This is the last picture taken of our little furry guy, Genji.
Our Little Furry Guy
March 2003 - June 2008
If you click on the picture, you can see Genji's flickr set, going all the way back to 2004.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
Amazing Day at Towadako (Towada Lake)
It's rainy season right now, and when I woke up today, there was no way in hell I was going into work - it was an amazing beautiful day, and I think by law we're only allowed three of them per summer in Misawa.
Chris' work ethic almost got in the way of the day trip, but once he got outside, he realized that work would wait but this kind of day would not.
It was a lovely, lovely day. You can click the photo to go to the flickr set to view more pictures.
We went into work in the evening for a little bit, so we weren't all that bad.
Chris' work ethic almost got in the way of the day trip, but once he got outside, he realized that work would wait but this kind of day would not.
It was a lovely, lovely day. You can click the photo to go to the flickr set to view more pictures.
We went into work in the evening for a little bit, so we weren't all that bad.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
A Mouthful of Macho
I was digging through some archive CDs and discovered some bits and pieces from a creative writing class I took back in 2004. This was an exercise about evoking the sensory aspects of a memory from your childhood. The only requirement was it had to be 200 words or less.
A Mouthful of Macho
It’s late summer, the taffy afternoon stretching endlessly. There’s nothing to do in this small town, so a pack of barely-teenaged boys are roaming the neighborhood streets. One of the boys is actually a girl and that girl is me.
It’s lunchtime. Being teens, we are hungry all the time. Preternaturally hungry and beginning to sense it’s not just food we are hungry for. We walk by a dead raccoon.
“I’m hungry enough,” I boast, “to eat that roadkill.”
“Yeah right!”
“I used to eat raw hamburger, but Mom made me stop. Said I’d get worms.”
“So? DARE you to eat it.”
“No way!”
“You said! What? You a gir—a chickenshit?”
Great. I’ll be a chickenshit. Even worse, I’ll be a girl.
The raccoon’s entrails are strewn like meaty confetti around the animal. I briefly wonder how much it hurts to get run over.
The guys are waiting. Nonchalantly as possible, I reach into the raccoon’s burst-open belly, to discover it’s hard to grip raccoon guts. I keep plucking at the stringy flesh, like some demented charnel house harpist. I was wrong--roadkill is NOT like raw hamburger. Finally, a brownish-red gobbet gives way. The guys are staring at me.
I glare back as I chew with determined, oversized chomps. The flesh is gristly and squeaks out from between my teeth, skidding across my tongue. It smells like menstrual blood, road tar, and fur. It tastes like the hot copper of a nosebleed with a faint overblown sweetness of rot. I swallow. We all wait to see if I will puke. My stomach churns but I keep everything down. The guys are agog, unable to believe what they’ve just seen me do.
For lunch, we go to a pizza joint. The guys buy me my slices, something they’ve never done before.
It’s late summer, the taffy afternoon stretching endlessly. There’s nothing to do in this small town, so a pack of barely-teenaged boys are roaming the neighborhood streets. One of the boys is actually a girl and that girl is me.
It’s lunchtime. Being teens, we are hungry all the time. Preternaturally hungry and beginning to sense it’s not just food we are hungry for. We walk by a dead raccoon.
“I’m hungry enough,” I boast, “to eat that roadkill.”
“Yeah right!”
“I used to eat raw hamburger, but Mom made me stop. Said I’d get worms.”
“So? DARE you to eat it.”
“No way!”
“You said! What? You a gir—a chickenshit?”
Great. I’ll be a chickenshit. Even worse, I’ll be a girl.
The raccoon’s entrails are strewn like meaty confetti around the animal. I briefly wonder how much it hurts to get run over.
The guys are waiting. Nonchalantly as possible, I reach into the raccoon’s burst-open belly, to discover it’s hard to grip raccoon guts. I keep plucking at the stringy flesh, like some demented charnel house harpist. I was wrong--roadkill is NOT like raw hamburger. Finally, a brownish-red gobbet gives way. The guys are staring at me.
I glare back as I chew with determined, oversized chomps. The flesh is gristly and squeaks out from between my teeth, skidding across my tongue. It smells like menstrual blood, road tar, and fur. It tastes like the hot copper of a nosebleed with a faint overblown sweetness of rot. I swallow. We all wait to see if I will puke. My stomach churns but I keep everything down. The guys are agog, unable to believe what they’ve just seen me do.
For lunch, we go to a pizza joint. The guys buy me my slices, something they’ve never done before.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Warmers, made for ME!
My friend Skully is teh R0X0R! She knit me beaded(!) warmers! ZAWESOME. Silk, Mohair, and Merino in my most favorite colors (grey and purple)!
Lots of people have knit things for me, for which I am profoundly grateful. These are things that are full of care and love and that I will cherish. Thank you to all the folks who have kept me dressed warmly with your knitted gifts. I think of you every time I wear them.
Lots of people have knit things for me, for which I am profoundly grateful. These are things that are full of care and love and that I will cherish. Thank you to all the folks who have kept me dressed warmly with your knitted gifts. I think of you every time I wear them.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Torii Gate
We've got Matt and Alfred visiting for a work project. So on Saturday, May 3rd, we went to Okonomiyaki for lunch, followed by a day trip to Kabushima, and ended the day with a bout of ROCKBAND. Come look at pictures!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Pink and Blue, Too
There was an art museum opening, cherry blossoms, dance troupes, flags, firemen, cute kids and archers on horseback at the Towada Yabusame Festival on 27 April, 2008.
Click on the image to go to Flickr and view the whole set!
Click on the image to go to Flickr and view the whole set!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Not Even Thinking
A couple of days ago, I did something (without even thinking) that I would not have dreamed of doing in the States:
I let some guy in the house.
Chris and I were both home sick, with Chris asleep upstairs (ensconced in the bedroom with four boxes of tissue, two bags of cough drops, a fully-loaded humidifer and sixteen pillows to prop him up) and I was dozing on the couch.
The doorbell rings. I look out and it is, unsuprisingly, some Japanese guy. I wave him through the gates and he says something about checking the propane (our stove is a gas stove modified for LP use, the heat for the house is kerosene). I didn't even think to ask for a badge or other identifying document or anything. (Later there would be a form to sign as always, that was proof right then, but I digress) so I let him in the house, led him to the kitchen, showed him the stove and went back into the living room. Leaving him alone in my kitchen with several really sharp Weusthoff knives, access to the rest of the house, etc.
My biggest concern? That my house was messy. It wasn't - I may not be good at much but I am ace at housekeeping (Sylvia will verify this, you can ask her about the time she came to visit while I was in the middle of cleaning and I wouldn't let her in).
So the safety audit was done with a machine that actually looked like a cross between a geiger counter and a seismograph and no leaks, no contaminants, no radon, carbon dioxide, et cetera were found. I (and Chris) were also NOT murdered in some gruesome manner and then because Japanese neighbors are very private, not found for three weeks and as a result eaten (or at least chewed pretty good) by the cat. But nope. It's amazing safe here and I've come to take that for granted, which is probably a little dangerous and/or lacking in situational awareness on my part.
Oh, the safety check itself took about 15 minutes.
I exchange a few pleasantries in Japanese with the guy, much his delight, then showed him out and it wasn't until a few days later that I realized what I had done. I had just let some dude in my house without being suspicious or concerned in the least. I am sure there are still places in the US where you can do this and there are certainly places in Japan where you CANNOT do this, but still.
So here are some other things that I do that I probably should stop doing because it wouldn't fly in the states:
Run into the store to grab a drink/snack with the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition and the engine running. Actually I shouldn't do this because it's a small thing but helps the enviroment.
Nap upstairs in my house, with the front door open (actually, the screen door is shut, but it's a slider, like that's gonna thwart anyone)
Go running at 10pm on unlit back roads, without a cell phone, mace, Desert Eagle, flares, etc.
Leave my shopping basket with my wallet in it in aisle three while I scoot back to aisle 9 to grab the bottle of shoyu (soy) sauce that I forgot to get when I was first in aisle 9.
Leave my wallet on a bench in an arcade and expect to get everything back (see the Morioka entry-click on the pic to get the story from Flickr).
Leave the house unlocked (often with the front door OPEN) if I run to the store to get shoyu.
Leave the keys in the unlocked car when they're parked at home.
Some neat but too-specialized-to-be-useful-anywhere-but-here I have acquired since living here:
The ability to carry on an entire conversation just using the words good, yes, I understand and sorry, interspersed with head nods and grunts. Seriously, this is even how the Japanese do it.
The ability to perform a proper bow of appropriate politeness (about 20 degrees) during my running workout.
The ability to eat soup with chopsticks.
How to use a squat toilet without:
Falling IN the damn thing
Blowing out my knees
Soiling my clothes
How to wear kimono!
Access to the arcane knowledge all Japanese ladies possess that will allow them to Macguyver themselves out of any situation and/or save the world by using the contents of their designer handbags:
Cell phone
55 packets of tissues
3 bottles of hand sanitizer
1 compact full of expensive makeup
How to walk in the middle of the road, completely oblivious because the cars here will not TRY to run you down.
How to remember to ALWAYS carry and umbrella and pop it open at the mere sight of a teeny gray cloud (more so in Tokyo) AND the understanding of Old Edo umbrella manners - you tip the umbrella to your outside, so that the other umbrella-bearing person (who will also tip his brolly to the outside) walking past you on the sidewalk can get by without having your runoff dumped on him and vice-versa. Believe it or not, I learned this from a subway poster (the Edo Tilt, not Always Carry an Umbrella)
How to properly stow a futon (after you properly air it, dummy).
How use a fancy washlet toilet (it took a pretty serious lesson, though).
I am sure I am forgetting some of my other specialized skills but I think that should do it for now.
4-20-2008
I just remembered:
I can read Katakana, Hiragana and some kanji!
I can take off my shoes by telekinesis (seriously, it's so second nature, I don't even consciously do it).
I let some guy in the house.
Chris and I were both home sick, with Chris asleep upstairs (ensconced in the bedroom with four boxes of tissue, two bags of cough drops, a fully-loaded humidifer and sixteen pillows to prop him up) and I was dozing on the couch.
The doorbell rings. I look out and it is, unsuprisingly, some Japanese guy. I wave him through the gates and he says something about checking the propane (our stove is a gas stove modified for LP use, the heat for the house is kerosene). I didn't even think to ask for a badge or other identifying document or anything. (Later there would be a form to sign as always, that was proof right then, but I digress) so I let him in the house, led him to the kitchen, showed him the stove and went back into the living room. Leaving him alone in my kitchen with several really sharp Weusthoff knives, access to the rest of the house, etc.
My biggest concern? That my house was messy. It wasn't - I may not be good at much but I am ace at housekeeping (Sylvia will verify this, you can ask her about the time she came to visit while I was in the middle of cleaning and I wouldn't let her in).
So the safety audit was done with a machine that actually looked like a cross between a geiger counter and a seismograph and no leaks, no contaminants, no radon, carbon dioxide, et cetera were found. I (and Chris) were also NOT murdered in some gruesome manner and then because Japanese neighbors are very private, not found for three weeks and as a result eaten (or at least chewed pretty good) by the cat. But nope. It's amazing safe here and I've come to take that for granted, which is probably a little dangerous and/or lacking in situational awareness on my part.
Oh, the safety check itself took about 15 minutes.
I exchange a few pleasantries in Japanese with the guy, much his delight, then showed him out and it wasn't until a few days later that I realized what I had done. I had just let some dude in my house without being suspicious or concerned in the least. I am sure there are still places in the US where you can do this and there are certainly places in Japan where you CANNOT do this, but still.
So here are some other things that I do that I probably should stop doing because it wouldn't fly in the states:
Run into the store to grab a drink/snack with the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition and the engine running. Actually I shouldn't do this because it's a small thing but helps the enviroment.
Nap upstairs in my house, with the front door open (actually, the screen door is shut, but it's a slider, like that's gonna thwart anyone)
Go running at 10pm on unlit back roads, without a cell phone, mace, Desert Eagle, flares, etc.
Leave my shopping basket with my wallet in it in aisle three while I scoot back to aisle 9 to grab the bottle of shoyu (soy) sauce that I forgot to get when I was first in aisle 9.
Leave my wallet on a bench in an arcade and expect to get everything back (see the Morioka entry-click on the pic to get the story from Flickr).
Leave the house unlocked (often with the front door OPEN) if I run to the store to get shoyu.
Leave the keys in the unlocked car when they're parked at home.
Some neat but too-specialized-to-be-useful-anywhere-but-here I have acquired since living here:
The ability to carry on an entire conversation just using the words good, yes, I understand and sorry, interspersed with head nods and grunts. Seriously, this is even how the Japanese do it.
The ability to perform a proper bow of appropriate politeness (about 20 degrees) during my running workout.
The ability to eat soup with chopsticks.
How to use a squat toilet without:
Falling IN the damn thing
Blowing out my knees
Soiling my clothes
How to wear kimono!
Access to the arcane knowledge all Japanese ladies possess that will allow them to Macguyver themselves out of any situation and/or save the world by using the contents of their designer handbags:
Cell phone
55 packets of tissues
3 bottles of hand sanitizer
1 compact full of expensive makeup
How to walk in the middle of the road, completely oblivious because the cars here will not TRY to run you down.
How to remember to ALWAYS carry and umbrella and pop it open at the mere sight of a teeny gray cloud (more so in Tokyo) AND the understanding of Old Edo umbrella manners - you tip the umbrella to your outside, so that the other umbrella-bearing person (who will also tip his brolly to the outside) walking past you on the sidewalk can get by without having your runoff dumped on him and vice-versa. Believe it or not, I learned this from a subway poster (the Edo Tilt, not Always Carry an Umbrella)
How to properly stow a futon (after you properly air it, dummy).
How use a fancy washlet toilet (it took a pretty serious lesson, though).
I am sure I am forgetting some of my other specialized skills but I think that should do it for now.
4-20-2008
I just remembered:
I can read Katakana, Hiragana and some kanji!
I can take off my shoes by telekinesis (seriously, it's so second nature, I don't even consciously do it).
Friday, April 04, 2008
Taisho/Pre WWII Kimono
Volunteered at the Big Bazaar again this year. This is quite possibly my last bazaar, if indeed we do PCS in September 2008. To ease my sadness, I wore my most cheery, most favorite vintage kimono.
More picture here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/25679727@N00/sets/72157604376113448/
More picture here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/25679727@N00/sets/72157604376113448/
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sunset in Morioka
Spent a lovely spring day (3/22/08) in Morioka, with our friend, Ben Lee.
A nice sunset closed out our visit. Click on the pictures to go to flickr and see more pictures from our trip.
A nice sunset closed out our visit. Click on the pictures to go to flickr and see more pictures from our trip.
Monday, March 03, 2008
二 二九 (229)
Aomori Prefecture, where I live, is noted for agriculture. Particularly famous throughout Japan are Aomori apples and GARLIC.
So on Sunday, Chris rolls in from Snowboarding at Hakkoda, with a bag of garlic. The garlic came from coworker and fellow foodie, Crocker.
Generally, in keeping with the Japanese tastes, garlic in Japan is mild. Mild to the point of flavorlessness. So when I opened the bag and got a whiff, I was thrilled. If my schnozz was Japanese, the whiff would have been noisome. But thank goodness, my nose is not Japanese and neither is my palate. Redolent, if not down right stinky, stubby fat bulbs of fresh garlic. Hooray! Thanks Crocker!
I lopped the tops off the seven bulbs, stuck them in a baking dish, gave 'em a squirt of olive oil and a roast at 350 for an hour. The I proceeded to eat three bulbs' worth of the roasted cloves, hot from the oven -- squishy and nutty and slightly carmalized and totally delicous.
My breath is so bad right now, I am making my own eyes water. S'alright.
One of the great things about the Japanese language is opportunities for wordplay/puns because of the amount of homonyms present in the language. Actually, I think of a former co-worker, John Jenkins, whenever I see/hear puns or wordplays. The two of us once spent almost an entire afternoon during a slow day at work, making lots of puns, each more obnoxious than the last. There was a pun involving brassieres and brasseries that was a killer. I can't take credit, that one was all John's.
So puns. And Garlic. One of the most well known brands of garlic around here is the 229 brand.
2 is "NI" ( nee or "as in the knights who say") and 9 is "KYU" (kyuu). So 229 could be pronounced as two-two-nine, or in Japanese, ni - ni - kyu ( 二 二九 ). You could also say two hundred and twenty nine, or nihyakunijyukyu ( 二百二十九), but then the joke wouldn't work!
Here's the "punchline" (aside from the fact that I ate so much roasted garlic that I have heartburn right now):
The word for garlic is ninniku (にんに in hiragana; ニンニク in katakana; 大蒜 or 蒜 in Kanji), which sounds very much like ni-ni-kyu, or two-two-nine (229). So the brand is literally "Garlic Garlic." Clever bit of marketing to select name with a built in mnemonic/catchphrase.
So on Sunday, Chris rolls in from Snowboarding at Hakkoda, with a bag of garlic. The garlic came from coworker and fellow foodie, Crocker.
Generally, in keeping with the Japanese tastes, garlic in Japan is mild. Mild to the point of flavorlessness. So when I opened the bag and got a whiff, I was thrilled. If my schnozz was Japanese, the whiff would have been noisome. But thank goodness, my nose is not Japanese and neither is my palate. Redolent, if not down right stinky, stubby fat bulbs of fresh garlic. Hooray! Thanks Crocker!
I lopped the tops off the seven bulbs, stuck them in a baking dish, gave 'em a squirt of olive oil and a roast at 350 for an hour. The I proceeded to eat three bulbs' worth of the roasted cloves, hot from the oven -- squishy and nutty and slightly carmalized and totally delicous.
My breath is so bad right now, I am making my own eyes water. S'alright.
One of the great things about the Japanese language is opportunities for wordplay/puns because of the amount of homonyms present in the language. Actually, I think of a former co-worker, John Jenkins, whenever I see/hear puns or wordplays. The two of us once spent almost an entire afternoon during a slow day at work, making lots of puns, each more obnoxious than the last. There was a pun involving brassieres and brasseries that was a killer. I can't take credit, that one was all John's.
So puns. And Garlic. One of the most well known brands of garlic around here is the 229 brand.
2 is "NI" ( nee or "as in the knights who say") and 9 is "KYU" (kyuu). So 229 could be pronounced as two-two-nine, or in Japanese, ni - ni - kyu ( 二 二九 ). You could also say two hundred and twenty nine, or nihyakunijyukyu ( 二百二十九), but then the joke wouldn't work!
Here's the "punchline" (aside from the fact that I ate so much roasted garlic that I have heartburn right now):
The word for garlic is ninniku (にんに in hiragana; ニンニク in katakana; 大蒜 or 蒜 in Kanji), which sounds very much like ni-ni-kyu, or two-two-nine (229). So the brand is literally "Garlic Garlic." Clever bit of marketing to select name with a built in mnemonic/catchphrase.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Itty Bitty Bag
Because cloth/kimono were/are expensive, there is a long tradition of recycling them (going right back to Edo Japan!). Kimono might be recut for a child, made into a haori, or otherwise altered to extend the life of the fabric. Every piece, right down to the littlest, was reused. Pieces of fabric which were smallish might be made into doll's clothes, small drawsting purses, beanbags, hair decorations or ornaments/charms. This little coral bag probably started out life as a haori. I got the fabric in a scrap grab-bag and sewed it up into a teeny drawstring pouch. It contains my ojami , which are small beanbags used in a traditional Japanese girls' juggling game, called Otedama (Te is the Japanese word for hand). Behind the itty-bitty bag it is a larger bag (containg my larger and less-traditional purple suede gballz juggling balls), made from a panel from a pre-WWII kimono I picked apart (there was too much damage to wear it).
When I see Eiko-san in a few days, I'll have to ask her if she knows how to do Otedama.
When I see Eiko-san in a few days, I'll have to ask her if she knows how to do Otedama.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Haikyo
Haikyo is the Japanese word for "ruins." Not to be confused with the Haikyo that is a talent agency representing Seiyu (voice actors for movies, video games, anime, etc).
When we first got to Misawa, I was amazed by the abandoned buildings that seemed to be such a pervasive feature. I always had this perception of Japan as the land of neat and tidy. Living here quickly disabused me of that notion.
Abandoned crap is all over Japan and said crap includes but is not limited to fridges, cars, roads, hotels, apartments, office buildings, roller coasters and even an entire island.
Abandoned places are prevalent and captivating enough that a specialized kind of domestic tourism dedicated to it has arisen; Haikyo tourism is popular enough to warrant several guidebooks and to generate interest in artistic photography of the ruins. There's plenty of websites about Haikyo too, featuring images of beautifully decaying places grimly surrendering to entropy.
I get the whimwhams just looking at the pictures.
Surface Below - Photography of Gunkanjima Island by American photographer Ross McDermott
Deflation Spiral - Folio Number 9 contains my favorite images.
Shinichiro Kobayashi - published by the ubiquitious house of Kodansha. Hokkaido Island is the stingray-shaped island at the top. Directly below that is the prefecture/area where I live.
Ruined Japan
When we first got to Misawa, I was amazed by the abandoned buildings that seemed to be such a pervasive feature. I always had this perception of Japan as the land of neat and tidy. Living here quickly disabused me of that notion.
Abandoned crap is all over Japan and said crap includes but is not limited to fridges, cars, roads, hotels, apartments, office buildings, roller coasters and even an entire island.
Abandoned places are prevalent and captivating enough that a specialized kind of domestic tourism dedicated to it has arisen; Haikyo tourism is popular enough to warrant several guidebooks and to generate interest in artistic photography of the ruins. There's plenty of websites about Haikyo too, featuring images of beautifully decaying places grimly surrendering to entropy.
I get the whimwhams just looking at the pictures.
Surface Below - Photography of Gunkanjima Island by American photographer Ross McDermott
Deflation Spiral - Folio Number 9 contains my favorite images.
Shinichiro Kobayashi - published by the ubiquitious house of Kodansha. Hokkaido Island is the stingray-shaped island at the top. Directly below that is the prefecture/area where I live.
Ruined Japan
Thursday, February 21, 2008
all-nite diner
all nite diner all nite diner all n te dine al n te di er all nite din r
(sign on the fritz) coughing up neon into the 3am world
two souls stagger in
(been up all night)
throw themselves into the naughahyde nirvana
of a back-corner booth
peering over menus
(fingerprinted dogeared)
she flings back her head
and laughs
(in utter delight)
the sound
ricochets--
(an amusing bit of artillery)
--off dinged aluminum walls
and day-old donuts--
takes a spin on the ceiling fan
zooms down the counter
rattles the dishes
whiplashes the necks
of the other patrons
(wotthehellzofunny?)
but mostly
it
just
breaks
his heart.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Slipped
I've lost ten pounds. The weather has been cold.
Doesn't sound like they have any relation to each other but they do.
My fingers have gotten thinner. The cold makes them even more so.
As a result, my custom-made, one-of-a-kind wedding band slipped off at some point today.
We tore up the house and tomorrow we'll go to the Base Exchange and ask if it has turned up.
The ring was insured but how can I ever really replace it?
Doesn't sound like they have any relation to each other but they do.
My fingers have gotten thinner. The cold makes them even more so.
As a result, my custom-made, one-of-a-kind wedding band slipped off at some point today.
We tore up the house and tomorrow we'll go to the Base Exchange and ask if it has turned up.
The ring was insured but how can I ever really replace it?
Friday, February 15, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Imo Mobile
So I was working on my computer and I heard this shrill, high-pitched whine. I'm thinking "awwwmigod, my hard-drive is going...no, wait, awwwmigod, Chris' hard-drive is going!" Yet I can't seem to pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from.
Then I realized - It's the IMO (sweet potato) saleman! Luckily, I had my camera ready to go and captured the moment, complete with steam whistle. The Imo business must be good, he upgraded his truck! Or maybe this is a different vendor than the one a wrote about long ago.
If I hadn't just finished a snack, I would have run out and got an Imo. They're really good--steamed and sweet and starchy and will totally burn the top of your mouth if you're a greedy pig and don't wait for them to cool down a little bit. Not that it's ever happened to me.
Then I realized - It's the IMO (sweet potato) saleman! Luckily, I had my camera ready to go and captured the moment, complete with steam whistle. The Imo business must be good, he upgraded his truck! Or maybe this is a different vendor than the one a wrote about long ago.
If I hadn't just finished a snack, I would have run out and got an Imo. They're really good--steamed and sweet and starchy and will totally burn the top of your mouth if you're a greedy pig and don't wait for them to cool down a little bit. Not that it's ever happened to me.
So here's the whistle, with a truck attached:
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Pussywillows
Two bucks can buy a lot of happiness, particularly if "happiness" comes in the form of five-foot long pussywillow switches. Technically, I bought 5 dollars worth, since I purchased two bunches and the entire time I was smiling so hugely my face hurt.
Pussywillows remind me of spring as much as they remind me of my godmother's house, with it's unkempt flowerbeds (her husband died years before, and he did all the gardening) and decrepit, falling-down shed. Unlike my mother's neatly ordered beds, I could tromp though these unmade messes, sit down in the midst of them, and even better, pick the flowers. The beds were scattered randomly throughout her huge yard (you don't see yards like that anymore), and there were dead spots, tussocks, and the general creep towards entropy that ensues when the groundsman is no longer around to fight, tame, and otherwise control nature. Along the edges of these slowly reverting beds, as well as along the boundaries of my godmother's chaotic yard, were pussywillows.Unlike the huge, pink(!) catkins on my Japanese pussywillows, the ones growing at my godmother's house were small, silvery-grey, like little pearls. It was hard to snap them off, sometimes I sort of ending up more or less peeling the branches from the main bush. The woody stems were a yellow-green with that earthy, greeny, thin sappy sent that reminds me of spring, of ground squishy with snowmelt and spring rain and just being a kid.
I remember a drainage ditch (which I called a stream) and floating the catkins that had fallen off (or I had pulled off) on it. They floated very well, I think because of the little pockets of air the the "fur" caught. I used to pretend that I was in the sky, placing clouds here and there and they would float along on air currents. When I got tired of this (or bored or hungry or wet enough) I'd go inside my godmother's house and give her the pussywillows.
My godmother always appreciated a bouquet of pussywillows and would always put them in a vase in what was really a dingy, bordering on dirty livingroom, but in my eyes, it was my favorite place to be, because of the candy bowls (more about that some other time), a bookshelf with just my books on it, the ability to be myself and be loved solely for that, and a vase full of whatever blooms where in season and I had picked.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
'Za
While I like Japanese food and am particularly blessed to be smack in the middle of farm country,
I really miss US pizza. In all it's various glories. I was a bit sad there's no entry for "Buffalo-style" yet.
I really miss US pizza. In all it's various glories. I was a bit sad there's no entry for "Buffalo-style" yet.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Couscous for Dinner
Sometimes I suprise myself and produce something both interesting and edible:
Couscous with ginger, cherries, peppers and squash!
Couscous with ginger, cherries, peppers and squash!Friday, January 04, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Gantan
"Gantan" is the first day of the new year, which is today!
I fell asleep 15 minutes before the arrival of the new year, thusly sleeping through it. That's really not anything new.
I wish everyone the best for the new year, and hope 2008 is filled with "peace, love and good happiness stuff"for all of you.
I fell asleep 15 minutes before the arrival of the new year, thusly sleeping through it. That's really not anything new.
I wish everyone the best for the new year, and hope 2008 is filled with "peace, love and good happiness stuff"for all of you.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Osoji
Most Japanese households perform a ritual cleaning called Osoji, in preparation for the new year. It's a pretty thorough cleaning and time-consuming enough that most Japanese now wait until a weekend to do it, making do with a symbolic cleaning of the family altar if New Year's Day falls on a weekday.
My mom always did a thorough house cleaning on New Year's day. I followed that tradition to some extent, but I do mine before now, a gaijin version of Osoji.
This year, my Osoji took approximately 28 hours (over two and a half-days). I have a three-bed room, one-and-a-half bath house. The cleaning takes so long because it's top-to-bottom and truly involved. Some of the things I do: I pull down the curtains to be laundered, I pull stuff out of drawers, closets, off of shelves, etc. I also pull up the area rugs and move the furniture and scrub and wax the floors. I usually pull a muscle or two as well. I clean the stove, the fridge, change out fire alarm batteries and stuff like that. Wax the woodwork, clean the ceiling fixtures (guess how many dead bugs in my living room light? Too many!) This year, I had the added fun of snaking our bathroom drains. There's some interesting um, stuff(?) that gets built up in those drains. Yuk. I put aside items to go to charity (clothes that don't fit or I don't wear). I take down the Christmas tree and all the other holiday decorations. I also put up our shiminawa and kadomatsu.
As I'm typing this, it's been snowing all morning and it's looking pretty and white outside. My house is sparkling clean and so cozy. Best wishes for the new year!
My mom always did a thorough house cleaning on New Year's day. I followed that tradition to some extent, but I do mine before now, a gaijin version of Osoji.
This year, my Osoji took approximately 28 hours (over two and a half-days). I have a three-bed room, one-and-a-half bath house. The cleaning takes so long because it's top-to-bottom and truly involved. Some of the things I do: I pull down the curtains to be laundered, I pull stuff out of drawers, closets, off of shelves, etc. I also pull up the area rugs and move the furniture and scrub and wax the floors. I usually pull a muscle or two as well. I clean the stove, the fridge, change out fire alarm batteries and stuff like that. Wax the woodwork, clean the ceiling fixtures (guess how many dead bugs in my living room light? Too many!) This year, I had the added fun of snaking our bathroom drains. There's some interesting um, stuff(?) that gets built up in those drains. Yuk. I put aside items to go to charity (clothes that don't fit or I don't wear). I take down the Christmas tree and all the other holiday decorations. I also put up our shiminawa and kadomatsu.
As I'm typing this, it's been snowing all morning and it's looking pretty and white outside. My house is sparkling clean and so cozy. Best wishes for the new year!
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Enuff Fluff
The internet is a truck.
A wonderful, fluff-filled truck.
A wonderful fluff-filled truck that arrives via USPS to my mailbox.
Goldie, if you want some fudge, you need to email me your snail mail addy.
A wonderful, fluff-filled truck.
A wonderful fluff-filled truck that arrives via USPS to my mailbox.
Goldie, if you want some fudge, you need to email me your snail mail addy.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Christmas in Japan: Part II
Okay, so what kind of real fucking American grocery store runs out of MARSHMALLOW FLUFF DURING THE HOLIDAYS? The commissary here, that's who.
Today, I was picking up some baking supplies for this weekend, hoping that a massive dose of Christmas tunes, holiday baking of breads, cookies and making of candy as well as liberal applicatons of booze and putting up the tree would get me in the holiday spirits, because, for the first time in my life, I really don't give a shit about the holidays. I was actually kind of excited about baking/candymaking, so I got my chips and flour and sugar and sprinkles and stuff like that, but still needed to get Fluff for the fudge. So I push my cart over to where the Fluff normally is and IT IS SOLD OUT! IT'S ONLY THE FIRST WEEK OF DECEMBER. SWEET ZOMBIE BABBY FUCKING JEEBUS. THIS PLACE IS TEH SUX0R.
I was shaken right down to my blue-collar/white trash roots. NO FLUFF! Yeah, yeah, I know you candy snobs are like "Make fudge the proper way, luzr!" I honestly don't feel like dicking around with doing it from scratch. And ya know what? Fluff fudge is easy and the guys at the office like it. But it requires MARSHMALLOW FLUFF OF WHICH THERE IS NONE!
And there is no way I'll find it in the Japanese suupa. Or if I do it will beconsidered a "gourmet import" and will cost 2,000 yen (about 20 bucks).
My god. NO FLUFF. I had to console myself with a large whiskey with some eggnog in it.
Today, I was picking up some baking supplies for this weekend, hoping that a massive dose of Christmas tunes, holiday baking of breads, cookies and making of candy as well as liberal applicatons of booze and putting up the tree would get me in the holiday spirits, because, for the first time in my life, I really don't give a shit about the holidays. I was actually kind of excited about baking/candymaking, so I got my chips and flour and sugar and sprinkles and stuff like that, but still needed to get Fluff for the fudge. So I push my cart over to where the Fluff normally is and IT IS SOLD OUT! IT'S ONLY THE FIRST WEEK OF DECEMBER. SWEET ZOMBIE BABBY FUCKING JEEBUS. THIS PLACE IS TEH SUX0R.
I was shaken right down to my blue-collar/white trash roots. NO FLUFF! Yeah, yeah, I know you candy snobs are like "Make fudge the proper way, luzr!" I honestly don't feel like dicking around with doing it from scratch. And ya know what? Fluff fudge is easy and the guys at the office like it. But it requires MARSHMALLOW FLUFF OF WHICH THERE IS NONE!
And there is no way I'll find it in the Japanese suupa. Or if I do it will beconsidered a "gourmet import" and will cost 2,000 yen (about 20 bucks).
My god. NO FLUFF. I had to console myself with a large whiskey with some eggnog in it.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Christmas in Japan: Part I
(clipped from Daily Mainichi's English Website, because they don't do permalinks)
Electric eel used to power Xmas lights
Aqua Toto Gifu's electric eel and the Christmas tree lights it powers. (Mainichi)
KAKAMIGAHARA, Gifu -- An aquarium filled with exotic fish here is using an electric eel to power lights on a Christmas tree.
Each time the electric eel at the Aqua Toto Gifu aquarium touches a copper wire in its tank, it sends power that lights up globes decking a Christmas tree.
Officials expect the "eel Christmas tree" to be a popular attraction for dating couples in the lead-up to Christmas Day, when the tree will be removed.
Electric eels are capable of generating electricity in their bodies. They have notoriously poor eyesight and use electric shocks to stun prey so they can catch and eat them.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Phew!
I am home once again. After 20 days stateside, I've decided if it takes me another three years to get home, it'll be too soon.
Pictures on my flickr photostream.
Pictures on my flickr photostream.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Blogworthy
I haven't mentioned that we'll be stateside from the 8th to the 27th. As part of prepping for the trip, I've been cleaning like a lunatic, since we have the faboo Reginald taking care of our house (and cat) for the month. One thing I've been meaning to do is take the kitchen rugs to the laundromat and use the industrial washer to clean them.
So today I did it. There's a brand-new 'mat by my favorite 100 yen shop. It's called "Blue Skies", of all things. So I walked in with an armful of rugs and a confused look on my face because I couldn't tell the washers from the dryers. Luckily, the 'mat is also directly attached to a dry-cleaners, and the clerk was very helpful. She pointed me in the right direction, to a pretty serious-looking washing machine. It cost 500 yen (about 4.85) for a thirty-minute wash, soap included-and automatically dispensed. But wait, it gets even better. This particular washing machine had a ca-razy looking keypad on its front.
Luckily, at this point in my stay in Japan, I can follow along, otherwise I never would have understood it when the clerk told me to punch in my mobile phone number and hit the green button twice.
Oh, hells, yeah. The fucking washing machine CALLS your mobile five minutes before the wash is done. No more hanging around the 'mat, watchin' your dirty drawers go round and round 'till they are clean. THESE DRAWERS ARE CLEAN! Well, I can't ever remember my freaking mobile phone number because it's umpteen digits long AND I didn't have my mobile with me, because I had told Chris where I was going AND I had planned on doing some shopping at the 100 yen store during the wash cycle.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, so I plugged in the number for my Japanese land line. And then I went shopping and then I went home.
I came home and asked Chris "Did the washing machine call?" and bless his analytical brain, he replied "Is that what that was? It said something about preparing and five minutes, but that's all I caught." So I told him all about the very cool calling-your-mobile washer and then we went and got the wash and some groceries for dinner.
Blue Skies also has a special machine just for washing sneakers but that's a story for another time. And I want to get Crocker in on that one, to see if the Blue Skies clerk can get Crocker's size 15's (!) to fit in there.
Hee!
So today I did it. There's a brand-new 'mat by my favorite 100 yen shop. It's called "Blue Skies", of all things. So I walked in with an armful of rugs and a confused look on my face because I couldn't tell the washers from the dryers. Luckily, the 'mat is also directly attached to a dry-cleaners, and the clerk was very helpful. She pointed me in the right direction, to a pretty serious-looking washing machine. It cost 500 yen (about 4.85) for a thirty-minute wash, soap included-and automatically dispensed. But wait, it gets even better. This particular washing machine had a ca-razy looking keypad on its front.
Luckily, at this point in my stay in Japan, I can follow along, otherwise I never would have understood it when the clerk told me to punch in my mobile phone number and hit the green button twice.
Oh, hells, yeah. The fucking washing machine CALLS your mobile five minutes before the wash is done. No more hanging around the 'mat, watchin' your dirty drawers go round and round 'till they are clean. THESE DRAWERS ARE CLEAN! Well, I can't ever remember my freaking mobile phone number because it's umpteen digits long AND I didn't have my mobile with me, because I had told Chris where I was going AND I had planned on doing some shopping at the 100 yen store during the wash cycle.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, so I plugged in the number for my Japanese land line. And then I went shopping and then I went home.
I came home and asked Chris "Did the washing machine call?" and bless his analytical brain, he replied "Is that what that was? It said something about preparing and five minutes, but that's all I caught." So I told him all about the very cool calling-your-mobile washer and then we went and got the wash and some groceries for dinner.
Blue Skies also has a special machine just for washing sneakers but that's a story for another time. And I want to get Crocker in on that one, to see if the Blue Skies clerk can get Crocker's size 15's (!) to fit in there.
Hee!
Monday, November 05, 2007
And So It Begins...
Well, this isn't a travel day, but it's the start of our home leave. I'm at the house, finishing up prepwork for the trip. Chris is doing a short day at work. We leave tomorrow for Narita and on Tuesday we fly out, making our way towards the East Coast.
I'm a bit concerned about how well I will hold up-I'm a terrible traveller. I'm also concerned about what it will be like to be back after three years of being away. I need to quit worrying about that, what's the point?
I'm very excited about seeing my family and friends, particularly my former coworkers at APL. Sounds like a few people are going to come out to lunch with me. I really do miss them now that I think about it, not dwelling on my friends and family back home has been a coping mechanism, albeit a dysfunctional one.
Chris' parents say Columbia has been built up a lot in the last three years. Not suprising, Rouse died shortly before we left and a lot of the restrictions on building in Columbia were lifted, pretty much ruining what I liked about it. Eh, you can't go home ever again AND I find myself referring to Japan as "home" which strikes me as pretty funny.
Let me get ready to leave "home" and go "home."
I'm a bit concerned about how well I will hold up-I'm a terrible traveller. I'm also concerned about what it will be like to be back after three years of being away. I need to quit worrying about that, what's the point?
I'm very excited about seeing my family and friends, particularly my former coworkers at APL. Sounds like a few people are going to come out to lunch with me. I really do miss them now that I think about it, not dwelling on my friends and family back home has been a coping mechanism, albeit a dysfunctional one.
Chris' parents say Columbia has been built up a lot in the last three years. Not suprising, Rouse died shortly before we left and a lot of the restrictions on building in Columbia were lifted, pretty much ruining what I liked about it. Eh, you can't go home ever again AND I find myself referring to Japan as "home" which strikes me as pretty funny.
Let me get ready to leave "home" and go "home."
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Nine Years
On October 7, 1998 at 1:04pm in the town of Brockport, county of Monroe, State of New York, my father dropped dead.
Nine years have passed. The details above are not etched in my brain, quite the opposite. I have a hard time remembering the date, let alone the time. To write this, I must refer to information printed on an 8.5 x 11 piece of paper. This paper, is sitting unfolded, three crease marks across its face, on my desk. The notary's seal is visible embossed into the fibers of the top third of the document. My desk, in my house, in the city of Misawa, prefecture of Aomori, the country of Japan. How far away I am from that day, from that world, even.
Not long after my father's death, as part of an art class, I did a project in the spirit of Joseph Cornell, consisting of Plexiglas boxes full of found and manipulated objects, literally trying to piece together an understanding of my father's death. I rummaged through the junk that accrues in the odd little drawers in one's house, went to flea markets, raided a then-boyfriends' (expensive) supplies for tying salmon and trout flies, scavenged wherever and whatever. I wasn't sure what I wanted to put in the boxes, but I knew what would go in when I saw it. But one thing I knew for certain, from the outset, was that most of all, I wanted to put copies (or pieces) of copies of my father's death certificate into these boxes.
So, breathless and heart-hammering, I called my mother on the phone, explained as much as I could and asked her to send me a copy of the official certificate. Imagine my surprise when the envelope from Florida arrived in the mail, containing not multiple xeroxed copies, but the original document, complete with notary seal. I had to sit down. My hands were shaking. It had all, suddenly become very real.
"Proof" was not only not what I expected, it was much less so. The paper hadn't the gravitas of my birth certificate. It lacked the heavy manila, ornate Gothic typeface and gold seal of my college diploma. It hardly even looked official, it was dumpy. Instead, the death certificate was bleary black ink on thin white office copy paper, the copy made slightly out of alignment, so that the edges weren't quite plumb. The form had been completed in a mixture of my brother's all-caps hand-printing and the straggly courier typeface of a government-office typewriter that had probably been in use since the Eisenhower administration. It was printed on the front only, 33 boxes to neatly categorize a messy, hard, funny, confused, under appreciated, drunken, stoned, angry, loving all-too-human life that had spanned 60 years.
It made me irate, all that flat black and white. It made me irate, those 33 little boxes that said everything about my father's death and nothing about his life. It made me irate to frightened and dismayed by a piece of paper.
My memory boxes were fairly large and deep, made of Plexiglas because it was cheaper and safer than glass. I filled my father's memory boxes with color: turquoise, crimson, ochre, silver, vermilion, saffron. I filled them with glass beads, river pebbles, little-girl glitter and puffy craft paint. I filled them with nuts, bolts, bits of fabric and duct-tape. A beer cap. Tobacco. I used fine silk thread, gossamer like spider webs and pieces of burlap and twine, shiny sheet metal, old skeleton keys and chicken bones. I used a copy of an article from my home-town paper, an article that made the front page--my father, lying unconscious next to a downed 1953 Harley Davidson--a wreck that almost killed him--almost made me never be.
I drank most of a very expensive bottle of whiskey while doing up the memory boxes (recalling my dad always drank cheap rotgut) and for the most part, I didn't even taste it. I got stoned off the epoxy used to fuse the edges of the Plexiglas into boxes. I glued my fingers together, got glue in my hair, I wrecked my favorite pair of jeans. In frustration, I smashed a box that wasn't working out the way I wanted to. I cut my hand doing so and I put the bloodied shards of Plexiglas back into another box. I took the finish off the varnished kitchen table, burnt a hole in the carpet. I fought with my boyfriend-at-the-time, who wouldn't, couldn't see the point of 120-pound watercolor paper smeared with glue, glitter, tears. I pulled twigs off of trees, I snipped off a chunk of my hair ( took three years to grow back in) and used that, too.
And I used copy after copy of the death certificate, enlarge, reduced, in its entirety, in torn and burnt bits and pieces. Hundred of copies of the certificate. I made a box, then another, then another. I wrapped each of the 12 boxes with black pieces of cloth, put them in an old chest and took them to my art class. I had my classmates pull the wrapped boxes out and reveal them. As they did, I so talked about the boxes, the keys, the bones, the glitter, the death certificate, and my father.
I left those boxes at the house when I left that particular boyfriend. I do not miss the boyfriend, I do not miss the boxes. Sometimes I miss my father. Not so much after nine years, but this is the way of things.
Nine years have passed. The details above are not etched in my brain, quite the opposite. I have a hard time remembering the date, let alone the time. To write this, I must refer to information printed on an 8.5 x 11 piece of paper. This paper, is sitting unfolded, three crease marks across its face, on my desk. The notary's seal is visible embossed into the fibers of the top third of the document. My desk, in my house, in the city of Misawa, prefecture of Aomori, the country of Japan. How far away I am from that day, from that world, even.
Not long after my father's death, as part of an art class, I did a project in the spirit of Joseph Cornell, consisting of Plexiglas boxes full of found and manipulated objects, literally trying to piece together an understanding of my father's death. I rummaged through the junk that accrues in the odd little drawers in one's house, went to flea markets, raided a then-boyfriends' (expensive) supplies for tying salmon and trout flies, scavenged wherever and whatever. I wasn't sure what I wanted to put in the boxes, but I knew what would go in when I saw it. But one thing I knew for certain, from the outset, was that most of all, I wanted to put copies (or pieces) of copies of my father's death certificate into these boxes.
So, breathless and heart-hammering, I called my mother on the phone, explained as much as I could and asked her to send me a copy of the official certificate. Imagine my surprise when the envelope from Florida arrived in the mail, containing not multiple xeroxed copies, but the original document, complete with notary seal. I had to sit down. My hands were shaking. It had all, suddenly become very real.
"Proof" was not only not what I expected, it was much less so. The paper hadn't the gravitas of my birth certificate. It lacked the heavy manila, ornate Gothic typeface and gold seal of my college diploma. It hardly even looked official, it was dumpy. Instead, the death certificate was bleary black ink on thin white office copy paper, the copy made slightly out of alignment, so that the edges weren't quite plumb. The form had been completed in a mixture of my brother's all-caps hand-printing and the straggly courier typeface of a government-office typewriter that had probably been in use since the Eisenhower administration. It was printed on the front only, 33 boxes to neatly categorize a messy, hard, funny, confused, under appreciated, drunken, stoned, angry, loving all-too-human life that had spanned 60 years.
It made me irate, all that flat black and white. It made me irate, those 33 little boxes that said everything about my father's death and nothing about his life. It made me irate to frightened and dismayed by a piece of paper.
My memory boxes were fairly large and deep, made of Plexiglas because it was cheaper and safer than glass. I filled my father's memory boxes with color: turquoise, crimson, ochre, silver, vermilion, saffron. I filled them with glass beads, river pebbles, little-girl glitter and puffy craft paint. I filled them with nuts, bolts, bits of fabric and duct-tape. A beer cap. Tobacco. I used fine silk thread, gossamer like spider webs and pieces of burlap and twine, shiny sheet metal, old skeleton keys and chicken bones. I used a copy of an article from my home-town paper, an article that made the front page--my father, lying unconscious next to a downed 1953 Harley Davidson--a wreck that almost killed him--almost made me never be.
I drank most of a very expensive bottle of whiskey while doing up the memory boxes (recalling my dad always drank cheap rotgut) and for the most part, I didn't even taste it. I got stoned off the epoxy used to fuse the edges of the Plexiglas into boxes. I glued my fingers together, got glue in my hair, I wrecked my favorite pair of jeans. In frustration, I smashed a box that wasn't working out the way I wanted to. I cut my hand doing so and I put the bloodied shards of Plexiglas back into another box. I took the finish off the varnished kitchen table, burnt a hole in the carpet. I fought with my boyfriend-at-the-time, who wouldn't, couldn't see the point of 120-pound watercolor paper smeared with glue, glitter, tears. I pulled twigs off of trees, I snipped off a chunk of my hair ( took three years to grow back in) and used that, too.
And I used copy after copy of the death certificate, enlarge, reduced, in its entirety, in torn and burnt bits and pieces. Hundred of copies of the certificate. I made a box, then another, then another. I wrapped each of the 12 boxes with black pieces of cloth, put them in an old chest and took them to my art class. I had my classmates pull the wrapped boxes out and reveal them. As they did, I so talked about the boxes, the keys, the bones, the glitter, the death certificate, and my father.
I left those boxes at the house when I left that particular boyfriend. I do not miss the boyfriend, I do not miss the boxes. Sometimes I miss my father. Not so much after nine years, but this is the way of things.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Seasons
As I have mentioned before in my blog, the Japanese are very proud of their four seasons and have elevated the appreciation of seasonal changes to an art form. There's seasonal food, drink, activities, clothing, holidays. I've come to love the way the culture appreciates nature's cycles, even if it means I can't always get a favorite food all year round.
If you can't see my Kanji characters, you may need to make adjustments to your browser's encoding.
秋If you can't see my Kanji characters, you may need to make adjustments to your browser's encoding.
Autumn
By far the loveliest and longest season in Misawa. Among other things, Autumn brings typhoons, dragonflies, the rice harvest, oodles of chrysanthemums, and of course, brilliant fall foliage. Viewing leaves is almost as popular as Cherry Blossom viewing, but not quite. Kirin Breweries also releases a special fall lager that I adore, but I'm writing about Fall, not beer.
While I, as an American, tend to think of Autumn as one long continious season, I recently learned that traditionally, the Japanse break Autumn down into sub-seasons:
While I, as an American, tend to think of Autumn as one long continious season, I recently learned that traditionally, the Japanse break Autumn down into sub-seasons:
立秋
Risshuu
Establishment of Autumn
Happens around August 7 or 8th. In true deranged Japanese fashion, these dates are often the hottest of the year, particularly in Misawa. I hate this time of year. It's hot and humid and gross. I have yet to cultivate a love for this season.
処暑
Shosho
The limit of heat
About August 23 or 24. It gets really rainy/typhoony around this time. It's still kinda hot and humid. Bonus! There's suddenly shitloads of bugs, too.Thank God for Aki Beer, which starts showing up on the suupa shelves.
白露
Hakuro
White Dew
I've never seen any dew on September 8 or 9 when this occurs. Maybe because I'm not in the Kanto Plains? It's still pretty warm out.
秋分
Shubun
Autumnal Equinox
Also celebrated as a national holiday. The Japanese have at least two national holidays a month, don't be fooled by reports of sarimen working themselves to death, they're all at the mall on holidays. I think this day also falls in the middle of a Buddhist observation for the dead.
寒露
Kanro
Heavy Dew
October 8 or 9. This is what we are heading into right now, at Misawa. Haven't seen any cold dew, but we had a few chilly nights. The weather right now is amazing, the days are mild and the air is clear. They're harvesting rice now, too.
霜降
Soukou
First Frost
In the Kanto region , the first frost does arrive on October 23 or 24. Surprisingly, even though Misawa is about 8 hours north of Kanto, we don't get a frost until November. Around this time, the distant mountains, observable from my house and work, get snow on their tops. All the skiers/boarders get all excited.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Fitow
Typhoon Fitow has arrived in Japan. Down in Tokyo, airline flights have been cancelled and the Shinkansen (Bullet) Trains are delayed, if not already cancelled, there's been some flooding and there's been one death already.
Up here in Misawa, we're experiencing "brisk" winds, light misty rain, fog and a sky that looks like a concrete bunker.
Usually the typhoons peter out by the time they get up here and we just get lots of rain.
Up here in Misawa, we're experiencing "brisk" winds, light misty rain, fog and a sky that looks like a concrete bunker.
Usually the typhoons peter out by the time they get up here and we just get lots of rain.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Black Joke!! F*** Captain
Usually buying clothing in Japan is depressing. Not this time. Best. Socks. Ever.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Misawa Festival (8/26)
We went to the Misawa Festival last night, wearing yukata.
Check out the set on flickr!
Also, I finally got around to linking up my flickr to my blogger, so that I can directly/automatically blog my photos. Kewl! I should have done this sooner.
The two butts over there are Chris (my husband) and my cow-irker and buddy, Ben.
Check out the set on flickr!
Also, I finally got around to linking up my flickr to my blogger, so that I can directly/automatically blog my photos. Kewl! I should have done this sooner.
The two butts over there are Chris (my husband) and my cow-irker and buddy, Ben.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Iro Iro (This and That)
The days are starting to shorten, I noticed it was still dark at 4:20am. The weather's been gross, so I am looking forward to Autumn, which really is the nicest time of year in this area. today, via email, I totally gave Sly a ration of crap for not updating her page, so I figured I should at least have a little something on mine.
Finding myself missing family and friends back home. Maybe it's the time of year or maybe its the fact we are trying to decide if we are going to stay one more year or head back to the states. I think family and friends picked up on our thoughts because DKC sent us an amazing care package from Hawaii. It was awesome and made us feel loved (and sick, but that was my own fault for eating all those macadamia nuts myself--self-inflicted doesn't count). We got a bunch of emails from people we were close to in Maryland, just when we needed to hear from them, too. A co-worker in England dropped me a nice email, too talking about canoeing on the Nene and going to watch seals swimming in the sea. Nice. Da Gee called to talk to Chris, which made Chris really happy and I got some stuff in the mail, which even though I bought it myself, is still fun and good. Sly remembered I love bamboo and picked up a cute glass serving tray with that motif. She always seems to be spot on with a pick-me-up. A long while back, she suprised me with a bouquet after I had a bad day. Holy cats, has it been that long? Yes it has. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
Also today, I had a nice visit with Eiko, who had a couple of gifts for me and also suprised me by trotting out several new English words and two phrases. Amazing. Still learning at 74 and pretty damn quick on the uptake, too. She's decided to make an effort to learn at least shop English. That's really cool.
Tonight, Chris and I went to dinner to celebrate my updating my MCSA to 2003, and finally got into a restaurant we've been meaning to try. Food was good and the decor was really cute. It was the cleanest place I have ever seen. The chef, I believe, may be retired military or government. Our pizza had basil in the crust, which at first I mistook for nori (dried seaweed). I've been here too long, because that the pizza might contain seaweed didn't faze me in the least.
I'm wondering what suprises the rest of the week may hold. For you readers out there, hope you have some nice suprises coming your way, too.
Finding myself missing family and friends back home. Maybe it's the time of year or maybe its the fact we are trying to decide if we are going to stay one more year or head back to the states. I think family and friends picked up on our thoughts because DKC sent us an amazing care package from Hawaii. It was awesome and made us feel loved (and sick, but that was my own fault for eating all those macadamia nuts myself--self-inflicted doesn't count). We got a bunch of emails from people we were close to in Maryland, just when we needed to hear from them, too. A co-worker in England dropped me a nice email, too talking about canoeing on the Nene and going to watch seals swimming in the sea. Nice. Da Gee called to talk to Chris, which made Chris really happy and I got some stuff in the mail, which even though I bought it myself, is still fun and good. Sly remembered I love bamboo and picked up a cute glass serving tray with that motif. She always seems to be spot on with a pick-me-up. A long while back, she suprised me with a bouquet after I had a bad day. Holy cats, has it been that long? Yes it has. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
Also today, I had a nice visit with Eiko, who had a couple of gifts for me and also suprised me by trotting out several new English words and two phrases. Amazing. Still learning at 74 and pretty damn quick on the uptake, too. She's decided to make an effort to learn at least shop English. That's really cool.
Tonight, Chris and I went to dinner to celebrate my updating my MCSA to 2003, and finally got into a restaurant we've been meaning to try. Food was good and the decor was really cute. It was the cleanest place I have ever seen. The chef, I believe, may be retired military or government. Our pizza had basil in the crust, which at first I mistook for nori (dried seaweed). I've been here too long, because that the pizza might contain seaweed didn't faze me in the least.
I'm wondering what suprises the rest of the week may hold. For you readers out there, hope you have some nice suprises coming your way, too.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Week in Review
Yesterday (7/28) we went to Tanabata Festival. It was raining. We wore our yukata anyway.
On 7/26, we went to Oriase Gorge for a bike ride, to celebrate the fact that for the first time in a long time, I didn't have any pain, felt pretty energetic AND it was a gorgeous day out. We biked 26 kilometers, in a very winding and hilly area! In the traffic!
fotos on flickr.
The rest of the week, I was sick at home, sick at work, or sick at the doctors/dentists. Oh well.
fotos on flickr.
The rest of the week, I was sick at home, sick at work, or sick at the doctors/dentists. Oh well.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Kiwifruit Kit Kat
Japan is the land of crazy kit kat flavours! I wrote about this food trend a while back, featuring a sakura (cherry blossom) kit kat.
This summer, it's KIWI FRUIT! I like them a lot.
This summer, it's KIWI FRUIT! I like them a lot.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Rainy Season?
Meanwhile at Misawa, it's mild, warn, and breezy. I hung up furin (windchimes) all over the yard. I love how they sound. The glass ones go tinktinktink, the iron one goes dingdingding and my bamboo ones go tonktonktonk, and they all set each other off very nicely.
I wonder if we're heading a hot, dry summer here. Usually Rainy season (Tsuyu) has not only started but would have been continuing unabated by now. We've had a few spots of rain here and there, but nothing like the 17-day streak of non-stop rain we had last year It rained other days, too, but intermittently. It was grey , it was damp, it was dreary, everything got moldy and musty and I was ready to shoot someone, myself, anyone. Seriously.
Weather reports say a pressure system is keeping the the rain away and that it is raining properly in the Kanto plains, but I still wonder. As much as I dislike the mold and the grey, the rain's necessary for good crops, on which Misawa depends, since this area is mostly farms.
Speaking of farms, summer produce is here. Asparagus is all over the place, as are eggplants, peaches and watermelons. I could live on asparagus and watermelon, except that I would be living in the bathroom. I rarely shop at the commissary for vegetables anymore, preferring to use the farmer's market (why didn't I work up the courage to go in there two years ago?) or local stands or the supermarket down the road from me.
I think I also mentioned way back that the area I live in is famous throughout Japan for its apples. You can't get a bad apple here. You can get 10 dollar ones, though. And yes, they are worth the price. I will let you know that a 10 dollar apple is about as big as my head and takes me two days to eat, unless I'm really hungry, then it only takes about 9 hours. Hugest apples I have ever seen, and so perfect and tasty.
Aomori's apple industry started back in 1875, with just three trees! Aomori apples are hugely popular throughout Japan, accounting for 50% of the nation's supply. They do well in Thailand, Hong Kong, and Taiwan (as exports). They're a popular gift item, too. I think apples are often used in conjunction with funeral/memorial services, but as an offering rather than a snack.
There are three main types of apples: Sekaiichi (the meaning is number 1 in all over the world), Mutsu (an old name for Aomori and the area surrounding it , Fuji (the name is from Mt.Fuji) and Yellow apples (such as Orin and Kinsei ) . Fuji are the favorite among my friends, big, sweet and reminscent of the fragrance of roses and honey. Who woulda thunk an apple could smell so good and taste even better. They look really nice, too. Mmmm. I guess I'll pick some up today.
I wonder if we're heading a hot, dry summer here. Usually Rainy season (Tsuyu) has not only started but would have been continuing unabated by now. We've had a few spots of rain here and there, but nothing like the 17-day streak of non-stop rain we had last year It rained other days, too, but intermittently. It was grey , it was damp, it was dreary, everything got moldy and musty and I was ready to shoot someone, myself, anyone. Seriously.
Weather reports say a pressure system is keeping the the rain away and that it is raining properly in the Kanto plains, but I still wonder. As much as I dislike the mold and the grey, the rain's necessary for good crops, on which Misawa depends, since this area is mostly farms.
Speaking of farms, summer produce is here. Asparagus is all over the place, as are eggplants, peaches and watermelons. I could live on asparagus and watermelon, except that I would be living in the bathroom. I rarely shop at the commissary for vegetables anymore, preferring to use the farmer's market (why didn't I work up the courage to go in there two years ago?) or local stands or the supermarket down the road from me.
I think I also mentioned way back that the area I live in is famous throughout Japan for its apples. You can't get a bad apple here. You can get 10 dollar ones, though. And yes, they are worth the price. I will let you know that a 10 dollar apple is about as big as my head and takes me two days to eat, unless I'm really hungry, then it only takes about 9 hours. Hugest apples I have ever seen, and so perfect and tasty.
Aomori's apple industry started back in 1875, with just three trees! Aomori apples are hugely popular throughout Japan, accounting for 50% of the nation's supply. They do well in Thailand, Hong Kong, and Taiwan (as exports). They're a popular gift item, too. I think apples are often used in conjunction with funeral/memorial services, but as an offering rather than a snack.
There are three main types of apples: Sekaiichi (the meaning is number 1 in all over the world), Mutsu (an old name for Aomori and the area surrounding it , Fuji (the name is from Mt.Fuji) and Yellow apples (such as Orin and Kinsei ) . Fuji are the favorite among my friends, big, sweet and reminscent of the fragrance of roses and honey. Who woulda thunk an apple could smell so good and taste even better. They look really nice, too. Mmmm. I guess I'll pick some up today.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Hardware (Father's Day 2007)
Hardware
--Ronald Wallace
My father always knew the secret
name of everything --
stove bolt and wing nut,
setscrew and rasp, ratchet
wrench, band saw, and ball
peen hammer. He was my
tour guide and translator
through that foreign country
with its short-tempered natives
in their crewcuts and tattoos,
who suffered my incompetence
with gruffness and disgust.
Pay attention, he would say,
and you'll learn a thing or two.
Now it's forty years later,
and I'm packing up his tools
(If you know the proper
names of things you're never
at a loss), tongue-tied, incompetent,
my hands and heart full
of doohickeys and widgets,
watchamacallits, thingamabobs.
--Ronald Wallace
My father always knew the secret
name of everything --
stove bolt and wing nut,
setscrew and rasp, ratchet
wrench, band saw, and ball
peen hammer. He was my
tour guide and translator
through that foreign country
with its short-tempered natives
in their crewcuts and tattoos,
who suffered my incompetence
with gruffness and disgust.
Pay attention, he would say,
and you'll learn a thing or two.
Now it's forty years later,
and I'm packing up his tools
(If you know the proper
names of things you're never
at a loss), tongue-tied, incompetent,
my hands and heart full
of doohickeys and widgets,
watchamacallits, thingamabobs.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Phew
Between working, working out, working second part-time job, working on my computer, doing yardwork...I was too worked up to work on the blog. Phew.
I think I'm really tired because this past week I tried to look nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt and old snears all this week. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, but you can sometimes get a decent wallet from it.
Here's Masako-san and me at our part-time kimono-slinging jobs During the slower times, I was teaching her American slang phrases. Masako is drop-dead gorgeous, in addition to being funny sweet, and smart. These were taken using her cellphone camera, so they're not great, but you get the idea.
I think I'm really tired because this past week I tried to look nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt and old snears all this week. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, but you can sometimes get a decent wallet from it.
Here's Masako-san and me at our part-time kimono-slinging jobs During the slower times, I was teaching her American slang phrases. Masako is drop-dead gorgeous, in addition to being funny sweet, and smart. These were taken using her cellphone camera, so they're not great, but you get the idea.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Monday, June 04, 2007
Three Year Mark
Today was our three-year mark for arriving in Japan. We've come a long, long way. Hard to believe I have not been in the continental United States in that long (we went to Hawaii last summer). Oddly,while I miss my family and my friends, I don't miss very much else, aside from decent pizza and the ability to run over to Target. My life here has a aura of "semi-vacation"--this is not a "real life" in Japan, by any means. It's really more of a fantasy of living in Japan and it's pretty enjoyable, but pretty atypical.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Where's Bakagaijiin?
I've gotten a few emails from folks asking about my Tokyo/Hong Kong trip. I'll try to get some stuff up shortly--I got back last week , the cat went in for another surgery (his fourth!) and then had a small emergency (bleeding from the suture) and suitcases needed unpacked and housework done and just when I thought everything was under control, I promptly got sick enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room! I'm feeling much better, but am a little behind on things. Bear with me.
It was a terrific trip and we had a blast.
It was a terrific trip and we had a blast.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Eki
Yesterday, I took Eiko-san to Misawa Eki (station) to catch a train back to Odate, where she lives. She had to be at her shop today to dress a bridal party. (It took a few tries to figure that out).
I understand a lot more Japanese than I let on, and can follow along pretty well in basic, nonurgent situations, if the person goes at a pace used to address brain-damaged dogs. However, I don't have the grammar infrastructure nor the vocabulary to flesh out my communications. Combine my already rotten Japanese with my American accent AND the Aomori accent that tinges it a further color of incomprehensible AND add one slightly hard-of-hearing Japanese oldster and you get conversations like this: (transcribed from the mangled Japanese)
Eiko-san: I need to go to the train station (talking to her son), so I am leaving.
Bakagaijiin: Please wait (grabs stuff and begins walking). We can go!
Luckily Eiko gets the hint!
ES: Really? We can go in your car? I'm sorry for being a bother.
BG: It's nothing. Really.
ES: Where is your car?
BG: Over there. (points)
I go around and open the door for her. I realize I forgot to take my library books back to the library. There's a two-foot stack of them on the passenger seat.
BG: Shit. Oh! Sorry! (flings books into back seat)
ES: That's alright. She throws her purse and tote onto the seat and hauls herself up in to my truck and then proceeds to sit on her bags.
BG: Oh, um... (grabs bags out from under ES's butt)
In the car, driving:
BG: It's raining. I don't like rain. (I can talk about the weather- it's nice or I don't like it, simple)
ES: We're going to the station, right?
BG: Yes, Misawa station
We drive for a bit.
ES: We're going to the station, right? Isn't it that way?
BG: Yes, we're going to the station. (here I attempt to ask where her TRAIN is going)
ES: Huh?
BG: Where are you going? Are you going to Odate?
ES: The train station. EKI. MISAWA EKI
BG: (in English) I know that! (in busted Japanese) You're going to Odate, right?
ES: No, I'm going to the station. GO LEFT HERE! (I go a different way than she is used to and it is making her nervous)
BG: (in a sudden flash of brilliance) Aha! is the TRAIN going to Odate?
ES: No! MISAWA STATION!
BG: Are you going to Odate today?
ES: No, I'm going to MISAWA EKI!
BG: Yes, yes. Fine. You're going to Misawa Station.
sudden shift in conversations, because now we're both annoyed about MISAWA EKI
ES: You [and Chris] have two cars?
BG: Yes.
ES: (I think she asks how old my truck is, not sure)
BG: Not new (because I can't drive, talk, and figure out Japanese numbers without killing both of us, she gets a two-word answer, which she understands is not meant to be rude, thank god).
ES: Oh, I see. It is used (the phrase is actually 'middle old'). It's a good car.
BG: I like it. It is cute.
ES: I don't have any English. I'm sorry. Where are we? Where is the station?
BG: The station is straight ahead. My house is over there (asoko "over there, a bit away).
ES: Really? Oh, look! There's the station (I'm sure she thinks this is a fucking miracle). That was much faster than I thought!
BG: The time is good? (implying we have enough time for her to catch her train)
ES: Yes, it is good. Thank you very much for taking me to MISAWA Eki.
(I hung around to see her off, because that is good Japanese manners, you just don't drop off and dash, plus I like spending time with her, even if it is at MISAWA EKI.)
I understand a lot more Japanese than I let on, and can follow along pretty well in basic, nonurgent situations, if the person goes at a pace used to address brain-damaged dogs. However, I don't have the grammar infrastructure nor the vocabulary to flesh out my communications. Combine my already rotten Japanese with my American accent AND the Aomori accent that tinges it a further color of incomprehensible AND add one slightly hard-of-hearing Japanese oldster and you get conversations like this: (transcribed from the mangled Japanese)
Eiko-san: I need to go to the train station (talking to her son), so I am leaving.
Bakagaijiin: Please wait (grabs stuff and begins walking). We can go!
Luckily Eiko gets the hint!
ES: Really? We can go in your car? I'm sorry for being a bother.
BG: It's nothing. Really.
ES: Where is your car?
BG: Over there. (points)
I go around and open the door for her. I realize I forgot to take my library books back to the library. There's a two-foot stack of them on the passenger seat.
BG: Shit. Oh! Sorry! (flings books into back seat)
ES: That's alright. She throws her purse and tote onto the seat and hauls herself up in to my truck and then proceeds to sit on her bags.
BG: Oh, um... (grabs bags out from under ES's butt)
In the car, driving:
BG: It's raining. I don't like rain. (I can talk about the weather- it's nice or I don't like it, simple)
ES: We're going to the station, right?
BG: Yes, Misawa station
We drive for a bit.
ES: We're going to the station, right? Isn't it that way?
BG: Yes, we're going to the station. (here I attempt to ask where her TRAIN is going)
ES: Huh?
BG: Where are you going? Are you going to Odate?
ES: The train station. EKI. MISAWA EKI
BG: (in English) I know that! (in busted Japanese) You're going to Odate, right?
ES: No, I'm going to the station. GO LEFT HERE! (I go a different way than she is used to and it is making her nervous)
BG: (in a sudden flash of brilliance) Aha! is the TRAIN going to Odate?
ES: No! MISAWA STATION!
BG: Are you going to Odate today?
ES: No, I'm going to MISAWA EKI!
BG: Yes, yes. Fine. You're going to Misawa Station.
sudden shift in conversations, because now we're both annoyed about MISAWA EKI
ES: You [and Chris] have two cars?
BG: Yes.
ES: (I think she asks how old my truck is, not sure)
BG: Not new (because I can't drive, talk, and figure out Japanese numbers without killing both of us, she gets a two-word answer, which she understands is not meant to be rude, thank god).
ES: Oh, I see. It is used (the phrase is actually 'middle old'). It's a good car.
BG: I like it. It is cute.
ES: I don't have any English. I'm sorry. Where are we? Where is the station?
BG: The station is straight ahead. My house is over there (asoko "over there, a bit away).
ES: Really? Oh, look! There's the station (I'm sure she thinks this is a fucking miracle). That was much faster than I thought!
BG: The time is good? (implying we have enough time for her to catch her train)
ES: Yes, it is good. Thank you very much for taking me to MISAWA Eki.
(I hung around to see her off, because that is good Japanese manners, you just don't drop off and dash, plus I like spending time with her, even if it is at MISAWA EKI.)
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
nerdy
Last night, my 'net xtion croaked. Hard. Nothing would bring it back. Frustrated, I shut everything down and went to bed.
This morning, I restarted everything, performed a few tweaks and was good to go.
So this afternoon, at work, I "casually" mentioned "You know I had a problem with my connectivity last night...did anyone else?"
And everyone else in the office was like "ME! TOO!" The subtext being that we were all relieved that it wasn't just us individually having issues and that no one would come and revoke our Nerd licenses for losing connectivity.
Lee thought it was his router. I thought my slowly dying machine had finally shuffled off the Tesla Coil, Kotlarsic thought it was just his shitty, half-assed connection, and Kelly, well, bless Kelly, his first thought was he forgot to pay his bill and they shut him down. K's second thought was he paid his bill and they shut him down anyway (his ISP has made a hobby of randomly disabling his service).
Turns out there was a pretty major outage affecting all the ISP's. It had nothing to do with us.
Hee hee hee. Nerds.
This morning, I restarted everything, performed a few tweaks and was good to go.
So this afternoon, at work, I "casually" mentioned "You know I had a problem with my connectivity last night...did anyone else?"
And everyone else in the office was like "ME! TOO!" The subtext being that we were all relieved that it wasn't just us individually having issues and that no one would come and revoke our Nerd licenses for losing connectivity.
Lee thought it was his router. I thought my slowly dying machine had finally shuffled off the Tesla Coil, Kotlarsic thought it was just his shitty, half-assed connection, and Kelly, well, bless Kelly, his first thought was he forgot to pay his bill and they shut him down. K's second thought was he paid his bill and they shut him down anyway (his ISP has made a hobby of randomly disabling his service).
Turns out there was a pretty major outage affecting all the ISP's. It had nothing to do with us.
Hee hee hee. Nerds.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Not Very Pheasant
We have this Japanese Green Pheasant living in the patch of woods behind our house. Wiki's not kidding about it living near human communities--this pheasant is in my backyard. This pheasant makes a noise like someone is trying to rape an innertube with a rusty bike horn while simultaneously raking their nails down a chalkboard. At 2 am. This noise wakes me up. Did I mention at 2 am? I am going to go kill that phucking pheasant. The one we had last year got eaten by something in early April, so I didn't have this problem. This year's model managed to survive. But not for long.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Cherimoya Et Cetera
I had a cherimoya as part of my lunch today. It was really good! Also, the cherry blossoms are waaaaaaay blooming but it is raining out, so no hanami (flower viewing) for me today. Maybe this weekend the weather will be nice again (ha ha ha) and I will pack a little picnic and go sit in Misawa Chuo Koen (Middle Park) under the Cherry Trees.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Mutsu Bay
This past Saturday, Chris and I went over to Mutsu Bay to have a look around. I got to see a giant wind farm, a nuclear plant, battleships, and dead starfish. Then we came home and had ice cream cones! All in all, a very good day. I'll have the pictures up on flickr in a bit.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Baaaaaaaad News About Your Doggie
Oh, I feel badly for the Japanese. I thought everyone could tell the difference between a sheep and a poodle:
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=263297
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=263297
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
One Hundred Haiku
Check out my latest endeavour! Writing bad haiku!
One Hundred Haiku
One Hundred Haiku
I'm hoping this will force me to sit down for an hour each day and try to write a haiku. I used to be pretty good about sitting and writing poems or working on short stories or just writing about stuff in general, but I've fallen away from that habit. Now that I am working on a bunch of IT certifications, I need something to balance out all that logical thinking.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Gubernatorial
My "Long-Distance Co-Worker", Dwayne, has decided to put things right in the fecked-up state of Maryland. Be sure to check in regularly for updates. He has an interesting platform.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Haiku
I entered the Base Haiku contest...and won first place for my age group!
Bits of sweet color
Tucked among bland winter weeks
Hanging Persimmons
Here are the other three haiku I submitted for the contest:
The Seventh Month starts
Swimming in a sea of clouds
Ends drowned in the heat
Flaming maple leaves
Drop away from black branches
Moments of our lives
Springtime fields beneath
The darkness of a new moon
A heart's deep secrets
Bits of sweet color
Tucked among bland winter weeks
Hanging Persimmons
Traditionally, persimmons (gaki) are peeled and hung up (usually under the eaves of houses) during fall and winter. The drying processes makes the hoshi gaki (hung persimmons) very sweet. The taste of the dried fruit is a bit like dates, with hints of honey and floral.
This is not the haiku I thought would win, if I won at all. However, this is the haiku that I struggled with and revised over and over, so I am very pleased it won. I would have been pleased if it had even placed.
This is not the haiku I thought would win, if I won at all. However, this is the haiku that I struggled with and revised over and over, so I am very pleased it won. I would have been pleased if it had even placed.
Here are the other three haiku I submitted for the contest:
The Seventh Month starts
Swimming in a sea of clouds
Ends drowned in the heat
Flaming maple leaves
Drop away from black branches
Moments of our lives
Springtime fields beneath
The darkness of a new moon
A heart's deep secrets
Monday, March 05, 2007
Spring Things
Hina Matsuri was on March 3rd. I put a little decoration up in my house, too:
Takenoko Onigiri in the Lawsons! Takenoko is literally "bamboo child" The onigiri, shown here in its packaging, contains a shoot (actually a corm) from the bamboo. They're very good and you can only get them in the spring.
Fresh Flowers from the Misawa Farmer's Market (three big bouquets: 750 yen!):
Fresh eggs! Although these are available year round, I was particularly excited to find these at the Misawa Farmer's Market for several reasons:
The little word balloon on the label lets you know that there are two yolks in each egg. It also lets you know that you should use the eggs before March 25. They're not kidding, either, as these eggywegs are not pasteurized (and thusly actually TASTE like eggs).
Also, in addition to 3/3 being Hina Matsuri, it was also Creepy Old Japanese Guy Day at the 100 Yen store. I swear, I have never seen so many creepy-ass old dudes as I did that day. Weird.
Takenoko Onigiri in the Lawsons! Takenoko is literally "bamboo child" The onigiri, shown here in its packaging, contains a shoot (actually a corm) from the bamboo. They're very good and you can only get them in the spring.
Fresh Flowers from the Misawa Farmer's Market (three big bouquets: 750 yen!):
Fresh eggs! Although these are available year round, I was particularly excited to find these at the Misawa Farmer's Market for several reasons:- I love brown eggs
- These were the most humongous eggses I had ever seen
- All the eggs were weird shapes. Not a single properly egg-shaped egg amongst them.
- These were all DOUBLE YOLK eggses! My grandmaw always said that doubles were LUCKY!
- They're a Japanese dozen. That means there's TEN of them. Lee finds this observation hysterical.
- They had a picture of the CHICKEN that laid them! Seriously! A big old photo of the chicken that laid the eggs. She was a cute red hen.
- They were less than two dollars! For the equivalent of fifteen small eggs. Wow.
The little word balloon on the label lets you know that there are two yolks in each egg. It also lets you know that you should use the eggs before March 25. They're not kidding, either, as these eggywegs are not pasteurized (and thusly actually TASTE like eggs).
Also, in addition to 3/3 being Hina Matsuri, it was also Creepy Old Japanese Guy Day at the 100 Yen store. I swear, I have never seen so many creepy-ass old dudes as I did that day. Weird.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Lee Got Promoted!
And I got to pin him on (which means a good punch to the arm)! I was really, really flattered that Lee asked me to particpate.
My husband CANNOT take pictures, they're always out of focus or some weird thing. I think it's the camera's revenge for Chris throwing it out a few months back. The pictures I took were fine! So because of Chris, you can't see Lee looking awesome in his blues, my awesome outfit (which I agonized over for a full week) or my awesome punch or the awesome five pound hams that Crocker calls his hands. Jeebus.
My husband CANNOT take pictures, they're always out of focus or some weird thing. I think it's the camera's revenge for Chris throwing it out a few months back. The pictures I took were fine! So because of Chris, you can't see Lee looking awesome in his blues, my awesome outfit (which I agonized over for a full week) or my awesome punch or the awesome five pound hams that Crocker calls his hands. Jeebus.
Here's Lee, prior to the beginning of the ceremony. Slightly nervous, perhaps?
Maybe excited.
Chris' problem was he was focusing on some guy's head... There's the Lt. Col and Lee!
Here we go. Place the stripes on and...
WHAM!
Aftwards they made the promotees sing The AirForce Song! (Off We Go...)
Here's another shot of Lee singing his little SrA heart out! Congratulations!
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