Use a Wire and Eat a Cream Puff . . . or Three

You might think I'm a crafty lady -- the type who whips up a few quilt squares before breakfast and spends her evenings bent over the stove, stirring wood pulp into paper for one-of-a-kind scrapbook pages littered with charming stamped designs and painstaking calligraphy.

Nothing could be further from the truth, which is:  I can't even pronounce the name of the most popular craft store in this part of Japan, let alone do anything useful with most of its products.

Background
Ishii was practicing her English while helping me untangle a rat's nest of yarn a couple weeks back -- this was before I scored the wooden balls in Asakusabashi -- when my glance happened to fall on the kimekome ball I brought home from Tadodai House. ("Glance happened to fall" is my euphemism for what other English language "teachers" here call "lesson plans".)

"Where can I buy one of those two-headed knife tools to finish this second ball? Do they have them at Yuzawaya?" I thought it was a fairly simple question, really, but I'll be the first to admit my spoken sentences tend to be less complete than my written ones. Nouns, verbs, and punctuation marks appear in random order, assuming they appear at all.

Ishii reached across the yarn clump on her lap to pick up a little bundle of gold cord from the coffee table. "This is what you use to cover the seams," she replied. In careful and perfect English.

"I know THAT. But what about the knife tool? Yuzawaya?"

"No. This cord." She gave the little bundle of gold cord a gentle shake, like a patient young mother trying to interest a baby in a rattle or like my brother trying to bribe Mel with a doggie treat. Her face was tense with concentration.

We were down to nouns.

"Knife. Yoo-zah-why-yuh? Kamioooooooka?"

Her face muscles relaxed a bit. "Yoo-zah-why-yuh store?"  I nodded.

"Yes, I think they sell the knives at the Yuzawaya store in Kamiooka. I thought you wondered if you could 'use a wire' in place of the gold cord."

Placing equal stress on all syllables is particularly difficult for people prone to melodramatic inflection. Apparently.

The Field Trip

The Oakleaf knitters meet at my house most Monday mornings.  Cheryl coordinates both the Oakleaf knitters and the base knitting group.  I said, "Hey, Cheryl, let's take the knitters on a field trip to Yuzawaya in Kamiooka some Monday.  We can have lunch and try to find the cream puff shop."

About a dozen of us set off for Kamiooka last Monday morning.  About half were mainly interested in having lunch, five never turn down a chance to buy fabric and/or yarn, and one was looking for a knife tool she might someday use to apply fabric to kimekome balls.

All, it turned out, were interested in tracking down the cream puff shop.  They didn't care that I couldn't quite remember where the shop is located.  There's a lot to be said for friends who will follow you anywhere. 

Regrettably, I was too embarrassed to pull out my camera and snap a picture of the long line of gaijin women following me single-file around the perimeter of the Keikyu department store basement.  (The last time I saw such optimistic faces lined up like that was in the home movie my dad took as we filed down the stairs in age order on Christmas morning circa 1961.  It dawns on me that he must have been feeling a lot of pressure to please on that and other Christmas mornings.  Excuse me while I wallow in a puddle of belated empathy.)

How much pressure was I under?  Enough to ask three clerks for directions.  Yes, brothers and sis, you read that correctly:  I approached three perfect strangers and said "Beard Papa's?" in the most questioning and hopeful tone of voice I could muster.  (See 'melodramatic inflection', above.)  The third clerk actually understood English and was able to point us in the right direction.

Beard Papa's is located between the tobacco shop and department store entrance on the ground floor of the train station, just outside the turnstiles. So now you know and won't have to talk to strangers.

Beard Papa's offered five varieties of cream puff the day we visited:

1. Regular crust, custard filling.
2. Crust studded with brown sugar, custard filling.
3. Crunchy donut crust, custard filling.
4. Regular crust, chestnut filling.
5. Crust studded with brown sugar, chestnut filling.

Not sure I would like the chestnut filling, I settled for one each of the first three options, kicked myself for missing the pumpkin filling offered in October, and vowed to return in December to slake my flavor-of-the-month curiousity.

As I watched the clerks stuff cream puff after cream puff into boxes and sacks for my friends, the thought crossed my mind that Beard Papa's might want to offer me some sort of profit-sharing deal. This, alas, is what comes from cramming five and a half seasons of "The Sopranos" into eight weekends. Shame on me.

Lots of Japanese food service workers wear floor-length aprons. I hope they aren't planning to discard all those puff shell fragments on the tray in the right foreground. Thoughts like that make it hard for me to sleep at night.

(That clicking sound you hear is my sister desperately searching for bargain flights to Japan.)

Takashimaya! Shinjuku! Kudasai!

We spent Suzi's last three nights in Japan at the New Sanno Hotel in Tokyo.  "How did you manage to reserve two rooms for three consecutive nights?" I asked the Ancient Mariner in amazement.  "I'm not quite sure," he confessed, "but I suspect all those room-hogging Department of Defense teachers are too busy packing for their taxpayer-funded summer hiatus to visit Tokyo this week."  After almost twenty years, I think my sarcasm might be rubbing off on him.

Mike and Matt plotted a trip to the electronic district Tuesday morning and called it "quality bonding time before Matt leaves for college."  I had other plans for Suzi and Kate. 

Nice use of rotting branch

"My friend Hiroko has invited us to meet her in Shinjuku to see an Ikebana exhibit with some other friends."

The Sykes sisters have spent a combined total of seven minutes arranging flowers in our nearly 113 (!) years on earth but we are always open to new experiences, especially those involving lunch.  Kate, of course, would not dream of missing the rare opportunity to see her godmother and mother navigate a cultural event.  So off we went.  In a taxicab, no less, which made the morning that much more special.  "Takashimaya!  Shinjuku!  Kudasai!" she bade the driver.  "Donder!  Blitzen!  Rudolph!" they giggled to themselves.

Scary vine strangling a banana leaf

The last time I counted -- about five minutes ago -- there were ten Ikebana schools, each professing a different approach or philosophy.  Sogetsu Ikebana, which Hiroko is studying, is based on the belief that anyone can practice the way of flowers anywhere, and with almost anything.   

A campfire perhaps 

The Sogetsu School preaches accessibility.  They believe Ikebana ought to be inclusive and global and not an exclusive aspect of Japanese culture enjoyed by a limited number of people.

(Frankly, I was quite enamored by the use of twigs and branches.  I see it might be possible to spend a lot less money on clear plastic yard bags and a lot less time bagging my neighbor's intrusive vines when I get back to Norfolk.)

Individual, imaginative, and extremely patient

Sogetsu recognizes that every person is unique.  Students are encouraged to be individual and imaginative.

 

Suzi and I invested in several portable plastic vases that can double as wine or beer coolers.  You'll just have to imagine this until I catch up with my chronology.

 

The exhibit was held at the Takashimaya Department Store which is about three thousand times bigger than the NYC version on Fifth Avenue.  Like many large Japanese department stores, Takashimaya rents floor space to other retailers and restaurants.  Some of us were excited to see an entire floor of Yuzawaya fabrics, yarns, and other craft supplies.  The others were relieved to see the line at the cash register was too long to allow the fanatics to shop without rudely postponing lunch.

 

Hiroko presented beautiful fans in lovely fan cases to Suzi and Kate during lunch.  The thoughtfulness of my Japanese friends continues to astound and humble me.

 

Hisayo snapped pictures of us near the Yuzawaya entrance.  I look terrible in one and Kate looks pretty awful in the other.  I would not post either one but Suzi is rarely photographed and Hisayo captured her essence wonderfully.  Which to post?  What's a mother to do?

In the interest of international diplomacy, Peevish blinks at the same time as Yoko and Hiroko.

Back:  Peevish, Suzi, Valerie
Front:  Yoko, Kate, Hiroko

  Next:  Edo Museum at Last!

We Awl Had a Ball at Ikebana

Once a year the Ikebana crowd tackles a traditional Japanese craft. Two years ago it was indigo dyeing. I still get compliments whenever I wear my tie-dyed scarf (although, come to think of it, the complimenters might simply be less impressed with my creativity than happy not to have to look at my crepey neck).

Thursday, after the Shrine Maiden dance, we stretched fabric over sawdust-coated balls, dabbed glue into crevices, and jammed the edges of the fabric into those grooves with an awl. We finished our kimekomi "goten mari" ("ball of the palace") by gluing gold thread over the seams. Ta-da!

Using the awl was my favorite part, although squirting the glue into the little aluminum sushi dish was a close second. As luck would have it, I actually have an awl in my utensil drawer. It's surely an antique since Mike's dad was the original owner (he probably used it for punching holes in saddle cinches and other cowboy chores). At any rate, that awl has been causing quite a ruckus for the past 18 hours, rattling around in that drawer and hollering, "Hey! Let me out! I want to jab some fabric into cracks!"

This is a tempting proposition. I like my Ikebana kimekomi but I think I would be even happier if I could cover balls with fabric I chose myself. Perhaps I should pick up some balls and glue and cord when I lead the Oakleaf Explorers to Yuzawaya, the flagship craft store in Kamata, next week.

I am hoping this picture will steer me to the right sort of glue.

There's no such thing as too many decorative balls, right? They'd look nice on, say, a Christmas tree, or displayed in a bowl, or maybe you have an even better idea you can send my way. One thing I know for certain is that your chances of getting a kimekomi for Christmas are a heck of a lot better than your chances for finding a pair of hand-knit socks when you rip off the gift wrap come December but that's a story for another day.

Fumie (pictured here holding my finished ball) got the plum assignment of helping the four ladies at my table make kimekomi. I wheedled her e-mail address in case I need help when I try this craft at home but now I'm thinking I ought to just stock up on lots of supplies and ask her to teach a kimekomi class at my house for my less mobile friends. Not a Kimekomi Party per se, of course, since I've sworn off theme parties.

Here is a peek at my sandwich bento lunch. I ate the whole thing, even the one in the middle featuring chopped vegetables and smoked salmon swimming in mayonnaise. The dessert was a cream-filled cake in the shape of a fish. I was not the only person at my table who played with my food.