Highs and Lows

 Living on an airbase means we see and hear planes on a very regular basis, but in the past two weeks looking towards the sky has taken on even more meaning. After our little community was suddenly sent reeling into grief, we worked together to hold a beautiful memorial, reached out in support, leaned together, cried together, and did it all again a few days later. And yet, during a period of time so heavy with loss, we experienced some of the most beautiful weather we have had all year round: bright blue skies with soothing sunshine during the day and crisp nights which drew us around fire pits seeking warmth and company. In between the memorials, there was a homecoming and we looked to the skies to see pilots flying home in dramatic formations before landing and sweeping their children into their arms. Highs and lows of incredible intensity. Sorrow, celebration, and tight hugs all intertwined into one blurry chunk of time. 

October List

Savoring:  Salt Fat Acid Heat
Podcasting: Heavyweight
Reading: The Bartimaeus Series
Obsessing: Kit Kats in Japan
Curating: Art Archipelago
Eating: Steak, Bok Choy, and Zucchini Stir Fry
Interviewing: Terry Gross
Watching: Isle of Dogs
Traveling: Culture Trip

Naoshima, The Art Island of Japan

 An island filled with art in lovely and unexpected spots? Traditional Japanese homes turned into "art houses"? Creative use of local items and striking vistas? Friendly locals? An unusually modern bath house complete with neon and a large elephant statue? Delightful meals and meandering paths? Yes, please. I learned about Naoshima several years ago and had been chomping at the bit to visit ever since we moved back to Japan. Last month, I finally had the chance and it was even better than I had anticipated. Already planning a return trip, I am still savoring the beauty and eager to do some more exploring.  

Persimmon Season in Japan

 One of my favorite things about autumn in Japan are the persimmons. Whether they are hanging from bare trees or drying on the side of countryside homes nestled between rice fields and mountains, I love their cheerful bursts of color and their sweet taste. Today we had the opportunity to pick persimmons and to prepare them for drying. Dried persimmons are known as hoshi-gaki. After peeling them, cleaning them, and dipping them in boiling water we strung them on long strands of rope. They will hang outside for four -six days and then they will be ready for enjoying as a sweet autumnal treat. 

Indonesian Offerings

Early in the morning when I would sneak out to walk in the rice fields, I would watch the local woman preparing the offerings. Bright pops of petals from the local market or their own gardens, hand-made leaf containers, wafting incense, and morsels of food for the ancestors. Carefully, lovingly placed in front of entrances, spirit houses, and other special spots. A fresh start to the day. A new set of offerings each morning. Did they think about family stories as they artfully arranged each one? Or were they running through the to-do list for the day ahead? Were they exhaling away worries or were they praying? 

Ubud, Bali
April 2018

Bile, Bigotry, and Bad Answers

Each time we move we spend quite a bit of time explaining to new bosses, teachers, principals, and sports coaches that our family will be taking time off to celebrate the Jewish High Holidays. We have never encountered any problems with this until today when someone told my husband "If we give you special liberty for Jewish holidays, then that would mean we would have to do the same for Muslims". Yes, someone actually uttered this absurd sentence aloud and let these toxic words explode into the air that is already so heavy with nastiness. Each day when I listen to the news, I find myself wondering are we in a weird time warp. Is it still the 1950s? the 30s? the Middle Ages? Are my Jewish children safe? Are our Muslim neighbors' children safe? Are any of our children safe? I want to vomit while also screaming obscenities and causing physical harm to those who spew hate. I know this is not the sane or calm response but that's what bigotry does. It gets your blood pumping and forces the bile to bubble up from a deep space within your core and it doesn't feel good at all. 

His Hands

In January, I wrote an essay for Hello There, Friend about my pregnancy and birthing experience with Noah. When I was writing the piece, I dug through old baby photographs and was flooded with memories that had been stashed away and forgotten...faces I haven't seen in awhile, favorite tiny outfits, funny moments captured on film, and places that took me awhile to remember. The image that stuck with me the most was the one that I ultimately used to go along with my essay. It is a black and white photo of Noah. He's just a few days old and he is being cupped in hands. My parents' hands, but mostly my dad's large hands. It caught my breath to see those hands and to remember exactly when that photograph was taken. 

During the final weeks of my pregnancy, the plan had been for my mom to fly up and spend several weeks helping us to prepare and adjust to new parenthood. My dad stayed at home to work and take care of my youngest sister. We had already made plans to travel down to Louisiana when Noah was two months old to spend a month there with family and friends. That would be when my dad would meet Noah for the first time, but the night that Noah was born, my dad made the spontaneous decision to get a ticket and a few days later he flew to Washington State to meet his first grandchild. I took this photo early on that first morning of his visit. The light was streaming in from the big windows that opened out onto Puget Sound. My parents were both still in their pajamas and robes. My dad had been sketching Noah when I woke up and walked into the scene. I grabbed my camera and took a number of shots including this one that I had forgotten until flipping through an album lodged on Noah's book shelf in here in Japan. 

And although it has been many months since re-discovering that photo, the importance of it still unsettles me. My dad's hands were one of the things I struggled with the most during his final month of life and in the months after his death. His hands were long and always in motion. He used them for talking and expressive gesturing. He used them to paint and draw with on a daily basis. He used them to pet, Shadow, his favorite cat and he would swirl them around himself in the ocean each summer. They were strong hands with thin, lanky fingers, but during that last month in the hospital his hands became incredibly swollen and unrecognizable. I felt haunted by that image of them in their misshapen state. In fact, when I eventually went to see an art therapist to talk about my grief, it was his hands that I drew over and over again, week after week. Ugly, clumsy drawings marked with tears and frustrated smudges, I was trying my hardest to re-claim "his" hands, the way they should have been.  

My dad taught intro to drawing classes for over thirty years to college students and one of the exercises he always had them do was to draw their hands. Have you ever attempted to draw your own hand? It is incredibly challenging. In fact, my dad, who was an accomplished and well respected artist, drew his hands throughout his life and never felt totally satisfied with them. There is something so personal about our hands. At first glance, it seems like we all have the same basic digits and joints, but on closer study our hands tell just as many and perhaps more stories than our eyes. They are marked with scars, age spots, veins, creases, and grit. 

Finding that photograph of Noah in my dad's hands was an unexpected gift. Ten years after his death, I feel like I have found my way back to his hands. 

Adam at 44

I took this photo last week when we traveled by ferry through the Seto Inland Sea to spend the weekend on Shikoku. Adam standing on the roof of a ferry, watching the sun set, and wearing one of his favorite t-shirts ("More cowbell!" from a Saturday Night Live skit). Today is his forty-fourth birthday and I can't think of anyone else with whom I would want to share this adventurous, nomadic, and colorful life. 

A New Year

Iwakuni, Japan

Full moon on the first evening of the new year. Chilly, exhilarating, and filled with hope. 

2017 was a year of change, impatience, strength, illness, thrills, and adaptation. I don't have a resolution or a specific mantra for this new year and that feels alright. Driving home from our visit to the local Shinto Shrine last night, we didn't expect to see this view of the big moon rising over Iwakuni, but there it was. We parked, hopped out of the van, let Hugo run around like a crazy pup, and savored the loveliness in front of us. I want more of that in this new year: the beauty, the joy, and the spontaneity.  

Hanukkah 2017

Siem Reap, Cambodia

Emma and Camille

Throughout our time together in Kyoto, people kept assuming that Emma and Camille were sisters. We would always laugh and try to explain the relationship, but in some ways it would have just been easier to nod our heads and say "yes, sisters" and in some ways it would have been the truth. They are Jewish "sisters", Asian "sisters", adopted "sisters", and giggly, goofy "sisters".

It's funny how people come into our lives especially when it happens in a dressing room at Banana Republic in Georgetown. That's where we met Emma several years ago and from that point on she quickly became a special part of our family. She was a graduate student who had recently moved to the DC area and was working retail on the weekends. In between helping Adam find some new khakis, she noticed Camille's Star of David necklace which led to other connections and a meet-up during the High Holidays. We discovered that we shared a love of dim sum, hamantaschen, board games, puns,musicals, and traveling. 

Over the years we have done our best to live in culturally diverse areas, we have been active in local adoption groups, attended culture camps, enrolled Camille in Mandarin lessons, participated in classes and panel discussions, sought out mentors and friends with connections to Taiwan, taken Taiwanese cooking classes, read lots and lots of books. All of these things have been good in their own ways, but this relationship with Emma has been one of the most meaningful things that has happened to our family.

Homecoming

It was an emotional day yesterday. Big fly-in and homecoming for jets that had been deployed. Kids smothering their dads with hugs. Spouses kissing. "Welcome Home" signs and other intimate rituals of returning. But it was also a raw and bittersweet reminder that three Navy sailors will not be returning home. 

Us

Just the two of us on a chilly day at Mitaki-Dera. A perfect day for enjoying the autumnal parade of leaves, genki white-haired Japanese hikers, a magical bamboo forest, breathtaking views of Hiroshima and the bumpy islands of the Seto Inland Sea. We didn't know what to expect which is when the best things seem to happen. We hadn't packed water or food so we were starving at the end of our hike. I had to pee on the side of the trail. Adam had to help older hikers cross a little stream. We were tired but giddy with the adventure of it. And giggly with this time for just the two of us. We needed this day so very much. And at the end of the hike we entered the tiny cafe with flushed faces, chilly hands, and gratitude for each other and warm cups of tea accompanied by mochi treats. 

Mikans and Memories

On Monday, while picking mikans, I had one of those crazy olfactory flashbacks. You know those teleportation sessions that happen when a smell that transports you to a different time and place? 

Moments after entering the little orange grove, the intense citrus scent scooped me up and I was suddenly five years old again and clinging to the top of a Louisiana satsuma tree in the side yard of our old farm house. Climbing higher and higher on the hunt for the sweetest, ripest orange until a sticky river of fear and orange juice started coursing through my body. The tree was bending under my weight and I was scared. 

And in another flash, I was suddenly back in my forty-four year old body standing in the middle of a mikan grove with my kids and our dog, on an island surrounded by the Seto-Inland Sea of Japan. Isn't it strange when those moments happen? It almost seems as if time travel is possible via smell-induced triggers. 

Boxes

A tiny origami box with itty-bitty origami cranes, moving boxes, sardines, and cousins...I somehow managed to cram all of these things into an essay on Hello There, Friend.  Writing the piece made me miss my cousins, my grandparents, and sweat-drenched Louisiana summer days. It also made me think about what I choose to carry with me and what eventually gets discarded. Boxes of various sorts are a constant in my life. And I am not just referring to the military packing boxes that taunt me in the "office" space which will eventually get unpacked and organized. I am also talking about the boxes that keep stories, memories, and emotions tightly tucked into place.

Exploring: Suo-Oshima Island

Give a kid (or a dog) a stick and a sandy beach and all is good!  In addition to sticks and sand, Suo-Oshima also has mikans (super sweet Japanese oranges) and prior to our beach romping, we did some mikan-picking. After loading up on fresh citrus, we stopped for lunch at Aloha Orange and then crossed the street to check out the tiny beach and Shinto Shrine. We are definitely planning to return to the island for camping, onsen soaking, and further exploration.  

Autumn on Miyajima

Tour groups, over-friendly deer, fiery maple leaves, grilled oysters, local ginger ale, conger eel, and stunning views around every bend: Miyajima Island. 

Home

And suddenly our house now feels like home...Hugo made it to Japan this weekend. 

He flew halfway around the world. We drove ten hours (round trip). And on a rainy night in Osaka, our little family unit felt whole again. The past two days have been a blur of sleepless nights and messy days. Doggie jet lag is very similar to toddler jet lag, but with a lot more night time barking and equal amounts of confusion and frustration. He is eagerly investigating all of the new smells and sounds and we can't stop smothering him with hugs and kisses. We will forever be grateful to the doctors, friends, and family members who helped to get him here. 

Me

Here are the things I need to function properly: yoga, time alone, stories, daily tea, nature, authentic connection, gardening, laughter, creative pursuits, travel, and dark chocolate. 

Here are the things that drive me crazy: hearing others chew their food, a jam-packed schedule, mean people, last minute changes to a well established plan, putting away clean laundry, sickness, and cold feet. 

Here are the things that make me worry: polluted oceans, flying our dog across the world when a typhoon is approaching, phone calls in the middle of the night, snakes, North Korea, and scary movies.

Here are the things that make me laugh: Pink Panther movies, baby antics, Fawlty Towers, dancing in the kitchen with Adam and our kids, David Sedaris, Japanese game shows, and Hugo chasing a fly. 

Here is my Myers Briggs type: INFJ (and the most thorough, spot-on description I have ever read about myself). 

Halloween in Japan

Yesterday I walked by a kimono shop which had an elegant display with kimono-clad witches and a few minutes later I entered a grocery store proudly displaying Japanese Halloween candy (flan-flavored Kit-Kats, chocolate jack-o-lanterns, etc). The hundred yen stores have been crammed with costumes, decor, and kitschy Halloween trinkets for the past few months. The coffee shops have pumpkin spice lattes.

It feels surreal and it is by far one of the biggest changes I have seen since living in Japan for the first time twenty years ago. At that point, Halloween was a very exciting foreign concept for my high school students. Since there weren't any North American pumpkins, I brought in bags of oranges and they gleefully drew Jack-o-Lantern faces onto the tiny orbs. And when we lived in Okinawa fourteen years ago, there was the memorable year of the pumpkin lottery when the shipment of pumpkins that were being sent to the commissary arrived too rotten to sell. The remaining healthy pumpkins were raffled off: twenty five pumpkins for the fifty thousand Americans living on an Japanese island. That was the year I purchased three plastic jack-o-lanterns who have happily traveled the world with us. 

And now we are back in Japan and a bit overwhelmed to see Halloween celebrated in stores, bakeries, and even in a local sushi-go-round that is selling ghoulish bites. I have mixed feelings about it. It's fun to see the festive Japanese twist on this very American holiday, but it also makes me sad to see how much of it has seeped into daily life here. That hasn't stopped me from stocking up on gobs of candy because one thing that always happens when we live overseas is that our host-nation neighbors are invited to trick-or-treat on the base and that always results in a very busy night of celebrating. It's strange to be living this mixed-up expat life, but I guess that cauldrons filled with bizarre concoctions is all part of the Halloween experience, too.