I was asked to make a speech at Chapel this week. I've decided to talk about my experience singing "Red Dragonfly" for the people at the refugee center. Since Chapel is mandatory, there will be a very large number of girls listening to me- hope I can do a good job. I decided to end my speech by singing the song "Red Dragonfly," and spent a whole day illustrating each verse- my way of procrastinating, because I should have been polishing my speech instead. The illustration in the picture is for the second verse, "Picking mulberries in a mountain field and putting them in a basket- a distant vision from my youth."

The speech will be on the 22nd- after that, I can relax for a while.

Ben and Will will come to hear the speech. It's in Japanese, so they'll have to listen hard!

Gonna be a hot one. . .

It will doubtless be a hot summer in Japan- always is, as far as I can remember (20 years). However, due to the earthquake/tsunami combo and worries about nuclear power, even the nuclear power plants that weren't affected by the disaster are partially shut down for a double check/ quick update. Since most big cities get a large percentage of their power from these plants, the power companies are asking everyone to reduce power usage this summer by 15%. There's some controversy about this, but probably most companies and citizens will try to comply.

Yet this is Japan, and Japan was making a pretty good effort to conserve energy anyway. Through the eyes of an American, buildings are uncomfortably hot, trains uncomfortably crowded, and home-air-conditioning units woefully underused. This is already the land that invented "cool-biz," which means they won't turn the air conditioning on, so you don't have to wear a tie. It's also the land of mesh-backed shirts to reduce summer sweating.

How will they cut more corners? Well, I already noticed some effects: convenience stores, once oases of icy air, and regular temperature : ( . . . movie theaters are a little warm : (

I already bought a gel-pack freezer pillow for my head at night! In the picture, the talk-show host is discussing other alternatives, such as curry that tastes good without heating.

Oh, and time to start cutting back on the number of trains leaving Tokyo station! Train packers, get ready to push!

The Great Arrival!

Well, THEY finally arrived. Sorry for the blurry picture- THEY can be very difficult to photograph at times, especially after a 23 hour transit experience. Their names are Ben and Will, and from now on it will be THE THREE OF US, conquering all odds to survive here in Japan for the next five weeks. They will also be traveling with me to Tono in July, where I'll continue to investigate questions about what it means to volunteer, and to figure out what kind of contribution we can make.

Meanwhile, in Nagoya

While nervously awaiting the arrival of my sons Will and Ben, I visited my friend Carrie in Nagoya. Carrie and I have been good friends since she hosted me as an exchange student in 1990. She was 28 at the time; I was 20. We went to Osukannon, a temple complex in Nagoya city. There, we saw a manzai (sit-down comic) performance by Kairakutei Black (Pleasurable Black), a half-Japanese, half-American performer. Born in Japan in 1952 (probably the son of a soldier, who then left the country), he speaks only Japanese. In fact, he speaks Japanese at the pace of an auctioneer- I didn't understand most of his monologue, which was something about having his camera stolen by another actor. The stars-and-stripes kimono is a nice touch!

After enjoying Black and three other actors (a juggler, an accordian and guitar duo, and another sit-down comic) on the stage of a small, old-fashioned theater, we payed our respects at Osukannon temple, where I unsuspectingly bought a dish of rice grains to feed to the pigeons. WHAT A MISTAKE! I was clawed within an inch of death. Pigeons on my bare arms; pigeons on my shoulders! Pigeons on my head! (Multiple pigeons on my head!) By the time the dish was empty, my upper torso was covered with red scratches. The photo doesn't do it justice! Carrie noted that one pigeon came early, sprawled himself all over the dish, and got most of the rice.

To recover from my terrifying experience, we stopped at a Japanese sweet shop, where Carrie chose the dessert pictured: a green tea slushie! As you can see, Japanese size does not necessarily mean small.

Meanwhile, in Tokyo. . .

Meanwhile, I also visited my sensei in Tokyo. We ate at this fashionable restaurant in Kagurazaka. Whatever there is to be done in children's literature that's difficult (such as trying to make peace between China and Japan, protesting war, or even harder, trying to get the Japanese interested in Korean children's literature), that's what you'll find my sensei doing. One of the tasks I keep pushing on her is to help me get my own manuscript published-- trying to get Japan interested in Marnie. Actually, believe it or not, three years ago I began writing about a fantasy country located off the coast of Northeastern Japan. My long-suffering sensei has helped me to bring the manuscript to its current state, while along the way introducing me to everyone possible who might be interested in it. I don't know if sensei is reading this blog, but I just want to say, thank-you. And thank-you, and then once more: Thanks, Sensei!

Shakespeare Garden Shots

Meanwhile, in the Shakespeare Garden

Meanwhile, in the Shakespeare Garden at the College, this stray cat rules (or so I assume, since other cats cringe when he walks by). He spends his luxurious afternoons sprawled on his tummy amidst flowers like primrose and heliotrope that appear in long-forgotten Shakespeare plays. Disregarding Shakespeare's subtleties, he whiles away his time stealing food scraps, fighting crows, and scratching other cats in the face. I have not seen him playing the lute or reciting poetry to beautiful women (or cats).

Mr. Osaka's Home

This also happened at Osabe: Mr. Osaka, who is running the refugee center at Osabe, wanted to show us a video he took of the tsunami with his camera. He had fled partway up the hill, and was looking down on the village (pictured in the photo). He filmed the scene as water swelled over the sea wall and flooded the village, but as the water climbed higher and higher he dropped his camera in surprise. For about 20 seconds, the camera filmed the winter sky, then he hastily re-focused on the scene. In the video, water creeps higher and higher as voices of alarm and consternation rise from the crowd. Mr. Osaka kept urging us to look at the Fisherman's Guild, a four-storey building on the ocean front. Water rapidly climbs up the side of the building, reaching the middle of the fourth floor before slowly (but only temporarily) receding.

Although it was drizzling, he took us on a walk down into the town to see what was left-- almost nothing. Only a couple of blocks from the water wall (which the tsunami cleared by fifteen meters) was Mr. Osaka's house. He carefully showed us his garden ("My bonsai collection was over there"), his living room (he hasn't found a single one of his possessions) and the back entrance. Standing on a flat boulder that used to be the doorstep, he pointed out the scenic view. The view remained, but the home to view it from was gone.

Listen to Red Dragonfly

This woman's version isn't bad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSGIAz8gLY8

Red Dragonfly

On Saturday the 29th I went with a volunteer named Ayano to the refugee center at Osabe. There, I had a totally unexpected and very memorable experience.
That day there wasn’t much to do at the center. Lunch was under control- ramen and bread had arrived, and those people at the center who weren’t out working grabbed their portions from a large box. We were to help cut peppers and eggplant for dinner, but that job could wait until later. Instead, we were encouraged to go see the Japan Self Defense Forces give a band concert in the gym at the elementary school (one building away). Feeling quite guilty for failing to help and instead sitting in on a concert, I went with Ayano to the gym. There were about 60 people sitting in folding chairs, listening while the band members gave a demonstration of how to play the different instruments. They were obviously very good, but I listened with mixed feelings: after all, I wrote my dissertation about peace literature, and my sensei is adamantly anti-war. However, obviously right now the JSDF are not out fighting wars on foreign soil (they don’t do combat, anyway), they are performing essential services and saving people.
Just as I was taking mental notes to report back to sensei, the band burst into a rendition of Spaceship Yamato, one of my favorite TV-credit songs of all time.
With silly TV tears in my eyes, I reflected on how the battleship Yamato (the actual battleship was sunk off Okinawa late into the Second World War) is a particularly Japanese symbol of resurrection. The animation Spaceship Yamato (Starblazers) is set on an earth far in the future that is polluted by radiation. In the animation, the old battleship rises from its grave in the sea bed and sails off into space, on a mission to the planet Iscandar to get a high-tech device that will clean up the polluted and dying earth. (Of course, there are also bad guys called Gamilions.)
Knowing that Sensei would frown on my sentimental attachment to a song about a battleship, I nevertheless dissolved in tears. At that point, a young female soldier, Ms. (Private? Seargeant?) Abe, approached me and greeted me in English, which was obviously very brave and difficult for her. Suddenly, I felt like I shouldn’t just stand at the back of the crowd- I should be brave like her, go up front, and say a few words. After all, what was the use of coming all the way from America and not giving some message of friendship? I asked (Private? Captain? Officer?) Abe, “If there’s time, may I say a few words?” After confirming that I could say a few words in Japanese (as opposed to English), Officer Abe disappeared up front and appeared to talk to the M.C.
Not long afterward, the band made an announcement. “We hear that there is an American in the room who would like to say a few words.”
Cursing my over-enthusiasm, I made my way up front. I took the microphone in a daze, and in a wavering voice said a few things that were on my mind. I said that people all over the world are thinking of Japan now, and mourning with them. I also said that many people would like to help, but since Japan is so far they cannot afford to come themselves. I said that many people (including me, of course) love the Japanese people and culture, and that these people will continue to hope and pray for the Tohoku region. Having run out of words, I told them I would sing “Red Dragonfly,” to express my feelings. “Red Dragonfly” happens to be the only Japanese song I have memorized. So, with shaking knees, I started in.
Verse 1: “The red dragonfly, against the sunset. Ah, when did I last see a red dragonfly?”
Actually, I have Will to thank for knowing all four verses of “Red Dragonfly.” I used to sing this song to him when he was a baby, to put him to sleep. Since Will rarely went to sleep without putting up a long and impressive fight, I usually sang all four verses many times.
Verse 2:
“I remember picking mulberries from the trees in the mountain field, and putting them in a basket. It seems so long ago- maybe it was all just a dream.”
Even after Will grew up, whenever I would pass by the mulberry tree on the Farm, I’d remember the song and sing all four verses. I never sang it when someone was listening, because after all, it’s Japanese.
Verse 3:
“When my sister turned fifteen, she got married and left the village. We never heard from her again.”
I first heard “Red Dragonfly” as a young girl. My parents had a record where Jean Pierre Rampal, a French flutist, plays that song and some other Japanese classics—of course, with no words. I always loved the melody, so after learning Japanese I decided to look up the lyrics. At first, I sang them without understanding them, but over the years I believe I’ve grasped most of the meaning. It’s a very deep song, a song about home. Kind of like a Japanese “Home on the Range.”
Verse 4:
“A red dragonfly, against the sunset. Look, there it is, sitting on that fence post!”
In other words, people may come and go, but the sun continues to set; the dragonfly will come again. One’s hometown will always remain.
As you can imagine, the song I chose (my only possible choice!) evoked an emotional response from the crowd. I saw people covering their eyes. Although I’m not a good singer, luckily I was able to sing all four verses in an acceptable voice, at least not so bad as to detract from what I wanted to express. I realized that even if I did a stupid thing in coming forward, it was the right thing.
As I hastily returned to the back of the room, one of the women from the refugee center grabbed my hands and pumped them up and down. “Thank-you, thank-you,” she said over and over.
I felt happier then than I have to a long time.
I heard on the news a while ago that volunteers who go up north intending to encourage the disaster survivors often find that they themselves who are patted on the back, given words of encouragement and smiles. These north coast people are very strong—stronger than most of us. Some say, “God only gives us trials that we are capable to bearing.” There is probably a reason that God, or the kami, feel free to send the Northerners earthquakes and tsunami.
They can take it.
After some very embarrassing applause and lots of turned heads and smiles, the Band made an announcement. “There has been a slight change in the program. The next number will be an American march!” The band did an energetic rendition of an American march (which I didn’t recognize, but I certainly take their word for it). So thanks to Private, Captain or Office Abe, a full circle of international exchange was completed!
I’m not naturally an outgoing person, but as I get older, I realize that sometimes it’s important to speak up. Since I’ll be going up north again, I need to have the courage to create another moment like that- there are a lot of people (especially entertainers!) who could have done that better than me, but I have to face the fact that right now, I’m one of the few who’s on the spot, and who can make a difference.

The Tsunami of 1897

Over a hundred years ago. Same place, same disaster. In the photograph, a man sits listlessly on the beach. He is staring at his child, who was killed in the tsunami.

They had even less warning. It was May 5th, Children's Day. The villages were celebrating the holiday, as well as the triumphant return of the soliders from the war with China. As the evening went on, the revelry increased-- no one thought much of the series of small earthquakes throughout the evening. In the darkness, the sea retreated until the floor of the bay could be seen- a sure sign of a tsunami. Some travelers saw a mysterious flash out at sea and thought it was "fox fire," strange, inexplicible gleams in the darkness. In reality, it was the crest of a gigantic wave, glinting far out at sea. Then most people heard two huge roars, like thunder. Some thought it was an attack by the Russian Navy. Not long after, with no warning, a wave of water crashed through people's windows and doors. In an instant, the villages were swept away. In some villages with populations of a thousand or so, there were only a handful of survivors.

People like me who live on high, dry land wonder. How could people be caught, be fooled by a tsunami? There's an earthquake, right? Then you have a half hour to get to high ground.

As usual, people like me who don't know the real situation are the "wisest" in judging how to stay alive.

We were talking to Mr. Osaka, who lost his house in the tsunami. He watched the wave surge over the dike and wash over his village. At one point, he was so amazed he dropped his camera. For about 20 seconds, the camera is filming the sky.

"They fled along the coast," he said. "Look at this valley. There are only two roads out." I looked. The roads are very narrow. "They wanted to get to higher ground, but the road was jammed. They were still on their way up when the wave hit."

Other people didn't notice the siren. Some didn't even notice the quake. It's not as easy to feel if you're in your car.

Besides, one can't spend one's life rushing to high ground every time there's an earthquake. 299 times out of 300, it's going to be a false alarm.

Have you ever taken a chance? It usually works out, doesn't it. I sometimes walk outside in a thunderstorm. My chances of not getting struck by lightening are excellent. In fact, I frequently walk in the woods during hunting season. Sometimes I even wear brown. After all, it's our property. A woman should be able to walk on her own property without being shot! If they do shoot me, it's their fault!

If I lived in Otsuchi, Miyako or Rikuzen-Takata, I'd probably be dead.

Potato Salad Culture Shock

Potato Salad Culture Shock
I consider myself to be a reasonable person, and rarely clash with people. But that may just be because I am rarely crossed. When I think about it, actually, I react rather poorly to being crossed.
Recently, I’ve spent a lot of time in the kitchen, following orders from other volunteers that relate to preparing large amounts of food. It’s been an almost entirely pleasant experience. As I mentioned before, I’m not great at cooking, so I’ve resigned myself to having some of my work “fixed up,” or even just plain “done over.” As long as I’m a net asset, not liability, it’s fine with me.
I believed that I was in that mentality when the Leader for the day asked me to chop up onions for potato salad. After being shown exactly how thin, and what direction, to slice the onion, I carefully followed instructions. Then I rotated the slices 90 degrees and chopped them again. I figured since it was potato salad, the finer I chopped them, the better.
That was when the Leader descended on me in a state of great consternation. “Oh, my god! You minced them!”
“Minced won’t do?” I asked. I probably didn’t sound annoyed, but I certainly was. It’s potato salad, for crying out loud! You stick stuff in a bowl and stir it up! Does is really matter if the onions are chopped one extra time? “Let’s just put them in. It’ll be fine.”
“Oh, no, these can’t be used for the potato salad now. I guess we’ll stick them in the miso soup.”
I couldn’t help muttering a weak protest. “I think these onions are fine,” I said.
“No, no, no, potato salad onions must be cut in only one direction.” She whisked my onions away and dumped them in the soup.
I treated myself to an inner diatribe.
WHERE DO YOU THINK POTATO SALAD COMES FROM, ANYWAY?! THE WEST!!! IT’S WESTERN FOOD!!! I AM A WESTERNER!! DON’T TELL A WESTERNER HOW TO MAKE POTATO SALAD!! DOES IT REALLY MATTER SO %&$^* MUCH IF THE ONIONS ARE SHORT? WILL ANYONE SUFFER LASTING MENTAL DAMAGE BECAUSE THE ONIONS DO NOT DANGLE IN LONG, ELEGANT STRIPS FROM THE FORK!?
I spent the next half hour in a mental self-help session. I reminded myself that I was here for one purpose only, volunteering, and was not here to start preparing a list of mortal enemies. I decided to wait quietly, follow directions even more carefully, and see what happened.
A few minutes later my fellow worker, a young man, finished chopping the cabbage for a different dish. He presented it to the leader.
“Oh, my. Oh, this is not right. You need to chop it more finely. We can’t use this for the salad. . .maybe we can find some other use for it. It seems a pity to throw it away. . .”
Instantly, my feeling of alienation was replaced by one of brotherhood. I smiled peacefully at the crestfallen young man, waves of benevolence emanating from the corners of my blissfully upturned mouth.
“Should we add some eggs to the salad?” I asked.
“Eggs in potato salad?” asked the Leader, confused. “No, eggs are not used in potato salad.”
“Oh,” I said happily. “Of course not.”
I smiled a yet more peaceful smile, happy in the knowledge that last week, at a different refugee center, I had been instructed to chop up eggs to put in potato salad.
I couldn’t help noticing that the Leader was boiling the potatoes to add to the salad. Last week, at a different refugee center, I had offered to boil potatoes for the potato salad and been stopped. “Boil? No, potatoes for potato salad must be steamed. That’s much more delicious.”
Who would think that working together to help people in trouble could be so thorny? Like I mentioned before, any time humans try to do good, they must first deal with their own human relationships. I imagine that sometimes means a dead stop.