Twattler

What were once pristine expanses of sugi flooring now host innumerable scratches and gouges--the result of midnight carousing by the cats, who run up and down and around this house in scenes right out of Tom and Jerry, their legs spinning recklessly as they careen around corners until they once again get traction, sending chunks of wood from the soft sugi flying. It bothered me when we first moved in, at least until the inevitability of it all sank in. Now the house bears the scars as markers of the time we’ve spent here.

The six months since I last posted have seen a lot of other milestones. M’s massage therapy salon goes into operation tomorrow. m has been a first grader for a month already. I’ve almost done 13,000 kilometers of daily commute. A ton of wood was burned in the wood stove to keep us warm over the winter (and a cold April saw us burn more than January). Trees and a small garden have been planted. Wood sheds built. Parties held. Milk spilled. Shoji torn. Mother's Day candles extinguished.

It may be illegal to use a blog to write about the distant past, but what the hell. I’ll think of it as the anti-Twitter, the Twattler, so to speak, and try to catch up with what’s been going on. It all has gone by so fast, it will be nice to think about it again.