Ring That Bell

Akemashite Omedetoo Gozaimasu! Or, in English, Happy New Year!

Here in Japan we are well into the first day of 2012. We are starting this new year off in an extremely lazy manner, seeming as we didn't get back home last night (this morning?) until 2:30am.

And you might say "What? 2:30am you say? You wild and crazy party animals!" Well, while the "wild" and "crazy" parts are absolutely true, the "Party animals" part is an exaggeration.

New Years in Japan is a time fraught with tradition and symbolism. Special foods are prepared, each food symbolic of goodness for the upcoming new year. And Special places are traveled to, namely Buddhist temples on New Year's Eve, followed by trips to Shinto shrines on New Year's Day.

Last night we went to Choin-in Temple in the Gion neighborhood of Kyoto. The Choin-in temple is the head temple for the Jodo sect of Japanese Buddhism. The temple was first built in 1234. In 1633 many buildings in the temple complex burned down, and were subsequently rebuilt, and are still standing today.

The bell at Chion-in Temple is the largest in Japan, weighing 74 tons. On New Year's Eve 17 monks work in unison, chanting and pulling on ropes tied to a massive wooden striker to ring the bell 108 times-- 108 symbolizing the 108 human sins (in Buddhist belief), one ring of the bell for each of the sins.

Bob and I (and the kids) have attended previous New Year's Eve bell ringings in Japan before. When it was just Bob and I (pre twerps), we went to Osu Kannon Temple in our neighborhood in Nagoya, where mere hundreds of people crowded at the freezing midnight hour to watch the ringing of the bell. When we returned to Nagoya in 2005, we went to a much smaller bell ringing in Gakuden, where barely 100 people gathered to ring the bell at the small neighborhood temple. After attending the bell ringing in Gakuden, we stumbled upon a gathering of Gakuden locals who had built a massive bonfire. Although they were a bit surprised to have four foreigners stumble out of the trees into their midst, it only took them a few seconds to offer Bob and I sake, and to offer Patrick and Aya rice crackers.

Let me tell you now, our previous bell ringing experiences in Japan were NOTHING compared to going to a bell ringing in Kyoto.

Thousands...THOUSANDS of people filled the extensive temple grounds to overflowing. As the time crept closer to midnight, they formed a line four or five people wide that was at least 2 miles long, all waiting to climb the steps to the top of the mountain upon which sat the bell. Volunteer guards and city police officers, wearing vests festooned in blinking red lights very efficiently kept the lines in order and did their best to prevent the inevitable line jumping (especially tempting once we all saw just how massive the line was).

Sadly, there were just too many people to allow everyone to stand and watch the bell being rung the full 108 times. We were ushered to the base of the bell in a long, wide line. The bell was at least 10 feet tall, and sheltered in a wooden, open sided pagoda structure. Hanging from one massive beam was a polished log striker, suspended by thick ropes. On the sides of the striker there were hooks drilled in on each side, with more ropes attached to the hooks. At the end of each of the 17 ropes was a Buddhist monk. One monk standing to the side shouted out a chant. The 17 holding the ropes would echo him in answer, heave the striker back four or five times to gain momentum, and then let the striker hit the bell, resulting in a deep tone that resonated from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet.

After we got to watch 2 or 3 tollings of the bell, we were ushered back down the mountain to allow others to take our places.

Back at the base of the mountain, we came upon the ever-present food stalls--a fixture at any celebration. And while I did not see any stalls with my personal winter favorite (huge, hot buttered potatoes), there was a lovely assortment of foods: hot dogs on sticks, cotton candy, takoyaki, chicken karage, okonomiyaki, mitarashi dango, huge hamburgers, yakisoba, udon, ramen, oden, ice cream, a stall selling kebab and another selling Indian curry and samosas. Beer and various kinds of hot sake were in plentiful supply of course. But there at the temple people sipped these more to stay warm than to get tipsy.

We all selected some goodies: I got the Indian curry and samosas (which Bob generously offered to help me consume). Patrick opted for chicken karage. Aya, in a mystifying choice considering the freezing temperatures, wanted ice cream. And Bob got a cup of special hot sweet New Year sake, in which was mixed a spoon of fine grated ginger. We sat atop some huge stones, eating and watching as people surged past us. A wonderful mixture of people passed by--mostly Japanese, of course, but also plenty of foreigners--our ears detected German, French, English and Spanish, to name a just few of the languages that we could detect out of the cacophony.

And then we began the trek down the hill, towards the main street. The Gion district of Kyoto is most often associated with "geiko"(what most people would refer to as "Geisha"). There is the historic heart of this district, with preserved tea houses and traditional stores, and then the surrounding neighborhood, replete with I would guess hundreds of restaurants and bars, some smaller than our living room. We waited for about half an hour at the nearest bus stop for a bus to appear. However there were so many people surging across the streets that it soon became clear that no bus could possibly make it through that mass of humanity.

So we began walking towards the nearest subway station on our line, Shijo station. The good thing about this is that it gave us all an opportunity to join in with all the other happy New Years revelers and to get to know more of the city. The bad thing about this is that getting to Shijo Station from Choin-in Temple involved a 35 to 40 minute walk in weather that was quickly getting colder.

By the time we reached the subway station Patrick was complaining that his toes were completely numb and Aya had stopped talking to us altogether. We made it down to the trains and once inside the train car collapsed upon the heated seats, taking the opportunity to defrost a bit before the 20 minute walk home.

....And now it is New Year's Day. In a little while I'll be making Ozoni. This is a traditional Japanese New Year's soup. I usually make ozoni using miso soup as the base. In it I add carrots, potato and chicken. And then I grill a rice cake called "mochi" and pour the soup on top of it. The result is a lovely, filling soup, just what is needed on a cold New Year's night.

And so, with the last tolls of the bell still echoing in our ears and promises for chewy mochi to come, I wish you all a wonderful beginning to 2012.

Until next time....

Holidays--Kyoto Style

Hello all...

We are now on the recuperation side of our fifth Christmas spent in Japan. And for those of you who did not know us way back when, during our previous sojurns to Japan, allow me to describe the delights--and periodic doofiness--of this season. At least, as I have experienced them...

So yes, Christmas is celebrated in Japan. By and large it is a secular holiday--a time to enjoy the lavishly decorated department stores. A time to take advantage of massive sales. A time to go out and party with friends. A time for kids to rip open presents.

Of course, there are people here--both foreign and Japanese--who do celebrate Christmas as a religious and spiritual holiday. But if I had to guess, I'd say that the average Japanese person probably has a vague idea, at best, of this side of the holiday. Similarly with the other December holidays--notably Hanukkah and Kwanzaa--these are most likely celebrated privately by individuals and families. And since Japan is largely a Buddhist and Shinto country, I find this understandable.

Artificial trees are sold here, but seldom live ones, unless you buy one that is growing in a pot. Affordable artificial trees are about 2 feet tall. Unaffordable trees are any trees taller than 2 feet in height. This year I decided that stacking gifts around an 18 inch tall tree might be a bit silly, so I made a tree. Yes, you heard me right. I stuck a 3 1/2 foot swiffer sweeper pole into a cardboard box that I used as a base. I taped the pole in tightly, then strung plastic twine from the tip of the pole to the box corners, sort of creating a tent. Then I bought plastic pine garland tinsel and wound it around the twine tightly. Added lights (very pricey those little lights). Swathed the ugly box in a tablecloth. Voila. Tree.

Now, the "traditional" holiday dinner for this season is Kentucky Fried Chicken. Please don't ask me why....I recall reading something about KFC coming up with a clever December marketing campaign quite a few years ago, and forevermore fried KFC chicken became the Christmas din-din of choice.

After the KFC comes the Christmas Cake. These are round cakes, usually sponge cake, decorated with whipped cream frosting (snow) and topped with extremely lovely and expensive strawberries. We've had our share of Christmas Cakes over the years, but this year we weren't into sponge cake. Instead, on Christmas Eve, Bob wandered down our street and stumbled across a little Austrian Bakery. Bob and I began speaking with the proprietress when she suddenly began speaking to us in very, very good English. Totally threw us for a loop. For a few seconds I couldn't remember what language I was supposed to speak (I'm easily startled in situations like this). However, she agreed to make us a lovely little chocolate cake--fresh. Just before we sat down to Christmas Eve dinner, Bob went down to pick up the cake. It was small. It was a bit pricey.

Once we finished slurping our way through a massive Nabe stew I had made in honor of Xmas eve, we each had a tiny slice.

It was UNBELIEVABLE. Thick. Dense. Chocolate. Rich. Smooth. As close to cheesecake as one can get without actually eating cheesecake. Aaaaaaaa......

The next day, Christmas morning, dawned clear and cold--and much to Aya's utter dismay, utterly snowless. This did not, however, hamper her ability to open gifts. This year's big gifts included a nefarious plot to turn us into "The Partridge Family". Aya received a digital piano (piano lessons, here we come!). Patrick received an electric guitar (with appropriate gizmos so that he can listen to his licks through his ipod. An amp? In a Japanese house in which I can stand outside and hear Bob sneeze?! No No no...) And I received a ukelele. (Oh stop snickering. Ukeleles are handy things for kindergarten teachers to have. They're tiny, portable and I feel will add a certain something to the acapella warblings that my poor students have to endure).

As for Bob, in his position as our road manager (aka "Mr. Kinkade"), he got an apple TV. Presumably to use to watch all our performances as we go on the road for our world tour.

For our actual Christmas dinner, the Moorehead family decided to forego KFC , and instead ventured out into the icy winds on Christmas Eve to a lovely katsu restaurant in the venerable and historic shopping arcade called "Teramachi". While the restaurant's signature dish was tonkatsu (breaded and fried pork cutlet), they serve all manner of crispy fried goodies, accompanied by all you can eat rice, miso, cabbage salad and pickles.

Much better than KFC if you ask me.

Once we were all bulbous from our lovely katsu dinner, we waddled through the shopping arcade to a teeny little shop Bob had discovered tucked away between two larger stores. This teeny shop sells freshly made churros and unbelievably thick and rich hot chocolate. In Spain (and I believe Mexico) this pairing is called "churros con chocolate". You take the piping hot churro and dunk it into the steaming, thick hot chocolate and chow down.

Needless to say, we became more bulbous.

And this is where I leave you. Imagining us all, bulbous from various delicious edibles, plucking away on pianos, guitars and ukeleles, gathering our wits and blankets around us in preparation for 2012.

To all our friends and family, we missed you mightily and hope that December is filled with love, laughter and plenty of goodies!

Until next time.

Brr Brr Chilly Chilly

Hello all...

You will all be gratified to know that winter is knocking on our figurative--and literal--door here in Kyoto. And while the actual snow might not fall for several weeks yet, the temperatures are slowly but surely slithering down.

Now in my opinion, there are few sights more lovely than those found in Japan in the winter. Temples, shrines and gardens that are beautiful in the spring and fall become truly breathtaking in the glitter and shine of snow. One of my favorite wintertime things to do is to wander around the grounds of a temple or shrine in the winter, perhaps discovering stalls selling hot buttered potatoes, chicken karage or scalding takoyaki (warning: never just bite into takoyaki (Octopus balls). The inside of your mouth will burn clean off. Let it cool, then nibble. Carefully).

However, the onset of winter brings the main challenge of the season: staying warm.

It confuses both Bob and I that Japan--a country that we love, that is filled with beauty, innovation and invention--cannot seem to wrap its collective house-building mind around INSULATION.

For example, Patrick came downstairs this morning and went into the living room. I was in the kitchen, perched about 3 inches away from our blaring gas heater.

Patrick suddenly said "Hey Mom, come here for a minute"

I rather resentfully left my heated perch and went into the living room.

"Watch this" Patrick said, and lifted his chin and exhaled. A billow of visible steam issued from his mouth.

I nodded.

He frowned. "But, isn't it just WRONG for me to be able to see my own breath in my own house?"

I nodded. "Yes. But this is Japan. In the winter. Now go turn on that space heater and try not to catch yourself on fire."

So why could Patrick see his breath in our living room?

Because most Japanese houses and apartments have no insulation.

In fact, the floor of our house sits on short, thick concrete supports, leaving a 10 inch crawl space right under our floors. This crawl space has vents to the outside. It WOULD be directly accessible from right inside the house, under the step that goes from our entry way (genkan) to our living area floor, but we covered the gap in cardboard once we discovered that our cats rather enjoyed losing themselves beneath the house.

So there is no insulation in the floor.

There is no insulation in the walls.

There is no insulation in the attic.

There are no double paned windows.

There is no insulation.

And so, as much as we love our house, with its tatami mats and ofuro bath, heated toilet seat and lovely sliding doors, we have to WINTERIZE.

In Japan, to WINTERIZE means

1. Break out the kotatsu cord and unfold that kotatsu blanket and pad. Time to turn into a puddle of goo under the world's greatest invention: the heated table. Who needs to heat a whole room? Just make sure you turn yourself regularly so you can cook evenly.

2. Purchase electric blankets. Patrick and Aya have electric blankets. They love their electric blankets. Bob and I do not have electric blankets. We do, however, have a veritable mountain of blankets and comforters on our bed. Mountain, I say.

3. Invest in a heated rug. Yes, a heated rug. Like an electric blanket that you can walk on. Bob and I won't buy a heated rug, primarily because we have 3 claw-equipped cats who might decide to like the rug a bit too much. But just imagine walking on a heated rug. Mmmmm.

4. One word: heaters. There are an incredible array of heaters in Japan. These appear in stores somewhere in late Autumn. Kerosene heaters (rather dangerous, quite fumey, but rumored to be great at toasting cold toes) . Gas heaters that plug into gas valves installed right in the house walls. Electric space heaters. Heaters, heaters, heaters. We have a gas heater and about 6 small electric space heaters. The gas heater is the most glorious and everyone's favorite because it has a fan in it that blows the lovely heat all over the room. It is also much more efficient at heating than the electric space heaters, and we like to be efficient whenever possible.

But just imagine how much more energy efficient we could be if all this heat generated by heaters, tables, blankets and rugs didn't just drift right out the floor and ceilings.

And if all Japanese houses were insulated, Japanese folks would use less energy.

Which would mean less need for electricity produced by dangerous sorts of power plants that are all too susceptible to the whims of Mother Nature.

So Bob and I are doing our research, trying to find a way to purchase roll out insulation that we can install by ourselves, at least in the attic.

In the meantime, we'll keep huddling by our heaters and beneath our kotatsu.

After all, the family that shivers together....well....shivers together.

Until next time.

Hardest Blog Ever (Grown Ups Only Please)

This week's blog is about something horrible.

I must have rewritten it four or five times and still, there is no way mere words can give this subject the solemnity and justice it deserves.

But words are all I have.

I want to tell you about something terrible that happened in Bob's family...and thus in my family.

In 1983 Bob's grandfather was murdered.

At the time Bob's grandfather, Hank, was in his 80's. He was a widower, living alone.

The murderer--John Backo-- was a young man in his 20's who had already run afoul of the law several times.

Mr. Backo went to Hank's house, forced his way inside and, in a fit of rage, beat Hank to death with a metal lamp. And while Mr. Backo would later repeatedly blame alcohol for his actions, he had the presence of mind at the time to wash his hands after murdering Hank, to close the curtains, to take Hank's car keys and money from his pockets, to lock the door and then to back Hank's car out of a narrow driveway as he made his escape.

Witnesses later testified that before Mr. Backo had murdered Hank, he had gone around talking about how much he wanted Hank's car, and how Hank must have money hidden away somewhere.

A year and a half after Hank was murdered, I met Bob. I never got to meet Hank, of course. I only know him through photographs and through family stories...which is a shame. He sounded like a wonderful man.

John Backo did get caught, but not until he had taken Hank's car on a joyride around town, telling everyone he met that Hank had given him the car.

Mr. Backo has been in prison for 28 years, due in large part to the fact that Bob's family attended each parole hearing.

I have attended four parole hearings as Bob's support person.

Bob and his family have attended many more.

Every two to four years, preparing for and attending the parole hearing has been a grisly sort of reunion, family members coming together to try to keep Mr. Backo in prison.

We'd ask friends and family to write letters to the parole board on our behalf.

We'd write letters of our own, trying to find new words to express an old pain that wouldn't go away.

We tried to protect Patrick and Aya for as long as possible. But two years ago they turned on one of our computers and accidentally opened a parole board letter that we had been working on.

And as quickly as that, the pain slipped to another generation.

This year Aya decided to write her own letter to the parole board. It's odd how a feeling of pride in someone can hurt so much at the same time......

So why am I telling you this?

Because four days ago, on December 7th, there was another parole board hearing.

And this time, the man who murdered Bob's grandfather was granted parole.

I think it is safe to say that everyone in the Moorehead family has been dreading this day. In the back of our minds we knew it might happen. I think we were just always hoping it wouldn't.

A big factor contributing to Mr. Backo's release was probably the fairly recent passage of Marsy's Law. Marsy's Law was passed with the intention of providing all victims with rights and due process. However it includes a second stipulation that when considering parole, commissioners can NOT consider the crime itself, regardless of the nature of the crime.

So what did they consider in granting Mr. Backo parole?

They looked at his behavior and conduct while in prison. His efforts at educating himself and learning job skills. His attendance at AA meetings, and the opinions of a medical and psychological review.

And he did well in all these areas.

And because the commissioners can no longer consider Mr. Backo's crime, they could only take into consideration how he did while in prison.

He did well.

So soon he will be free.

But all these things aside, is he still dangerous?

To which I'd need to say: Yes. After 26 years of knowing the Moorehead family, 18 years of officially being a part of it, and four times spent sitting across a parole board table from Mr. Backo, face to face, listening intently to his every word and explanation, I'm not convinced he really grasps the enormity of what he did. 28 years after being imprisoned for murdering an elderly man, he still refuses to talk about the crime itself. He still blames alcohol for his actions. Time and time again, Mr. Backo sat across from us and talked at length about his achievements while in prison, but never responsibly addressed WHY he murdered Hank. Never addressed the terrible legacy his actions created within the Moorehead family.

I'm not convinced, that, if he were desperate enough, he would be able to resist victimizing another elderly person.

He has been granted parole to Sacramento County.

A place we still consider to be home.

At this point, we are going to try to appeal to the Governor of California to repeal the parole.

An integral part of this is for people to write to the Governor to support our plea that Mr. Backo be returned to prison.

I ask you, my friends and family, to consider my request to write or email the Governor on our behalf. I will include necessary information at the bottom of this blog.

Over the years of writing parole board letters--and asking others to write them in support--I have learned something.

I have learned that writing such a letter is a personal decision for anyone considering it.

I won't know whether or not any of you write a letter unless you tell me. If you choose not to write a letter, that is a personal, moral decision on your part which I respect. If you choose to write a letter, that is a personal, moral decision that I will appreciate and will respect. This isn't about losing my friendship or love.

My feelings for each of you won't change regardless of your decision.

I will especially encourage my friends in Sacramento and Davis to consider this issue carefully, as he will be released on parole in Sacramento. If you feel strongly about this, please feel free to pass on my blog to others. The more letters we can send in, the better our chances might be.

Mailing address:

Governor Jerry Brown

c/o State Capitol, Suite 1173

Sacramento CA 95814

You can also send messages or concerns via email on the ca.gov website at

govnews.ca.gov/gov39mail/mail.php.

A traditional letter would have more of an impact, and would allow you to go into more detail, but an email would be appreciated as well.

Please refer your letters/emails to the parolee:

re: John Backo

CDC # D03236

California State Prison-Solano

Until next time....

Gimme a 4. Gimme a 5. Whaddya Get?

Hello all,

Here I am. Sitting on the cusp of turning 45. I feel like I should be freaking out or bemoaning my mortality. However I have always liked the number 45. It's weighty without being overwhelming. Any notation of time that involves 45 seems to hold promise. 12:45 is not yet 1:00.

There is a promise in those last 15 minutes before hitting a round hour.

Maybe in the darkness of the early morning, an extra 15 minutes to snooze.

Perhaps 15 minutes to use to get a few last bites of that delectable burrito.

Or 15 more minutes to sit in the sun and read before needing to return to a desk or an office, a classroom or a cash register.

45 feels good to say. Lots of hidden alliteration. Nearly a tongue twister, but not quite.

0+1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9=45. Did you know? I did. All those years of counting out Montessori beads to create math jobs cemented this fact in my brain. I can't remember my own phone number, but I can remember this.

45 degree angles are satisfying. I'm not sure why. Something about the way they turn the corners of squares into right triangles. They also put me in mind of grilled cheese sandwiches, cut crosswise into triangles. I'm not sure about this one either.

The 45th wedding anniversary is the Sapphire anniversary. I like sapphires very much, and even though Bob and I have not yet made it to anniversary number 45, I give you permission to give me sapphires if you wish.

Of course, to reach the age of 45, one must consider the starting point, namely 1966. Now, politically 1966 was not the most peaceful of years. I could easily pontificate about the upheaval of the mid to late sixties. However this is my birthday blog and I promised myself I would not pontificate.

So let's look at some frivolity. Let's look at music in 1966. I discovered that the top 5 songs of that year were all very groovy and happenin':

1. Strangers in the Night (Frank Sinatra)

2. These Boots Are Made for Walkin' (Nancy Sinatra)

3. Yellow Submarine/Eleanor Rigby (The Beatles)

4. Good Vibrations (The Beach Boys)

5. Paperback Writer (The Beatles)

In fact, when I perused a listing of songs that came out in the year 1966, I found a mighty collection of very groovy and happenin' music. Which is very gratifying. I wouldn't want to be born in a year with bad music.

Of course, I was a kid of the 70's, and TV was a big thing. And I am pleased to report that 1966 saw the beginnings of a bunch of mindless TV goodness. "Batman" premiered in 1966. BAM! KA-POW! "The Monkees" TV series also began. Yeah, that's right. People got to see them monkeyin' around. "Family Affair" was one of my favorites when I was tiny. I even had a Mrs. Beasley doll. (for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, humor me and please pretend that you do.)

But the show that trumps these..yes, you know it's true..."Star Trek: The Original Series". It is a bit alarming to think that I was fated to be a hidden trekkie, but there it is. I'm sure it's written down somewhere: those born in 1966 must grow up to like Star Trek. It's the law.

Oh, but it gets better. "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" first aired in 1966. This makes me nearly as happy as discovering that "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" ALSO debuted in 1966. (How strange. The soundtrack to "Snoopy: The Musical" is drifting through my brain.)

Okay, so I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy and very gratified to be turning 45. Let's take a look at who shares 1966 with me. No, wait, I just discovered a list of no fewer than 3,651 actors and actresses all born in 1966. Geez, this could get exhausting. And as I go through the list, I'm finding tons whose work I enjoy. I could be here writing about them all night! Pfft. I'm going to abandon this birthday tangent.

All kidding aside however, I'm pretty satisfied to be turning 45. I've never been 45 before, so this is unexplored territory. What new quirky aches and pains will visit me this year? Will the bursitis in my right knee worsen? Will I be able to resist cutting my hair (and thus continue my goal of being a wacky, long haired cat lady in my twilight years)? Will I be able to avoid falling down the many Japanese subway staircases?

Who knows?

What I do know is that I'm pretty darn lucky. In fact, when I consider all the disillusioning, depressing and demoralizing things going on in the world right now, I can safely say I'm very lucky indeed.

And while it is easy to feel like a slowly developing antique when I consider all the things I grew up with that are now virtually unknown to my kids, much less my kindergarten students, I find I can take great pleasure in watching their eyes roll back into their skulls as I tell them about rotary telephones or playing Pong.

So turning 45 isn't a dreaded punishment.

It's a gift.

Until next time.