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.

The Best Walking Guide in Japan: Ishii or Isn't Shii?

Two of my dearest Japanese friends are named Reiko. This doesn't present a problem for my family - we've dealt with duplicate, triplicate, and quadruplicate names for most of our lives - but the rest of you might find it hard to tell the difference between my two Reikos. To make things a bit easier for you, henceforth I'll be referring to them by their family names.  This is actually the polite way to address a person here in Japan so good for me.

Some of my most memorable rambles around the Miura Peninsula have been at Ishii's side. We've explored the Sankeien Garden in Yokohama, teetered on a ridge high above Kamakura in search of wild camellias, and rubbed a metal bullock's nose in Kurihama to ward off senility. She's opened doors for me both literally and figuratively. Best of all, our strides match. For the first time since high school, I don't have to pause on every corner to wait for my walking partner to catch up with me.

A few weeks ago Ishii offered to show me the way to the Swany fabric store in Yokohama.  She didn't have to ask twice.  The following week she arrived for her "conversation lesson" with a suggested itinerary and the best English map of Yokohama I'd ever seen.  She even tilted the map a bit to the right when I questioned the lack of a compass in any of the corners.  Due North is rarely found at the top of guide maps in Japan.  I've learned this the hard way.

On the appointed day, last Wednesday, we rode an express train to Kamiooka, the last station before Yokohama, then hopped on a local train for Hinode-cho.  We had the option of exiting to the left or the right after the turnstiles.  Ishii shooed me through the door on the left and then we hustled across the road to the Fujiya shop.  The Fujiya confectionary company is 100 years old this year and its mascot, Peko-chan, is 60.  Just like Ishii.  Small world.

After checking out all the latest Peko-chan offerings, Ishii and I strolled down the avenue on the left of the shop.  We passed a block of nightclubs, dozens of restaurants, and all sorts of interesting little shops on our route to Isezaki Mall Shopping Street. 

I had many questions.  Ishii had all the answers.  "What is chaofan?" "Fried rice."

Just one block before Route 16, the main road that runs between Yokosuka and Yokohama, we turned into Isezaki Mall Shopping Street. This was the main shopping area for Yokohama until the waterfront was developed twenty or thirty years ago. Mall is used in the traditional sense in this case, i.e., pedestrian traffic only. (My brothers and sister surely remember when our own downtown was transformed into "Progress Place Mall", one of the saddest misnomers in modern memory.)

Heyday or no, the shopkeepers along Isezaki Street didn't seem at a loss for customers. We wandered into a hardware store and checked out frying pan prices since the ones we own are not suitable for steaming gyoza. The knives intrigued us but we have more to learn about knives in general and Japanese knives in particular before we make that purchase. Why, for instance, were Kyoko and Tsuneko both so interested in buying German knives when I took them to the Navy Exchange?

Ishii decided a snack was in order when we passed a table stacked with packages of various colored dried, um, well they looked like worms to me. These little sticks have been popping up in my path every month or so for three years now but I have always just turned up my nose and reached for the mushroom-shaped cookies instead. Have I mentioned that they look like worms? Ishii opted for the crackers flavored with burdock and we followed the clerk inside the shop to the cash register.

The shop was narrow but deep and refrigerated cases filled with every possible manifestation of tofu marched the entire length of the wall on the right. I'm not a big fan of tofu. Actually, I'm not a miniature fan of tofu. One glance at the tofu case and worms suddenly struck me as potentially palatable.  The burdock worms tasted like those sesame crackers often found in snack mixes.  Yes, I would eat them again.  Assuming a world shortage of mushroom-shaped cookies, of course.

No, Japanese man, I am not staring at you. I am trying to figure out what that digital device on the wall above you is measuring.

"That building is being reconstructed. The top number shows the noise level and the bottom number measures tremors. The construction company must take care not to cause damage to humans."

"This is the largest bookstore in Yokohama." "Really? Can we go in?" "Of course." Ishii checked the floor guide and ushered me to the basement where we found a small alcove filled with foreign language books, about half in English. Being able to read a floor guide is certainly a time-saver, noted the bookworm who normally trudges up to the top floor and works her way down in search of books in English. The books are shelved in alphabetical order by author. Oh, joy.

The bookstore marked the end of Isezaki Shopping Mall Street. We skirted around Kannai station to Yokohama Park, home of the Yokohama Bay Stars baseball team. The Ancient Mariner saw his first baseball game in Japan in this stadium but I'm an orange Y headband-wearing Giants' fan and my team plays in the Tokyo Dome. Still, maybe I can catch the Giants at Yokohama Park next summer.

This pretty fountain is on the opposite side of the stadium from Kannai station. The mist disappeared when we approached the fountain to investigate.

We were not the only people the fountain attracted.  Recreational painters are ubiquitous wherever flowers bloom.

The fountain overlooks Nihon O-dori, a major historical avenue erected as both a firebreak and to separate the neighborhood of foreigners from the rest of Yokohama.  Nihon O-dori is lined with majestic ginko trees and at this time of year that translates to hundreds of pulpy orange fruit underfoot.  Ishii was disappointed that the trees were not yet blazing their golden autumn colors but I am not in any rush for the seasons to change.

Nihon O-dori is lined with tall modern office buildings with shops and restaurants at ground level.  It was just noon and throngs of salarymen and -women were racing around with famished looks on their faces.  "Let's postpone lunch until after we visit Swany."  "Good plan."

The Yokohama Swany branch is smaller than the home store in Kamakura and is laid out, rather oddly, on the basement and third floor of a retail establishment midway between Nihon O-dori and Motomachi.  The fabric is delectable yet I did not purchase a single meter.  What I did do is fish a tattered saleslip out of my wallet and redeem it for two free patterns.  A skirt and trousers.  Snort.  Ishii says trousers are easy to make.  Double snort. 

A Japanese pattern is a not the cut-on-the-bold-lines fragile waxed tissue thing Grandma folded carefully before filing in her sewing cabinet.  No, it is a letter-size single sheet of paper featuring a sketch with lots of numbers in a table along the left.  Sewing in Japanese seems to involve more math than sewing in English.  I'll let you know.  Triple snort.
   

On to Chinatown for lunch.  We went to Ishii's favorite restaurant where I had fried rice (chaofan, remember?) and she had some sort of noodle pancake.  We exited Chinatown directly across from Motomachi, an upscale shopping district adjacent to the old foreign settlement.  Mostly we window-shopped but the bakery could not be resisted with all those smiling pumpkin pastries calling my name.

Home again, home again, jiggedy-jog.  Riding the trains with Ishii is an education in itself.  Americans tend to choose the simplest routes, using Yokohama station as a hub if you will.  But Ishii notes we can shave ten minutes off our trip and always travel in the proper direction by hopping on and off a few local trains and switching between the JR and Keikyu lines.

I am so blessed to know Ishii.

Ghost Tours and Typhoons

It's typhoon season in this hemisphere but overcast skies and a few drops of rain did not dampen the spirits of three dozen ladies who turned out for the JAW Ghost Tour last Tuesday.

Christina the Vampire marched us back and forth across the back end of the Navy base, pausing at Gridley Tunnel, behind the elementary school, and next to the sea wall to share true tales of ghost sightings. This was after we introduced our Japanese friends to Halloween carnival games like bobbing for apples, making caramel corn hands, and groping "human organs" swimming in cold noodles.

Yuuko the Good Witch

The Japanese ladies seem to favor black in their costumes as much as in their normal garb. Most of them came as witches, vampires, and cats although Hisayo was a Hershey's kiss in a silver lame number she whipped up in a spare moment.

The American costumes were a bit more eclectic. We had an escaped convict, a sumo wrestler again, a princess, Minnie Mouse, Raggedy Ann, and a somewhat wrinkled Peko-chan.

The bustier Americans favor the wench look this year. Between the Shonan party and this one, I counted at least four slutty barmaids.  That flagon hanging from Elena's belt was a nice touch.

You will probably see more than one picture of Elena this year as we seem to be running in the same circles - JAW, Ikebana, and YOSC (the Yokosuka Officer Spouse Club).  The same is true for Mimi and Weather Explorer.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

You can see I wasn't exaggerating about either the Japanese penchant for black or the exceptional turnout.

At left, Peko-chan is conferring with Weather Explorer on the likelihood of a typhoon arriving just when the Ancient Mariner's flight is scheduled to land at Narita Airport.  Everyone else on base watches the Weather Channel but Peko-chan does not know how to turn on the television that takes up an entire wall of her family room.  Sigh.

Advised to batten down her hatches, Peko moved a few potted plants to a sheltered area and hoisted a couple of lawn chairs to the screened porch. Then she muttered a few curses in the direction of CDR P for gifting a gas grill and fire pit to the Ancient Mariner (heavy household items are frequently passed from one sailor to another in foreign ports because no one wants to fork over personal funds for exceeding the government's tonnage limits when moving back to the United States).

Peko could not budge that fire pit or gas grill an inch and the cats ignored her pleas for help (they learned that from Matt surely).  Not that she had anyplace to store them in any event.  She decided to leave them to the elements. 

The typhoon was not any stronger than Peko apparently.  The firepit and gas grill were still in place after the storm passed.  Weight limit or not, these items survived a typhoon and deserve to rust along with us wherever retirement takes us. 

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.

Recycled Kimono Sale

This is the view from the thirteenth row of the line to enter the recycled kimono sale last week.

The rope barring entry was removed at 10:00 am on the dot.  The first 25 rows stampeded into the sale and proceeded to shove obis, kimono, and scraps of kimono fabric into clear plastic trash bags. 

I had no intention of buying anything.  I was there simply because 19 other American women needed someone to guide them from the west exit of Yokohama station to the Kenmin Community Center where the semi-annual sale is held.

Fifteen minutes later, but it felt like two hours, I exited the sale with a bag full of fabric scraps, ornate cords, and obis.  I shelled out 6,600 yen for my treasures which equated to roughly $75 that day but, the way the exchange rate is going, could be $1,000 tomorrow.  I spent yen I earned gabbing with Dr. T rather than yen for which I exchanged dollars at an ATM machine, so I am pretty sure I made a sound financial investment.  This assumes, of course, I think of a practical use for all the colorful obis and Japanese fabric overflowing the shelves in my closet.

Those 19 other ladies were happy campers when we headed back to Yokosuka.  I was quite delirious too but it had nothing to do with the contents of my bag.  This outing marked the first time I managed to pull off a particularly Japanese feat:  joining two groups of people coming from different directions in the same train car with fifteen seconds to spare.  Some ladies who live in Zushi followed my directions perfectly and hopped on the last train car when the train paused for one minute in Kanazawa-hakkei.  Glug, glug.  That's the sound of me drowning in self-satisfaction.

Crossing Paths with a Black Cat

Two consecutive days tied to the Navy base for the C7FOSA and Shonan parties had me feeling as caged in as the Sykes monkey in the Lincoln Park Zoo, the one that's the spitting image of my brother Tom, so a trio of Knit Wits in search of a navigator to the Yamato Shrine Sale didn't have to ask me twice.

This shrine sale is a leave-the-base-by-6:15am-and-be-home-by-noon Saturday morning adventure. It suits my schedule nicely since it dovetails with the Ancient Mariner's Saturday morning Seventh Fleet meeting schedule.

Olga was in search of antique Kokeshi dolls but Cari, Debbie, and I weren't looking for anything in particular. The planets and stars must have been in perfect alignment on the third Saturday in October because every third or fourth stall was offering a trinket that whispered, "Buy me, buy me." Fortunately for our bank accounts, Driver Debbie reined us in ten minutes after we arrived at the shrine sale by buying a chest of drawers that consumed 85 percent of her car's trunk space. One of us pointed out that we could stow a slew of cut-rate obis and Kokeshi dolls in those drawers if the chest was rotated to face outward but Driver Debbie ignored us.

What's a shopper to do? Hmmm. Those eight skeins of yarn are hand-dyed in a color that matches my oldest boy's eyes on a sunny day. Maybe I can squish them under the chest. Maybe I can knit a sweater before Christmas. Maybe I am correct on the first count and delusional on the second.

Then I saw the Obento carrier inscribed with Japanese characters. It's the same size as the one I use to deliver meals to families with new babies. Someone who lives in the Ghent neighborhood of Norfolk might want to take this off my hands eventually. If not, who cares? Everyone needs four Obento carriers, right? I decided to buy it even if it meant holding it on my lap all the way back to Yokosuka.

"Oh, we aren't going straight back to the base," announced Cari. "We're going to detour to China Pete's."

China Pete's is a wonderful shop near Machida, a Tokyo suburb, that supplies ceramics of every sort to the Navy Exchange. The Navy Exchange, of course, marks everything up exorbitantly so buying directly from China Pete's is a cheap thrill in more ways than one.

"Gosh, these Japanese teacups would make nice little soup bowls. I could use about twenty of them but they come in sets of five with a matching teapot and I don't drink tea." "Use the teapots as prizes in your next four blog contests." "Good idea! But how will I get them back to the base? The car is already stuffed to the brim with shrine sale finds." "Use Black Cat. It's like Federal Express and will bring the boxes to your house."

So that's what I did. For my next trick I think I'll try shipping luggage to my destination via Black Cat like the savvy Japanese train riders do.

If I Wanted to Wear a Costume, I'd Audition for a Play

There's only one thing I like about Halloween and that's doling out candy to little princesses, Power Rangers, and wizards. Everything else -- scraping goop out of pumpkins, the color orange, and adult costume parties -- stimulates my gag reflex.

But here I am, living in a foreign country, doing my best to be an ambassador of good will for my native land. And the Japanese ladies think it's fun to wear costumes and carve pumpkins in October so that's that.

In an uncharacteristic display of good sportsmanship, this year I went the extra mile and ordered a costume on-line. The costume did not arrive in time for the Shonan party last week so some circa 1962 ingenuity was in order.

Witches, witches, and more witches

Pippi Longstocking arrived in Japan a few months ago. Our oldest sons were best friends in second grade at Star of the Sea School in Virginia Beach in 1993. It's been fun reconnecting with her at Shonan, book club, and Ikebana events.

Yoriko and Reiko attack their pumpkins

Medieval Wench Susan chats with Sumo Mimi. Inside the sumo costume is a little battery-operated fan. The menopausal women were orange with envy.

We dubbed this trio the Aladdins. The Genie is a former softball and basketball standout at Wayne State University. She'll put on the costume again to entertain Japanese children at the Yokosuka Community Center. Tia is Jasmine and you'll be seeing a lot more pictures of Tia because she's vice president of Ikebana this year. Cory the Sheik is the mother of two of Matt's friends; our paths first crossed in 1992, shortly before we both met Pippi Longstocking.

A witch poses with Trinity/Neo

This is Ingenuity, a Japanese cell phone charm. At least I finally got some use out of the Shinto priest's skirt that's been hanging in my closet for the past two years.