wife is, but I'm pretty sure I'm doing it wrong. I've never played bunco. I've never been a board member of a wives' club. I've never lived on the base (as a wife). I can't swear I've never benefitted from my husband's rank, but I know he never gave me one of those shiny gold flight wing necklaces when we were dating despite having met in a bar in "The Cradle of Naval Aviation."

Here is what has sustained me during my eighteen years as a Navy wife.

You need your own identity

Military life can strip away your identity. You will move away from good jobs, great friends, and all connections. Nurture your interests, your passions, and keep connections open to what has consistently been part of your life. If you change who you are, you loose yourself. Some part of your life has to be about you. Someone else out there probably likes weird French movies, beer, and sewing bags, just maybe not all in the same person in the same location.

Do not be afraid

New paths await, but not if you are busy following the herd or too fearful to explore them. Sometimes the herd leads you to new vistas and sometimes the herd tramples you to death. Don't be afraid to be alone. Be there because you want to go, not because you think you should. Life is too short to waste it on other people's furniture.

Friendships form fast in the military

You may not love the Navy, but you will love the friends you make in the Navy. Military spouses often work long hours and go away for long periods of time. Expecting the bureaucracy to support you emotionally is futile. Your friends will be in the same boat. Your spouse will not be home when life hits the fan. You can do it because there is no alternative and because you will have a friend that will keep you afloat. People will help you in the most amazing ways. Amen to my Japanese friends who have stepped up again and again. Your guest room will be in perpetual motion with a friend traveling through to a new duty station, a friend undergoing medical treatment, a friend in town for business. You will love these people like your family that is three thousand miles away.

Wallow in love

If you are not having an adventure or getting more education, you should get out of the military. There is a trail of love behind every move, but it gets spread thin. Sometimes you just need to wallow in love to be whole. If you are whole in spirit, you can go on to do other things. If you let yourself be eaten up, there will be only crumbs to support your family. Sometimes you need to stay put, sometimes you need to pass on an opportunity; sometimes your family has to come first.

Be humble

The military promotes and divides by rank, salutes, and titles, offering power and influence to the service member and their family. In the military, importance comes from a uniform worn or a title held, "we salute the rank not the man." Though the chain of command may be essential on the battlefield, at home each family member needs to be able to speak, to be heard. If you think you have no value outside of that uniform or that title, you have lost all. Practice humility or you will forget that people matter not the medals and metrics.

Life is not all about the military

I've never played bunco because I have no one to watch my children and because I so rarely see my husband that when he is home in the evening, I want to be with him. I've never been a board member of a wive's club because I've never been called to do it. It's an organization that I'm glad exists. I've never lived on the base because adventures in immersion called us.


My husband never gave me a pair of gold wings to wear around my neck because he said, "they aren't about you." My life is about my husband, my children, the Navy, my lost career, my latest adventures, my current passions, and so much more. He was right to tell me in essence to celebrate my own achievements. We are each so much more than one thing.

We are each so much more than one thing.

Take Care

"Do you want to take care of Mrs. J, Mr. J's wife, right now?"

My greeting to TAP (Transitional Assistance Program) class for those exiting the Navy in the near future. "Mr. J," my husband, had been called away from class by the Emergency Department. The class coordinator explained that "Mr. J" had one hour to take care of the issue or he was out of the class.

Advocate that I am for injustice, I tried explaining that there was no one else for the Emergency Department to call for his service. This resulted in the business that this problem was between him (Mr. J) and his Commanding Officer and that plenty of Commanding Officers take this class by the way and are capable of clearing their schedule. I rebutted, "He has no choice. He's the only one." It went on, but you get the idea.

"Mr. J's" Commanding Officer, by the way, runs the hospital. My guess is that he would expect "Mr. J" to respond to the emergency department's request just as he is expected to respond to hospital's needs at every other hour of the day. I'm sure "Mr. J" would like a break from this yoke too.

I let go of the bureaucratic policies, not people first attitude and attempted to consider the information being presented. I'm either getting really good at putting aside unpleasantries, or I need more practice since the universe keeps delivering opportunities.

Here are some things that were hammered home, to do to prepare for retirement:

You need a personal financial plan with a budget, achievable goals, an estimate of your income and other taxes, and a retirement investment plan that pays better than the current bank rates. You can start at forty, but it helps to start earlier.

There is a lot of paperwork to attend to when retiring, but if you don't take care of the paperwork, you may not get paid.

Anything requiring an official signature will require the Active Duty Member to do it or a power of attorney.

Nothing happens without a line of accounting, but I knew that (＾ｰ^)ノ

I'd really like to wash my hands of the whole Navy business at this point. I'm not feeling any organizational love, but I'm bound to it. Navy friends and other friends have offered up thoughts, suggestions, and a few "Been there." One suggestion was to contact our Congressman which I can't quite get my head around because nothing procedurally has been wrong in our case. This is simply how the system works, and we earmark no special treatment.

Life isn't fair, but it doesn't mean it should be this way. I'm not sure what to do about it, but if it comes to me, I'll share.

"Do you want to take care of Mrs. J, Mr. J's wife, right now?"

Help! I'm a Navy Hostage

We think we matter

We think we matter. We trade tips on ways to matter. Do this, then do this, blah, blah. We are numbers on a spreadsheet, a line of accounting. What we want is irrelevant to the ways of a bureaucracy. Despite being told that our separation orders were forthcoming in the system, on follow up, we learned they await accounting numbers. We are hog tied to Japan until the Navy issues our orders with a line of accounting which could come anytime between now and the new fiscal year in October.

The Issue

Allow me to walk you through the issue. The line of accounting will pay to move our things from our house in Japan to the States. My children and I can't leave Japan until we move out of our house in Japan because if we leave before the line of accounting, we will loose our housing allowance. If we loose our housing allowance, we can't pay for our house in Japan. It will also include plane fare.

The Proposals

I offered to divorce my husband yesterday, but he told me it would take too long and it would not get me sent home. My government passport will expire this summer as will my children's. I'm guessing that will seal my fate to stay in Japan for forever at the rate I'm going. I thought about going crazy since I feel pretty darn close to loosing it, but my husband weighed in on that and said it probably wouldn't work either. I'm likely to be cantankerous for a while.

Let Go

I've been trying to meditate on the good side of being held hostage by the Navy. I have more time to sew since Japanese schools continue through July. I have more time to contemplate ridding my house of extra no good stuff versus actually doing it. I'm a reasonably good procrastinator particularly with household chores I dislike. I have more time to be with my friends, but it also means more time to ask for help with school and Japanese life. Can you tell my heart is not in this? I'm sick of needing so much help.

I keep coming back to there is something good in staying longer, but I haven't got my finger on it yet. My anger and frustration are still simmering away. I know they need to cool off before I see my way around them. My husband kindly told me, "Once you accept you are nothing, you can let go. When you stop trying to control the outcome, you can be." I'm not there yet and I liken him to a rat that has been repeatedly electrocuted- there is no fight left in him.

It's Not Personal

I really thought it was reasonable to think that we could leave a few months early after five years overseas since we would save the Navy money. Having to stay longer, longer, is killing off any appreciation I once mustered for Navy life. I feel like my wings have been clipped just as I was about to fly off. We think we matter; that it's personal. It's not personal, and we don't matter. Lines of accounting matter in the ways of bureaucracy, and this is a deal we financially can't pass up even if the wait is excruciating even if it's not the best thing for our children.

Worked out in Play

The Moose, setting up his Romans for the siege of Jerusalem, told his sister, the Mule, "The general is retiring." I love how when you're a kid, things are worked out in play. I was thinking that maybe that would help me with staying in Japan- I just need to play more. I could buy one of those inflatable paddle boards, pull the kiddos out of school early, and we could go surfing everyday. Then none of us would want to leave when the orders come. However, we spent all of our money remodeling our house stateside so the paddle board isn't really an option. Laying in the warm sand, listening to the wind, collecting sticks, that seems more interesting than the week I'm about to have, TAP Class and shogakko observation days.

The Hostage Situation

Being held hostage isn't the end of the world. People do a lot of things with their time in prison. At least when they are people like Martin Luther King, Jr. or Deitrich Bonhoeffer. I've got my health, a sewing machine, a blog, and a bad attitude. Surely something fun will come of it.

We will wear you down

The Siege is on

Zip it

A very thoughtful someone sent me a zipper foot. I finally got around to trying it out. I haven't exactly perfected the zipper installation process, but I'm learning.

I used a tutorial for a zippered pouch to come up with this purse which is to say, the kinks aren't worked out of the pattern because I didn't really have a pattern. Ms. Novice Sewer with Big Ideas that I am, I wanted to see if could make something more like what I wanted. I think I have mentioned I only cook what I like to eat? Well, I only sew what I like to use. This way, all rejects can be returned back to me.

I made my first zipper purse

The Dragon Speed Question

The Question

Son: If you were flying on a dragon, would you want one that goes slow and steady or one that races all over the place? 

Mother: I would definitely go for the slow one. I take risks with words, not speed.

The Moose's favorite show for now is The Backyardigans. I think he was mulling over the flying dragon episode when he asked me the question.

Risks I Take

I sat there drinking my tea considering how true it is that the risks I take in life are never physical, never daring feats, it is not me. Blurt out something uncomfortable? Ah, now that sounds like me, always aiming for the elephant in the room except I'm not graceful enough to do it eloquently or humorously, but still, I can't resist the impulse. Recently, I had been cautioned to consider what I write regardless of its veracity. Telling me not to write is akin to asking me to impersonate someone else.

A friend’s son invited over a schoolmate to play. My friend was working about in the house while the kids were in and out. The next thing he knew, the boys were crying, yelling. The schoolmate had fallen from the second story window to the ground below. The schoolmate was scratched up, but nothing was broken. My friend called the schoolmate’s mother to tell her what happened. I interrupted here and said, "Wait. There is no way this is the first time this kid fell out of a window.” My friend chuckled. I was onto something. The schoolmate's mother confessed this was not the first time her son had fallen out of a window. That kid must be like a cat with nine lives and daring enough to not be intimidated by windows despite having fallen before. We live up to our nature.

I blunder through words like a tornado on the Kansas plane. I don't give up. I keep going until my thoughts are spent. I use words incorrectly and still I keep plundering, bludgeoning, onward in my attempt to fashion a meaningful thought. My physical being is safe and is not even remotely interested in risks. My little light aims to brighten a path to some new thought, some new place in the mind, to some consideration outside of where I started, where I was. This is where I am called to take risks in life.

Trying to Say Something

Some writers speak for a whole generation when they tell their stories. Some hit the flow just right. The thing is even if I screw it up, I'm happier for having tried to say something than never having said anything at all. If someone thinks a story should be avoided out of discomfort, I'm thinking the truth is lurking some where nearby that discomfort and I need to get closer to it, not further away.

At a party, I'm a wall flower- uncomfortable in a crowded room and awkward with chitchat. I tend to go for where I am in the moment or depth, either of which implode in a social setting aiming for surface frivolity. I so wish I could do it better. An old friend who excelled in social settings could gingerly add a dose of humor and a squirt of truth to her stories, and have me in stitches and carry the conversation. I loved her graceful social presence but that is not me.

Some Aims to Consider

We could aim for so much more for ourselves, for each other, like learning to live with ambiguity, like stoking other’s passions be they for words, projects, or business plans. It did strike me that in the past I have respected people who climb mountains, cross deserts, and bicycle across Australia differently than those who speak the truth whether in a poem, a difficult moment, or in a meeting. I’m not sure why I put the physical over the mental when I’m not like that. How much of it is the world and how much of it is me? I’m getting better at valuing each thing for what it is and recognizing what works for me. Everything doesn't have to work for everyone, and surely there is room for skepticism.

I’d pick the slow dragon and spend my time thinking of what challenges me instead of hanging on for dear life while the dragon flies pellmell. That's my speed.

What's your dragon speed?

What's your dragon speed?

Speaking of Goodbye

Goodbyes Lurk
While I've been distracted with house renovations in a faraway land, preparing income taxes, gearing up for the new school year, and continually wondering where our darned separation from the Navy orders are, my friends have been thinking of our departure. Apparently Kendo Mama and Ikebana Mama were talking.

Kendo Mama asked me how I felt about having a goodbye at the Yochien. I was startled. She was concerned about how it might effect the Moose to have everyone repeatedly saying goodbye. We parted, but I told her I would talk it over with the kiddos and that until we have orders, we have plenty of time.


An early arrival
I should complain more about my husband's wretched work schedule because immediately after I wrote about the unrelenting pace he has been enduring, his schedule was messed up for three days. He arrived home in daylight. My children stared at him. The Moose asked, "How did you get home so early Dada?" I was also preparing dinner which meant we could all eat together, a novelty around here.


I Float the Suggestion
Sitting at the dinner table, it seemed like an excellent moment to bring up the mama's suggestion for a goodbye at the yochien. The Moose, out of the box, said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!" The Mule said, "No. No way. I don't want to do that." I didn't expect it to go that way.


Bilingual Ballbusting
After school today, the Mule entered the house, walked into the kitchen and said to the Moose, "You embarrass me when you speak to me in English at school." The Moose can't fathom why on earth he should wrack his brain to speak Japanese to his sister. His sister took to Japanese like a fish to water. She can bust balls and twitter bilingually without batting an eyelash. The Moose looks worn out at the end of each day. His Japanese is fluent but has an intensity behind it as if he is forcing it out.

I feel for the Moose. She won't speak to me at school since I can't speak Japanese which leaves me wandering around in a haze unless some nice mama takes me by the elbow. The Moose, however, is hard to ignore. He gets demanding. I'll let them sort this one out. I wonder if in the States she'll refuse to speak Japanese for the same reason? This could get complicated. Hopefully, we'll find some Japanese speakers to keep her going or perhaps audiobooks in Japanese? Some visitors? Something.


Departure Stuff
The very thought of leaving sat with me today. I'm not sure I can handle a long drawn out goodbye. If I let my thoughts go to how much this community has done for us, how much  my friends have done to help me, my heart breaks open and I feel the tears well upward. It's a terrible affliction, particularly in a culture where few words are said about tears.

I was hoping the ending to this story of living in Japan would really be the beginning of my children's adventures in Japan perhaps in a study abroad semester during university. They could look up old friends, say hello to their teachers, and generally return to explore their memories of childhood in Kamakura for themselves. I also hope at least a few Japanese friends will come for a visit in America. Having an idea, a plan, for the future makes it feel more manageable.

This departure stuff is going to get messy.  Despite my fervent wish to go home, I can't see a way to avoid my feelings- feeling grateful, feeling blessed, and feeling lucky. For some reason those feelings feel so big that I can't contain them and when they overwhelm me, I cry.

How do you thank someone who saved you from drowning? How do you thank someone who gave you food and drink, who nourished your spirit, who let you in, who never made you feel like an outsider even though you are? How do you thank someone for showing you the way? How do you thank someone for being your friend?

I'm the one who can't go to yochien and say goodbye! I'll be a wreck. That's probably why the Mule doesn't want to go- she knows I'll cry and, horror of all horrors, speak English. I think I'd better wait for those orders first, a birdie told me it can take months.

What we Carry

I got a call from the Moose on his way home from school yesterday.

Son: My backpack is too heavy. I'm feeling kind of hot.  

Mother: You have to walk home. 

Son: I have so many books, my backpack is kind of heavy so I can't run. 

Mother: Just walk as fast as you can. 

Son: Ok.

An hour later when the Moose arrived at home, he pulled from his pant's pocket two fabulous rocks he had found. Later, going through his backpack in search of the health papers I'm supposed to fill out, I found four more rocks.

Mother: Why do you have these rocks in your backpack? 

Son: Mama, they are so smooth. 

Mother: There are four of them. You called me to complain about your backpack being heavy and yet you have rocks in it. 

Son: I had to bring them home. They are so nice Mama. Look at how smooth they are.

It reminded me that it is our view of what we carry around with us that weighs us down. In the Moose's mind it wasn't those rocks that were the problem, it was those darned school books.

Moose wearing his backpack and thermos, off to school once more

Moments that Pull

Sakura in bloom Hachimangu, Kamakura, Japan

Spring Starts with School and Blossoms in Japan
Sakura cherry blossoms in Japan are associated with beginnings, both of spring and the start of the new school year. The Moose, starting second grade, participated in the welcoming ceremony for the incoming first graders and their parents while the Mule unexpectedly, for me at least, returned home early the first day. With two days of school under their belts, the Moose still can't remember his teacher's name, but he is thrilled that three of his old yochien preschool mates are in his class.

He told me, "Do you know what I was thinking about today?" when I asked about school. I thought worry, but said, "No. What were you thinking about Moose?" He said, "That song, 'Drink up and Go home." We had sang it on spring break to our friends, telling them it should be their song for last call. Still I was grateful that his teacher who probably knows his name already doesn't know enough English to understand what he is singing. I'm not sure this will fly so well in American school. I might be getting calls to go to the principal's office there.

I did enjoy the more relaxed schedule of break and the half days, but little work is accomplished due to the eternal calls of "Mama, mama, mama," constant meal prep, and the Lego Playmobil Lincoln Log extravaganza set ups. I do like the chance to eavesdrop on my kiddos amidst their world of play, particularly the feminine influence of the Mule on the war mongering ways of the Moose.


The Lincoln Log Ward
The Mule set up a field hospital and had half of the Moose's Roman Army in the Lincoln Log Ward. Nurse Playmobil fussed over the soldiers with tea and cake while the Moose lobbied for cannonballs and more war tactics. The Mule endlessly put him off like she does bedtime. The contents of my sewing scrap bag turned out costumes for the munsters themselves- caps, capes, tunics, belts, and other assorted paraphernalia- and sustained them for hours. The only drawback being the size of the mess. At one point, I kicked them outside which meant the mess continued its outward expansion as they sought to set up military camp with mats, blankets, umbrellas, ropes, and pillows. A clean house is a mother's losing battle.


Transitions
Spring is a transitional season; change is amongst us in spring. The Moose's recent bout with our stairs and the subsequent loss of his two front teeth has given way to an emerging growing boy. It's as if by the sudden pull of a string, before my eyes, he has suddenly changed, grown. I keep looking at him and seeing someone new and yet the same. He is changing ever more slowly than some children, maybe faster than a few others, but he looks so different without his front teeth. He asked again for mashed potatoes for dinner but I did hear him attempting and making machine gun sounds today. I think his mouth is healing.


A Sermon
Today is Easter. As I sat down in church this morning, the sermon underway, I heard Father Len saying some version of these words which I have from his outlined notes:

Nothing in Jesus story says that God wanted sacrifice. Since the time of the Prophets God wanted an end to blood sacrifice. What God wanted was: The sacrifice of taking care for the poor, hungry, and homeless, orphans and widows; The sacrifice of sharing with the least, the lonely, the lost, and the lame; The sacrifice of forgiveness and reconciliation; The sacrifice of proclaiming the good news of justice for all people. 

from Father Len's Easter Sermon, Christ Church Yokohama

It was a tall order, a squirmy Easter sermon not a woohoo it's Easter kind. I mean this as a compliment.

A long time ago, another preacher, Tom Are, at another Easter sermon with my then fiancé, his first Sunday after a six month deployment, told the huge and largely white haired congregation with a number of hat wearing southern ladies, myself included, at Riverside Presbyterian that, "until we can shake the hands of the black, the gay, those less fortunate than ourselves, we should not be so quick to pat ourselves on the back."

It was the preacher's first day at the pulpit as well, which he used to his advantage to make us all squirm. He was older, southern and said with a drawl and a vibrato that bring Bill Clinton to mind, "I know ya'll are having a hard time wondering what a Yankee from Pittsburgh has to say...." Pittsburgh had been his previous interim post. I'm sure that was the first time "gay" had been uttered from that pulpit on Easter. It was 1995. He wasn't interested in anyone resting on their laurels. He challenged us nearly every Sunday thereafter and peppered those challenges with stories from his boyhood home in Batesburg, Georgia. I secretly wished that I could move to Batesburg, Georgia, to absorb some of that wisdom.

Today Father Len reminded me, us all really, about the uncomfortable gift of Easter, again from his outline:

God chose to repair the damage, not fix the blame. To raise the dead, not raise the roof. To bring the innocent dead to life, not the guilty to death. God chose to undo the worst that human beings could do. Not by revenge, retribution and punishment; But by forgiveness and restoration. Forgiving sin and restoring relationships is what Easter is about. 

from Father Len's Easter Sermon, Christ Church Yokohama

Father Len pointed to our task to offer this Easter Gift to each other:

What God did for us, God wants us to do for each other: Repair the damage, Raise the dead, And bring the innocent to life. 

from Father Len's Easter Sermon, Christ Church Yokohama

The Pull
Though I felt squirmy knowing of my own shortcomings, I was glad to be reminded of this essential call to reach out more and it harkened back to the message I had heard that first Easter I spent with my soon to be husband. I love a full circle.

After church my husband and I walked up Wakamiya Oji under the arched canopy of sakura trees leading to Hachimangu Shrine here in Kamakura. Following the trail of paparazzi lenses attempting to capture the blossoms not yet fully in bloom, we were without children. It felt almost like a date to have him alone and in daylight with those shy blossoms beginning to unfurl.

In a few days, the blossoms will be in their full glory which is when we get to my favorite part. The dance of the cherry blossoms as they drift and glide, circle up and down, and pirouette along the path like grace calling us with beauty, with the fleeting moment to shine, to be, but not yet. That is how I feel today, I'm not yet all that I would like to be, but moments keep pulling me along, calling me to do better.

Tori gate along Wakamiya Oji in Kamakura

Measuring Work

The Crush
I aim to bear my burdens gracefully, but I do fall short particularly when it comes to watching my husband working himself to death. Bearing witness to a crushing workload on another person is distressing.

My husband on average leaves home at seven in the morning and returns at ten in the evening sometimes earlier and more often, later. There is no time for dinner together, no time to help our children with reading in English or piano, no time for friends or hobbies. The long hours instead sap his health and deprive him of essential downtime. We each do what we must. My husband feels he has no choice but to work and work and work. The work never stops. The need is great.

Japanese friends have expressed concern that my husband has so much work, interpreting that there must be many sick American children sent by the military to Japan. It is more complicated than this because there is not an equivalent type of care or assessment available in Japan- there are few enough physicians trained to work in mental health with children even in the States. Meanwhile the Japanese answer to some of the garden variety behavioral problems in children is simply that they do not exist- except that my children regale me with tales of children wearing trash cans and entertaining classmates with interruptions and pranks that to perhaps a more trained eye speak volumes on children adrift.


Help is Available
For families that realize that there is help available, they come. Being helpful means, people come, but the helpful help is not so quick or easy to formulate. The way that health care administrative processes review and determine workloads rewards initial visits and office visits and not the process often needed over time.

According to statistics, which no one can clearly explain how they are derived, my husband, despite his monster hours, numerous phone consults, hand holding sessions, and administrative responsibilities, is only working part-time on the admin guru scale. This shortchanges not just him but patients and families as well. It begs the question is your health care best determined by you and your needs with a doctor or an administrative process in an office years before you ever know you have a medical need?

In mental health there can be a fairly long assessment and interview process that requires a detailed write up and then there are ongoing visits and adjustments for medications and treatments. Some of which can be done over the phone particularly when there are long travel distances involved for patients and families except that this penalizes the physician. This patient centered focus doesn't jibe well with the "in and out" and only "one problem at a time" insurance processes which guide both civilian and military medical care.

Mental health write ups take time from collecting the information, to listening to a family and a patient, to reviewing the problems, to doing the actual writing and insuring diagnosis are supported appropriately. Then there is ongoing follow up and consultation such as talking with the schools, families, and patient except that in the administrative world of health care this isn't important- at least in terms of how the physician is encouraged to act by the number of beans put into his doing good pile.


Caring
It would help if he didn't care, didn't help, and told everyone to come in for an appointment- meaning no help over the phone- since it takes patients months and months to get an appointment, but he doesn't. He just doesn't eat dinner with us, or have time to himself, or make time for friends, instead he wears himself out working halftime, twiddling his thumbs, and doing all of the things that aren't rewarded in the system. He tends to notice what is and is not helpful to the particular person in front of him.

Those civilian healthcare models that the military strives to emulate usually include staff that are seasoned; stay in the same department and roles over long periods of time; and have support staff that are specialized and dedicated to their area; whereas the military pulls people away for training; shuffles staff constantly; or just lets you do the job of seven people. Someone is sure to stop by and tell you to come to a meeting where they can give you a pep talk and tell you about your numbers too. They are two different sports trying to play by the same rules.


The Impact
Yes, I'm flawed, frustrated, and through, but I have also noticed that when patients or their families do approach me it is to tell me things like, "Your husband is the most wonderful...." His unbearable workload appears to be helpful to patients. The system doesn't care what is happening to him and so it goes on. But me? I'm standing on the sideline witnessing an atrocity, a waste, and I can't keep my mouth shut, but before you dismiss my plight, this is bigger than one doc.

Consider the impact of valuing numbers, widgets, and budgets. The system is promoting care that is responsive not to patients but to metrics. Few providers have the stamina to oppose the flow of bureaucracy. What is measured and how it is measured matters to every single one of us. Plenty of providers look perfect on paper, but annoy patients to no end for not listening, not taking calls, and not taking time to assess more than one problem at a time.

You get what is measured and there is a whole lot of humanity missing from the cup of healthcare metrics being served today.

Calling the Tooth Fairy

We went to the dental clinic very early this morning to follow up on our emergency room visit for the Moose's recent encounter with our stairs. It took a while, but eventually he was worked into the pediatric dental schedule.

The very kind talkative dentist removed the Moose's two front teeth. He said the stairs simply sped things along by a few weeks. The Moose appears to have a wad of chew in his right cheek thanks to his chin, mouth, and front teeth bearing the brunt of the fall. Everything is sore and red, but there are no major concerns beyond a few more days of healing.

He's plotting a Lego purchase with his tooth fairy money. He asked me, "Do you think the Tooth Fairy will leave me a dollar for each tooth?" I didn't tell him that even with two dollars, he won't be able to buy any Legos, but I'm thinking the Tooth Fairy might bring him a Lego mini figure pack, after she consults with the Easter Bunny.

Poor guy, he looks pretty beat up! He did opt for the McDonald fries afterward, but not the burger. He wasn't interested in eating that with such a sore mouth. His only complaint is that he can't make good machine gun sounds now, partly because of the cheek injury. I understood his concern, he is exceptionally good at machine gun sounds, but I'm sure it will come back.


While we waited the long wait in the dental clinic, I worked on a sashiko stitching I brought with me. Another mother asked me, "Where did you get that?" I told her about Swany in Kamakura. She told me she rarely leaves the base but maybe someday she would go there. She had been to see the Big Buddha in Kamakura on a tour, once. I told her I lived there, that I have lived there for five years, and that really there is nothing to fear. "It's more a leap of faith, you take a blind step and someone sees you flailing, they'll help you." I'm not sure I convinced her, but she did look longingly at the stitching. I changed tactics and suggested that she look along the shops on Blue Street in Yokosuka, "Just keep saying sashiko, they'll get the idea." I didn't really believe there were people who don't leave the base.

Sashiko is a type of running stitching used to reinforce worn pieces of fabric being recycled such as from a coat to a futon cover. There are traditional sashiko patterns which I have most often seen on indigo dyed cotton. I thought I would find more of it during my time in Japan, but I have seen little of it, and when I do, it is expensive. My kit has the pattern marked on it, making it fairly simple for a novice like myself to do it as you only need to follow the dotted line. When you are finished you gently wash the cloth in water and voilà, all that is left is your stitches.

After my restless trip up north, I was a happy to find a portable craft. Try a kit near you.

The Moose after chomping our stairs and seeing the dentist