You Can Take the Boy Out of Texas, But You Can't Take Texas Out of the Boy

My Sweet Baby James will marry the Amazing Emily the week before Christmas in Texas.

Yes, I'm thrilled. We all fell in love with Emily when she visited Japan with James last year. She brings out the best in my boy and what mother isn't secretly relieved when her son falls in love with a girl with her own looks (beautiful) and personality (witty, bright, and confident). But please don't point out the similarities to James until after the wedding lest he get cold feet . . .

All the bridesmaids hail from Texas. The groom's sister hasn't lived there since she was nine, however, so she's likely the only member of the wedding party who will be wearing her first pair of cowboy boots when she prances down the aisle. Fortunately she has a fashionable Texan friend to advise her on the subtle nuances of dressy v. casual rodeo footwear. (I used to know this stuff but it's been a few years since I two-stepped around the dance floor at Billy Bob's in Fort Worth.)

The ripple effects of Royal Weddings are fairly well known -- Diana's hairdo and Kate's hosiery, for instance -- but those occurred after the actual ceremonies. The stylish Emily and James are trend-setters of a higher order. Fashionable young girls are already sporting cowboy boots on the streets of Kamakura.

Now if only I could figure out what to wear.  

Fashion Trends: Tunics, Taupe, and the Ubiquitous Umbrella

The Charities Committee held its second and final meeting tonight. Our chairman is stunned. "Last year we had to meet four times!" That's because last year the Queen of Compromise couldn't squeeze any of those meetings into her busy schedule. Yup, that's right. The Queen of Compromise. I scarcely recognized myself tonight.

About halfway through the meeting I remembered that I had a family readiness group website to create by 9:00 tomorrow morning. I'll work on that while you catch up on the latest fashions seen on the back lanes of Kamakura.

It was not raining.  This is why they look younger than us.

No umbrella?  Then wear a hat.

"Feminine" is in this spring. 

A Dentist, a Priest, and a Doctor Walked into the Officers' Club . . .

...and we wished them Happy Father's Day then let them pay for brunch. How nice of us.

Remind me next year that the Ancient Mariner is owed a Father's Day with all the works: breakfast in bed (he can slide back under the covers after he starts the coffee), new tie, and back massage. This year's celebration was about as joyous as a funeral lunch in a church basement.

Mimi and her family are moving to North Carolina in a few weeks, Father Sal will depart Japan on their heels, and three days from now the Ancient Mariner will be back at sea for the duration of the summer. The air-conditioning doesn't work in the room on the ship where he works and sleeps. It hasn't worked for almost two years now. The thought of crossing the equator fills him with dread rather than delight these days.  One of his Father's Day gifts was an ice gel pad that he'll stow in a refrigerator during the day and spread on his bed at night.  Let's hope it works both for his sake and the sake of his co-workers.  Hot is not the Ancient Mariner's favorite body temperature.

Mimi was quite the fashion plate today. If I'm not mistaken, that jacket was a kimono in a former life. I'm pretty sure I need one of those.

All I Want for Christmas is a Pair of Boots

Tokyo Prince Hotel

The fashionista crowd here has embraced a new accessory this season: furry boot socks.

One of the Ikebana ladies wore a pair to our holiday board luncheon in early December and since then numerous variations have been spotted on train platforms between Yokohama and Tokyo. They seem to be multiplying as quickly as rabbits.

Yokohama train station

A friend who spends less time on train platforms than I landed landed a pair at the JAW gift exchange. She was puzzled, then a bit dubious, but tried them on, chuckled a bit, and decided she needs to find another pair to accent her black boots.

She modeled the socks at a recent book club session. Alas, the light was dim and I didn't think to enable my camera's flash so you probably can't tell that the furry bracelet is attached to a stirrup worn over socks. The stirrup is adjustable so the bracelet can be worn on the ankle or calf.

I don't think I've owned boots since emigrating from Michigan in 1980 but there's a gap in my closet just large enough to accommodate a pair or two. Last Saturday night I was launched my pitch to Santa as we were standing on a train platform in Yokohama.

"Ho, ho, ho!" he interrupted. "When I made my list and checked it twice, you landed at the top of the Naughty column. You might want to scale down your expectations. Try thinking outside the boot box."

And laying a finger aside of his nose, he winked in the direction of a girl standing a few meters further along the platform.

Kimono and Obi Creations

Just around the corner from the Kamakura train station is La Mia, my friend Matsuzuki's shop and gallery. Matsuzuki transforms old kimono and obis into purses, book covers, coasters, and all manner of interesting clothing.

My path first crossed Matsuzuki's in the fall of 2006, shortly after I arrived in Japan. When it was the medical spouses' turn to host the monthly luncheon for all the officer spouses on base, my friend Ginny asked Matsuzuki to provide the entertainment. She showed us how to turn kimono scraps and sake cups into pincushions. The following spring I ran into her again at my first Shonan event. We've been friends ever since.

Last week I visited her shop with Mimi and Denise. Mimi had commissioned a skirt embellished with a fancy obi to wear to the hospital Christmas party. By the time left the shop, Denise had selected an obi for a skirt and a gold-colored kimono which Matsuzuki will turn into a blouse.

Matsuzuki also sells her creations at various bazaars on base but I prefer to visit her shop because I believe she should not have to share one-eighth of her profits, not counting the cost of renting booth space, with the Navy Exchange or any other organization. Some Americans, I suspect, do all their shopping at these bazaars and rarely venture off base. Just think what they are missing.

This jacket catches my eye while Mimi and Denise are being fitted.  With the exception of the three-quarter length sleeves, everything about it appeals to me. "Can you make me a jacket with wrist-length sleeves so I won't have to worry about what I wear underneath?" "Certainement!" Have I mentioned that Matsuzuki spent most of her childhood in France?

Which kimono ahould I choose for my jacket? My choices are especially plentiful because Matsuzuki and her friends have been cleaning their closets. The gallery is filled with basket upon basket of old kimono this week.

The pale blue kimono with turquoise lining speaks to me. It says, "You are getting on in years. Your kimono jacket will likely outlive you. This pale blue shade will look very nice on your sister and your daughter."

Look who's here! It's Hagiwara-san, another Shonan friend. She is shopping with her husband who is very handsome. You'll have to take my word on that, though, since I was so caught up with uttering the polite introduction syllables in their proper order that I didn't think to snap a photograph of him. Gomen nasai.

We had warned Matsuzuki in advance that we would be visiting her shop that day so she tasked her son with minding the store while we enjoyed a leisurely lunch. She took us to a lovely Chinese restaurant above the Enoden Line side of the train station.

The food and conversation were not all that was memorable about the lunch. Two little girls at the table next to us were all dressed up in kimono, perhaps celebrating 3-5-7 day two weeks early. Matsuzuki's explanation of the November 15 holiday differs from ones we've heard previously but makes eminent sense. Just a century or so ago, many children did not survive until their third birthday so the nation rejoiced over the ones who did. The nation rejoiced again when a child turned five and turned seven. Children who lived to the age of seven were considered likely to reach adulthood so further celebrations were not required.

Nationalism Disturbs Me: Baklava for Thought

Camels are in vogue here. In the past couple of months, I've spotted silhouettes of desert caravans on aprons, shirts, shawls, and towels. They are not as ubiquitous as Mickey. Yet.

I'm not sure what this means. You'll have to ask Hillary.

The first Ikebana program this year featured a talk by the wife of Palestine's ambassador to Japan (far left).  She's a strikingly beautiful woman with college-age children.  I'm not holding that against her.

She brought us baklava - which Greece might be surprised to hear is Palestine's national dessert - and hauled six dresses from her closet for a fashion show starring pre-selected audience members.  (No, not me.  I'm enjoying the sanctuary of the Ikebana board of directors this year.  Better to do the selecting than be a potential selectee, if you get my less-than-altruistic drift.)


It's official!  I am no longer the most eccentric Caucasian woman in Japan.

The dresses were colorful and decorated with intricate embroidery and cross-stitching.  Were you expecting a burqa?  Me, too.  Don't you just love the tinkling sound of stereotypes shattering?
 

Yuuko and Hiroko are also serving on the Ikebana International Kamakura Chapter board this year.

By my calculations the ambassador's wife has spent less than 15 of her 40-something years in Palestine. From the age of four she was raised and educated in Egypt and she spent the first five years of her marriage in the United States. The ambassador himself resided in Dallas, Texas for 18 years, six years longer than yours truly, until returning to Palestine in 1993 when the peace treaty was signed with Israel.

Do their children consider themselves Palestinians or Native Texans?  My personal experience of wrenching a trio of Native Texans from their birthplace at a young age tells me it probably depends on which kid you ask.

Sometimes I Can't Help Gawking . . .

Like every time I walk past a man who is wearing worker pants. And you thought I visited gardens to check out the foliage. I have yet to see a man who looks bad in a pair of these pants. At least from the waist down.

I spend an unbelievable amount of time trying to decipher ads posted in train cars. This is one of the few that made perfect sense to me.

I make it a rule not to gawk at my fellow train passengers but, as someone once said, rules are made to be broken.

That's Chip (or maybe Dale) dangling from a cell phone tucked inside a businessman's pocket. Apparently I broke my Do Not Gawk at fellow passengers rule twice this week. So far.

It was impossible to look away when Godzilla gave birth to twin girls on the top of a hill in Kurihama. It looked like a breech delivery. No wonder she was roaring.

Cherry Blossom Viewing Party #3: Shomyo-ji

Of all the cherry trees I have seen this year, this one just inside the entrance to Shomyo-ji in Kanazawabunko takes the cake. I am so grateful to the Japanese members of JAW (Japanese and American Wives' Club) for introducing me to Shomyo-ji last week. Kanazawabunko is just one train stop from Yokosuka by limited express, and seven stops if you happen to be riding on a local train, so it will be easy to get back there to watch the seasons unfold.

After entering the outer gate and admiring that cherry tree, I followed a picturesque lane to the inner gate.

Shomyo-ji was built in 1258 by Sanetoki Hojo, a grandson of one of the Kamakura Shogunate regents. The name Hojo might ring a bell (ding!) since the infamous Masako Hojo was the wife of the first Kamakura Shogun and the mother of the second and third shoguns. And it was one of her Hojo relatives who committed suicide in the cave we passed at the beginning of our perilous camellia hunt.

This is a view inside the temple grounds looking back toward the interior gate. You already met Erin on the Minobusan trip. She was a little giddy at Shomyo-ji because the big boys were in school and Seth was at the daycare center.

Shomyo-ji is a rare example of a Jodo garden, a design that's based on a diagram of a mandala depicting the pure land where Buddha is thought to live. This garden is someone's idea of heaven on earth. I can see their point.

While my companions were busy snapping cherry blossoms from every possible angle, two women inching down the steep bridge caught my eye. I watched them surreptitiously. I wished I could hold the old lady's arm. I felt sorry for myself. I missed my mother. Poor, poor Peevish.

Then the old lady whacked her daughter with that cane and insisted on gripping the railing herself. Giggle. Boy, I really missed my mother at that point.

Hey! I do believe Saint/Daughter is wearing my peasant pants.

Oh, there's a pretty cherry tree across the pond. Are those little schoolchildren on a field trip?

Aren't those little blue and yellow hats darling? Why is the little fellow in the orange coat pointing? Is that a turtle? Good grief, I see at least six hard-shelled reptiles.

Here's a couple more sunning on a rock. Cherry blossom season must be nearing an end because the blossoms are starting to fall like snowflakes.

Those dozens of turtles are not exactly my idea of heaven. They're more my idea of Jurassic Park. But if anyone needs a turtle picture to illustrate a school project, I'm your aunt.

Before I forget, Sanetoki Hojo initially built Shomyo-ji as a shrine for his deceased wife but it was converted to a temple when he became interested in Buddhism. In 1275, a year before his death, Sanetoki added a library (bunko) to hold his extensive manuscript collection. This is the oldest library in Japan and is now a museum holding many artifacts from the Kamakura Era.

After we'd had our fill of cherry blossoms, turtles, and scenic views, we played some silly games in a field next to the temple. Sheryl and Meagan are racing while balancing ping pong balls in ladles.

Convenience store bakery products were suspended from a clothesline that was jiggled and jerked while we tried to remove the packages without using our hands. Mimi spent a long time under that clothesline.

We hiked about a mile to the restaurant where we had lunch. It was a traditional Japanese restaurant with locked shoe cubbies in the lobby.

This - because Ancient Mariner will be curious - is what we had for lunch. I did not remove the lids from the custard (upper left) or miso soup (lower right) but I ate everything else plus a scoop of ice cream for dessert.

This was the final event of the "social season" to be hosted by the Japanese members. They certainly ended the year on a high note. We get together twice more before disbanding for the summer but the Americans will host.

Laundering Money in Kamakura

We rested for roughly seventeen seconds at the top of Kewaizaka Kiridoshi Pass before Madam Drill Sergeant, I mean Hisayo, directed us down the other side of the mountain. "Almighty Lord", I prayed silently, "forgive me for not thanking you more often for your wonderful gift of gravity."

About halfway down the mountain, we spotted a large rock on the side of the road. The rock marked the entrance to a tunnel leading to -- don't try to pronounce this without drinking at least three beers first -- Zeniarai Benzaiten Ugafuku Jinja. We'll just call it The Money-Washing Shrine from here on out, okay?



You remember Yoritomo Minamoto, right? He was the founder of the Kamakura Shogunate, the husband of Masako Hojo, who erected that other temple we saw today in his memory. Legend has it that Yoritomo was sleeping one night after a series of battles when an old man appeared in his dream and said, "I am the god of Ugajin. There is a spring in the gorge northwest of Kamakura. Go find it and worship Ugajin with the spring water. People may start to have faith in the god and peace will be restored."

Since the dream occurred on the day of the Serpent in the month of the Serpent in the year of the Serpent (1185), Yoritomo interpreted it as a divine revelation. His men found the spring where this shrine now stands. He ordered them to dig a cave and enshrine the god Ugajin, the god of grain (uga means food and jin means god). Later, Ugajin evolved into the god of wealth and somehow became assimilated with Benzaiten, the Goddess of Fortune.

According to the Kamakura website, this particular shrine is an example of "syncretism" in Japanese religions because it combines a Shinto god (Ugajin) with a Buddhism deity (Benzaiten) through the common element of water. The torii gates and the incense burner indicate a reconciliation of Shinto and Buddhist elements.

The coin-washing routine began in 1257 when Tokiyori Hojo, the Fifth Regent and no doubt Masako's nephew or cousin, washed his coins with spring water at the shrine one day and started a rumor that coins washed here might be doubled. The rumor spread quickly and has endured more than 750 years. This is one of the busiest shrines in Kamakura to this day.

We watched a steady stream of elderly women crawl out of taxicabs at the entrance to the tunnel. Fortunately we did not visit on the Day of the Serpent since that's when hundreds of merchants arrive to wash bundles of 10,000-yen bills.

That's the background. Let's walk through the tunnel now and visit the shrine.


First we'll tuck our water bottle into our handy pocket so we can wash our hands.


Now we will go over to the counter and give the man a 100-yen coin. He will give us a basket, two little candles, and a bundle of incense.

We light one of the little candles and stick it on a nail on a stand that closely resembles a votive candle rack in a Catholic church. We light the incense bundle and head off to plant it in the big iron sand-filled incense burner in the middle of the courtyard but our incense stops smoking so back to the votive rack we go to light it again. After three attempts we manage to keep the bundle smoking by simultaneously blowing on the incense while jogging across the courtyard. We opt at this point to switch to rudimentary French so our behavior will not cause all those elderly Japanese women to make sweeping generalizations about stupid Americans. We light the second little candle and stick it on a nail.

Having found the proper home for every item in our basket, we can now enter the cave and wash some money. There is a distinct Mario-Luigi-Yoshi aura surrounding this whole procedure.


"Pardonez-moi, Weather Girl, distractez-vous ces peres while I use mes ladle to fish some francs out of this l'eau."



Everyone in Japan carries a little washcloth on their person at all times since most restrooms don't provide paper towels or dryers. The little washcloths came in handy when it was time to dry our dollars and yen. "An Anpanman cloth? What will you pull out of that pocket next?"



The final step in the money-washing routine is a bit complicated but quite fun. We each took turns tossing a coin into the money box, climbed up a few steps, clapped twice, bowed twice, clapped once, and tugged on one of those big ropes to make the acorn-shaped bell at the top jingle or tinkle. I pulled as hard as I could and my bell clamored and clanged. I wish I could explain why it mattered so much to me that my bell ring the loudest, but I can't.

Perhaps it's just a French thing.

Chinese Theater Comes to Ikebana

Ikebana meets on the third Thursday of the month except in January when the most special program of the year is held on a Saturday, making it easier for us to bring our children, spouses, and friends. My family members were otherwise occupied this morning, so I contented myself with escorting the guests of other Ikebana members from the base to the Daibutsu priest's residence in Kamakura.

Today's program was a presentation on a form of Chinese theater called Kunqu Opera (which appears in a different color here because I've provided a link for my sister-in-law Sandy and our mutual friend Ann who are the only people I know who might want to know more about this art form than I am prepared to share).

Kunqu has been around for 600 years but had nearly disappeared by the early twentieth century and barely survived the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s when there were deliberate attempts to suppress it.

Today there are seven professional Kunqu troupes performing in Mainland China and Taipei. It was listed as one of the "Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity" by UNESCO in 2001. (Maybe I should try to get a job with UNESCO. I wonder how much they pay people to come up with fancy titles like that one.)

This was all explained to us in Japanese by the actor Lu (pronounced 'Lee') Hairong (33) and then translated into English by a young Australian who had to wrestle that microphone out of his hands to do her job.


Lu entered the Shanghai Academy of Performing Arts, a boarding school, at the age of 10. Students there are selected to learn and perform one of the five Kunqu roles when they are 11 years old or are sent home to (presumably) live out their days working in the rice paddies. Lu spent the next seven years, until he was 18, training for martial arts roles. He was allowed to visit his family only once a week during all those years. When he was 26, he moved to Japan where he currently attends Keio University.


We were then treated to a PowerPoint presentation about the five basic Kunqu roles and variations thereof. I will spare you the details since (a) the balding Russian lady sitting between me and the screen ruined most of my shots, and (b) my attention started wandering about 10 seconds after the overhead lights were dimmed.

The lady sitting in front of me, for instance, was wearing an interesting sweater, or perhaps it was a detachable belt . . .

. . . and the lady on her right had a net thing on her head, the likes of which I haven't seen since the mid-60s when my mother sometimes splurged on custom-designed Easter bonnets . . .

. . . and then there was the Chinese mask dangling from the rafter over my head.

"Perhaps if I attach a little camera to my makeup mirror and project a live image of myself on the screen I can recapture the attention of that gaijin in the third row," schemed Lu. We watched him apply his makeup. This normally takes 90 minutes. We breathed a collective sigh of relief when Lu said he was going to do a quick version for today's performance. (Sighs of relief are apparently universal as they sound the same in Japanese and English.)

His fellow actor, Kong Fanqi (29), helped Lu into his costume. That polka dot ball off to the side of Kong's head signifies he is playing the role of a hero (assuming the translator understood Lu correctly and assuming I heard the translator correctly, so you might not want to quote me on this one).

Lu's outfit was pretty cool and featured lots of cranes in flight. Kong's outfit was all about butterflies. I couldn't help wondering if anyone helped poor Kong get dressed.

Oh, look! Lu's playing a hero, too!

They performed a farce for us, in which two best friends mistake each other for mortal enemies in the dark and narrowly miss killing each other. It was really quite funny, and the American children in the audience were squealing in delight which made all the adults break out in laughter.

The ladies mobbed the stage at the end of the performance. The blonde kneeling in front of Kong is the Russian ambassador's wife.

Next month we're going to learn a Japanese handicraft technique called kimekome so we can make something called a goten-mari ball. I am definitely going to have to drag a guest or two along to that one. Probably not Mimi.