Skyping Home

This morning I got to talk to my parents, something that only happens a little less than once a week and only lasts about 25 minutes before we both exhaust all the exciting news.  It's mostly that none of us are really big story tellers or feel that there are huge events in our lives that need to be told.  I like to check on how the other members are my family are doing, try to think of something note-worthy happening in my life, and my parents will tell me things that they've done–gone to a concert, taken a drive along the river, visited friends or relatives or walked through natural parks, my father's current musical, my mother's work.  There are various things that make up lives that can be worthy of discussing, but also reactions to daily experiences; taking delight storms, or the change of the seasons, or a Haydn quartet.  These little things happen all the time, and they are an opportunity to share a similar humor with certain people close to us; a trust that something strikes us in a similar way, that we take in the world together, that something about our perception and experience of life is not so lonely.

Straight Lines in Shodō

Straight lines are so hard.   I took them apart and put them back together this morning in shodō class, blackening several pieces of scrap paper with straight lines, and had my first moment of feeling really proud of a character I had created; the first kanji in the word, "poet."  Of course the two diagonal lines in the second character still require some investigation but I'm pleased with my morning's discoveries and skill acquisition.  I'm on my way to drawing straight lines.

Sensei's on the left, mine on the right;
note the slight upward slant of the lines from left to right,
she gives a wonderful example to emulate

TIFA Cooking Class

Today, several months of planning finally culminated in the TIFA cooking class for foreigners.  The volunteer members at the Takarazuka International Friendship Association had been planning it for at least 2 months when I received the flier with all the details about location, cost, menu items, and what to bring.  In celebration of the annual rice harvest, we made California rolls, dango (mochi with red bean paste), chikuzen (mixed stewed vegetables), and soup with hanpen (fish cake).  Somehow, as luck would have it, HPAC had no scheduled rehearsals or concerts and several of my peers joined the call to join the fun.  Despite being a bit chaotic, with all instructions given in Japanese and some of the helpers a little confused about the directions, the we managed to get some really delicious food to the table and enjoy it together.

Two women helped me and my friend Alex at our cooking station.  One of them spoke English fairly well, well enough that I didn't use any Japanese.  As we sat down for lunch, she somewhat boldly asked me why I was a vegetarian.  Luckily I had just put a piece of California roll in my mouth with too much wasabi, and the time it took me to clear it allowed me to think of my response.  I settled with, "Just a preference.  When I was a kid we didn't eat a lot of meat so it isn't something I really feel I need."  We chatted a bit more and I had the chance to learn that she had lived in England for two years of school, and then later lived in Wales for two years with her husband who was an orthopedic doctor.  She said it was difficult to live in Wales as a Japanese woman, the discrimination she had experienced there, people charging too much when she had to buy some new tires, people watching her in the store while she shopped.  She said she preferred America and I told her that even in America, in some places, this is still a problem.  When my colleague asked what she had done–in other words, her career–she looked a little puzzled, "What did I do? Nothing."  She had been a house wife, as most Japanese women are.  She mentioned that in Wales, people had commented on how much work she put into her family.  And she was puzzled by this, too.  We talked about how in the West, it is more common for women to work, that women are expected to work; and that the duties of the house are spread around to different members of the family, that this aspect of life is less centralized, and often not as well cared-for as it is in Japan.  It seems to be a very real difference between Japan, and England and America.  It was an interesting conversation, and I remember feeling strange using the word, "chores."  I came to really like this woman whose overseeing in the kitchen had felt a bit overbearing at times, whose directness had pushed her preferences upon us, who had seemed to judge me and my eating preferences.

I felt like I made a new friend.  And I also sort of know how o make a few Japanese dishes.  At least I have the recipes in fairly clear English with a Japanese version to help with grocery shopping.  Looking forward to the next TIFA event, to making new international friendships.

the room where we had our cooking class

the California rolls 

it is so hard to slice these well;
my colleague was really good at it

our two assistants

setting the table for lunch

preparing to eat

yum!

October Kanji

I'm aware that I'm using kanji to distract me from the shorter days.  There is less light, but Japan is here for me.  Learning to sleep later, to ride the wave of doing and being in one breath, to have a day off, and let it be and become.  I can study the figures, learn the sounds and meaning that go with them, learn the way they are drawn and how I draw them.  As in America, the art of handwriting is a dying one, computers use our fingers for other things, and Japanese children spend less time learning their kanji than they once did.  But as a foreigner in Japan, learning to sink into the diminishing hours of day,  I find kanji to be a resting point, a haven, a place not without meaning, and yet which has no meaning to me.  Something slowly coming into focus, coming out of the shadows that keep getting longer.

Cello Class

After Wakuwaku concerts today, our cello section scheduled a small cello class in which we had the opportunity to play for one another and give feedback.  I'd been hoping to do this for awhile, realizing that we have some incredible resources of experience and pedagogy backgrounds among us, and that it would give an opportunity to share with one another.  We can learn so much through teaching and offering what we have learned; sometimes giving another person advice is a great way to ingrain it more clearly within oneself.  And it is also a way for us to understand one another's playing, to know where we are coming from, what sorts of things we hear and think about.  Musicians go through so many cycles of searching, of doubting and looking for answers, of trying and then trying again.  Every once in awhile the clouds clear and something beautiful happens, but it can be hard to remember how to do this alone when so much time is spent working with the orchestra.  Quite often those miraculous moments occur with 50 other people, and while there is something extremely beautiful about this, it can mask one's inability to cultivate and realize it alone, for oneself.  It's a skill that needs practice, and orchestral playing, as wonderful as it is, does not give this to string players.  It was nice to be able to play for others, to hear what they had to say.  I feel very fortunate to have such wonderful colleagues.

A Job Well-Doing

I remembered my socks today, and arrived at Fukunari-sensei's door 20 minutes early to sit outside, cool off from the bike ride, and review the lesson for the day.  I had already done the next lesson in the book and recopied my essay work, reread my reading practice, and felt ready.  I hoped to prove my desire to be her student this week and walked away feeling much better than last week.  It isn't completely about learning Japanese, a large part of lesson preparation is respect.

She had graded my essay and I gave her my homework.  She praised me many times for all the good studying that I had done.  And now I'm left with a new source of motivation for next week.  To maintain this trend.  I have one year remaining in Japan and would like to be able to read the online children's newspaper with some ease by the end.  I expressed this to her today, because today was one of those days where we understood one another and I wanted to say all the things that I needed to say during the magic hour.  Of course she gave no direct answer, but to myself I say, maybe, maybe, if I just keep working.  There is no mastery, only mastering.

Wakuwaku Bassoon Demos

One of the gems of Wakuwaku is not here this year: Christy and her amazing bassoon duet instrument demonstrations.  And yet, because her section mate is still here under a different type of contract, and because her replacement doesn't have the same thirst for arranging crazy, over-the-top bassoon duets, her voice lives on in Wakuwaku.  Today's arrangement of the grocery store's theme song was just as amusing, but somehow a little hollow, a little sad.

There are so many traditions that get passed along over the years.  Arrangements for Wakuwaku demonstrations, bike routes to HPAC, recommendations for taking taxis, buses, and trains to get to different places for the least money and time, advice on English-speaking doctors, restaurants with English menus.  Only being here for three years–and as foreigners, having limited resources to find new information on Japanese-only websites–we find ourselves dependent on what those before us leave behind.  And along with the tangible information, there is a trail of practice.  It's not just Christy's bassoon demonstrations that live on, it's also her energy that made them; her desire to create and do things for fun, to share with others.  There are a lot of ripples from the past that are still here; and so many of which I'm sure I'm unaware.  Who was the first to discover the local onsen, or the Indian Restaurant?  One day, years from now, people will play the bassoon duet grocery theme song and speak of a Christy only known in name.  Something remains, something continues.