famletter11222000

November 22, 2000

Well, it has officially been way too long since I wrote a family letter. The internet is down AGAIN at my school this morning. It goes out at least one time each day, for several hours at a time. It seriously conflicts with the research I do for my classes. The primary focus of most of my lessons is from current events and trends on the internet, specifically because the language in the textbooks is either too old or too impractical for the most part. I feel kinda sorry for our network admin guy here, who causes quite a ruckus when he goes through the staffroom. You can imagine, what with the faculty online and then getting his shout in the room that we have to shut down again. Nobody groans or makes much complaint verbally, but there is a lot of air being sucked through teeth all over the room. That�fs something that is a cultural difference. An American will listen to you, nodding in agreement, and add an occasional uh-huh to a conversation to show that he or she is listening. A Japanese person will look at you intently, though sometimes not directly in your eyes as eye contact is sometimes seen as disrespectful or as an aggressive act. They tell you that they are listening by nodding sharply and saying HAI, over and over and over again. It has become a habit with me here, as you can imagine, as we have to follow suit because otherwise many people would assume we were stupid or something. The one that I usually say, used in the same way as the HAI, is AHHHH SO SO SO SO SO. Now, I just KNOW that when I get back to America for Christmas, my family is going to think that I have gone bananas. (No comment is necessary, HAI HAI HAI!!!)
Another difference is that when the Japanese are angry, their faces may look very serene. You gotta be in touch with the body language. I saw my Kocho-sensei leaned back, arms crossed and laughing, and I thought perhaps my colleague had just told him a good joke. I heard later that everyone was so shocked when Kocho-sensei became so ANGRY with my fellow teacher for forgetting to put the right paperwork in on time. My response was enough to make them think I was daft. (AHHHHH SO SO SO SO whatever) I think I have a permanent crease in my forehead over things like this. I am always learning new stuff that is different. I have been in a room where the network guy walked through saying we had to shut down, and we groaned in unison, and the you-gotta-be-kidding-mes and the that�fs-just-greats flew all around the room. There were maybe fifteen people in the vicinity, and the mumblings were almost deafening. However, here, the noise level doesn�ft increase too much, and there are no comments about it, just that sucking-the-air-through-the ?teeth-thing. I compare it to the sound that my mom makes when she thinks that my dad is going to run head-on into the pickup truck ahead of him because he gets really involved in his stories when he�fs driving. The sound my mother makes is usually accompanied by gestures of all sorts. All at once, she will drop her head a little, widen her eyes past capacity which sends her eyebrows all the way to her hairline and grip the dash with both hands while slamming on the imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side of the car. A lot of women I know do this kind of convulsing and so I think perhaps it is gender-related. I am certain that it is hereditary in some cases. I grew up assuming that men could not drive properly, and it took years of conditioning from a nervous controlfreak driver who could not tolerate the sound from me that finally broke me of the habit. My father was a good driver in most cases, except when he got lost, and then being lost made him extremely angry. I remember one time when we were driving, we missed the turnoff and had to circle the loop of the city. Not a huge deal, just something that ticked him off and made us all get really quiet in case he decided to rant or something. When we came around, an hour later, we missed the turn again. At that point, we should have just stopped the vehicle and flagged down a taxi, leaving our car there forever. You know that bulging thing that the Incredible Hulk used to do? Well, Bill Bixby`s got jack on my dad. Let me just tell you about it. My father had this face he used to make when he got mad that would have fried an egg on your face. It did more than just make people squirm. I say he USED to make it because he has really mellowed out in the last few years. He has always been a fun guy, really the kind of stand-up guy you want to have at every get-together. But for years, like most of us, he ran hot and cold. Now, he is there, enjoying the middle for the most part. Lots healthier that way, I think. Anyway, that face was what you would see before his legendary anger would burst forth, all green and frothy like Lou Ferrigno, and then something would HAPPEN. What I mean is that you�fd see the face, and then you would see the man wrap the golf club around the nearest tree. Or you might see the face, and then you would see the rod and reel being flung far away into the lake. Or you would see the face, and then you would see him stop a car on the gravel driveway. With his hands. My dad was the strongest guy in the world when I was a kid. All my friends were terrified of him. Made me feel really safe, unless he was mad at something I did (and I didn�ft do a lot, but I WAS a teenager for 7 years, you know) Anyway, I got off on a tangent, didn�ft I? I missed that exit AGAIN! $�f%&#(%! Sorry, just re-living the scenario of what happened when my dad missed the turn. Let�fs see, there was a little profanity, deleted here for those weak-at-heart readers. Then, we got to see the face. I think my sister and I crawled into the floorboards of the back seat at that point. Then, the weirdest thing happened. My father turned into Mario Andretti. Our family car became a high-powered V-12, and my father�fs knuckles turned white as we hurtled along the freeway, my mother tense and poised nearby, ready at any time to fling the map out the window. We could hear him breathing, mumbling to himself, and we could hear a terrible silence where we knew he was grinding his teeth up there, but we didn�ft dare look. I reached up and pulled my notebook out of the back window, thinking perhaps he could see a little better if I widened the viewing area by two centimeters. We made that next loop in a fraction of the time, and he got off on the right exit ramp. He began breathing normally again, and my mother massaged her forehead with a meat tenderizing mallet to get her eyebrows back into the right spots. Everyone began to unclench their fists and things eventually calmed down. My mother, fully composed, then gave the obligatory short lecture about the frivolity of such behavior. My father, also fully composed, agreed and apologized. We found our hotel, at which point my sister and I bolted from the car at top speed and sought the comfort of the swimming pool. Mom and Daddy would have joined us, but they were busy repairing his clothes after all that bulging and ripping. It can get really expensive, ya know.
I give my folks such a hard time, but they are human like everybody else, and I am lucky to have been born into this family. They have always been there to teach me, to try to help me sort out the sticky crap in my life, or to get me a glass of water if they happen to be up. What I mean by that is, they are thoughtful and caring, and I am a lucky kid. They love me. I always got three hots and a cot. I got nice clothes and a great place to live that was always warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I got to go to summer camp every year, often twice. I got to drive a car when I was 16. Santa visited regularly, even in the years when getting coal in my stocking was a real possibility in my mind. I got music lessons and dance lessons and was taught to fear and respect and love God. I got my own room. I got an allowance. I got a new coat every year, and a new dress for Easter Sunday. I got lots of books, and instruction to read at age three. I got new shoes when my old ones wore out, and I got snacks after school and a bike to go where I wanted. I got to be a Girl Scout. I got enough freedom to build a life for myself. I got enough rope to hang myself with. I got rules and structure, and a model for a great work ethic. When my little sister toddled to the end of the driveway and it was my turn to watch her, I got my little butt severely beaten and I deserved it. When I screwed up, I got grounded. Therefore, I got responsibility. I got a hug when I was hurting, and a pat on the back when I brought home good grades. I got the feeling that I was important. I got loved. I got a great childhood, in a small town where it was safe for me to walk downtown by myself when I was eight years old and buy a brownie from Stroopes Bakery. I got to be in the band. I got to go to the library. I got immunized when I was an infant. I got my name in the paper a couple of times. I got college, and more and more and more college. I got unbelievably fortunate when it came to grandparents. I got lucky, like I said. I got no complaints. So when I give my parents a hard time, it is only so we all can laugh at ourselves. They know I�fm only kidding.
There. I am officially on the record. (I got rhythmmmmm, I got muuuuusic. etc. etc. ) Sorry about going all Gershwin on you like that. Back to the subject.

When the Japanese people suck the air through their teeth, they don�ft convulse the way women do in the passenger seat. They just do it for emphasis. They do it so often, I don�ft even hear it most of the time, except when the network guy comes through, and then suddenly we are in a wind tunnel. The staffroom in an interesting place. The guy on the other side of the aisle belches all day (he MUST have some gastric problem so I will refrain from making fun of him.) and another older gentleman near him clips his toenails at his desk. The toenail clipper people are fair game. I make fun of those guys all the time. They just ask for it, sending funky foot shards all over the place like that. Like I said, cultural differences. Funny what a culture will find offensive, huh? In Japan, it is impolite to blow your nose. Seriously. And you know ME and MY sinuses, right? So I either have to leave the room, or turn my back and apologize in case of emergency. They will clip toenails in public, which is something I see as something strictly reserved to the bathroom, with the door shut, followed by sweeping, of course. But blowing your schnozz is off limits. Very weird, but hey, when in Wadayama, do as they do, or so some fairly well-known saying implies.

I had begun this letter with the intent of telling you about the earthquake, the visit from Mom-O and Tracy-girl, and perhaps the most recent events in our lives. I suppose that I should at least catch you up on Taiko or something. For a couple of months now, I have been going to the rehearsals of the local Taiko group. The local group is called Taro Fusu Jin Daiko. The name�fs meaning has something to do with a Tiger, laying in wait or something. Daiko is another name sometimes used to mean Taiko drumming. They were explaining it to me in only Japanese, and hey, I do the best I can. When I first began going to the group, a real dream for me, it was assumed that I would practice for a month and then they would decide whether or not I should join. That didn�ft last too long, as they saw that I actually PRACTICE the music and memorize quickly. In two weeks, they had fitted me for the uniform, a black and purple number, NINJA-style complete with tabby boots separated at the big toe, totally traditional. We practice two nights a week, and I will soon look like Popeye. Ha ha! Drumming is a really good workout, let me assure you! There is a lot to it, of course you always find out that there is more to something when you start really getting into it. But every song is like a meditation. It is extremely soothing. I know, you are thinking, wow-so soothing, in the middle of people pounding on huge drums. Maybe it would be easier to explain it another way. You are in a city, the traffic outside your window. You hear cars and trucks and jackhammers and people shouting to each other. Right now maybe you hear somebody walking outside the door or the printer spitting out the triplicates. Maybe there is somebody coughing in the next room and it is driving you crazy. You can shut out all the noises, can�ft you? Until I pointed them out, perhaps you didn�ft know all the sounds that were around you at this moment. Now you do, sorry for disturbing your silence. We have all learned to tune stuff out, or otherwise we would never be able to sleep in a hotel, would we? Taiko is doing that on a deeper level. You are meditating on the meaning of the drumming, because each one means something. You are transferring your energy through the wood and into the drum. Many people are doing this as a unit. Yes, it feels like you are in a machine. Yes, it sounds that way as well. But join the dance, feel your heartbeat pick up the tempo of the meditation, lose the world and the traffic and the checkbook and the internet and the news and the fact that there are three loads of laundry waiting in the hall. All there is at that moment is the energy that you share with the others around you who are escaping the world also. It is a celebration of our life forces. It is being thankful for this moment right here. It is making beauty out of noise. It is gathering strength from the meditation. And the drumming will tell a story. We have one piece that is a sort of prayer. It is all about the earth. There are four sections, representing the elements of earth, air, fire, and water. When we play it, it must be soft in places, hard and brutal in other places. Each section can not stand alone. It needs the others to compliment it and make it beautiful, just as we need all elements in our world. When we play and meditate on this feeling, we are thankful for the tough spots in our lives, we appreciate the soft parts better because we have known the harder ones. It is coping with the human condition in a way, and transcends the boundaries of organized religion. For here we all are, Buddhist and Christian, meditating on life lessons, gaining strength from each other and from the whole. It all comes down to the four elements of Taiko itself, as well, which are as follows in case anybody cares:
ELEMENTS OF TAIKO
Karada: Discipline of body strength, power, and stamina
Kokoro: Discipline of mind, self control, and spirit
Waza: Musical skills, physical expressions, and rhythmic expression
Rei: Communication, manner, harmony, language, unity of spirit.
These are all the basic elements of Taiko and cannot stand separately.
They must come together as one unit.

Taiko is really beautiful. Plus it looks really cool. I wish you all could SEE it! If anybody wants to check out a good site that I found, check out the San Francisco Taiko Dojo site at http://www.taikodojo.org/main.html
Anyway, on Japanese Culture Day, November 3rd, I had my first performance. They let me play the BIG drum on one of the songs, and I got to play the most technical part on another song. We played for a private gathering of the business leaders and politicians from the area. It was pretty scary, I have to admit. I didn�ft want to make a huge mistake and make this group look bad. They have really been nice to let me in, because it is the best group in the area, they tour America every now and then as well, just came back from a trip to Oregon over the summer! They play a lot in the area also, which means that I will get lots of chances to perform, which keeps that itch well scratched! I like the other drummers, and they are really patient with the language barrier thing. I am trying.
Last week, we went to the MidYear Seminar in Kobe, and all the ALTs in Hyogo Prefecture were assembled for a two-day workshop extravaganza, and a two-night drinkfest afterwards. Ken and I headed out with a small group to Okayama afterward, to one of the International Villas, where we did some serious sempai work for a couple of days. We took in the scenery, watched a fantastic sunset, and played some games. It was a great time, and the centuries old farmhouse where we stayed was just amazing. The earthen walls and fresh tatami, plus the kerosene heaters, made it our little paradise for a couple of days. It was great. I wished for Jessica, though. It was nice to have the adult time, you know, but I really missed having her there, and I was sick that I was missing her ekiden, or school marathon. She stayed with our friends in Wadayama during our time at the seminars, and had a great time with Mai and Ami, naturally. But she had been preparing for the marathon for several weeks, and was very excited about it. I was so disappointed that I couldn�ft be there to watch her run. She only was concerned about getting into the top 20. She came in 22nd. But when you consider that it is the whole school, and that it was girls AND boys, and lots of the top finishers are a year older than she is, I think the top 25 is superb, and told her so. I called several times from the villa, just couldn�ft wait to hear the results. She was cheered by the assembled JETs there, and seemed to be happier with her result after we talked to her. What a great kid. I am so proud of how hard she works.

Well, this week has been full of speech contests. On Monday, I judged the 2000 Asago-gun English Speech Competition held at Yanase Junior High School with 5 of my fellow ALTs. The contestants all did a very good job. They did just as well as the officials who were trying to speak there. One guy told them to be a good job, and another said that this experienceS will be left your mind forever. Still another thanked them for their efforts from the bowtime of his heart. The junior high kids did sufficiently better with their speeches for the most part. I am always impressed with the English abilities. I mean, I can�ft do it in Japanese, so I really shouldn�ft even mention it. It sounds like I am making fun of them. I just think that the little mistakes are very cute. I mostly laugh at myself, because I know how very funny I must sound when trying to speak Japanese. No wonder they smile at me so politely! In either case of course, the meaning is there, which means that the communication is successful, which means I should just shut up.

On that note, I will close. I send love from all here to all there, and look forward to hearing from you soon! Lynley