Oh, You Know...Just Some Stuff

 Gotta eat me some Rants Kylark sometime.

I'm a foodie through and through, so I get giddy when I see fresh product at my local Jois every day...or every day I feel like ponying up the dough for actual food and not konbini sushi!

My mom used to have these beautiful ribbon fish. I really want to learn how to make ones like this!

A caption contest just waiting to happen. A few of my own:
     Bored hippo is bored of you
     The perils of thumb-sucking
     "HOLLER FOR A DOLLAR!"

 If you don't wash your hands.......VIRUS WILL GET YOU.    I'd also like to draw attention to the illustrated man suffering severely in the bottom right corner.

Ryusendo coffee...brewed with crystal clear cave waters. I bet even Ina Garten can't get this!...Don't worry Ina: store bought is fine.

Fabulous Ryusendo limestone caves.

Saved by the Vegeta-Bell

Lousy Fridays are lousy. Over the course of a morning I received a Japanese-style dressing down and made a student run from the classroom.

Stress level: Angsty.

As I mentioned, I'm helping students prepare for various English speech contests. On Thursday, I received my schedule (a day late) from my current school. My schedule for Thursday was simply preparing practice activities for three girls would be reciting essays. Every hour period was blocked off like that because the school was giving tests. So all day, I sat in the teacher's room, read the essays, highlighted some areas I anticipated would need work and came up with some intonation and pronunciation activities. 

Nowhere on the schedule did it say when I would be working with the students. One of the English teachers told me after lunch that he would get back to me about when I would work with the girls, but "please give me time." OK, that's fine. One of the students wanted to practice with me at that time, so I went and worked with her. Then, after the lunch break, the students cleaned the school and had their afternoon homeroom. This is standard practice if the afternoon schedule is different. On Thursday, it was because they needed to practice for this weekend's track and field event. Everyone went to the gym and did some cheer practice for about 45 minutes, then outside for something else. Throughout all this, I was in the teacher's room. Nobody came to me and let me know what was going on. So at 4pm, my regular vacate the premises time, I vacated. I didn't think anything of it...

Until Friday during second period. One of the English teachers came to me and said:

"So yesterday, you left at 4:00. This is your regular time?" I answered yes. "Yes, I saw you leave. Three of the students would like to practice with you. They are practicing for an English recitation. I think...did I tell...? I saw you leave." 

It hit me that I was supposed to stay late. I was very embarrassed and sorry. I apologized over and over, but here's the problem: I couldn't say "I wasn't told to stay late." In Japan, you have to take the brunt of the blame. If it's something that wasn't in your control, you still have to fess up. Oh, there was a 20 car pile up on your way to work so you're late? Your fault. There's 12 feet of unplowed snow trapping you in your apartment? Your fault. Nobody said "Can you stay late today? I don't know for how long, but yeah... that'd be greeeaaaat." Your fault.

I apologized again and told him I would be happy to stay and work with the girls for as late as they would like. He said "Yes, please stay. Until I think 5?...I saw you leave yesterday." 

It's a wonderful, confusing, read-between-the-lines life.

In a class later in the day, I was teaching the latter half of class and was just wrapping up the lesson: "This is  _____... Is that______?" I was teaching them how to introduce people in a picture and to finish up, I would go up to a student with a picture of a cartoon character, point to it and ask "Is that your mother/father...?" and the student would reply with "Yes it is./No it isn't." (For the record, Godzilla is the father of one boy and the mother of another.)

I went to one girl and asked her. At first, she didn't seem to understand. I slowed down for her and asked again, pointing to the answers on the board so she could just recite one or the other. She looked at her friends, was giggling, then....

stopped....

and ran. I thought someone lit a stick of dynamite under her butt the way she launched out of her seat and out the door. The teacher went after her and I finished the class. I found the teacher talking to the nurse. Apparently, she has these little episodes once in a while and I shouldn't worry: it wasn't my fault. Somehow, I found that hard to believe, and went back to my desk, finished for the day and ready to just have a cup of green tea and count down the hours until the weekend.

I walked through the door and saw on the side table a big, green, phallic vegetable. Just sitting. Through some choppy Japanese, I was told it was the groundskeeper's gourd, grown in his own yard with his own hands. They proceeded to give me a cooking lesson (fry with oil, soy sauce and sugar) and very animatedly told me not to eat the seeds or the green rind. And then, one of the teachers picked up a knife and cut into it right there, and cut off a huge disk...for me, saying "Please, please!"

When I sat down again, the groundskeeper came back: he'd gone outside to the school garden and picked a couple cucumbers and eggplants. "Please, please!" he said, handing them to me!

That really helped picked me up and improve my mood. Funny what a handful of veggies can do to rectify a day of reamings.

I cooked the gourd and eggplant and pickled the cucumbers today. They tasted like gentleness, hospitality and love. 

Twisted Tanabata

It’s crazy humid and I’ve been helping students practice for an English recitation contest after school, so I can’t put much conscious effort into a post today. So instead, it’s story time. 

Tanabata is a Japanese summer holiday. Typically, it’s celebrated on July 7^th (a propitious date being 7/7) but in Sendai, they do things a little differently. I went to their Tanabata a couple weeks ago and before I went, I did a little research. 

The biggest icon, literally and figuratively, of Tanabata are very large paper decorations that for all intents and purposes look like giant jellyfish. They actually symbolize something else, but it’s kind of fun to walk the streets and pretend you’re Dory or Marlin bouncing around among the jellies! The other major decoration is bamboo. Bamboo leaves, little bamboo stalk, enormous stalks about the thickness of elephant tusks! And from their branches hang all kinds of paper decorations:

  Paper strips (Tanzaku): Good writing and study success

  Paper Kimono (Kamigoromo):  charms against disease and accidents, and wishes for good sewing   

 
  Paper Crane (Orizuru): Family safety, health and long life

  Purse (Kinchaku): Good business

 

  Net (Toami): Good fishing and harvests

  Trash Bag (Kuzukago): Cleanliness and unwastefulness

Streamers (Fukinagashi): The threads used by the goddess in her weaving

So, what’s the deal with Tanabata? (Points if you read that in Jerry Seinfeld’s voice) Keep your pants on, I’m getting to it. There are a few versions, but this one’s the most colorful.

The story of Tanabata.

 

Once upon a time in Japan, a young man was walking in the woods when he came across a pond. A young woman was bathing naked (as you tend to do when you bathe). He was amazed by how beautiful (and naked) she was…until he spotted her fabulous clothes laying on the ground. For reasons known only to himself, he snatched up the kimono and not the chick and ran like a rabbit. He could hear her crying behind him but he ran all the way home without looking back (though I’m inclined to believe she wasn’t crying so much as screaming “You son of biscuit GET BACK HERE WITH MY FUDGIN’ CLOTHES!”)

 That evening, she came to his home. She explained her name was Tanabata and she was a goddess…a goddess who wanted her freaking clothes back. But of course, he couldn’t let that happen and instead they were married. (A little creepy, no? How do you think that proposal went?) 

So they lived together for a few years, Tanabata working in their home as a weaver because her clothes were hidden in some panic vault somewhere and she couldn’t go back to heaven without them. One day, the man left the house to go to the market. As soon as he was gone, Tanabata went looking for her kimono…and she found it! She put it on just as he came home. 

As soon as she tied it, she began to rise into the sky but instead of saying “Ha ha! Got it back you jerk! Deuces!” she told him to weave a thousand straw sandals and bury them under a bamboo tree and they would BE TOGETHER AGAIN.

So what does he do? Well she ran/flew off with his hard-earned/stolen kimono. He made those sandals! As soon as he buried them, the bamboo tree began to grow. He jumped on and up they went to heaven. And there was Tanabata, chillin’ on a cloud. 

Tanabata’s father wasn’t impressed, though, and basically made the human man a slave. Finally, he made him guard a field of melons, but forbidding him to eat any. 

Of course, he nommed a melon and failed miserably and Tanabata’s father threw the Milky Way between them, dooming them to be apart forever…except for the middle of summer when the Milky Way is solid enough for them cross and be together…

Happily flawed forever after.

Another version saws Tanabata’s father arranged for them to meet and marry on July 7^th but they could only actually be with each other on that day for the rest of their lives. Which is the better story?

Sayonara, Summer!

This is the last night before I’m back in the swing of things…yes, technically it’s just the weekend and my summer vacation summed up on Tuesday and I’ve just been coasting on Work Days. However, I’m happy to take a weekend and rename it “holiday.” Life’s little victories. 

I’ve had a very interesting “holiday.” Due to laziness, Saturday evening took a propitious turn of events. And this time, it wasn’t my laziness! James, fellow Kitakami NS, sent me a message asking if I could pick him up from the Kitakami shinkansen eki because he didn’t want to walk to his house from the Murasakino eki. So, naturally, because I’m a wonderful person, I went and picked him up. I wasn’t feeling my tip-top because I hadn’t eaten (sometimes, it’s just too hot) so I threw on some loose clothes and the zori I bought for Michinoku Geino Matsuri. I wasn’t going to walking around or seen by anyone who matters, so why not? 

We pulled up to James’ place when suddenly, he realized: no key. He tore his stuff apart. No key. He called the people he saw over vacation to ask if they’d seen it. No key. Finally, he called the Emergency Contact to see if someone could let him in. No luck. Instead, it was resolved that the Contact would call the Real Estate agent in the morning and maybe James would get into his place on Monday. So, sleep over!

But wait…what’s that? Taiko? Singing? Upon further investigation, there was a neighborhood Bon Odori Matsuri in town…a dance festival! James and I sauntered up and saw about 30 people, old and young, yukata and no, food, drinks and in the center of it all, a raised platform with a man beating a taiko. As I mentioned previously, Japanese festivals involve a sort of walking/dancing hybrid. Strangely enough, everyone wore numbers. James and I stood to the side and just sort of watched…until a nice old man came over with numbers of our own and sort of ushered us into the dancing circle. 

The women were very kind! I fell in behind a woman in a green and white yukata and tried to keep up with the dance. It was pretty tricky with the changing directions and backwards steps but then oh happy day: they played my song! One of the ones I heard at the Kitakami Matsuri and quickly learned! So I strutted my best Japanese stuff and rocked it out! 

When the song finished, James and I took a well-deserved break with cold tea and beer. And within moments, we were instant celebrities. The MC put a microphone up to us and asked us where we were from…at least I’m kind of sure that’s what he wanted to know. Either way, suddenly, every drunken man in the party wanted to talk to us. One very old and very drunken man kept taking our picture with his disposable camera (adorable) as his beleaguered grandson tried to keep him on his feet (awkward). 

Then we headed over to the food stand. It was a very casual affair…while we stood and looked at the foodstuffs, a few more guys approached us: one had beer. Free beer! Unfortunately, I was driving and Japan has a STRICT no-driving policy when it comes to imbibing. It was hilarious, though, watching James try to keep up with the Japanese men. His excuse was “the beer was cold.” Wuss. 

As we stood, we talked to the men. They went between asking us about where we were from and why we were there and giving us more free food. The best part of talking to these men was not how surprisingly good their English was, but when they asked us if we liked sausage. Japanese “sausage” is basically hot dog and while we knew what they were talking about, copious amounts of beer usually means debauchery is about to ensue. While we insisted we knew about Japanese sausage, these men decided they had to explain. And that is when one man leaned over and gestured to his friend’s groin and with both index fingers about a foot apart, measured his friends’ manhood. 

Mmm. Japanese sausage.

I just about lost it with shock, embarrassment and hilarity. James, on the other hand, nearly choked on his beer while they all laughed hysterically. 

While we talked, the men explained that at the end of the night, there would be a raffle for prizes…hence the numbers! “Wait, wait!” They told us, and so we waited. While we talked, people mingled around us, coming and going inexplicably after not-so-discreetly glancing at our numbered backs. At one point, the very drunk little man came back and asked us where we were from. 

“New Zealand,” said James. Drunk Little Man cheers and grasps James’ hand in a handshake. 

“America,” I said with a smile. DLM suddenly crosses his arms and shakes his head while everyone laughs. Oh, great, I think. But surprisingly, they follow up by asking where in America. I figure I’d play the judicial card and go with something I know my students like: 

“Washington, D.C.” Suddenly, DLM is very happy, shaking my hand and laughing: “Obama! Obama!”

Night officially saved. 

At last, it was time for the raffle. If you have more than a couple brain cells knocking around upstairs, you’ll see where this is going. James and I shamelessly won a ton of loot! At first, it was a box for me and a bag for him, but then another winner gave me his case of microwaveable yakisoba, and then boxes of tissues stacked on top of that. 

When we finally said thank you and good night to everyone and got home, we unwrapped our goodies like it was Christmas! James had a bunch of kitchen things like plastic wrap, an onigiri case and the like. I found beer glasses in my box! 

All in all, not a bad night. And this morning, James was finally let back into his apartment after we waited outside his place for an hour for the key-guy from the real estate agency. Happy endings are happy! 

Happy Endings also tend to involve "dhicken"

Michinoku Geino Part 2

In keeping with the theme of “Senokaku,” I’m going to let the pictures do most of the talking.

American parades and Japanese parades differ in a few ways. First, American parades usually occur during the day. The Michinoku Geino parades didn’t kick off until about 7pm. Maybe this is a Japanese thing, maybe it’s a “it’s too damn hot when the sun is out” thing, but either way, it’s very cool.

Secondly, American parades have floats. Japanese parades might have floats, but what’s more common are the large, ornate altars and lanterns that large teams carry on their shoulders. Every team marches together in sort of a little prancing march, while reciting a rhythmic chant to keep together. Some of these suckers are pretty big, too! 

 

Thirdly, American parades are basically a glorified jaunt down the street. “I think I’ll take a stroll, and while I’m at it, maybe I’ll wave at people on the way and carry some balloons.” But not in Japan: if a crowd of people are going to be the center of attention, it’s going to be a coordinated event full of spectacle and precision. Japanese people don’t so much “march” in a parade as dance! The M.C. shouts “Let’s have a parade! Start!,” music begins to play and the rows and rows of people start swaying their arms, taking little timed steps and spins, smiling all the while. It was pretty easy to pick up the dances and I was on the sidewalk with the best of them walk/dancing in place.

 

Almost everyone dresses in yukata for summer festivals. They’re basically kimono, but made of cotton, not silk, and there are fewer elements involved. 

For weeks, stores sell yukata for men and women (and the cutest baby yukata you’ve ever seen) as well as the shoes, hair ornaments and bags. Yes, there are special bags to go with yukata. And then there are the fashion forward who can’t settle for just a typical yukata and instead opt for…

I used to hate fireworks. I’d go out for the Fourth of July and watch fireworks, but the noise was too much for me. Eventually, I grew a set and now I absolutely LOVE fireworks! Watching fireworks, like so many things in Japan, has a specific name: “hanabi.” Sounds like “hanami,” right? Flower viewing. Nothing quite like watching highly explosive fire flowers in the night sky on a muggy summer night with a cold beer.

 

I camped out on a railing across from Tenshochi Park, waiting for the show to begin and during the course of the evening was spotted by a fair share of my own students! It’s surprisingly rare for me to run into any teachers or students from my schools. 

Even though the area is relatively small, I live in downtown Kitakami and my students live closer to their schools in Hanamaki or outside of Kitakami. 

So it was exciting to see some of my kids and it was even more exciting that they ran to me with smiles screaming “Ma-ta sensei!” I think the greatest kick I got out of it was asking two girls how they were and one said “So-so.” 

I made a big show of explaining how hanabi is fun and I was so happy. But she gave a shrug. Go figure: the concept of “meh” is a worldwide phenomenon. Her friend, however, gave me the first original response of the evening: “Wonderful! I like hanabi!” Anything other than “Fine-thanks-and-you” is great but an original thought is more mindblowingly awesome than a basket full of baby unicorns that shoot eye lasers.

To wrap up the night, I grabbed a little souvenir…off the street. Or should I say “wall?”