m's bag

We made it over to the Yokosuka Museum of Art in time to catch m's exhibition. Well, her entry, anyway. The museum, a beautiful building built on a slope overlooking Tokyo Bay that has some excellent shows, is using an entire wing to show art from the various schools in the area, from day care centers through high schools. It's really well done. m's contribution (above) was one of two picked from her class and it's the very first piece nearest the entrance. The displays were really well done, as was a lot of the art, and with all the kids bringing their families to check it out, it's an ideal way for the museum to get exposure. The last time we went there was for the pop art exhibition--all Warhol, etc.--but the highlight was the sound. The entire time we were wandering through the rooms, we were serenaded by these metallic, but organic hums, shimmering scales and very low bongs. When we got to the end of the exhibit, there was an entire open room full of all kinds of hand-made instruments by this guy who does a lot of film soundtracks and other sound effects. All that time the sounds we'd been listening to were those of other museum goers playing with the instruments, so we stayed there and played for about an hour, passing on the favor to later visitors. Very cool.

BBQurious

We had a wonderful dining experience a few days ago. Our friends, B and Y, who live in Hayama, hold a monthly get-together they call "Sunset Kitchen," in which they invite someone to cook a meal for 30 people or so. This time it was the turn of another friend, S and K, who live down the road here in Akiya, to play the role of the cooks. S has a couple of fields he grows on, so the menu included all kinds of dishes based on his organic harvest--including broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, cabbage, daikon, etc., etc., and a root called jinenjo, which is similar to taro. It was dish after dish, and all the vegetables had been picked earlier that day.

I was far too focused on the food to remember to photograph when the table was full, but was able to snatch this shot of the mid? after?math in between bites. It was just amazing; because it was mostly vegetables (some charcoal-grilled chicken wings and shrimp), we never got into that Thanksgiving type of daze, and just kept nibbling, chomping, chewing, dipping, gnawing, snacking, sipping and swallowing for a good three hours. S and K had also brought home-made miso and four kinds of home-brewed beer. (He doesn't drink but she does, so he makes it for her.)

It was topped off by charcoal-grilled mikan mandarin oranges. Someone said they'd heard of this being done in northern Japan, but no one had tasted one before. S grilled the tops and bottoms until they were charred. We peeled them while they were still hot and popped the segments in our mouths. It was like they had been injected with honey; the pulp had basically melted into a juice that was thick and sweet.

It ended with an auction of the remaining vegetables, and people walked off with daikon the size of mortar shells and cabbages the size of a sumo wrestler's head. S usually gives most of his harvest away since he doesn't want to sell it, so I've made plans to both head over and pick up some produce and learn how to make miso.

Bedecked

On Saturday, I finished building the deck in the back of the house, facing the sea. It's very simple design, and not very large, but it was a pain in the ass because I built it on the natural slant rather than leveling the land, so each one of the twelve support posts was a different height. Also, since I was being stubborn about building it all myself, instead of more intelligently asking a friend for help, I had to figure out all kinds of ways to hold up, say, one end of a five meter piece of lumber while I was attaching the other. The wood is Ipe, which was heavier than a son of a bitch, but I'm hoping it will reward my efforts by lasting a long time.

I've been visualizing this since we moved in a year ago, and I can't wait until it gets warm enough to open all these sliding doors and have a room that is half inside, half outside. From the dining room, it looks like you could just run out and jump off the deck into the ocean. I'm feeling a bit sad that it's done, since I've been thinking of it so long. Then again, it's not really done. There aren't any steps up to it outside, since I was thinking of having lengths of tree trunks for steps, and I'm willing to wait until I stumble across the right stuff.) I guess I could build a really powerful diving board. And by summer, I've got to find a way to put a bamboo screen roof over it to keep it cool. M was away today doing massages at an ecology event so m and I got a sushi take-out lunch, and just lolled about in the sun while we ate. Mario the cat joined us--for the lolling, not the sushi.

dream team

Mario and Marco were in the middle of a wrestling match when they fell asleep. The winter sun heats up the floor of the house so much that we have to open the doors to let the house cool off during the day, and some nights we end up never lighting the stove.

But these boys know exactly when and where to lay in the sun, and when to lay next to the stove. 

Advice from Monk Be

Woke up this morning to a huge moon sending its light trail over the water in the darkness of dawn. It had lightened a bit by the time it was setting behind the hills of Hakone (above). It meant that there would be a full moon tonight, and it reminded me of some advice I received recently from my friend R in Hue, Vietnam which came from his friend, monk Be. According to her, I will be fine, though she then suggested "Even though the cultures are different, when the moon is full he should burn incenses outside his house and pray."  My friend asked, "Pray for what?"  She said, "His ancestors."

So I went outside tonight, under a moon that was fat and full, and bright enough to throw sharp-edged shadow, and lit some frankincense and sat on the half-finished deck in the cold and just thought for a while about all the people responsible for me being here. It's a daunting task for the imagination.

Lazy Ass 2011

On my days off last year while recuperating from the operation, M and I spent a lot of days hiking around the area. One day we went to Kita-Kamakura, where we dropped in on Enkakuji, and the temple grounds were ablaze in autumn colors. We hiked over the mountains from there all the way to the Daibutsu (the crowds were a shock after the deserted trail).

I don't know what it is about a new year, but every January I find it extremely hard to get back into posting, even though I want to do it. I feel like I should be trying to do something new, and I have no ideas, except that I don't want to Twitter.

So much happened between early November and now that I've forgotten much. Though I do remember a few stories from the year-end parties and the beginning-of-the-year get-togethers:

Shirley MacLaine used to rent a house in the next village.

One of Marina's school friend's dads in his 30s passed away from a brain aneurism while attending his kid's judo match, leaving his wife with five kids under 10 years old.

A few years ago in a little cove on the other end of our village, a construction crew unearthed a climbing kiln from the Kamakura-era (1185–1333) that had been used to fire roof tiles. They would ship the finished product down the coast, where the tiles were used on a famous temple. The property owners had the crew tear it up, filled it in, and built a few ugly houses in its place.

And there's a place just down the coast where sea turtles come on the beach to lay their eggs. This year I'm determined to go wait overnight to see them hatch.

I've spent the last two weekends building a deck, but progress has been halted thanks to dull and broken drill bits. I decided to use Ipe wood, since it's about the densest wood you can get and I wanted something that would stand up to the salt and wind. It's not only extremely heavy, but impossible to burn. I finally found a drill that was cheap and stayed sharp--it was meant for plastic--but after 100 or so holes, it also bit the dust. So I'm on a hiatus until next weekend.

M gave me a 200mm lens for my camera, so I can basically hang out the window and blast away at

Mt. Fuji, which never ceases to awe, despite the fact that we see it every day in the winter.

The Izu Peninsula, across the bay

Tateishi, the "standing rock." I finally saw a postcard featuring the Hiroshige print, and it looks exactly the same as it does today. It even shows our beach, and a row of thatched-roof houses right where our house is now.

And the herons, seagulls and cormorants swarming the beach in front of the house--all sharing the same breakfast of baby sardines. I'm usually gulping breakfast about this time, as the sun just starts to light the water.