Thursday, November 26, 2009
Momiji
Miwako said the particular type of maple outside our house is called "baby's hand." I like that.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Still here
Just not HERE. I'm decompressing after the whirlwind that was our Thanksgiving party. 15 adults and 5 children - the most people I've ever hosted. I'm told I kept my cool pretty well, but to be honest I hardly remember a thing. It was like there was some gooey glaze over my perception and awareness. I don't know if I was completely present. I've been feeling this a lot lately - a sense of absenteeism and infinite sleepiness. The days following the party have been one big nap after another, broken up by reading and leftover-pie breaks. I tell myself it's temporary - that I've earned the right to indulge. Why do I feel so guilty then?
I packed a big box of books to take to the meeting tomorrow. Time to start selling off the junk. I can't believe Kansas is a little more than a month away.
I'll be back.
I packed a big box of books to take to the meeting tomorrow. Time to start selling off the junk. I can't believe Kansas is a little more than a month away.
I'll be back.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Blahg
I've have writer's blogk. Not even the blogs I've been planning to write (coffee, rocks and Docs) are coming to me. Nothing. I just had the most intense nap EVER, and I've been trying to wake up these past 2 hours. No amount of coffee and Hannah demanding to be firmly planted on my hip while I make her lunch has shaken me out of it, which makes me think I might be getting sick again. Perfect.
I could use some inspiration right about now. What would YOU like me to write? Give me anything. Any writing assignment. I'll do it. I work better under pressure.
In the mean time I'll read Clash of Kings while you enjoy these.
I could use some inspiration right about now. What would YOU like me to write? Give me anything. Any writing assignment. I'll do it. I work better under pressure.
In the mean time I'll read Clash of Kings while you enjoy these.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Semi-sweet
It's cold in my house. Let me rephrase that. It's the same temperature inside my house as it is outside my house. Now, I know I've lamented Japan winters on my blog before, but hear me out. It's see your breath when you wake up in the morning cold. It's shower gel too viscous to use cold. It's don't bother putting the milk away and don't defrost that turkey in your kitchen because it'll just stay frozen cold. I'm typing with fingerless gloves on my hands. If I weren't, I'd be typing with fingerless hands, and instead of hearing me bitch about the cold (again) you'd be reading dxzdjkeb .;zx iex aa,mj nxmn,aw qp9834 aldokiewjker89n 4lrekj 0984ndn 2, which now that I think of it might not be a bad alternative. I think you catch my draft. Sorry. Couldn't resist.
Thanksgiving is coming, and with it another gathering of teachers desperate for a small taste of home. Cranberries, pumpkin pie and a turkey. That's all we want. I'm conflicted by the small fortune and gallons of fuel this meal will cost, but I'm setting aside my "ethics" and politics for something I believe is more important - love. I've seen a lot of people despair in this foreign environment. Some are no longer with us, but a few are still here, and during the holidays especially I want them to feel as comfortable and at-home as possible. I want them to know that Japan can be a good experience if you put in a little effort and optimism. This country has taught me creativity and resourcefulness in cooking, gardening, traveling and raising my child. So what if there are no SweetTarts or Tostitos in Japan? I'm better off without them. I realize the irony of this message after my rant about the cold and my implied distaste for Japan's non-insulated houses. After almost 3 years I'm still not above whining about my own discomfort. But I've had it pretty good here, and I owe that to the optimistic people in my life - Megumi, Miwako, Hans. They've not only helped me survive my first overseas living experience, they've helped me thrive. I've traveled all of Shikoku, eaten hand-picked strawberries, sung in concerts, moved into a house with a piano, and created the most beautiful brown-eyed curly-locked souvenir a woman could ask for. Yeah, I've had it pretty good. I have much to be thankful for, and much to give to others. I don't care if my paying-it-forward goes unrecognized (and most of it does). Giving is as much a selfish act as it is altruistic. I love to give, and I give to love.
But I digress. Before I'd woken up and discovered just how cold it had turned in this house, Hans in his infinite optimism already had the kerosene heater puttering away downstairs. Strangely the smell of gasoline in the living room didn't propel me into battle with homesickness like I thought it would. In fact it brought back some rather warm memories of moving into this house with the help of our friends Courtney and Chris - the guys retrieving furniture from our outgrown apartment while Courtney and I fired up the heater and donned an extra pair of socks before diving into the labyrinthine piles of boxes scattered in the kitchen. Memories of Katie, Travis, Kasen and Kayla visiting from Korea and sleeping like sardines in our futon-bedecked tatami room. Memories of Hannah crawling across these ice-cold wooden floors in her snowsuit. Memories of her taking her first few steps to the enthusiastic praise and encouragement of her cousins. In our frenzied preparations for returning to the states it occurs to me that Japan is Hannah's home, and Kansas is foreign to her. So are frozen dinners, Chuck E Cheese, Saturday morning cartoons and the ubiquitous pop-icon Hannah Montana (ask me if my daughter is named after her and see what it gets you). A part of me kind of wishes it would stay that way, for her sake. But now, of all times, I need my home. And no amount of foreign import stores will change that. The goodbyes have already begun. They began when this season's first bag of rice was harvested. I don't really know how to feel about that right now. I don't think I'll know for a long, long time.
It's open all the curtains to let the sunshine heat your house cold.
What a bittersweet life this is turning out to be. I'm truly thankful for it all.
Thanksgiving is coming, and with it another gathering of teachers desperate for a small taste of home. Cranberries, pumpkin pie and a turkey. That's all we want. I'm conflicted by the small fortune and gallons of fuel this meal will cost, but I'm setting aside my "ethics" and politics for something I believe is more important - love. I've seen a lot of people despair in this foreign environment. Some are no longer with us, but a few are still here, and during the holidays especially I want them to feel as comfortable and at-home as possible. I want them to know that Japan can be a good experience if you put in a little effort and optimism. This country has taught me creativity and resourcefulness in cooking, gardening, traveling and raising my child. So what if there are no SweetTarts or Tostitos in Japan? I'm better off without them. I realize the irony of this message after my rant about the cold and my implied distaste for Japan's non-insulated houses. After almost 3 years I'm still not above whining about my own discomfort. But I've had it pretty good here, and I owe that to the optimistic people in my life - Megumi, Miwako, Hans. They've not only helped me survive my first overseas living experience, they've helped me thrive. I've traveled all of Shikoku, eaten hand-picked strawberries, sung in concerts, moved into a house with a piano, and created the most beautiful brown-eyed curly-locked souvenir a woman could ask for. Yeah, I've had it pretty good. I have much to be thankful for, and much to give to others. I don't care if my paying-it-forward goes unrecognized (and most of it does). Giving is as much a selfish act as it is altruistic. I love to give, and I give to love.
But I digress. Before I'd woken up and discovered just how cold it had turned in this house, Hans in his infinite optimism already had the kerosene heater puttering away downstairs. Strangely the smell of gasoline in the living room didn't propel me into battle with homesickness like I thought it would. In fact it brought back some rather warm memories of moving into this house with the help of our friends Courtney and Chris - the guys retrieving furniture from our outgrown apartment while Courtney and I fired up the heater and donned an extra pair of socks before diving into the labyrinthine piles of boxes scattered in the kitchen. Memories of Katie, Travis, Kasen and Kayla visiting from Korea and sleeping like sardines in our futon-bedecked tatami room. Memories of Hannah crawling across these ice-cold wooden floors in her snowsuit. Memories of her taking her first few steps to the enthusiastic praise and encouragement of her cousins. In our frenzied preparations for returning to the states it occurs to me that Japan is Hannah's home, and Kansas is foreign to her. So are frozen dinners, Chuck E Cheese, Saturday morning cartoons and the ubiquitous pop-icon Hannah Montana (ask me if my daughter is named after her and see what it gets you). A part of me kind of wishes it would stay that way, for her sake. But now, of all times, I need my home. And no amount of foreign import stores will change that. The goodbyes have already begun. They began when this season's first bag of rice was harvested. I don't really know how to feel about that right now. I don't think I'll know for a long, long time.
It's open all the curtains to let the sunshine heat your house cold.
What a bittersweet life this is turning out to be. I'm truly thankful for it all.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Because I can't write like this . . .
A Veterans Day prayer written by English teacher Chris Jensen (LTC retired) for the boys of Rockhurst Catholic High in Kansas City, Missouri:
Veterans’ Day Prayer
Matthew 20:1-15
Today is Veteran’s Day, a federal holiday signed into law by President Eisenhower in 1954. At the time, he was making official a day already special to veterans; it was the anniversary of the cease-fire that ended World War I. The cease-fire began at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year 1918.
Long before 1918, the term “eleventh hour” meant a deadline barely met. How many of us have finished something important at the 11th hour? The expression comes from Matthew’s gospel, that story about workers hired at the eleventh hour, who received the same pay as workers who had started first thing in the morning.
In November of 1918, Allied and Axis generals were at the end of three sleepless days, arguing in a railroad car over an agreement to end four years of war, 20 million killed, and another 20 million wounded. The generals reached their agreement at 5 am, November 11th; they decided on a cease-fire that would go into effect at 11 am. Their choice of 11 am suggests their feeling that time was running out.
After a war that was so wasteful and so exhausting, hopes were high that people had learned a lesson, would never again engage in warfare. Some began to call it “The War to End All Wars.” Yet 90 years later, we still send soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen to distant lands where they fight on our behalf in yet another of the long line of wars since World War One. We call it the price of freedom, but, especially today, it’s a price paid mostly by others. We express our gratitude to those who pay the price for us, even if our own sin helped send them to a war that maims or kills them. And our gratitude, what is it? A pat on the back, a “thank you,” a check to the IRS, a purchase from the DAV, a flag hung out for display?
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit:
Heavenly father, on this Veteran’s Day, put us to work. The hour is late, and others, our veterans, have labored all morning. Teach us to live responsibly, not selfishly, not wastefully; teach us to treat our fellows as we want them to treat us, so that fewer will be sent to buy our freedom with lives and limbs. Teach us to be truly grateful for their sacrifices: to thank them with helpful deeds. We come to you, Father, at the eleventh hour, hoping to share in the labor of your kingdom. May those veterans who have come before us rest now in your loving and eternal peace.
Amen.
Veterans’ Day Prayer
Matthew 20:1-15
Today is Veteran’s Day, a federal holiday signed into law by President Eisenhower in 1954. At the time, he was making official a day already special to veterans; it was the anniversary of the cease-fire that ended World War I. The cease-fire began at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year 1918.
Long before 1918, the term “eleventh hour” meant a deadline barely met. How many of us have finished something important at the 11th hour? The expression comes from Matthew’s gospel, that story about workers hired at the eleventh hour, who received the same pay as workers who had started first thing in the morning.
In November of 1918, Allied and Axis generals were at the end of three sleepless days, arguing in a railroad car over an agreement to end four years of war, 20 million killed, and another 20 million wounded. The generals reached their agreement at 5 am, November 11th; they decided on a cease-fire that would go into effect at 11 am. Their choice of 11 am suggests their feeling that time was running out.
After a war that was so wasteful and so exhausting, hopes were high that people had learned a lesson, would never again engage in warfare. Some began to call it “The War to End All Wars.” Yet 90 years later, we still send soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen to distant lands where they fight on our behalf in yet another of the long line of wars since World War One. We call it the price of freedom, but, especially today, it’s a price paid mostly by others. We express our gratitude to those who pay the price for us, even if our own sin helped send them to a war that maims or kills them. And our gratitude, what is it? A pat on the back, a “thank you,” a check to the IRS, a purchase from the DAV, a flag hung out for display?
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit:
Heavenly father, on this Veteran’s Day, put us to work. The hour is late, and others, our veterans, have labored all morning. Teach us to live responsibly, not selfishly, not wastefully; teach us to treat our fellows as we want them to treat us, so that fewer will be sent to buy our freedom with lives and limbs. Teach us to be truly grateful for their sacrifices: to thank them with helpful deeds. We come to you, Father, at the eleventh hour, hoping to share in the labor of your kingdom. May those veterans who have come before us rest now in your loving and eternal peace.
Amen.
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