The Year of the Dragon, Day Two

The Year of the Dragon is off to a rather inauspicious start. The camera has not yet surfaced. What? Me worry? Not until I work my way through a backlog of pictures I've been meaning to share. Surely the camera is somewhere under all the Christmas debris that I fully intend to tackle once we get back from escorting College Boy to the airport tomorrow.  Or maybe I left it at the Indian restaurant in Hayama last week in which case it won't take a lot of arm-twisting to convince the Ancient Mariner to make a return visit.

While I can't speak for College Boy (more's the pity), I imagine he'll be feeling terribly sad when he boards that airplane and leaves Japan for what could very well be the last time.  We will have moved back to the States by the time his school year ends.  When will he see his girlfriend again?  This is definitely the downside of living overseas during high school.  "You can never go home again" takes on a whole new meaning.

Now for some pictures.  I snapped these in early December when we went to the Ikebana International Holiday Bazaar in Tokyo.  The first is one of those rare arrangements to earn an "I could do that!" response from me.  The fences bordering two sides of our Norfolk house are covered with vines that I am forever hacking into shape.  Sticking the debris in a vase would probably be a lot easier than wrestling it into a lawn and garden bag. 

We saw this sign over the restroom door in a subway station near Shiba Park. It cracked me up. Go figure.

Gifts from Around the World: The Embassy Holiday Fair

Ikebana International sponsors a flower exhibition and bazaar at the Tokyo Prince Hotel in Shiba Park every year during the first week in December. Last year was the first time I made the trek to Tokyo for this event. This year I went back with Artistic and Shinagawa-san. We hooked up with several past and current members of the Japanese and American Wives Club, including the adorable Junko who initiated my now gargantuan Anpanman collection shortly after our first meeting several years ago.

The draw for me is not the flowers -- I tend to skip right through the first ballroom where the flower arrangements sit -- but the tables in the second ballroom heaped with products and baked goods offered by most of the nations that have embassies in Tokyo. The good old USA was noticeably absent again this year but the Arab countries and Africa were there in force. I picked up some interesting items from Cuba, Spain, and Norway this year but cannot divulge the details without ruining someone's Christmas. You'll just have to use your imagination.

Happy Japanese shoppers flank tall, elegant blonde

As I was skipping through the first ballroom this year, one of the flower arrangements stopped me dead in my tracks. It stopped a few other shoppers as well.

What the heck? Tomatoes ringed with red chili peppers on "stems" constructed of tall, skinny fern-draped cucumbers.

Every now and then when I see a flower arrangement I think "I could do that." This was one of those times. But I'm not promising anything.

You might find this hard to believe, but we stopped for lunch at a vegetarian restaurant, the Food Therapy Cafe. My companions all ordered the "Herbal Medicine Curry" but I opted for vegetable lasagna.  Half of it was edible.

Please note Shinagawa-san's lovely manicure in the photo above.  Those nails snap on and off (she demonstrated).  Artistic and I are hoping to get some flashy ones for ourselves in the New Year.

Today the Ancient Mariner and I celebrated twenty years of marital bliss. He celebrated in DC and I celebrated in Tokyo which might help explain how our marriage has survived two decades. My Japanese friends presented "us" with a pair of beautiful anniversary teacups during lunch. I'll show you a picture when my computer stops acting up.

"Believing in the Power of Flowers"

Artistic wanted to see the Sogetsu Exhibition -- the 93rd annual exhibition, no less -- at the Takashimaya department store in Nihombashi last Friday. I tagged along because (a) I never turn down a chance to scoot up to Tokyo and (b) I couldn't help but wonder how the Sogetsu school of Ikebana flower arranging had evolved since the 90th annual exhibition which my sister and I somewhat accidentally visited on her first trip to Japan.

Artistic is a student of Sogetsu, she takes classes here on base and is determined to achieve a new level before her family departs Japan. From what I can surmise, Japanese flower arranging is something like martial arts but she's aiming for a new level rather than a colorful belt.

While she remembered to charge her camera, my Nikon battery went into a coma about 30 meters into the first of about ten exhibition rooms. Still, I think these pictures will give you the gist of what we saw.

A slightly obscene bamboo arrangement

Vertical Moss with Jutting Branch (The "Gonzo" Arrangement)

All kidding aside, it was an inspiring exhibition. So inspiring, in fact, that I invested in a "Beginner's Guide to Ikebana" before leaving the store. And the next day, while strolling across the base just after the grounds crew trimmed the hedges, I picked up a cute little branch sporting three red berries and stuck it in a vase that's now perched cheerfully on my kitchen window sill.

Not that the Ancient Mariner has noticed.

Ikebana With a Latin Flair

The March, April, and May Ikebana programs were cancelled as a result of the March 11 tsunami, but today we met to install next year's officers, raise money to help the victims of the tsunami, and listen to a Cuban guitarist/singer. I was a bit skeptical when Alexander Padron strutted into the hotel ballroom in his bright turquoise suit but by the end of his performance I was on my feet boogeying around the room like everyone else under the age of sixty, ie, about half the audience.

Some of our members, the dozen or so who actually know how to arrange flowers, treated us to an exhibit of their work.

Incoming President Cheryl on far right

Serving on the Ikebana board of directors this past year has been quite an experience, but not one I plan to repeat. Our last year in Japan will pass much too quickly. I'd rather be exploring than sitting through meetings. Does that sound terribly selfish?

Quilt Blocks to Cheer the Tsunami Victims

Weather Explorer and I set out for an Ikebana board meeting the other day but wound up at a quilt exhibit in the lobby of the Mercure Hotel instead.

It's not like we didn't try our best to find the board meeting. When they told us we would be meeting at the Yokosuka Support Center, we thought they meant the community center right outside the main gate of the Navy base. We rode the elevator to the seventh floor and then worked our way down and through the building, poking our noses into every classroom and stairwell to no avail. When we reached the ground floor, we even asked the lady seated behind the lobby information desk but she didn't have a reservation for Ikebana.

All dressed up with no board meeting in sight, we decided to check out the quilt exhibit at the hotel across the street. Shinagawa-san has asked us to prepare quilt blocks like these for display next month and subsequent donation to benefit the tsunami victims. I am hoping "donation" translates to "buy your own quilt block" since I cannot imagine anything I could throw together would bring happiness to a tsunami victim.

Although I pieced together six quilt blocks as part of a Tidewater Oakleaf Club project several years ago, I have never attached batting or come anywhere close to finishing a block. I could use a shot of confidence and a flash of inspiration along about now.

"I'm ruling out circles," I decided.

"Rectangles and squares are good," agreed Weather (the brat had already whipped up a practice block by the time we visited the exhibit).

"I'm also ruling out Japanese characters lest I mistakenly communicate something that would offend someone."

"Not offending anyone is a good idea," agreed Weather, "although it is somewhat out of character for you."

We later learned that the Yokosuka Support Center is located on the ground floor of the building adjacent to the Mercure Hotel, so we were right next door to the board meeting the entire time we were viewing the quilt exhibit.

Duh.

Out and About: Fashioning a "New Normal"

My life here started to feel normal again late last week thanks to a series of encounters with my Japanese friends.

It seems the "new normal" will require a bit more physical exertion than the "old normal" did.  The escalator leading up to the Yokosukachuo train station at the end of Blue Street was not moving when I set off to visit Dr. T on Wednesday afternoon.  That was my first clue.  Did I sigh dramatically before dragging my bones up that stationary staircase?  Heck no.  There is more than one way to skin a cat.  I simply marched around the corner and entered the station at ground level.  Maybe a tiny smirk flitted across my mouth.

Thankfully, the escalator at the Kanazawa-hakkei Seaside Line station was working; that's an elevated train line with an entrance three stories above the ground.  The medical school was a different matter.  Dr. T's office is on the top floor, the sixth floor, of the medical school.  Nothing happened when I pressed the button to call the elevator on the left.  A sign taped between the elevator doors caught my eye.  I was pretty sure it said "Please use the stairs.  The electricity has been diverted from the elevators to operate life-sustaining equipment in the hospital."

So I trudged up six flights of stairs.  The first five flights were not exactly a breeze but I paced myself and pasted a cheerful expression on my face for the benefit of all the nimble medical students scampering up and down the stairs to get to class on time.  That sixth flight required a bit of an effort.  "Bit" in this case means gripping the handrail and using a hand-over-hand technique to drag my body up the last sixty steps.  Exiting the stairwell, I stumbled past the usual assortment of somber young pharmaceutical representives lined up in the corridor.  Their applause was louder than my gasps.

Dr. T was appalled that I took the stairs.  He says I am to use the elevator on the right next time.  I think I heard him say I am qualified to use that elevator on the basis of age.  I am not sure that makes me happy but I'm pretty sure I'll opt for the elevator when I visit him again next week.

Seeing Dr. T again fills me with delight.  Has it only been two weeks since our last lesson?  We spend a lot of time grinning and laughing.  I had forgotten that he's been using crutches for the past six weeks on account of a bad knee.  He tells me that knee made descending twelve flights of stairs after the earthquake "excruciating".  His use of the word "excruciating" tickles me.  I think he has consulted his Japanese-English dictionary since last we met.

Thursday three of us headed to Kamakura for an Ikebana board meeting.  We were a bit early so we ducked into a coffee shop outside the station.  Otsuka-san, knowing our habits, was sitting in the coffee shop waiting for us.  We had not expected to see her because she lives in Tokyo and we think it is not so easy to travel between Tokyo and Kamakura these days.  We are all so happy to see each other that we exchange hugs, wipe tears from our eyes, and amuse the baristas with our un-Japanese carryings on.  You would think we were survivors of a major calamity!  Oh . . . I guess we are.

We see many more friends at the board meeting -- Kaji-san, Nagasaki-san, Midori-san, Sayuri-san, Haneda-san, to name a few.  Tia has gone to the United States, Watanabe-san is still recovering from breast cancer surgery, and Junko-san is not at the meeting for reasons that escape me.  We vote to cancel the April and May programs because we cannot count on gasoline to take our members to Mount Takao or electricity to light the hotel where we are scheduled to meet.  We defer a decision on the June program.  Perhaps we can hold the June program on the Navy base.  Our Japanese friends are surprised to hear that the Navy base has not been experiencing the rolling blackouts the government has instituted in our prefecture.  I feel somewhat embarrassed and ashamed about this.  I want to do more to help Japan right now than buy underwear for the people in Sendai.

Weather, Evelyn, and I visited Matsuzaki-san and her son Yutaka at their shop near the Kamakura station and then shared five orders of waffles between the three of us before returning to Yokosuka.  The trains ran on time and the waffles were as delectable as always.  The waitress double-checked her order pad.  Three customers and five orders?  We told her we want to help rebuild Japan's economy.  It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. 

Friday, finally, I get to see Ishii-san.  She endures my hug with a smile and great stoicism.  We stroll to the cafe above the Yokosuka Products shop to have some Admiral Jamie Kelly Cheesecake but, once there, opt for Meiji-Era Curry instead.  I, of course, was hoping to have both.  Ishii-san is very sensible.  A retired teacher, she regales me with anecdotes of the disaster training Japanese teachers receive.  I think we should send our base teachers to the Japanese disaster training classes.  I wish we would acknowledge that Americans are not the experts on everything.

Today I will see many of my Japanese friends again.  Eight of the JAW ladies, including Otsuka-san, Kaji-san, and Shinagawa-san, will visit the base to say farewell to Teresa who will be leaving Japan tomorrow for her husband's next duty station in California.  We are going to have lunch at the Officers' Club.

The "new normal" is nothing to complain about so far.  I feel so much more sane eating in the company of others than munching on mushroom-shaped cookies in my bed.  I've just been brushing crumbs toward the Ancient Mariner's side of the bed but I suppose I'll have to change the sheets when and if the USS Blue Ridge ever heads back toward Yokosuka.

Kamakura-Bori: Don't Try This at Home

Every February the Ikebana ladies converge on Hachimangu Shrine in Kamakura to learn a craft. Last year we made kimekomi balls, this year we took a stab (a carefully chosen word, that) at carving cherry blossoms on wooden plates. This carving craft is called Kamakura-bori and there are shops all along Kamakura's main streets where carved plates fetch lots of yen.  Those plates don't look anything like the one I made.

After receiving a blessing from the head priest, watching a shrine maiden dance, and tossing down a shot of sake, we confronted our tools (above). Carbon paper, a pencil stub, a pointy blade, a flat blade, and a disk of paulownia wood to which a paper cherry blossom pattern was taped. (The paulownia link is for the benefit of David Peck and my readers in the Netherlands).

A few of us brought supplies of our own. It's true that great minds think alike. A savvy lady at the table behind me sported fingerless gloves with thick padding between her thumb and forefinger. I brought a box of band-aids which - miracle of miracles - I did not have to open.

We traced the pattern onto the plate using the pencil stub and carbon paper.

We levered the pointy blade against our thumb to etch the pattern into the wood. The older teacher (there were two) stopped by to correct our technique. A little while later he wandered over to correct our technique again.

We then used the flat blade to carve out a trench along the lines of the pattern. The technique for holding the flat blade involved both hands to guard against inadvertently amputating a thumb. After correcting my technique several times, the older teacher was able to communicate "tsk, tsk" to me from across the room simply by wiggling his eyebrows.

This is the Kamakura-bori plate that my children are all praying will go to Aunt Cathy or Aunt Sandy come Christmastime. Those are the raffle tickets that brought me three lovely necklaces and a CD of Dragonball Z symphonic music. Any takers?

Ishii and my other friends invested an additional 6500 yen (roughly $80) to have their plates lacquered, a process that takes three months. This is how their finished plates will look.

Tune in tomorrow (or later today, depending on your location) to see how I intend to spend the money I saved by not having my plate lacquered.

Spitting Images and Other Distractions: Kyogen in Kamakura

Yes, there are tons of pictures from the 10th Annual Tokyo Quilt Festival in the offing but not until I catch you up on Ikebana and JAW. The third week of January was as hectic as the third week of every other month I've spent in Japan. Between cooking and cleaning for the JAW ladies and - horror of horrors - having to brew my own coffee, clean the litter box, and haul out the trash while the Ancient Mariner pondered the room service menu somewhere in Washington, DC, uploading pictures fell by the wayside.

The Ikebana crowd and their families assembled in Kamakura for a Kyogen performance last Saturday. Kyogen is an ancient form of Japanese comedy that developed alongside Noh. I spent hours researching Kyogen when I was preparing the invitation for the American members but I'll spare you the lecture. If you want to know more, go here.

The actor on the left is a third-generation Kyogen actor frequently seen on television in this part of the world. When he demonstrated the characteristic exaggerated laughter and sorrow for us, he was the spitting image of my favorite character in the Full Metal Alchemist anime series. Matt and I watched about 834 episodes of Full Metal Alchemist in 2006 and 2007 and most of the Japanese I have mastered is compliments of following the bouncing ball in the theme songs (plural, as new songs were introduced every twenty episodes or so).

The actor on the right is Czech. He came to Japan to study Kyogen with the Japanese actor's father. This young man is the spitting image of Professor Miller who taught Eastern European History at the University of West Florida in the mid-1990s.



Front Row:  Xan at far left, Czech Ambassador at far right


Distracted by memories of Full Metal Alchemist, Professor Miller, and a certain college freshman, I spent more time watching the audience than the performance. My little friend Xan was quite fetching in her flowered purple kimono and the Czech ambassador, present to support her young countryman, was a breath of fresh air. The ambassador arrived sans entourage, went unrecognized, and stood patiently in line behind a gaggle of Japanese ladies to collect her name badge. This is an effective form of diplomacy the U.S. State Department would be wise emulating. The phrase 'how to make friends and influence people' comes to mind.

Watanabe-san, standing here, greeted me with the disturbing news that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is scheduled for surgery next week. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. These days I am combing the internet for Christmas stocking knitting patterns to help distract her because she told me last month she would like to try making a stocking like the ones my mother knit for my husband and children. Remind me to show you the sewing box she delivered to my doorstep on Christmas Eve.

A happier distraction was running into Nobuko-san, the woman sitting on the far right side of the picture. We spent many happy hours with Nobuko and her husband the last time we lived in Japan, learning country line dancing and watching his band perform in their Hayama restaurant. Nobuko told me that her father, the owner of three department stores, passed away shortly after the Ancient Mariner and I left Japan and the Kyogen performance marked her first reappearance at Ikebana since his death. Her father's death coupled with the economic downturn meant selling the restaurant, shutting down half of the Yokosuka store, and Nobuko taking a job with an uncle. But she still dances as often as she can and I've promised to brush off my dancing shoes for her line dancing party in February.

The nice thing about line dancing is that it doesn't require a partner. Good thing, too, since the Ancient Mariner will be here and gone again by the time that party rolls around.

Tsugino Shingo WO Hidari ni Magatte Kudasai!

My imagination has prepared me for more experiences than I can possibly cram into one lifetime. If I'm ever handed an Oscar, for instance, that brilliant acceptance speech delivered with the utmost humility will not be quite as extemporaneous as non-relatives in the audience might think. Ditto for the Nobel Peace Prize, Grammy, Emmy, and Congressional Medal of Honor.

Yet I was completely unprepared for my assignment at the Ikebana holiday program held at the New Sanno Hotel in Tokyo this month.  They asked me to don a Santa Claus hat and stand on a busy street corner across from two subway exits in the world's most populous city, holding a placard bearing the words 'Ikebana International' in both English and Japanese.  Fortunately the three to seven people most likely to be mortified by this sight currently reside on the other side of the planet. 

Had I known about the hat in advance, I could have set the alarm for twenty minutes later and foresworn the hair ritual.  This miffed me enough to insist on a speaking role.  "I ought to tell them to turn left at the next major intersection.  How do I say 'Please turn left at the next light' in Japanese?"  Bi-lingual Midori-san grabbed a notepad and wrote it out for me.  In Japanese.  "Um, sumimasen, but I can't read these little squiggles."  She re-wrote my line in romaji (Roman letters) - Tsugino shingo wo hidari ni magatte kudasai - and then had me practice reciting it faster and faster until it sounded like this: Tsuginishingo WO hidarinimagattekudasai.  A long-suffering bellhop served as my dress rehearsal audience and then I marched a quarter mile to my appointed corner, nodding benevolently to the thirteen hundred rush hour pedestrians I encountered enroute.  Fortunately the three to seven people most likely to be mortified by this sight currently reside on the other side of the planet.  Oops!  I already mentioned that, didn't I?

Every single Japanese member and guest turned left at the next light and arrived at the New Sanno Hotel in time to see and hear the Kinnick High School Show Choir perform.  That was gratifying, certainly, but having mastered this Japanese tongue twister, I am now searching for opportunities to repeat my performance.  With or without the hat.

This one's for Kate




Miles and Andrew flank the Queen Bee

 The Show Choir sang like angels, especially Mimi's son Andrew, a senior, and a miniscule freshman with a pure and powerful voice.  His last name is Davis and his mother named him Miles.  Trust me, music lovers have not heard the last of Miles Davis.

The next time you turn left at a light, I hope you will think of me. 
  

A Fair-ly Royal Day in Tokyo

Guilt can be a powerful motivator. A few weeks ago I was feeling guilty about not being able to travel to Mt. Takao with some of the other Ikebana ladies to make arrangements for the field trip we've planned for this coming spring. I had already promised to take some people to Asakusabashi that day. Then I had to say no to a practice session for another upcoming Ikebana program because I had a JAW commitment. So when they called for volunteers to man a fundraising booth at the annual Ikebana International Fair in Tokyo and my calendar was open, my guilty conscience pulled a string and my hand immediately responded.  Weather Explorer raised her hand too.  Have I ever mentioned that she's Catholic too?

"What have we gotten ourselves into now?" "I haven't a clue other than we have to be awake by 5:30 am to get to Shiba Park on time."  Good Lord.

The Russian ladies

The Fair covered two ballrooms on the second floor of the Tokyo Prince Hotel. The first room was filled with enormous flower arrangements and the second room, even larger, was crammed with tables assigned to dozens of embassies. Those embassy booths were a pleasant surprise. Our Kamakura chapter shared table space with Ikebana International. They sold t-shirts and we sold American Christmas products (our wide wired ribbon was quite the crowd pleaser).

The Peruvian emissaries.  I'm pretty sure one was a local hire.

Thanks to an overbundance of Kamakura Ikebana volunteers, Weather Explorer and I only had to cover our booth for one hour. That gave us 2.45 hours to shop and 15 minutes to check out the flower arrangements.

Peru was next to Saudi Arabia

The embassies sold a variety of goods. Cuba had cigars, Belgium was pushing waffle cookies, some African countries offered food I had no desire to taste, and Jordan and Russia both had ornaments simply begging to adorn my Christmas tree.

The Ikebana International Fair might be the best kept secret in Tokyo.  Not any more, of course, because I'm not good at keeping secrets (and rather abhor them, truth be known).

Next year I think I'll postpone much of my Christmas shopping until the first week of December.

American Christmas products delight Princess Takamado

Princess Takamado, the Honorary President of Ikebana International, opened the Fair. She and her entourage visited each table and made a few purchases. Princess Takamado struck me as a very classy lady. Her father is a Japanese industrialist who was transferred to England when she was a child. She is fluent in English and a 1975 graduate of Cambridge University.

She has three daughters born between 1986 and 1990. Her husband, Prince Takamado, passed away in 2002 from a heart attack while playing squash at the Canadian Embassy. Oddly, the Canadian Embassy was also where she first met her husband.

I didn't spot a Canada booth at the Fair but I'm not drawing any conclusions. I also didn't see the United States. Why not? Seriously, why not?

This is how I look when I get up at 5:30 am. 

The coat check girls

The Tokyo Prince Hotel has a coat retrieval system worth mentioning.  When I handed my numbered plastic disc to the clerk who waved at me, she handed me a rectangular plastic tag decorated with a big P.  The P matched the 'name' badge she wore on her vest.  Two seconds she zipped back out of the closet with my coat which was folded neatly inside out and sheathed in a clear plastic bag.  We exchanged the P tag for the coat.

An overly elaborate system?  Perhaps.  But who can argue with speedy, efficient service?  The Tokyo Prince Hotel sure knows how to make a girl feel like a (slightly guilty) princess.

Note to Self: Always Wear Shoes That Tie

The Ikebana board members are some of the hardest working, polite, talented, and gentle women I have ever met.

Most of the Japanese members can speak English quite well, but only a few feel comfortable doing so during board meetings so business is conducted in Japanese with Junko providing a simultaneous translation for the four Americans.  Sometimes the cacophony makes me feel like I've landed in the middle of a UN session.  Sadly, this unleashes my inner Nikita Kruschev and not my inner Eleanor Roosevelt.

To thank these kind and gentle women for putting up with the likes of me and to motivate myself to get the holiday decorations up before Matt's plane touches down at Narita Airport next week, I hosted a luncheon for the Ikebana ladies after our December meeting.  They seemed to like my Anpanman tree, and cell phone charm tree, and the Peko-chan Christmas plate collection but it's hard to be sure when you're dealing with such a polite crowd.
 


The Ancient Mariner made an appearance but declined to don a Santa suit. We are not complaining since he took care of glazing the ham and putting the potato casserole in the oven. I almost feel guilty about wolfing down the last piece of cheesecake while his back was turned. Almost.

Ikebana Visits the American Embassy

This month's Ikebana program was more scintillating than usual. You can chalk this up to "location, location, location." We took our show on the road and visited the Tokyo residence of the U.S. Ambassador to Japan.

The back yard.  Pool is behind the hedge on the left.

Susie Roos, the wife of the current ambassador, told us this house is one of the U.S. Department of State's premier properties. It was built during the Great Depression at considerable cost to American taxpayers since most of the construction materials were imported from the United States and since there were only about 15 taxpayers in total at the height of the Depression (estimate mine).  The house was renovated in the mid-90s during Walter Mondale's tenure as U.S. Ambassador to Japan.

Lunch on the patio

The only other time I've visited the embassy residence was for a Fourth of July party, a rather boisterous, evening event hosted by the previous ambassador. Seeing the house in daylight for the first time, the architecture struck me as a tad more Spanish than North American. My Puerto Rican friend Carmen agreed which is sufficient validation for me.

Mrs. Roos told us about the State Department's "Art in the Embassies" program and invited us to view the art currently on display on the first floor. So we did.



Morinaga and Nagisaki chat in the shade of Yoko Ono's installation

The works currently on display are all by Japanese artists who have lived in the U.S.  Yoko Ono, for instance, installed this potted tree and dashed off a bi-lingual invitation that hangs on an adjacent wall.  Some of us took Yoko-san up on her invitation by writing our wishes for Tokyo on little white cards and then hanging them on the tree.


Several of us were arrested (in Kafka's sense) by a kimono displayed in the drawing room.  American warplanes were printed along the shoulders and GIs floated in parachutes down the back to the floor.  Someone said the artist's intent was to depict the harmonious relationship that exists in Okinawa between the U.S. military forces and the native population.  I'd like to meet that artist.  He seems to have a nice sense of humor.

Otsuka-san, Ando-san, and Kaji-san in the drawing room

The questionable arrangement

A few of the Japanese ladies rolled their eyes ever-so-politely, shook their heads sadly, and quietly tut-tutted when they spotted the flower arrangement in the center of the drawing room.  This was an educational moment for me.  I learned that one should never be able to see the little metal prongs that hold the flower stems in place.  Duly noted. 

After we feasted our eyes on the art and furniture, three of our members assembled Ikebana arrangements while marimba music played softly in the background. This was more exciting than it sounds. There was something of a competitive, beat-the-clock energy in that room. The ladies represent three different schools of Ikebana. The lady on the left finished first and the lady on the right managed to finish just as the music ended.

The marimba player then took center stage for twenty minutes. The program was running late by then and all the growling stomachs made it hard to hear the music. Fortunately, yours truly was seated right next to the dessert table. I amused myself for the first 15 minutes of the concert by taking pictures of the treats. For the last five minutes I sampled the coconut, strawberry, and chocolate cupcakes. The coconuts were especially tasty.

(Truth be told, I was not a good sport about the marimba player, mainly because I fail to see a connection between that instrument and the United States. I was all for hiring the high school choir - what a thrill for those teenagers - or a banjo player to entertain us, but those ideas weren't popular with my fellow board members. I might have been more amenable to marimba music had anyone mentioned the Latin-flavored architecture.  Then again, probably not.)

Denise, Cheryl, and Carmen with their new friends

Ambassador Roos joined us for a few minutes.  That was nice.

Chabana: A Personal Meditation

We had an excellent turnout for the Ikebana program at Engaku-ji in Kita-Kamakura last week. Engaku-ji is one of the temples I visited during hydrangea season this past June so I managed to shepherd my charges from the Navy base to the meeting site without inflicting one of my usual route digressions on them. The fact that the temple entrance is about 30 yards from the train platform helped.

The topic was Chabana, a special flower arrangement used for Japanese tea ceremonies. Many Japanese women these days take classes to learn the traditional procedures for making and serving tea, much as they study kimono dressing and flower arranging. More than 80 of our instructor's students accompanied her to Engaku-ji so we were packed in like sardines. Half of the Americans managed to nab a coveted stool but the others had to settle for one of the thin cushions in the front of the room. I know what it feels like to sit on one of those cushions for 90 minutes so I stood in the back.

The Engaku-ji priest welcomed us. He's a warm, sprightly man who embraced Zen Buddhism late in life. He said we can try the temple's meditation programs whenever we like without converting to Buddhism. This is semi-intriguing. First, I need to find out whether those cushions are part of the deal.

That lotus flower arrangement on the altar behind the priest was pleasing to my eyes. An arrangement using white lotus on the opposite end of the altar mirrored this one. "Absolutely lovely" was my conclusion just as the Chabana instructor began telling the audience everything that was wrong with those arrangements. That's when I tuned her out and engaged in my own personal form of meditation.

My technique has been honed over the course of nearly sixty years of sitting through first sermons and then, after Vatican II, homilies delivered by Catholic priests with a wide range of oratorical skills. You are welcome to try this even if you are not Catholic and are not the least bit interested in converting.

The ability to improvise is crucial. Zen temples lack chandeliers so counting light bulbs, which serves me well in the Navy base chapel, will not occupy your mind for long here. Fortunately I was standing in the back of the room near an open sliding door and was able to admire the view, count a few drops of rain falling, and then make google-eyes at several dozen school children across the hedge until someone felt chilly and slid all the doors closed. So then I was forced to count all the American women who immediately lifted their programs and started fanning themselves. Several seconds were spent assessing the possibility that Asian body temperatures really are two degrees cooler on average than Caucasian's. Or is that just a cultural myth?

When all else fails, try to estimate the diameter of someone's waist, or count the rows of knitting in someone's shawl, or make up stories about the animals prancing across ladies' backs.

Before I succeeded in imagining the silver leopards crawling stealthily across that green savannah to pounce on the little purple cats, the program ended and it was time for lunch. Lucky cats.

Needless to say, this was not the most interesting Ikebana program I've attended -- too much lecturing and too little demonstrating -- but it's the people and not the program that keep me coming back.