The Language of Laundry

How is this for irony?  Whenever my mother-in-law is mad at us, she leaves our laundry alone.  We can tell that she is in a good mood when she starts messing with it again. 

Once in awhile I beat her to it, and she apologizes for not taking down the laundry.  “It’s not your job,” I muttered the last time that happened.

Last weekend, when I was off interviewing for the Eiken (standardized English test), my husband told her very sternly not to touch our laundry.  He took it down himself.

The following day, my mother-in-law complained to me that the son she had raised had been rude to her about the laundry.  She took it down yesterday anyway.

How to Feel Special

Holly Golightly went to Tiffany’s, but when I want to feel special, I go to the Sogo Department Store just when it opens.  Today I had some extra time before my sign language class, so I strolled over to Sogo, arriving as the little dancing dolls came out of the “It’s a Small World” clock.  Then I went inside.  All of the employees were lined up, ready to greet me.  As I walked by, they bowed and said “good morning.”

Once, I arrived at the store before it had opened.  There were chairs in the entryway for early birds like me.  And an employee of the store came out with a tray of tea and served us all.   

Can you imagine this happening at Macy’s?  I think not.

Debauchery on the School Stage

In the United States, where you can get sent home from school for aiming a chicken drumstick and saying “bang bang,” I doubt schools could get away with staging gunfights and whiskey drinking.  Here in pacifist Japan, however, folks are much more relaxed about that sort of thing.

 To wit, this morning I attended the Performing Arts Festival at my son’s school.  The first graders performed a play – “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”  Lilia’s class did this a couple of years ago at the deaf school, but the violent bits were pretty much edited out.  Instead of death by hot oil, the thieves were allowed to apologize and make friends with Ali Baba, and Ali Baba’s brother doesn’t get his head chopped off.  At my son’s school however, the brother is killed, hot oil is poured, and the first graders ran around brandishing sabers  scimitars.

The second grade performance was pretty tame – a mini concert of compositions from around the world.  My son banged the bass drum during “La Cucaracha.”  I was very proud of him.

The sixth graders did a kyogen piece, which is traditional Japanese theater.  Their intonation and acting were excellent.  It was very impressive,  The play in question was about two men working for a sake manufacturer who manage to get wasted on sake even though they are tied up.  When the master returns and finds them drunk, he beats them.  Drunkenness and violence!  Oh, my!

Domestic Disturbance

I’ve heard that most couples argue about money and sex.  Yoshi and I argue about whether or not the Japanese monarchy is an anachronism.

 Last night we watched “The Queen,” whcih depicts the British royals as being stoic and hung up on protocol.  “I’ll bet the Japanese royal family is exactly the same way,” I said. 

“It’s tradition,” Yoshi huffed.

“Yeah, but what do they do?  They don’t rule the country, they just go to ribbon cuttings and pick on Princess Masako.”

I find the culture argument very annoying. Sure, eating whale and having an emperor may be a part of the native culture, but the same can be said for cannibalism on some South Pacific islands.  Polygamy is a part of many cultures, as is female circumcision.  Does that make it okay?

And besides, China, Russia, France and Austria seem to be doing fine without their royals.

Then, of course, my husband said, “We have a long history.”

“Honey,” I replied, speaking on behalf of those aboard the Mayflower, “We had a king, too, and we decided we were better off without him.  That’s why we went to America.”

To the Ex-Boyfriend Who Works in “The Industry”

So I’ve been thinking, what sort of idiot would say to her one connection in Hollywood, “I’d rather you didn’t read the book”?  I changed my mind.  Go ahead!  Buy my book!  Read my novel!  Pass it around!  Or maybe you could just get some celebrity to carry it around while paparazzi are present.  Personally, I think it would make a great movie – sort of a cross between “Blue Crush” (though most people don’t mention the surfing) and “Not Without My Daughter” or, as my publisher puts it, “Lost in Translation” meets “Kramer vs. Kramer.” 

And by the way, it’s fiction!

P.S.  I hope your family is well. 

Why We Need Translators

Like everyone in the world, I have been watching the Democratic primaries with great interest.  Here in Japan, coverage inevitably includes scenes from a town called Obama.  The folks in that village feel a special affinity with the multicultural candidate.  Apparently a resident chopstick maker even made a special set for Obama Barack, inlaid with precious metals or something shiny.  And then you get the people holding up signs intending to show their support, but what they say is “Fight Obama!”  In real English, that would mean, “Let’s work hard to defeat Obama.” Many Japanese erroneously translate the word “ganbatte” (“perservere”) to mean something else entirely.   If you are a Japanese student of English, please take my advice and NEVER translate “ganbatte” as “fight” again.  Better choices:  “Good luck, Obama!”  or “Keep at it, Obama!”

97

Not to be bragging on my kids all the time, but yesterday, Lilia got a 97 on her Japanese test.  No kid of mine has ever brought a Japanese or math test home with a 90 or higher on it, so I’m pleased as punch.

A little over a month ago, I told my husband the results of Lilia’s IQ test.  He said, “dame, dame.”   Apparently the test indicates that she is almost an imbecile, but hey, I know better. 

further evidence that my daughter is a genius

So today after school Lilia was rolling around on the playground with one of her classmates who was kicking a ball around.  He left the playground, but Lilia remained. I was standing on the sidelines, talking to her teacher about ways to help her remember words.  She was kind of going in circles, and I thought she might be stuck.  We went out to see what was up and she signed that she was making a picture of a face with her wheelchair tires.  She was working on squiggles for the hair.  I’ve seen her drawing in the dirt with a stick before, but this was the first time she’d tried to make art with her wheelchair.

“I’ll tell O-sensei (the art teacher),” Y.-sensei said.  We talked about how we could provide Lilia with paint and canvas and maybe a spare wheelchair just for her art!  Wheelchair art – why not?  The future is wide open before us. 

Omiyage Guilt

I went to Kagoshima hoping to see some ash, (y’know, because of the volcano), but all I saw was the inside of my hotel.  I had a good time, though.  I conducted a writing workshop, which I thought went pretty well, and met a lot of interesting people.

Yesterday morning I heard that a lot of flights were being cancelled due to snow in Tokyo.  There were some doubts about my own flight to Takamatsu.  I had a few minutes in which I could have bought the obligatory souvenirs, but I wasn’t sure what to get.  Apparently sweet potatoes  are big in Kagoshima, but so what? They’re big here, too.  I also saw a lot of sausage in the kiosks, but I was worried that I’d be stuck in the overheated airport of in some overheated hotel room if my flight was cancelled, and then the sausages might spoil.  Plus, I’d grabbed some cookies that were leftover from the convention, and I figured everyone would be happy with those. 

My flight, as it turned out, was on time.  Everything went swimmingly.  My husband said that there had been no fighting with his mother because, well, they hadn’t spoken to each other all weekend.  She popped over when I returned, but I was kind of tired and distracted and suddenly felt guilty about not having any Kagoshima-specific omiyage for her.   It occurred to me that the merlion cookies were too obviously from Singapore and that I couldn’t give them to her after all.

A couple hours later, which was around 10PM, she popped over and said she wanted to talk to my husband.  I herded the kids off to bed, while she told my husband that she wants to move out.  I thought, “Oh, no!  It’s because I didn’t give her any omiyage!”

Luckily, today there was a “Kyushu festival” at the local Sogo department store, so I popped in and got some black sugar products from the  Kagoshima table.  When I got home, I gave them to my mother-in-law.  Now everything seems to be fine.