Chicken Pie: So Far, So Good

Days don't get much more perfect than this one. Japanese book club, a hungry family with a new baby girl, and my first solo turn behind the wheel outside the base made for one thrill after another. It was such a perfect day, in fact, that I didn't even complain (audibly) when I found the convenient Daiei Gate closed for Columbus Day and had to trudge all the way to the Main Gate and back around.

Kyoko and Tsuneko had a lot to say about The Help - they both liked Minny, the sassy maid character, best - and I had worried needlessly that they would not be able to cope with all the Southern dialect in the book. Kyoko filled us in on her expenses-paid trip to Beijing with the other four ladies who are translating a book about an American doctor who spent most of his life in China. Tsuneko continues to worry that her German-Japanese granddaughter (11) is losing her Japanese language skills. Tsuneko's other daughter is married to a Jewish man from New York City; they live in Thailand these days. I, of course, shared happy memories of my Aunt Chris who was about the same age as Kyoko. They especially liked the Stuck on Ganson Hill story and I am indebted to Sandy for reminding me of it.

Pleading homework (snort), Matt declined to ride with me to deliver a chicken pie to a young Seventh Fleet family that lives in a residential neighborhood in Zushi, about 20 minutes from the base. I left the house in a slight huff. Halfway to the gate I realized the directions and telephone number were sitting on the kitchen counter. Double back? Not in my genetic code. Fortunately, I tapped into my kinetic memory gene and pieced together the directions by recalling how the ink flowed from my pen when I transcribed key words from the computer to an index card.

The fact that I made it there and back without incident has a lot more to do with the general politeness of Japanese drivers than any particular skill on my part. Stuck behind a bus? Flick that blinker and drivers in the other lane miraculously let you merge. I also credit my mantra ("You are not home YET") which I chanted aloud to drown out the potentially unlucky "so far, so good" my subconscious simply would not stop whispering.

The trick to driving in Japan -- you'll want to write this down because I am now an expert -- is to remain centered in your lane. My only two close calls happened when a motorcycle zipped past me on the left, in the centimeter of concrete between my car and the curb. To make room for any subsequent curb-hugging motorcycles, I started edging my wheels to the right just as a motorcycle came zooming around my right rear bumper. After this happened twice in less than three blocks, staying centered in my lane seemed the best plan.

If Mimi can guarantee me three passengers willing to harmonize "You are not home YET," I told her she can count on me to help ferry lunch bunchers to the Chinese restaurant in Kamakura the day after tomorrow.