Sitting in a Sake Shop with the Boys

The Ancient Mariner, Jim, Mike, and our waitress

Jim and Mike were in town for the Fleet Surgeon's Conference this week. They came all the way from Okinawa and Dallas so the Ancient Mariner thought we should take them out to dinner.

The resident restaurant expert suggested the charming place just a few blocks from the Navy base where Etsuko took the Seventh Fleet ladies for a hearty lunch last fall. Etsuko had mentioned that her friends' restaurant became an izakaya at night but that didn't ring any bells at the time.

Now that we have sobered up,we are happy to report that the name izakaya is a compound word consisting of "i" (to sit) and "sakaya" (sake shop) and originated with sake shops that allowed customers to sit at the premises to drink.  The drink - beer in our case - was of the "all you can imbibe" variety and the food, although secondary to the drink, was absolutely sublime.  It was much like a tapas restaurant, with small portions of food served at regular intervals and shared by everyone at the table.  The garlic french fries made an interesting counterpoint to the tuna and avocado morsels, spring rolls, and salad.

The atmosphere was delightful.  We sat on cushions at a low table after stowing our shoes in the cubby at the entrance, a sliding door halfway down a dark alley.  Slippers are provided in the restroom which is papered floor to ceiling with Atom Boy comic strips.

Thanks at least in part to the uncharacteristic copious amounts of beer consumed, the conversation is remembered as highly intelligent and unusually enlightening.  I'll take you the next time you visit and we'll see if we can achieve a similar effect.  

Fun and Card Games with JAW

We played two fun Japanese card games at the first JAW event of the new year this week.

One was a variation on a traditional New Year's game. When the Japanese play this game, the object is to match 100 poems with their first lines. They skipped the poems in deference to our illiteracy and invented a new game of chance using just the face cards, the two stacks in the top of the box pictured above.  The cards are beautifully illustrated and are the same size as American playing cards but about ten times as thick. 

The other game was played with round cards scattered face-up on the table. The object here was to be the first one to grab the card with the correct rebus when an adage was read aloud. This game was trickier, i.e., I didn't come close to winning a round.

Some of the sayings were familiar - "a fly in the ointment" and "all roads lead to Rome" - but many were not. At least five new wrinkles are etched across my forehead compliments of "gold is an orator" and "the furthest way about is the nearest way home". The contestants seated in the center of the rectangular tables could reach the cards faster than those of us seated on either end and I happened to be seated next to a 28-year old American who made me believe reincarnation is a distinct possibility since her competitive glee bore an uncanny resemblance to my mother's. It was quite incredible really.

We - Mimi, Carmen, Cathy, and I - are hosting the next JAW event.  A year ago I swore I would never again host a theme party but . . . it's simply a price I'm willing to pay in order to co-host one last party with Mimi before she moves to North Carolina.

Shomyoji in January

A couple of Navy types flew in from Hawaii this weekend for the Fleet Surgeon's conference the Ancient Mariner is hosting. They spent Sunday recovering from jet lag. The man elected to do this by watching football on television but the woman wanted to do some exploring. Serving as tour guide was not how the Ancient Mariner had planned to spend one of his last days off work before abandoning his lovely bride for five months.

"That's okay," cooed Lovely Bride. "There's a couple of things I want to pick up in Kamiooka. She can come with us and I'll show her Shomyoji temple and my favorite bakery on the way back to Yokosuka." The Ancient Mariner perked up. "Can we visit the wine shop above the bakery?" "Sure, and we can pick up some strawberry cream puffs as a farewell gift for the Knit Wit who's leaving Japan tomorrow." "That's really swell of us." "Oh, rest assured that we'll be eating cream puffs for dinner tonight ourselves."

Shomyoji has not disappointed me yet. The cherry blossoms were glorious the first time I visited and yellow irises ringed the pond when I went back a few months later but it is an even more peaceful setting in January. This could have something to do with the fact that the dozens of turtles which call Shomyoji home are hibernating at this time of year. In their place were dozens of ducks, including a fun-loving pair who insisted on repeatedly mooning us.

After we tossed a coin, said a Hail Mary, and rang the bell in front of the temple, we wandered off to the left and noticed hundreds of angry red men about the size of my thumb lined up along the fence and stuck on every available twiglet. A young couple explained that the little slot in the bottom of the fudomyo-ou contained fortunes that were sold to temple visitors during the New Year's holiday. Fudomyo-ou is apparently one of Buddhism's Five Wisdom Kings.  He is the destroyer of delusions and leads us toward self-control.

Maybe I ought to get to know him better.

We noticed a steep flight of stone steps I had not seen on my previous visits. Hmmm. Up we went. Repeat five times. Huff, gasp, huff. At the summit we found this statue surrounded by tombstones. The base of the statue was thick with coins so we added a few of our own. We thought perhaps the statue represented the infant Buddha cradled by his mother but Dr. T thinks we saw a statue of one of Buddha's chief aides offering peace and security to mankind. Further research is required. (That might be my slogan for 2011.)


Further research is also required regarding a hiking trail I spotted through a gap in the bushes surrounding the cemetery. Based on the looks on my companions' faces, this particular research will be better shared with Ishii.

Farewell, Japanese-style

Yoko-san and her husband moved to Hiroshima yesterday, compliments of the Japanese Navy. Saying farewell to a Japanese friend is just as heart-wrenching it turns out as waving my American friends off to new duty stations. And maybe more so since with the Americans there is always that slim chance our paths will cross again.

Yoko was the treasurer for the Japanese side of JAW. My sister and daughter met her last June at an Ikebana exhibit in Tokyo and she came to my house in August for a JAW planning meeting and luncheon. For a Japanese woman, she is remarkably tall. She is shyly vivacious or vivaciously shy, I have never been able to decide which, and has a wonderful sense of humor, meaning she usually laughs at my lame jokes.

Shinagawa-san hosted a farewell luncheon for Yoko last week. Weather Explorer and I were honored to attend as representatives of Yoko’s many American friends and admirers. We remembered our manners – give most of the credit for that, of course, to Weather Explorer - and took a farewell gift for Yoko and a hostess gift for Shinagawa and cheesecakes for dessert. But, as Weather Explorer is fond of reminding me, it is impossible to out-gift a Japanese person. This time we were hit with a double whammy: Yoko presented each of us with a thank you gift for attending her farewell luncheon and then Shinagawa gave each of us a gift for visiting her house.  Yikes!  How can we top that?  We can't.

Yoko-san is seated at far left

In Search of Narcissus in Kamakura

Six stalwart Explorers hiked up, down, and across Kamakura last week in search of narcissus, following the three-hour route recommended in The Flower Lover’s Guide to Tokyo.

Our first adventure in the Year of the Rabbit began at Meigetsu-in, the Buddhist temple in Kita-Kamakura where we saw all those fabulous hydrangeas last June. This time we saw narcissus – a huge relief for the hike organizers – and several whimsical rabbit statues but it was the Buddha statue that captured our hearts.

Then it was uphill all the way for the next 90 minutes or so. Excelsior! Someone was glad she’d thought to bring that walking stick her husband used to climb Mt. Fuji even though it meant trudging all the way back to the train station to retrieve it from where she’d, chuckle, forgotten it next to a vending machine. That stick sure came in handy when the steep trail narrowed and she had to balance herself on the edge of a ravine to let a clutch of nimble elderly Japanese pass. Hiking is a lot like golfing for her. Just exchange whiffs for huffs.

Near the top of the trail we spotted a pair of porta-potties. From the outside they looked like their American counterparts but let’s see how they compare inside.

Sniff, sniff. Gosh, they don’t smell like any American porta-potty I’ve ever had the misfortune to visit. The broom and cleaning supplies in the corner are a nice touch.


Judy, Sheryl holding Kayden, Ishii, and Victoria at summit

Parts of the descent were even steeper than the ascent but Stickwoman generously doled out caramels to all the Japanese congregated on the summit and then they descended ahead of her to break her fall.

Our hike ended at Zuisen-ji where we explored the temple garden laid out in 1327. This was the first time we spotted any narcissus since leaving Meigetsu-in but what amazed us most was that the maple trees had not yet shed their stunning foliage.

Maple leaf falling at Zuisen-ji, January 5, 2011

Between New Year’s Eve and today I have now visited the requisite three temples and shrines. With such an auspicious beginning, I have high hopes for the Year of the Rabbit.

My Favorite Books of 2010 and Why Knitting and Reading Don't Mix

The more time I spend knitting, the less time I spend reading. In 2010 I added three books to my pending book pile for every book I read.  This is the sort of thing that makes me hyperventilate, jiggle my legs, and engage in much wailing and teeth-gnashing.

A couple of my knitting mentors who also own Kindles can read and knit at the same time.  They’ve both been knitting for years, though, and can whip out socks, baby blankets, and sweaters in their sleep. Since right now I can barely talk while knitting, I don't expect I'll be plowing through a book while weaving together a semi-presentable scarf anytime soon.

Last year, aka The Year She Read Ulysses, I finished 81 books, one sweater, two pairs of socks, and four scarves. The previous year I zipped through 104 books and bumbled through one scarf and one pair of socks. These days when I head to the beauty parlor or train station I’m more likely to stuff yarn and bamboo needles in my bag than my Kindle or a paperback book. Why?  Yarn doesn’t weigh as much as a book and knitting requires less immersion than reading. I can get so engrossed in a good book that I might not remember my destination until I'm two stations past it. Knitting lets me stay more situationally aware, thanks to a little game I've created called Knit Two Rows Before the Next Station.

Christmas gift from Japanese book club

Knitting gives me an opportunity to pause and reflect on the books I’ve read. What I've decided is that 2010 turned out to be a better book year than it seemed on the surface.  It was a year filled with provocative dialogues with my Japanese book club ladies and congenial camaraderie with my American book club friends.  ("Congenial camaraderie" is a euphemism for "the food and wine is often more interesting than the discussion.")

Last year I discovered Suzanne Collins, David Mitchell, and William Trevor. Collins’ The Hunger Games and Catching Fire both landed on my Top Ten Fiction List and the third book in this trilogy, Mockingjay, would probably be there as well but I consciously postponed reading it until 2011 just so Collins would not have to compete with herself (yes, that’s the way I think sometimes). Likewise, Mitchell’s The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet (#8) convinced me to tackle his more complicated but immensely rewarding Cloud Atlas (#3). Trevor, like Mitchell, first came to my attention through an Amazon analysis of my reading tastes. The Story of Lucy Gault (#19) provoked such an interesting discussion with Kyoko and Tsuneko last March that I went on to read Trevor's Fools of Fortune, winner of the 1983 Whitbread Award and the number four spot on my Top Ten Fiction List.  The Whitbread Award no doubt means more to the Irishman than my ranking, but I don't hold that against him.

Usually, due to the law of gravity, the books I read and like early in the year drift further down the list by year’s end but that’s not true of Dan Chaon’s spellbinding story about identity theft, Await Your Reply (#5), or Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies which came in #2 on my Nonfiction List, just behind Matthew Crawford’s eye-opening Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry into the Value of Work.

Five other works of fiction deserve mention: Little Bee by Chris Cleave was a hit with my Japanese book club and I am willing to bet they will enjoy their current assignment, Helen Simonson’s Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, even more. Another great Amazon recommendation was Labor Day by Joyce Maynard which impressed me so much that I am now reading the memoir she published in 1973 when she was a 19-year old college drop-out living with J.D. Salinger (thanks Kate, for my best Christmas present after the Peko-chan wristwatch). My fellow Knit Wit Betty, 29, loaned me her copy of Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett; I laughed out loud and promptly bought a copy of this classic for son James. And, although Yoko Ogawa’s The Housekeeper and the Professor dropped off my Top Ten List a few weeks ago, I believe it is well worth your time.

Mysteries continue to merit their own category and Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest earned the top spot because I forced myself to hold back on reading the British version I bought in November 2009 until after the U.S. version came out in the spring of 2010.  If you're wondering why, see Suzanne Collins above.  My second favorite mystery came to my attention via Amazon and moved to the top of the queue after it received high marks from Ann Holt:  Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin.  Nelson DeMille, Tana French, Martha Grimes, Donna Leon, Ruth Rendell, and C. J. Box all continued to entertain me last year, and books by Laura Joh Rowlands and Norwegian author Jo Nesbo (diagonal line through the o) were interesting enough to send me searching for the other books in their series.

That sums up my recommendations for the year just ended.  Now it's time to work on that pending pile.

Ringing in the New Year with Mrs. Doofus

The Ancient Mariner rarely stays up past midnight on New Year's Eve, at least since we tied the knot almost twenty years ago.  A rare exception was when we huddled next to a sheltering dumpster behind Portsmouth Naval Medical Center to see the Norfolk New Millenium fireworks on December 31, 1999 - a year ahead of the actual New Millenium, mind you.  The Ancient Mariner went all out that year to "make a memory" for a boy who recently told us he does not remember the fireworks, the dumpster, the arctic winds gusting down the Elizabeth River, or anything else about that New Year's Eve.

We are running short on time to make memories for Matt.  That was the most convincing argument I could dream up to drag my Ancient Mariner out in the elements in the waning minutes of 2010.  This was our fourth New Year's Eve in Japan and we had not yet warmed our hands at a bonfire outside a shrine or watched people swing those huge logs to make the enormous bells clang across the countryside.  Shame on us.

 

Shortly after eleven we slipped away from our neighbor's party and bundled up for the elements.  Matt's father wore the Hogwarts' aviator cap Matt had given him for Christmas.

As you might surmise, Matt's mother was relieved when they didn't run into anyone they know on their trek down Blue Street and up a hill through a residential area to their destination.

Anpanman Stocking Cap

"Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Oh ye of little faith! Cathy, Amy, and I found this place when we were wandering around Yokosuka the January they visited us."

Turning a corner, we spotted the wide flight of stone steps and trudged up to the plaza in front of the Japanese church. Bright light blazed out of the open church doors, illuminating two men standing behind a card table set up on the plaza about twenty yards from where we stood ("frozen in our tracks" springs to mind).

"Where's the bonfire?" one of us asked/whined through chattering teeth. "For that matter, where's the bell?"

"Um, Mom, this is a Buddhist temple. The bell-ringing stuff takes place at Shinto shrines."

Silly me.

This might come as a surprise to you, but we are at heart an extremely polite family. There was no way we were going to turn tail once those two men spotted us. We approached the table and were handed New Year gifts that made us smile, toothbrushes in Year of the Rabbit wrappers. A quick round of Charades led us to understand we were supposed to leave our shoes on the plaza and enter the temple. A second quick round of Charades with two middle-aged ladies inside the temple led us to understand we were to choose between hot bottled beverages - coffee or tea - and then take a seat on one of the two dozen stools lined up facing the altar.

Most congregations to which I've belonged over the years could learn something about hospitality from the Buddhists.

It was 11:30 pm at this point. No one else showed up until about ten minutes before midnight. We amused ourselves by watching a monk light the candles on the main altar and the smaller altar to our right. We noticed a tabernacle-like structure draped with orange brocade fabric behind the main altar. "This reminds us of a Catholic church," two of us told each other while the former seminarian put his head in his hands and sighed loudly.  Religious services are always more fun when I'm with at least one of my children.

About eight of the stools, including our three, were occupied when the head priest arrived. He was robed in orange and purple and wore a hat bordering on papal. The assistant monk commenced to bang the drum slowly several hundred times. The head priest climbed up to the tabernacle and lifted the drape to reveal a small statue of Buddha. The assistant monk continued to bang the drum while chanting in harmony with the head priest. Meanwhile, people wandered in and out of the temple, mostly keeping to the foyer area just behind us where they tossed coins into the big wooden coin box, said a quick prayer, and accepted a cup of sake from the middle-aged ladies.

"That's what we should have done," one of us remarked. The others were agreeing to slip out quietly just when the head priest climbed back up to the tabernacle and covered the statue of Buddha. "This smacks of a solemn moment. We can't leave now." So we stayed put to discover that Buddhist priests deliver their homilies, and rather lengthy ones at that, at the conclusion of the service.

We tossed some coins in the big wooden box and prayed for you before exiting the temple. "Those were the three most expensive toothbrushes I've ever bought," someone noted.

On our way home we glanced down an alley and - snicker - spotted a shrine complete with bonfire and bellringers. (There is a much clearer picture but I find I am increasingly fond of blurred images when my face is involved.)

The kid can't say we didn't treat him to a memorable New Year's Eve this time.