Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

As rainy seasons go, this one hasn't been all that wet so far.  We spend a few minutes every morning carefully coordinating our umbrella with our wardrobe yet rarely have an opportunity to unfurl our colorful fashion accessories.  Those umbrellas add weight to tote bags already crammed with a Kindle, a towel for drying our hands and wiping our brow, a dollar wallet, a yen wallet, maps, caramels, a water bottle, more caramels, and our appointment calendar. 

In rainy seasons past the clouds emptied nearly every day between June 1 and July 12.  This year we are seeing three of four days of sunshine between cloudbursts. 

I miss the rain.  I like how rain makes the sidewalks glisten and the greenery greener.  I like having an excuse to buy another umbrella, and then another after that.  I like the sight of dozens of umbrellas popping open almost in unison, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Most Japanese women carry an umbrella in their tote bag like I do, but where do Japanese men stow their umbrellas?  When the drops start falling and the umbrellas suddenly appear, I remember standing on the stage at the Las Vegas Hilton when David Copperfield presented me with a dozen red roses.  I never did figure out from whence those roses came and that still bothers me almost thirty years later.  I am determined to solve the Apparitional Umbrella Mystery before this rainy season reaches its official conclusion.

Hello, Rainy Season!

Yokosuka Honko (Main Port) from Verny Park

The Rainy Season runs from June through the first or second week of July.

There are five umbrellas standing at attention just outside our front door and another four or five folding versions in the hall closet but my eyes keep drifting toward the colorful umbrella displays in local shops. A purple one would look nice at the Iris Garden and a blue one would sure look nice against a backdrop of hydrangeas later this month.

Japan is beautiful during the Rainy Season.  Staying indoors is not an option, at least for me.

Taking Care of Assets

"Where's Dad?"

"He went over to the ship to find out whether or not they'll be leaving today."

"I thought they were going to send a message by 7:00 am."

"Yes. Well. You know how that goes."

"If the ship goes, why does Dad have to be on it? The Seventh Fleet staff just uses the ship like an office building. Are they expecting Dad to man an oar or something?"

"One never knows, sweetie."

Pip tries to work up some enthusiam when asked to show you his new cell phone charm

The ship left Yokosuka in the middle of the afternoon. An hour or so later, the base commander asked all residents to remove or secure all outdoor items prior to the arrival of high winds.

"Pip! Can you help me move all the lawn furniture and potted plants?"

"Can we wait until we actually feel a breeze?"

"I like the way you think, kid."

Any Port But This One In a Storm

The Ancient Mariner sauntered through the door last night after five days at sea and another long day of meetings. We spent the evening making plans for the holiday weekend, primarily a trip to Tokyo to visit the War Museum and Nikon repair shop.

Tonight those plans are on hold thanks to Typhoon Songda. If the typhoon continues to head in our direction, most of the U.S. ships currently docked here will head out to sea to avoid the risk of being banged against the piers by high winds. At least he won't have to pack his sea bag since he hasn't gotten around to unpacking it yet.

The decision will be made and communicated by 7:00 am, at least that's what they are saying tonight, so there's still a chance we'll be on the 8:34 train to Tokyo. But I'm not holding my breath.

The Rain Schedule is as Dependable as the Train Schedule

When the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan on March 11, the last four events of the Japanese and American Wives Club year were cancelled.  Now that most of the American evacuees have returned, the Japanese ladies have decided to squeeze in a Sayonara Party at Tadodai House before we break for the summer.

Shinagawa-san proposed meeting in Kurihama yesterday to review the party plans and schedule, and to see the poppies at Flower World.  Weather Explorer and I are always game for an outing, especially ones that involve gardens or fabric, but when we woke up yesterday morning and saw the rain pelting our windows we figured Kurihama was not going to happen.  But Shinagawa-san was undeterred.  She said the rain might stop by ten and would certainly stop by noon so we should proceed to the Kurihama station as previously directed.  We would conduct our business at a coffee shop adjacent to the train station and then head for Flower World when the rain stopped.

So that's what we did.  The sun appeared on schedule and the poppy field looked different than it did when Ishii-san and I were there last week.  The orange and yellow poppies had disappeared.  In their place were taller red and pink poppies.   

This is what I mean by "tall" poppies

When I opined that we were experiencing the beginning of Japan's annual rainy season, Shinagawa-san disagreed.  She reminded me that the rainy season runs from the beginning of June through the first or second week of July.  In a country where the rain arrives and departs on schedule, concessions to global warming will not be made lightly.

Haru Ichiban: A Breath of Fresh Air

The windows started rattling late Monday night. Another aftershock? When the metal glider in the yard tumbled backwards seconds later, her eyes quickly calculated the distance between the patio chair and the earthquake shelter beneath the dining room table. Maya Angelou has known for years why the caged bird sings; our heroine learned two weeks ago why Olympic high jumpers take such care in starting off on the right foot. What benefit might she obtain from gaining the shelter if she smacks her forehead on the table edge and suffers a concussion enroute?

Her right foot is planted and her backside is wiggling (to build up momentum) when the wind starts howling through the bare branches of the enormous ginko trees. The wind is a Doberman, a Rottweiller, a ferocious German Shepard with fangs bared and saliva dripping from its bone-crushing jaw as it relentlessly chases its own tail around the circumference of the concrete-walled house.

Definitely not an earthquake, decides the expert-come-lately. Not a tsunami either. Hopefully not something nuclear (which she pronounces correctly in deference to her beloved sister-in-law). What's left? A typhoon? That would be the positively, absolutely, utterly, final, last straw.

When in doubt, consult an expert, in this case Weather Explorer, a meteorologist married to a meteorologist. Weather decrees the wind is a "good wind". The succint declaration is reminiscent of and as comforting as the tone St. John adopted in writing his Gospel. Which is to say: very comforting.

Waking to the pitter-patter of little raindrops after a semi-good night's sleep, the expert-come-lately realizes the remarkable windstorm of the previous evening was none other than Japan's annual Haru Ichiban, the spring wind, the wind that comes roaring from the east-southeast every year around the time of the Spring Equinox to remind us that cherry blossom season will follow closely on the heels of a brief cold snap.

It's almost time to break out the sake. Cherry blossom celebrations will be subdued this year, and rightly so, but each tiny blossom will hold grains of hope and optimism, commodities to be treasured and cherished always but especially now.