403 posts from 2008

You can take the girl out of Japan but you cannot take Japan out of the girl.

There’s no time I miss being in Japan more than at New Year’s.

(Equally, there’s no time I feel more displaced on American soil but that’s an ongoing issue yet to be resolved.)

It’s already New Year’s Day there, the most important day of the year, solemn and pure in a sense, there really is no Western equivalent. Their celebrations always resonated and intuitively made more sense to me than the American approach of getting blinding drunk, raucous parties and overall loudness (an American trait).

This is the time of nengajo, New Year’s postcards. I remember writing them industriously and the time required because I’d need to look up nearly every kanji and I loved receiving them, usually the post office delivering en masse at or just before New Year's Day, and would ask for help when someone's kanji was illegible.

This time, New Year’s Eve, in Japan would be osooji, the Great Clean. I’d be joining in on cleaning my house from top to bottom, including windows. (I still carry on with the tradition except this year I skipped windows because they were recently done and are film-winterized.)

Office desks are cleaned and organized too, businesses often giving employees half the day before closing for a few days. I remember watching men and women in their blue business suits industriously scrubbing, tidying up and organizing, it was really sweet and cool.

Porches and sidewalks in front of homes, office buildings and shops are swept up. Cars are washed. I didn't have one so I washed my mamachan, the old lady style bicycle that prevails.

Grocery shopping is completed, usually in a frenzy, before stores close for day or two. Debts are paid off, though this tradition has fallen victim to economic blight. All to enter the new year with a clean slate.

Kadomatsu and little decorations spring up in front of buildings and at shrines and homes and on the fronts of cars and in crevices.

 

Each plant in the kadomatsu bears a symbolism, which I won't expound on but for example the bamboo must be of differing heights and cut at an angle to allow maximum entry of the spirits.

New Year’s Eve bells at Buddhist temples are struck 108 times -- joya no kane, the watchnight bell -- by monks or the public to cleanse ourselves of our 108 worldly desires.

I remember this New Year’s Eve in Utah a few years ago with my father and stepmother. Just before midnight we stepped out onto the quiet street on the bluff where they live and she tooted a paper horn and he unleashed the annual prognosticating cork of the champagne bottle and I struck a little brass dinner bell 108 times and yes indeed I counted.

On New Year’s Eve night and the few days after, they'll visit shrines, large and tiny, en masse to offer prayers and toss coins into wooden boxes and retrieve an omikuji, a fortune, which if bad is tied around fencing, ropes, branches.

Visitors will wait for hours at the ultra-popular shrines, like the famous Meiji Shrine where I lived, yets it's all very peaceful and melodic. The ones so crowded that there's no way to get to the donation box up front, they just send their coins sailing from afar, bonking people up front on the heads in a rain of coinage.

There's osechi ryori, dishes prepared specifically for New Year's ahead of time that keep and most of which are eaten cold except the (yum!) ozoni soup. Osechi was designed in a past era to give the women respite from cooking and housework (thus also the osooji) and the family could relax and rest and enjoy their time. Used to be the entire country shut down for a few days, absolutely nothing was opened, the streets were still, but that's changed a lot.

Osechi preparation is actually rather time-consuming so these days it's common to buy them at department stores and shops, they displays are abundant and lovely:

They truly are beautiful and each food has a meaning, for example:

Kazunoko (herring roe), a delicacy of many eggs to symbolize prosperity for one's descendents.
Kuromame (black boiled beans) symbolizes industriousness.
Gomame (small dried sardines) symbolizes a bumper crop.
Kobumaki (rolled seaweed) symbolizes pleasure or delight.
Ebi (prawn) symbolizes a wish for long life.

They don’t necessarily taste quite as lovely as they look, true, though I didn't mind. I knew natives who did, who stuck their tongues out at their mention and would tell me they liked only this or that but of course they'd eat them when presented because overall they're a people of grace and manner. (wish the same could be said of Americans ...)

Then there is hatsuhinode, viewing the year's first sunrise. People gather and wait atop mountains or buildings, Tokyo Tower in Roppongi being a popular site where I lived, or they sit at seashores or in parks to receive the first light. Hatsuyume is the first dream of the year that is said to foretell the dreamer's luck in the coming year. There is more but these are those I hold dearest.

年暮れぬ
笠きて草鞋
はきながら

Another year is gone;
and I still wear
straw hat and straw sandal
                      -- Bashoo Matsuo

A gift, a blessing fluttered my way today.

Two months ago the plastic hinge on my folding cell phone broke off, leaving one functioning hinge. So when I flipped it open or shut or talked on it, I did so gingerly, slowly and cautiously so the one hinge hanging by a thread wouldn't separate, rendering the phone useless. I put off getting a replacement because paying bills is more important.

The phone finally met its maker; the battery no longer holds a charge. Rather than buy a new battery for a broken unit, I hopped onto craigslist in search of a used phone.

My needs are articulated in my mind so online I researched a variety of models available, educated myself on transfer procedures, potential pitfalls, signs of scamming.

I called a couple craigslisters and while I liked the first guy well enough, I really liked the second one, a grandfather type, responsive, honest, a salt-of-the-earth sort. He was selling a model that got terrific reviews and suited my needs and for a price within my budget.

I didn't just head straight over, I did my homework, got the serial number, called the carrier to check that it was clear, had no unpaid bills attached or reported history of theft or loss.

All checked out clean and I ventured to his place. He really was a friendly and affable gent. We got to chatting about the phone and miserable economy and unemployment and that I've been looking since summer.

On my way outI handed him the $25 (36 AUD) in good happy conscience.

Then he surprised me. He removed the $5 bill (7.23 AUD) and handed it right back!

How thoughtful and kind was that!?

I received it in genuine gratitude, thanked him and left with my quality new old phone and all these positives of the entire experience.

I didn't take that bill and slide it into my wallet. Oh no. I slipped it into my pocket.

Back home, I attentively placed it under my little gold Buddha dish where I set the coins I find on the ground, said a prayer of thanks and now turn to see where I can pay it forward.

All the news that’s fit to print ... read in yesterday's paper over a can of cheap beer:

The Good

Two horses are found abandoned, emaciated and frostbitten in the snowy mountains of British Columbia (Canada).

The two men, who are out locating snowmobiles left behind by tourists in the back country and discover them, first think to shoot to humanely put them out of their misery.

Then someone with equine experience is sent in to examine the animals. She reports that while they’re in bad shape and starving, there's still life and energy in their eyes.

A rescue attempt is intiated.

For a week, locals with shovels trudge up the mountain to dig a half-mile (1 km) trench in snow 6 feet deep (2 meters).

More join in as word of the trapped horses spreads. Hay and blankets are brought in; the animals eat, drink and cooperate, seeming to understand help is under way. (yes they do)

After a week of moving snow, the path's prepared and the horses guided off the mountain.

There still remains a 16-mile (26-km) walk to get them to the place where they will be picked up by officials.

Though their condition is improved from when they were found -- at that time, 2 on a scale of 1 to 10 a vet said -- there’s still recovery; for now it’s looking promising.

An investigation is under way to bring charges against the hunter suspected of abandoning the animals.

"It's a little community. When there's a hand needed, you can always find something to lend a helping hand," a local said.

"It's got nothing to do with Christmas spirit. These people have good hearts 12 months out of the year."

(ed. note: there’s a place I’d like to live!)

The Bad

High school students are having their lunches in the cafeteria (in a town in my state).

Boy 1, 18, overhears that boy 2 is allergic to peanuts.

Not liking boy 2, boy 1 goes over, opens his peanut butter sandwich and smushes it into his face.

An allergic reaction does not result; boy 1 is suspended.

The Ugly

“U.S. retailers are facing a wave of store closings, bankruptcies and takeovers starting next month as holiday sales are shaping up to be the worst in 40 years.

“More than a dozen retailers, including Circuit City Stores Inc., Linens ‘n Things Inc., Sharper Image Corp. and Steve & Barry’s LLC, have sought bankruptcy protection this year as the credit squeeze and recession drained sales.

“You’ll see department stores, specialty stores, discount stores, grocery stores, drugstores, major chains either multi-regionally or nationally go out ...”

And on we roll toward depression ...

My list of quirks might fill a small book. I was just over at Flamingo's blog looking her Christmas pics and was reminded of one.

The place mats at any table of mine must be different.

This applies whether there be two or 20 seated.

Some years back my mother asked what I wanted for Christmas. (Or was it a housewarming?)

I thought. What don't I have that would be useful.

"Place mats," I said.

"But each has to be different. They can't match. And no sets."

She picked the phone up off the floor.

I'm specific and clear, most of the time, and continued.

"Each must be different but there's gotta a connection somehow. Like a color or a shade or a turn in a pattern. Not obviously. Subtle."

And they can't be under one theme. Example, they can't all be ducks, even if each is different.

She really hadn't heard this before.

That must've been some fun shopping for her, especially since so many do come in sets. "Uh, where are your place mats? And my daughter insists that each be different." She pulled it off though.

The place mats are the foundation stones of the table. Each will be unique and connected in the whole. No exceptions.

Napkins now, say cloth, they can be the same color. Up to six or eight. After that, different color or pattern.

As for the rest of the table, the plates, silverware, glasses, candles, centerpiece, that's another creative process and not pertinent today.

Tablecloths. I far prefer the mats and wood. Sometimes though they do better suit the occasion.

In which case it will be a quality cloth and weave (I'm extremely tactile), simple, basic, solid color, little to no adornment. Like a monk's robe. No lace! Sorry to those who like it. On the table, it makes my throat gag, constrict, like I'm suffocating. As a seated guest it'd be a challenge.

I'd push onward for my manners. And keep the wine bottle close. Very close. As in my lap with a long straw. Because efficient though it be, have never much cared for this look.

The bandwagon will be rolling in any moment.

You know the one. With the reviews and retrospectives of the year ending. Uh, 100 to 1 it becomes a Question of the Day.

No fan of any bandwagon or crowds, I'm pitching in my 2 cents early.

How would I encapsulate 2008? Two sentences:

1. Five years smushed into one.
2. A year to forget. Intentionally.

Any one remember any of this? Sure as hell seems like lifetimes ago.

January: Insane in the Room of Walls on the Endless Noise Road.
 
February: Loving the new digs! The peace. The honeymoon period with the yet-unrevealed Nazi Queen.

Also: Good god where is the sun? I am starved for natural light. Months and months of gloom and gray and overcast are taking a dangerous toll on my psyche. I could see that in time this may drive me out of this immediate area. Western Washington state: Depression Central. And nation’s highest suicide rate. I get it.

March: My boss-family member dies, skydiving. Life will never ever be the same. (the simplistic sentence to that which i could and would not write.)

April: Trying to cope with his death. Loss and grief. And also now the Nazi Queen who has emerged and delivers pretty toxic blows.

May: She's kicked it up into high gear. Home is not home, it's hell. Her every turn is another slam. I retreat into invisibility to survive.

June: She's out of control. (What a fucking bitch.) I'm officially and wholly in I Do Not Exist mode to appease the cruel god.

One night she comes home and discovers an odor of hardboiled eggs I accidentally overcooked. She storms through the house like if I've committed a heinous crime, flinging open doors for fresh air, attacking and reminding me I'm a piece of shit.

Home Sweet Home.

I don't blog on her 7-page missive of complaints, false accusations and irrational new house rules she's left on the bathroom counter for me to read and follow or face more attacks. I can't disappear enough to make her blows stop.

She recruits the other female roommate to drive me out. I commend them, it's very successful.

Flashing lights reminder: DO NOT LIVE WITH WOMEN AGAIN!

And I'm paying for this abuse?! Time to move. Again.

July: Get me the fuck away from this woman!! She's dangerous and toxic. I spend as much time as possible away from the prison. I'm not sleeping well and having frequent nightmares. I continue intently looking for a new place.

August: Get me out of here!!!!!!!

In an 11th hour-plus-57-minute reprieve, a studio comes through!!!!

I am out out!!! I am free!!!! Free of that horrible woman.

Things are finally on the upswing; I've worked so very hard for this. Key elements are now in positive alignment. Love my living space. The neighborhood. The town. The family and coworkers. My job.

Nine days after moving in: I lose my job

Lightning bolt. Power punch. Gut shock. Never could've or would've seen it coming.

More shock grief and loss on top of shock grief and loss unprocessed from the March death for the lack of sanctuary and safety. Hard to describe the feeling. My back cracks in two and the heart breaks.

September: Look for work.

October: Look for work.

November: Look for work.

Hardship has multiplied exponentially as the economy plunges into recession toward depression.

I go on record with a challenge to the widely-held New Age tenet that it is only and always our thoughts that create our reality. That be truth, that is a whole bunch of people thinking themselves out of jobs -- and homes, savings, money. p.s. some new agers need to get real.

December: Still looking for work.

Openings by now have become so scarce, there's little even to apply to (never mind that one opening draws 500 applicants). I privately ponder what  lies ahead and what life may look like in two months.

The year closes with nothing remotely resembling the landscape when it opened.

This has been a rough one. Raw. Bombarding. Too much death (about 15 in total) grief and loss. Some gains. Many blessings. There is much for which I am grateful and in gratitude each and every day, hour and minute.

A simple turn of the page of a calendar does not ensure a recovery, jobs or resolution to times so dark.

As a nation, we've not yet hit bottom. Things will get much worse before they begin improving. Contrary to popular sentiment, Obama is neither savior nor messiah, you're free to think otherwise if it helps. Millions more in the world will lose their jobs. Best place to land one: China. 

After the year's tumult, I dare not speak of what's in store in 2009; no cause to tempt the gods who have branded on this forehead the Chinese curse may you live in interesting times.

To 2008: Goodbye. I'll remember you all my life and vividly though not entirely fondly.
 
To 2009: A guarded and watchful hello to you and your abundance of:

 

What was the bravest thing you did in 2008?
Submitted by TheFiercestCalm.

Tried to cope with the death of one loved and dear alone.

It appears that the light/universe has received and returned my acts of generosity through the holidays.

I am not tooting my horn, rather taking this moment to acknowledge that through this season of darkness, beginning before Thanksgiving, I have fully embraced and embodied the spirit of Giving and Generosity and Gratitude.

Though I myself may have little, I will give of what I have to others who have less or nothing; I will do without so that another may have. This is my nature, deeply.

Through the season, I have looked for openings to be of service and give where there is need. Really, I have thought of little else; the spirit of Giving and Generosity has been my mantra and guiding star.

For my actions, people have received food and animals supplies and an unknown little 9-year-old girl books, her wish to Santa (and I her secret elf via the Giving Tree at the mall).

An indigent old gentleman received an airline bottle of liquor (I do not judge need, only look for avenues to fulfill) and clerks extra-friendly gestures and words during harried times and drivers their openings into roads and parking lots and to all generally many small acts of kindness and goodwill.

Except for those 15 minutes of stress getting packages mailed when suddenly Christmas date crept up, I was unaffected by the stress and mayhem. Staying centered in giving and meeting true need was a protective garb, a holy cloak of the humble shepherd.

For all the giving to others, my own Christmas was to be uneventful, not much different really from any other day.

Then the most unexpected happened. Truly unexpected, a surprise.

With my Christmas card (homemade and including his annual witty irascible unconventional newsletter) from my dad and stepmom fell out (it really did) a check.

A gift that allows me something for my self.

For, you see, I really have not spoken of how difficult and lean these months, since August, without work have been. Each month when I pay the rent and bills, I do so expressing deep gratitude that I am able to do so.

All else, all needs beyond basic survival, is put aside, on hold. If there is breathing space, it is space to give to another with a need greater than my own.

And so the gift in the card is like a fountain of gold sprouting up through the land! It has granted me the opportunity to think of something for my self, and it feels so .... abundant! (And while there are many needs on hold, what would bring me greatest joy is a DVD player, for I sooo love and miss watching movies, gasoline so I may make a trip of several hundred miles to meet with someone visiting and a portion returned to again help others, the food bank leading the list.)

I know, I just know, that the universe is returning, unexpectedly and remarkably, that which I have given selflessly in thought and action and word.

And I am touched beyond words.

The miracle: It lies not in what is given but in the how; when any is given in fullness of spirit, the light/universe rains upon and returns a blessing.

I wrote a posting on this eve of Christmas.

It spoke of giving and generosity.

Of the holidays for others that will be brighter for my actions.

Of an unknown 9-year-old girl who tomorrow will awaken and find that Santa (through me, his secret elf at the mall's Giving Tree) heard her wish for books.

I thought writing of my Christmas, of pain, grief and loss, a day to be gotten through, would help.

It didn't.

I deleted it and am shutting down to cope.

No more words flow save for these:

To the Voxers whose holiday will be merry and shared, which is most of you, I wish you still more merriment and joy.

To the handful (I know who you are) for whom this day is far on the other side of that spectrum, I wish you strength to endure, a case of amnesia or numbing, whatever your preference, and a hope that next year your Christmas will be brighter.

Signing off, shutting down and peace out.

Must keep with the week's "lesson plan" of three self-positives daily, even when feeling dark, blue and not in the mood.

1. I have a good sense of humor.
2. I'm a very good cook with a keen eye for quality recipes.
3. It is deep in my nature to be of service. I contribute and take initiative to help without being asked or told.

This is true at work and in the world. When there are things needing to be done at work, including tasks unrelated to my "job description," and I'm capable, I do them simply because they need to be done. In public, I open doors, step forward to assist another in need of a hand or is somehow struggling, choose between items of clothing, the list of tasks is varied and endless. I sometimes feel like a Santa elf because I love to magically appear to serve, then quietly disappear without a trace.

Seattle's a bit of a laughing stock around the country when it comes to winters. Think this news item on the radio this morning helps explain?

The city of Seattle refuses to use salt on its roads. The reason? It's bad for the environment.

They abide by the policy even though:

a. the state department of transportation uses salt across the state;
b. the salt can be processed through the sewage treatment centers;
c. the salty Puget Sound waters are right there as a natural receptacle.

Once or twice a year Seattle gets a major snowfall that requires salting. It's not Chicago where it's snowy and salted for six months. The amount is minimal, sufficient to assauge the concerns of even the staunchest greenies.

Unless they're in Seattle. In which case all bets are off.

Seattle's policy on plowing is, uh, also unique.

Their plows have rubber blades.

This is to minimize road damage.

But they don't actually scrape the ice. City directive is to compress the ice and snow to create driveability.

I am not making this up. The slick icy roads are by design.

There's more.

Seattle is quite hilly. The police prowlers are chained but cannot negotiate the slick slopes per policy. When they respond to calls, they park at the bottom of the hills and hike it.

'Tis the season to be thieving, fa la la la la la la la la, because Seattle has no policing, fa la la la la la la la la.

Where is public safety? Isn't that what King County taxpayers are paying for?
Oh well. That can be sacrificed but good lord! do not salt the roads.

Still not making this up.

Also: The city, with a population of more than half a million. has 27 plows, while nearby Portland, with half the population, has 56.

Every year Seattleites go wah wah wah, we're not prepared to explain its winter ineptness and citywide disasters.

The disaster isn't the weather, it's the brain power.

Just don't bother calling 911 emergency to report it. Unless you've got 50 minutes to spare. Double if you're on a hill.