One Week

(Apologies to Ed Robertson for butchering a classic)

It’s been two weeks since you frowned at me

Come home from there next year or I’ll be angry

Three days since you laughed at me

Sayin’ unpack that suitcase, I want my prezzies

Five days since the waterfall

I realized how rusty and weak is my front crawl

Yesterday, went to bed early

But it’ll still be a week ‘til I am jet-lag-free

Freeze the time and watch dragonflies

And think about goodbyes

How strangely sweet and sad they can be

I was missed here, now missed there, although I like it that you care

Like making lists of all things I want to do and see

Hot like Tottori where you ooze sweat

That’s just what you get

Climate change is alive and well

So many homemade cookies

Bruises on both knees, there’s no connection

I tripped and fell

Gonna make a pie, that’s such a lie

I’d like to see somebody try

Love my apartment, but it truly is a bachelor pad

Gotta get a guy, ‘cause then you’ll try

My PE teacher likes to sigh

He wants to talk to me

My speaking skills are so bad

How can I help it that I still haven’t learned Nihongo

Trying hard not to act as if I know

I’m the kind of girl that people want to talk to

Can’t understand why that is? Walk in my shoe

I have the tendency to want to spend time alone

I have a history of being super lame

It’s been one week since you smiled at me

Took my glasses in hand and fixed them for free

Six days since you surprised me

Custard banana croissant – I’m so lucky!

Two nights since dancing at DNA

You asked me how I thought it was, I said, “It was okay.”

Today, went to the hospital

Despite what you may think, my life is never dull

Tottemo tanoshikatta des yo

That’s the extent of my local lingo

When folks ask “How was Canada?”

I say, “Sugoi, na!”

I hope that means I had a good time

Now, like my teachers, I am busy

Just like I like to be

Speech Contest is at the end of the month

Like Kurayoshi, just don’t get there

It’s not the train fare

The fact is time is money I don’t have

Gonna do my best to travel more

But sometimes traveling’s a bore

Just wish someone would discover teleportation

Gotta find a room in which to tune

Many a moon, at least since June, have gone by since

My violin’s been played

How can I help it if I still haven’t learned Japanese

Trying hard not to act like a big tease

It’s tricky when your hair is blonde and eyes are blue

Smile, be attentive, polite – that’s what I do

I have a tendency to want to try to blend in

I have a history of following the rules

It’s been three weeks since I started this

Next time I’ll give BNL a big miss

Same time since I started school and said

You kids are so cute, but you think you’re so cool!

Three days since my undoukai

I realized they would be my last, and wanted to cry

Yesterday, you just smiled at me

‘Cause it poured rain for hours but we still played frisbee

It was humid as heck, but we tossed a frisbee

It’ll be winter soon, so let’s go play frisbee

Bird Stadium, home of Gainare

Home

Airdrie, Alberta. Apples in natural, pie, and board game varieties.

cinnamon-y goodness

Brainy brothers who bond by brawling. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Brownies. Biking.

post-battle

Confident, capable cousins I’m consistently chuffed to claim. Cinnamon buns and cider. Crêpes in Cupar. Canada World Youth reunions near Calgary. Chopstick champions.

The food was not conducive, but they were such good sports!

Dancing in the dark. Date with daddy. Derrick Jensen’s disturbing discourse.  

dad and daughter dug it

Eatmores, and Rolos, and Mars, oh my! Erica’s elegantly earthy earrings. Endgame.

Erika Folnovic designs -- get yours today!

Friendly, familiar faces. Folk fest fancies and fun. Family.

Rosie and the Riveters radiant in Regina

Getting “shanghaied” in Shanghai. Guns and gold. Girl talk. Greasy pizza. Garden goodies.

a story for another day

HUGS! Holding hands. Hymns by heart. “Humidity” (ha!)

(photo unknowingly courtesy of Dennis Hendricksen)

Insufficient sleep. Ice Burgs and Ice Cubes at the Ice House Tavern. “I think you should stay.”

Dangerously delicious and impossible to finish,
I passed on the big-as-a-dinner-plate Burg and
contented myself with this (still sizable) Cube. 

Junior Mints. Jannah and Jocelyn. Joy.

stuck with me and still smiling

Kebabs at Katepwa lake.

tah-dah!

The Lancaster. The Lorax. “Let it Grow.” Long dresses. Lasagna.

What are we growing on our future tree?

Maple Creek’s street festival. Mosquito bites and mead. Monster cookies and Mega Munch. Munschworks. The Mercury. Moonlit motorbike rides.

The Shoeless Joes were sweet, but the party didn't get rockin'
until three generations of Fettes hit the dance floor.

“Nobody said it was easy…”

Overwhelming conversations. Old-age obligations, oil, overpopulation, and other obstacles in an otherwise optimistic life. Omiyage overload.*

*Imagine, if you will, a photo of nearly 40 lbs of:

pennies, puzzles, Rider gear, 

keychains, cookies, candies, beer

(...I'm procrastinating with the unpacking.)  

Pike lake pastimes and pleasures. Paula, Paige, and a pair of Pats. Pad Thai. Prioritizing.

two charming members of an eight-person
(plus supervisors) crew

Quiet time? Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Re-connecting with my roots. Ruby Rebecca. Rodger Dodger & Grandma Good-food. Robin's Donuts. Red raspberries. Rye and the Vats. Rider pride.

the thirteenth man couldn't save this game

Second-hand shopping sprees. Sour Patch Kids. Seriously silly Star Wars-y spectacle. 

Should we set the stage for a similarly sensational stadium
or skeptically sidestep a second slippery slope?

   

“Try to do something that isn’t completely mindless and meaningless.” Tickling the ivories. Touching elbows outside the courthouse. Tearing up at Tim Horton’s.

Unsuccessful s’mores. Unexpected visits. 

Voting – a right I hope those who are eligible (I'm not) will exercise in Regina on October 24th. 

This shirt traveled to Tottori via Calgary
(where it received a lot of confused attention)  -
 Vancouver  - Shanghai  -  Osaka.

Waffle cones at Milky Way. Walks around Wascana lake. “We are fun together!”

X marks the spot where I’ll come back to stay some day.

one of my favourite places on the planet

Youngsters tell it like it is:

“You have a mustache.” (Shammah)

“And a beard.” (Bénie)

“Your hair is nice…and weird.” (Katie)

Zoom: “an onomatopoeiac sound that indicates swiftness” (thanks, Wikipedia!) and captures, in a word, the essence of my near-month-long holiday.

Unbelievable

hearing this word tumble out of elementary school kids’ mouths – hilarious, impressive, and highly preferable to the ubiquitous “Oh my GOD!” I blame the Home Alone movies for popularizing

how little I know about the many places I’ve travelled to versus how much my students know about the many places they may never go

how often I enthuse, “Please! Please come to Canada.”

the prevalent attitude of “I am Japanese, I don’t/can’t speak English” among even my most academically excellent junior high school students

praise for my “jouzu Nihongo” (skillful/good Japanese) when I still can’t remember my hiragana and katakana alphabets (to say nothing of kanji) or string together more than five word sentences

hiragana

katakana

the distracted hunger before and disgusting fullness after eating kyuushoku (a generous, generally delicious school lunch consisting of soup, salad, some sort of – often fish – main course, cold rice or bread, and a carton of milk delivered in classroom-sized portions and then dished up and distributed by the students)

monkey see, monkey do; if my students don't eat the head,
neither do I

a classroom of 9-year-olds coring pears with massive knives and a dexterity that makes me blush

the liters of water an elementary school student uses to wash a bowl...or cup...or spoon

the indifference towards hand soap and hot water

the practice of wearing surgical masks suddenly making perfect sense after getting coughed on wetly while riding a crowded morning train

the size and industriousness of the spiders outside my apartment door, and the likelihood of unintentionally walking through a web just about anywhere in Tottori 

salarymen on bikes in three-piece suits in late afternoon 30+ degree heat

my increasingly shoganai (“nothing can be done about it”) attitude towards an apartment like an oven in the summer and a freezer in the winter and shivery/sweaty workplaces due to nation-wide power conservation initiatives

getting goosebumps after walking into what feels like a freezer (staffroom air con set at 26 degrees) after three back-to-back classes in the swimmingly suffocating heat

believing I will use my weekends to catch up on sleep, then staying out late and waking up at 7 am

sweaty dance trumps sleep, rom-com movies, and chocolate combined

our adaptability as human beings -- whether it be shouting at wait staff (“Sumimasen!”) in restaurants to order, eating onigiri (rice balls) for breakfast, munching anko (sugar-rush red bean paste) enveloped in mochi  (gooey, gelatinous white rice), being bowed to at the gas station, carrying one’s trash around until disposing of it at home, or mastering the art of squatty potties in traditional restaurants, train stations, and sea-side toilets

Mochi...

in the making!

boiled in a bamboo leaf
(i.e. au natural)

fried with butter and a
sweet nut powder

flavoured with green tea and
sandwiched between anko
and flaky pastry

my iPhone dependence – a technology I hadn’t used prior to Japan, yet which hasn’t really caught on in my current hometown

the ease with which I justify my social media addiction as essential to keeping in touch with the world’s happenings and humanity

the expense and enormity of an apple

the number of conversations I’ve had about ice hockey, ice wine, and aurora (don’t get me started on maple syrup)

the amazement of locals to learn that Canada also experiences four seasons, and that some Canadians eat rice, watermelon, and sashimi (very fresh raw fish), too

although it may not be as plentiful,
accessible, or delicious as this

the wary, piercing stares of little old Japanese obaasans (grandmothers) and ojiisans (grandfathers) that almost always give way to wide, white grins after my aisatsu (greeting) offering

walking around with hundreds, even thousands of dollars’ worth of yen in my purse, and not feeling the least bit apprehensive  

my inability to take decent photos or draw discernible pictures (a personal and a professional problem, respectively)

how little I practice violin versus how often I perform

I haven’t been to church since I sang in the choir on Easter Sunday, I don’t miss it, but I love listening to Downhere and Michael W. Smith while walking in the woods

my new-found pride and protectiveness toward even the most mainstream and mediocre of Canadian music (I blame karaoke)

certain people (whose identities will remain anonymous) worried that I would return home glowing and with a tail when this is the worst I’ve encountered

Thumbs up for opposable digits!

the growing array of dichotomies I continue to notice in this weird and wonderful place both similar yet so different from my Canada

I wake up. It’s Monday. I sleep. It’s Friday. I blink. It’s Monday again.

I’ve lived in Japan for almost a year and, as a result, am already halfway through yet another chapter in my beautifully hodgepodge book of life

I’ll be home in less than a week!

With a little help from my friends

We are Frisbears!

I’m not big on goodbyes. In my experience, they’re melodramatic, messy, and emotionally exhausting. As a result, I prefer “take care”, or “see you later”, or, as one (privately-tutored) elementary school student is fond of stating, in a slightly robotic, no nonsense international-businesswoman-to-be drone, “see you again.”

That said, over the next few weeks, I will be giving heartfelt hugs and handshakes to a number of people moving on to new and exciting challenges as they return to respective homes worldwide. These individuals, along with others who are (thankfully) sticking around, have been essential not only in my adjustment to life in Japan, but also in my decision to re-contract for another year. Individually and collectively, they have helped me more over the past eleven months than I can ever hope to pay forward. So, instead, I’ll say “thank you.”

To angels who order at restaurants, sort out Softbank cell phone plans, and provide all sorts of translation and counseling services with a smile and a generosity that boggles the mind.

To mommies who unclog drains, offer unsolicited advice, and try to fatten me up with continual gifts of food and dinner invitations. (And who may or may not have twisted my rubber arm into breaking Lent in Osaka.)

The trip was in March, but I can still taste these treats.
(Clockwise from top left: an apple bread baked in crunchy bitter
caramel, a white chocolate and cream-filled roll,
a dark chocolate and walnut bun, and an egg tart.) 

To long-time enthusiasts and recent converts to the awe (both “some” and “ful”) that is karaoke. And for not groaning when I choose Adele’s “Someone like You” or Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” for the umpteenth time.

To brave gaijin (foreigner) drivers who aren’t chicken like me. (Although, with the near-illiteracy, inherent lack of direction, and the driving on the opposite side of the road, my not being behind the wheel is for the best.)

To the big brother and sister living upstairs who not only put up with my periodic screechy-cat violin (the result of a few fast and furious practices before another “concert” at a school or community gathering after weeks of not touching the thing), but who are gracious enough to offer compliments when next our busy paths cross.

To anyone who’s left some little surprise (a sweet treat, a promised book, a sheet of stickers) hanging on my apartment’s doorknob or in my mailbox. Little gestures go a long way.

Choco-pan (a sweet bread filled
with chocolate pudding)

and thoughtfulness never fail
to make my day!

To the faithful FaceBookers whose detailed posts about daily life never fail to amuse, to enlighten, or to brighten my day!

This wordsmith has a gift for twisting sunshine into even the most
tiresome events of everyday life. 

To writers around the world who’ve kept in touch through snail mail and electronic means. Your words of encouragement and curiosity over that long, dreary winter kept me warm when I couldn’t feel my fingers.

These are coming home with me this summer,
so please, send more!

To my hometown (home continent – same thing!) crowd here in Japan for understanding my point of view when no one else is able or willing. And for feeding me comfort food

like mac and cheese

and homeade apple pie!

To all of the lovely Japanese co-workers who do their best to communicate with the slightly odd foreigner girl who shows up every week with a freshly sunburnt nose, increasingly Einstein hair, and who can still only follow the most basic of conversation.

To my international Japanese friends (i.e. those who’ve spent time working or studying overseas, thus having acquired a much broader view of the world than the average rural Japanese person) for your patience ears, your careful consideration, and your thoughtful explanations. Your insights into this weird and wonderful world I’ve been calling home for the past year have been indispensable!

To those special few who possess the ability to see things from a different perspective and who take time to hear out my frustration and confusion before offering some small nugget of wisdom to consider.

 To anyone who makes me laugh until I cry.

THANK YOU!

I am so grateful to have met you all. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. Take care, and see you again, okay?

Heart of Gold

H is for how happy I am that you support my crazy decisions even when you can’t understand where I’m coming from. 

E is for every sacrifice, large or small. For every car battery boost, every “special occasion” church service, every snowy Halloween the boys and I sprinted from house to house while you stood shivering on the street clutching a cup of coffee, every cheque written for a music lesson, every ride to the airport at an inhumane hour.

A is for always being there. Despite giving you a hard time for not traveling and taking in the world, it’s reassuring to know that when I return from gallivanting, you will be waiting with open arms and a request to see photos.

R is for the responsible, respectful, reliable man that you are.

T is for teaching me to ride a bike, to throw a ball, to skate (sort of).

O is for ordering liver and onions at restaurants, rather than having mom subject the rest of the family to your favourite meal.

F is for a few of my favourite things about you; your integrity, your strength, your compassion, your generosity.

G is for good genes, good taste in music, and good financial advice.

O is for the outdoors - for years of camping adventures, which, although I may have complained about at the time, I will always count among my most cherished memories.

L is for loving me unconditionally.

D is for dependable. To borrow a line from Grease, “The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy.”

Happy Father’s Day, poppa! I'm so glad that you are mine!

All good things

(in no particular order)

my Mochigase
(Photo courtesy of James Thompson)

1. waking up with the sun at 5:36 AM

2. it being both Victoria Day and Eliza Doolittle Day

3. chocolate and the promise of more to come

4. a couple of unexpected emails

5. the fifteen-plus friends my students confuse (or do they?) for family

(Photo courtesy of M. W.)

6. unexpected smiles in unexpected places

7. the best-laid plans

8. peanut butter and banana sandwiches  

9. alone time

10. being chastised by my little sister for not trying my best in the 5 km race

harassing one of my Junior High School ichi-nensei (first grade)
students all the way to the finish line
(Photo courtesy of Adeline Loo)

11. public hugs and handshakes

12. runner's euphoria

13. song suggestions from around the world

14. a kekihodai (all-you-can-eat cake) and aisukurimuhodai (all-you-can-eat ice cream), after all

15. gifts and card from here and home

16. cool, clear water

17. having a quasi-legitimate excuse for not cleaning my apartment today

18. tokidoki wakata (sometimes understanding)

19. being somebody loved

20. kissing these faces in two months’ time 

21. enough sun to warrant another week’s worth of “kimchi face” comments from my Kawahara baseball boys

22. the internet

23. the patience and understanding of those around me

24. a rainbow of emotions

25. a walk to wonder at it all

26. sweet, sweet sleep

Monday, Monday

Sometimes Monday is nothing more than a reluctant return to the monotonous grind of another five-day countdown to freedom.

Sometimes Monday is the day you drag your violin to school to finally join the brass band club only to find out that the third graders - the leaders of club activities - are on a school trip in Tokyo, and the first and second graders go home after lunch so that the teachers are free to drive to their houses to talk with their parents. Long story short, with the exception of track and field, and baseball, there are no afterschool activities today.

Sometimes Monday is the day you leave school at exactly four PM because you've got no commitments, and the sun is calling, and you decide you’d better start thinking seriously about training for that 5-km run you (and a dozen awesome friends!) signed up for in a few weeks’ time.

Sometimes Monday has other plans, and, as you walk to the bus stop, a car stops in the middle of the main road and an older gentleman calls out to you, indiscernibly. You soon realize that he’s speaking English, asking, “Do you remember me?”

You don’t, but try to pretend you do. He’s not convinced. You feel guilty, which causes you to give up making excuses and get in his car already. And, off you go to a nearby onsen, where you strip naked with three old ladies, shower, and soak until you’re bright pink. Putting panty-hose back on is the only disagreeable part of this spontaneous outing.

Next, it’s introduction time, where your (name-still-unknown) host introduces you to his very good friend, Mr. Tanaka, who buys you a yoghurt drink, repeatedly calls you bizi (beauty), and insists on giving you a bag of freshly harvested bamboo shoots.

Then, it’s off to Hayashi-sensei’s (he’s given you such a thorough Japanese lesson over the last hour, you figure you ought to call him “teacher”) house so that his wife can show you how to prepare the bamboo shoots. This leads to an invitation to supper, followed by Chinese tea and oranges, discussions on Japanese rice versus varieties consumed in Canada, and, eventually, an offer to drive you home since the last bus to town left an hour ago.

Sometimes Monday is all you never knew you hoped it would be.