weekend recap, the kindness of strangers and a love for all things recycled and intricate

This St. Patrick's Day weekend was a wet one, but that didn't hinder a trip to Osaka to get a city fix. Only there for about 24 hours, it was a packed day and my appreciation for the kindness of strangers in Japan has been rekindled, along with my love of all (most) things Japanese.

If you know me well, you know that I come from a family of garage saler's, my father being the ring leader. I would estimate that a near 80% of our house in Berkeley is decorated and furnished with garage sale and antique store finds (though heavier on the former, mom and dad, feel free to dispute this estimate), though you would never guess it from looking at it. There is an art to garage sale-ing and my mother and father have pretty much nailed it. Therefore I have grown up with a love for and appreciation of furniture reborn, goods re-used and art rediscovered. One man's trash is another man's treasure; or in the case of the art exhibit that was the motivation for my trip north, one man`s trash is another man`s medium.

I found out about the small exhibit, "splash and flake" by Teppei Kaneuji through a weekly art email, artkrush.com (recommended) and so headed to Kodama Gallery pretty confident that I would have no trouble finding it, given the train line, stop and exit number. Reality proved otherwise. Being under no time constraints and spending the day solo, I didn`t mind the wandering the Osaka city streets, pretty much lost. But after about a half hour of covering the same three block radius, the rain became a nuisance and I knew that not finding this spot would weigh on me as Japan navigational incompetence. My mission to find this spot therefore intensified.

One thing I have come to know about Japan, and my sister can strongly join in on this opinion (once in Japan and having boarded the wrong train, she was, through the kindness of train officials, reunited with her friend miles away) that the people are very helpful (for the most part. Of course this is a generalization). So, in the spirit of this faith, I asked a few people where the Marujin building was (what I deciphered of my chicken scratch notes in my journal). The first was a cab driver who pulled out a map, but was not much help, I think I caught him in his path to lunch. The second had no idea where to begin with me, so I kept wandering, the rain getting heavier.

As I began to question my direction copying abilities as well as my pitiful sense of direction, I decided to hail down one more person. An artsy looking man, dressed in black with longish hair and a spider pendant necklace, who dragged a briefcase on wheels behind him, was my last attempt. He reminded me of family back home, though it had nothing to do with his dress. He also had no idea where the gallery was, nor the building where it was apparently housed. But, he brought me to a combini and there, we along with the store clerk stood hovered over a map of the area layed out on the counter. Sure enough the building was not labeled on the map. With no telephone number or address, I continued to feel unprepared, but sure enough, my new stranger guide called up information and got the number of the gallery and then proceeded to call there and get directions (turns out the building exists, but is not shown on the map). It truly is incredible how childlike you become when verbal language is cut off. I thanked the two men profusely and then the man in black walked me to my destination, claiming he was headed in that way anyways. I felt very taken care of, though helpless, but relieved to have arrived with daylight to spare.

It was no wonder the gallery was hard to find, being that it is one story big on the second floor of a pretty non-descript building next to a gas station. I was the only visitor and wandered through the three rooms slowly, enjoying the photograph collage pieces, pen drawings altered by water droplets and the intricate glued together wooden sculptures made from recycled materials. The quiet, solo investigations of the works was calming and I tiptoed through the space, as if to not wake the artist hidden within each one. Soon I was joined by one other visitor and as I left he remained, so as not to leave the exhibit completely alone.

The rest of the day was spent with a couple of friends, continuing to wander the streets for the most part aimlessly, in search of book stores and all things Japanese, like fake food shops, photo booths and comedy theatres. The night culminated in a fine Mexican meal, blueberry and mango margaritas and live music--American folk tunes. I managed to barely make it home on the last train, only due to more help from strangers, who keyed me in to the necessary transfers to make and cars to ride in order to get back to Gobo.

WORLD CHAMPIONS

(yes, this is late and no, I didn't actually watch the game, but I couldn't resist the post. It's pretty damn sweet!)

Surf's Up

On Sunday, the rain finally cleared and we were blessed with a sunny albeit windy day...the perfect conditions for catching some waves over at Ubuyu Beach, about a fifteen minute drive from my house (it's just too bad I don't surf).

Press Time (Attention New Yorkers)

So, this is a bit short notice (just found out and is alleviated by the wonders of the internet), but in Today's New York Post (3/18), there is a small albeit important and exciting article about a project that my sister and I have begun. When my laziness subsides I will explain in much more detail, but our students (hers in Brooklyn, mine in Japan) have been writing pen-pal letters to each other since October. What started as a pretty simple English lesson has blossomed in to a much larger lesson in cultural understanding and five months later, the students continue to write to each other across the ocean (and the number of students writing to Japan has increased to over one hundred). Sara has taken it even further and started a campaign to send about thirty of her students to Japan in June. It has become an infectious project throughout her school, MS113, and the students are working hard to raise money to come to the land of their new friends. In the Post today is a short bit about this effort. Check it out!!!

Graduation Day...

...and what a fine day it was. My third year Chugakkou students, all nine of them, today (3/10) said their final goodbye's. Next week they take the entrance exam for high school and after about a two week break, in April a new school year begins. Some of my Shougakko sixth year students will become my new first year Chugakkou students and the cycle will continue.

I didn't expect the graduation ceremony to be like ours in the States. My graduation from Willard involved a packed Community theatre, rowdy parents and students, shout-outs and bull horns. Not surprisingly there was none of that today. On the contrary, it was very formal and serious. The head men of the town sat on one side, while we, the teachers, sat on the other, flanking the students on either side. On accepting their diplomas, the graduates walked very intentional straight lines and deliberate right angles to reach the stage, expressions serious and focused. I must have bowed at least 25 times (though that is a guesstimate since I didn't being counting until about 13 and soon lost track). There was singing of the school song and a pop song as well, and a slide show by the second year students provided a bit of a twist on the traditional. All was fairly quiet until Tomomi, the student chosen to represent the class and deliver the Thank you's and Good bye's, took the podium. Tears welled-up immediately and her voice quivered as she read from the fanned paper. Soon the auditorium was filled with stifled sniffles (though only from the women) as Tomomi's crying was infectious. I, despite only having taught these kids for half of the year, could not help from tearing as well, even though I only understood maybe 5% of what was being said. Goes to show how much of language and communication is not spoken (which has become much more fine-tuned since living in Japan). And as I sat there, trying to discretely stop the tears from actually running down my cheeks, I realized what a sucker I am for ceremony. I love it. I am such a sentimentalist. Put on Auld Lang Syn(Pomp and Circumstance is not used), call it a goodbye and I'm telling' you, Niagara Falls. I actually didn't go that far, but it was nice and sad. A perfect ceremony indeed.




Next week it is the Shougakko's (elementary schools) that will hold their commencement ceremonies. So, for the second time since being here, I will pull out the suit. I am looking forward to it. And at the Nursery school level, the four year-olds are playing a rather recent release called Sakura, on Pianica, drums and xylophone to see off the five year-olds and it sounds pretty good (once I figure out how to post video, I will do so). Though still kancho-ing like mad, I am quite impressed with those little ones.

A gift returned

Today is White Day in Japan (not sure why it is called this, a friend told me that it had to do with giving marshmallows, but I am pretty sure that he was pulling my kimono sleeves, alas...), the day where men give women gifts. If you recall, or read (is anybody reading this?), on February 14th, Valentines Day, I shelled out a good wad of cash to buy chocolate for my many male co-workers with whom I barely speak. Well today, haivng forgotten that it was the 14th, I was pleasantly surprised with a gift from all of them. Tea and cakes, jam and cookies make Lauren a happy English Teacher.

Hittin' Nagano's Slopes

The winter season is fortunately coming to an end (fortunate in such towns as mine, where the cold weather does not bring winter benefits such as snow), though as probability would have it, so is the winter sport season. Despite my rookie status when it comes to snowboarding, I have managed to increase my skills somewhat by traveling to the snow twice this year. In January I went west to Hyogo-ken, near the Sea of Japan and strapped myself to a board for the first time in years. It took a bit of time for the muscle memory to kick in, but once it did, I had a blast. And then this past weekend, I went with seven other English teachers to Nagano. We rented a van, drove ( I slept) through the night and hit the slopes first thing Saturday morning. This time, I was a veteran considering my three-time experience trumped all but two people in the group. A scraggly group we were, but the perfect weather, great snow and delirium induced genki-ness compensated for the lack of skill. Though most of us fell off the lifts most of the time, we all improved by days end and were rarin' for more. Unfortunately the Japanese are pretty rigid when it comes to seasons and what is appropriate when (apparently the beaches are empty 'til June, no matter what the weather), and the ski season ends after this month, so that was it for the year.
We finished off the day with much craved, though mediocre, Mexican food and a night at a funky backpackers hostel where we shared in some birthday shochu with some other guests and were treated to an impromptu didgeridoo (sp?) concert. I am now home, sore (mostly in the arms from pushing myself up after falling), sun kissed, wind kissed and with a ring of blisters around my lower legs (from where the boots hit) but quite energized from the trip...though sorry that I won't be around for it next year.