Too Much is Better than Too Little

Hello there everyone.

This week I have been exploring--both intentionally and unintentionally--the notion that "too much is better than too little". An interesting concept to consider here in Japan, which many non-Japan-living folks often consider to be a place that celebrates the beauty of simplicity and minimalism. And to a certain extent, in certain contexts, this is true. Many forms of traditional Japanese art and culture celebrate what isn't there as much as they celebrate what is there. But even here, or perhaps especially here, fine attention to detail takes interesting forms.

For example:

Do It Right, Or Not At All

Ironically enough I seem to be living in a land that follows my father's most favorite saying: "Do a job right, or don't do it at all". He applied this equally to washing dishes, doing homework or fixing a bike. If you're going to do something, stick to it until it is well and truly finished.

The Japanese approach to medical and dental matters certainly are excellent examples of this.

For the past year or so, Patrick has been plagued by a horrific ingrown toenail. In typical teenager fashion, he ignored it, hid it, camouflaged it and generally pretended it didn't exist until about 2 months ago when he finally had to show it to me. Off to the doctor went Bob and Patrick. Now, back in the USA, dealing with this would probably have been the matter of one doctor's appointment, where they would do the trimming, cutting and bandaging, supply us with various medicines, creams and goo, and then send us on our way.

But here in Japan, Patrick has been summoned back to the doctor once a week for two months. Each visit lasts 15 minutes tops. They unwrap his toe, check it out, perhaps provide new goop or creams, and then re-bandage it and send him on his way.

Incredible.

Take also, for example, the newly scraped and cleaned teeth and gums that Bob and I can now show off. Both of us have been summoned back to the dentist several times for them to check up on their handiwork. Each time they clean our teeth and supply us with various oddly shaped toothbrushes.

My teeth have never, ever been so clean.

And this isn't a new thing. 15+ years ago, when I was pregnant with Patrick in Nagoya, I had incredibly frequent doctor's appointments throughout my pregnancy, and was even hospitalized for a week just so they could monitor my blood pressure. When I was pregnant with Aya 2 years later in Walnut Creek, CA and my blood pressure once again rose, Kaiser sent me home with a portable blood pressure machine and had me call in my own readings every morning. And when the happy day finally came for Patrick to be born, the mandatory--MANDATORY--hospital stay was one full week. I was ejected from the hospital in Walnut Creek just two days after Aya was born.

(It should be pointed out that (a) by the seventh day in the hospital I was ready to poke my eyes out with ohashi/chopsticks (b) the length of post-birth hospital stays is, in my mind, a subjective matter, dependent on the health of mother and baby and (c) While the one week hospital stay in Japan was too long, the two day stay in California was just not enough...)

So is more always better? I cannot say. But when I read the news about the incredibly convoluted, disputed, reviled and in the end failing health care system back at home, I can't help but scratch my head over how different it is here. While back at home Bob and I scrimped and planned and fought repeatedly to keep Patrick and Aya's health insurance, and juggled ways to keep our own, here, thousands of miles away from my own country, I find health care worries to be non-existent.

Yeah, I may be a bit over-coddled, but it absolutely beats the alternative.

Faith In Humanity Alert of the Day

Yesterday I was on the train, coming home from yet another dentist appointment. I was perhaps 4 stops away from my destination (Kitaoji Station). It was about 5pm and the train was mildly full.

I was letting my mind wander off with itself as the train pulled into Marutamachi Station. The train wheezed to a stop, then, as trains so often do, it gave a quick ending lurch so that the doors would match up with the platform marks.

As the train had stopped, an elderly woman rose from her seat, hands full of shopping bags. She was standing and making her way to the train doors when that final lurch hit. It sent her crashing to the floor, face first. Her glasses split in two, one shattered lens scratching her badly from cheek to temple.

As the woman knelt on the floor of the train, blood dripping, the whole train car rose as one, everyone digging into their pockets and bags for packets of tissue (companies in Japan give out millions of packets of free tissue with their company logos on them. As a result, everyone always has plenty of tissue).

It was a sign of how much time I had really spent in Japan that I found myself also moving almost with out conscious thought, towards the woman, outstretched hand proffering tissue.

Immediately five or six other people were on their knees, on the floor with her. Several women of various ages were rubbing her back and encouraging her to move slowly. Two somber faced older men were methodically accepting packets of tissue from people around them, and wiping up the blood that had dripped onto the floor.

As far as I could tell, the woman had been alone on the train. But the reactions of the people around the woman were lightning fast and automatic.

Eventually the woman was able to stand up. Two of the three women with her gathered their own belongings as well as hers, while the third woman kept a tissue pressed against the injured woman's face. At the next stop, two of the women led the injured woman off the train, asking her where she needed to go, and discussing getting a taxi, perhaps to her doctor's office or to the hospital.

And after the train doors closed and the train began moving again, the elderly men were still kneeling on the floor, silently wiping up the drops of blood.

It all happened so quietly, so efficiently and quickly, that neither the other passengers on other cars nor the train conductor ever knew it had happened. It was a single train car tableau of care and sympathy.

Now, both here in Japan and back in the US, I have been witness to, and at times the recipient of, incredible acts of random kindness and help such as this. And both here in Japan and back in the US I have been witness to and at times the recipient of apathy and ignorance. Times when I or someone else needed help, and no one would step up. Sometimes it was because the person needing the help was different--different race, different skin, different clothes. Sometimes it was simply because no one stepped outside themselves long enough to stop and care.

And I wonder, in my foolish, idealistic way, how different our world would be if we could step out our front doors each day, confident in the knowledge that if we were to fall, there would always, always be a helping hand there to lift us up and wipe away our blood and tears.....

A good first step towards this? Go out your door and be that helping hand....

Meanwhile, I'm adding another packet of tissue to my purse...just in case.

Well, that's it for now folks.

Until next time...

Backwards is Forwards With Less Perspective

Hello all...

I know you've just about give up on me and this blog by now. But this is the way I roll with blogs. Life gets crazy, blog takes a rest. Life regains perspective, blog stretches, groans, shakes out the aches and moves ahead.

And in a certain senese, life has picked up a bit of craziness. Such as...

Going Back to Ye Olde Stompin' Grounds

Last week we returned to Nagoya for a vist. For the most part this wasn't totally a vacation. I took the Shinkansen down to Nagoya on Friday, two days ahead of Bob and the kids, in order to offer my dubiously helpful services to my dear friend Sue, who is about 4 weeks away from doing our move in reverse. We moved from the U.S. to Japan; she is moving from Japan to the U.S. To Chicago to be specific. And just as with us, her husband had to leave months ahead in order to start his job. And just as with us, it has been left to her (and her two teenage daughters), to do the packing/sorting/selling/storing/screaming/ranting (I could go on).

It was wonderful to be able to spend time with her minus the inevitable multitasking/split focus that motherhood brings. I had the luxury of focusing on her and only her. Truth be told, it was as much a gift to me as it was (hopefully) a help to her.

After the hours spent sorting through boxes and papers and piles, sifting through cupboards and mementos, Sue, one of her daughters, and I fit in some fun: dinner on Friday at one of our old favorite 100 yen sushi restaurants, and a surprise trip to one of our favorite sento which Sue sprang on me Saturday night. (Sento: public bath. This one was quite posh, with an excellent restaurant, TV rooms with giant massage chairs, and a lovely array of pools of hot water in which to soak ourselves).

On Sunday evening, Bob, Patrick and Aya showed up on Sue's doorstep, as planned. Sue, her two daughters, and all of us scooted just around the corner from Sue's house to a tiny izakaya called "Murasaki". (Izakaya: think of a combo tapas bar+casual neighborhood bar+family restaurant). We ordered heaps of semi-healthy food, sipping on sodas (for me and the kids) and beer (for Sue and Bob). It took the kids only a short time to relax back in to their friendship that now spans 7 years.

After eating our fill (and after a brief, humorous scuffle between Sue and I to pay the bill) we collected our things from Sue's house, distributed warm hugs and made our way down the street to the train station, which would tote us towards downtown Nagoya and our hotel.

Sue stayed in her doorway, waving, watching us walk down the street, until we turned the corner. It was a sentimental sight for me, as this was what my grandmother used to do every summer when we visited her from Kwaj. When it was our last night of our visit with her, after the hugs and kisses were done, she would stand in her doorway and watch us pile into our rental car and drive down the street. Every year the last sight I had of her was her tiny form, shivering slightly in the breeze, backlit against the porch light.

We had a quiet, tired train ride to Chikusa Station, where we opted to take a taxi the rest of the way--with four of us plus my luggage, traveling, short distances by taxi are often cheaper than train fare. We arrived at a tidy business hotel not far from the main part of downtown Nagoya. We had two rooms--one for Aya and I, one for Patrick and Bob (One of the side-effects of having teenagers--they can no longer be tucked to sleep on pillows and folded blankets on the floor. On the other hand, they can now carry luggage and be sent on solo errands when needed. A fair trade-off I feel)

On Saturday Bob left early to go visit the elementary school where he had done his research. The kids and I slept in a little later, then walked downtown. We visited the import store, Meidi-Ya, where Aya selected a bin of caramel popcorn and Patrick opted for two Snicker's bars. We went to the bookstore Maruzen, where we toted ourselves to the 3rd floor "Foreign Books" section. Aya and I opted for a book and a magazine each, while Patrick chose to save his brownie points (and share of the money) to continue his quest to buy a leather jacket. After more exploring we returned to the hotel and waited for Bob to return. For dinner we went to a downtown izakaya, and spent a few hours there nibbling on misokatsu on skewers, massive sticks of grilled and breaded chicken katsu, kinoko mushrooms in butter sauce, deep fried mochi balls, and of course, french fries.

Of course, on Sunday we made our way to one of my favorite Nagoya spots: the monthly antique market on the grounds of our old neighborhood temple, Osu Kannon. Patrick and Bob continued the leather jacket quest while Aya alternated between following me around as I picked my way among the antiques, and trailing after Bob and Patrick (Patrick and Aya don't quite understand my love of picking through flea markets, but they've learned to put up with it. Usually). Patrick finally chose a, inexpensive non-leather jacket in one of the many used clothing stores that line the Osu Kannon covered shopping arcade. We regrouped for lunch at some of the sidewalk food stalls to nibble on mitarashi dango, okonomiyaki and chicken karage. Then it was off to the hotel and onward to Nagoya Station where we caught the shinkansen back to Kyoto.

Needless to say, our cats were overjoyed to see us upon our return, and have spent much of this week following us from room to room, their three sets of glowing eyes staying fixed on us, just in case we decide to vanish again.

And now that we are back in Kyoto, I'm busy with a new pastime...

Teaching English...Lah Dee Dah

I have taken up my former occupation as English Teacher once again and am tutoring a business woman in English, helping her prepare for her upcoming TOEIC exam.

TOEIC stands for the "Test of English for International Communication", and is a significant (and employer-required) proof of English skills for business people. It is a lengthy and challenging test with two components: Speaking and Writing, and Listening and Reading. She is preparing for the Listening and Reading Component.

So, two nights a week, for an hour and a half each time, we meet at a quiet coffee shop and go over reading comprehension exercises. I read practice test portions aloud to her so that she can practice her listening comprehension. We analyze samples of business emails, complex advertisements and meeting agendas.

I enjoy teaching of all kinds, so I am happy to return to my English teaching . But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss teaching Kindergarten. Teaching adults is enjoyable, but it is missing the minute-by-minute surprises, adventures, mishaps and mind-blowing leaps of learning that can only happen when teaching kids. So while my clothing is now very safe from the mishaps they so often suffered with the kindergarteners (paint/glitter glue/paper mache paste/science experiment splatters/mud/peanut butter....), my mind and heart are working at rekindling the fire I once had for a very different kind of teaching.

Give it time....

And so...off I go again. The week ahead promises to be a full one: Aya's birthday is on Thursday, tucked into my two TOEIC teaching sessions, Patrick and Aya's Japanese lesson, Aya's completion of her first research project and Patrick's PE exam. And behind it all, we have Bob, continually humming songs from Bruce Springsteen's new album. At least we have a soundtrack....

Until next time....