It's still better than $5 in a freshly laundered pair of jeans, or even change in the couch cushions...

I wrote this god-knows-when.  I think last time my mom was visiting, as I vaguely recall the moment and I picture her sitting at our dining table.  Saying, with some effort (and this below is what I just discovered in my drafts with no further explanation):

Booger-y.
BURRgury.

I love to find these forgotten treasures.

And, in case you were wondering, she was trying to say Bulgaria.

Occam of the future

Last night I was scraping off the label from a new metal spatchula when my mom says to me, "Where did you find the one sided laser?"

I looked at the razor in my hand and started laughing.

Like a five-dollar bill you found in your jeans pocket

Prompted by Bobby Jay of the salivation-enducing-encyclopedic-cooking-adventure-blog  Bobby Jay on Food, I logged in to my mctm account to flesh out the notes I have been keeping on the various things small and large which my crazy tokyo mother has been up to.  In my drafts I found an untitled entry I'd written presumably last fall when my mom was here to visit.  My guess is this is something she said to me without the realization that shifting from first to second person is not as smooth as most 'first to second' shifts, be it violin fingerings, car gears, or ballet positions.  I'm sure it cracked me up and I typed it in to a new entry verbatim to preserve the moment with the intent to write something up later.  I clearly never did, but finding it with zero context was kind of amazing.

Here is what I found:

tell them that your mother is here bothering me.

I love it.

Sports analysis by Yoko

Today, our last day in Tokyo, was spent at the Tokyo sumo stadium, the Ryoguko Kokugikan.  We lucked out that our visit coincided with the Tokyo tournament and that my mom was able to get us last minute tickets to day eleven of the fifteen-day-long sport event.  It was every bit as exciting as I remembered!  No one I know, not even my mom's friends, have been to see sumo live.  And friends from my own generation have the overwhelming belief that it must be hugely boring to attend.  THEY COULDN'T BE MORE WRONG.  It is difficult to explain the thrill of seeing these huge, strong, beef-cake dudes slamming and slapping each other into oblivion; the three minute wait as they face off; the showmanship of the salt throwing; the Yokozuna Harumafuji and his signature pushup at the line of scrimmage. 

It was all totally wonderful.

When we first arrived, though, it was still the Juryo matches.  Some were fast and finished right away; others would end up in a deadlock for what seemed like minutes before the victor threw his opponent down.  On several occasions the two monoliths seemed to hit the ground simultaneously, and then the referee sitting on that side of the mound would give his call.

But one time, after the ref gave his call, all the refs stood up and convened in the ring.

My mom leaned toward John and I and informed us:

Someone detested the ruling.

"I'm sure someone did!" said John, as I laughed

My mom now scowls at John, too.  It's a sure sign that he's a member of the family!

Just like every cowboy sings his sad song

Last time we were here, John made an infusion of Jim Beam, Aperol and sansho from my mom's backyard.  It sat untouched for the past nearly two years, and when John got here one of the first things he did was to pull it out and filter it.  The Jim Beam bottle was literally covered in dust which tells you how much of a drinker my mother is.  "I didn't even know that was HERE!" my mom exclaimed. 

Sansho leaves are something I've found nearly impossible to procure in the US, even at Japanese or other specialty grocers.  When I was living here in 2007/8, I made a very delicious panna cotta using the leaves as an edible, slightly lemony, slightly peppery garnish.  

As a side story, when I'd made this dessert, my mom was astonished at the lightness of the flavor.  "Let's eat this every day!" she said.  

"Do you know how much heavy cream goes in to each serving?" I asked her.  Then I told her.  

"Well, maybe let's not eat this every day," she sighed.

But back to my story.  We are considering taking some of my mom's sansho back to the US.  "It's a very strong bush," she told us as we looked out in the yard.  "It's the one right there, with the thons."

I love it.  As cute as tish.  She's been out of the US for 15 years now and it's taking its toll on her English.  Much to my glee. 

Feeling and Nothingness

The past two weeks have been a frenzy of preparations to leave this city that has been home to me for years now. The last box is sealed, all the cabinets are empty and the quiet silence that is no computer, no TV, no radio has given me a space to pause and consider and finally, after all this, feel sad to be leaving. It's been hard not to let emotions get the upper-hand when looking at the distant Manhattan skyline as I walk toward the subway, a view I saw on my way to work every weekday for so long, or looking at the beautiful decay of the brick railroad apartment buildings on my block, or at the tears in my 93-year-old neighbors eyes when she says she will always remember me and John and "Yo quiero mucho mucho," or, or, or. The list is growing. 

I spoke to my mom tonight and told her I was feeling a bit sad now that the busy-ness has subsided. I remembered that she also moved west after living in New York in the late 60s, so I asked her, "What did you feel when you left New York?"  There was a pregnant pause before she made her considered and thoughtful reply:

"Nothing."

I won't reiterate my firm stance that my mother may be a robot, but I forgive her this because a) she's always looking forward which is a good lesson for me (who is always looking back)  lest I be turned in to a pillar of salt and b) she said the word 'tish' again during the conversation and it doesn't get much cuter than that!!

New York: I'm gonna miss you. But I'll be back.

reality isn't a contributing factor

When I first arrived in New York, my mom could not for the life of her remember John's name. The John part was fine. It was the other part that tripped her up.

"What's his name again?" she'd ask me. "Hoppy? Poppy? Poppin?"

"Hoppin"

"It reminds me of Mary Poppins! Anyway, I was close."

"Yes, but one is his name and the others aren't."

"Well, they're all cute," she says as justification.

I can't really argue; it's even cuter in Japanese: ホッピン but I threatened to call her Yamada if the logic of close enough was going to be followed.

A post-script:
She did buy us tickets to see Mary Poppins on Broadway.  John is certain that it was because it reminds her of his name.  He is probably right.

Like "Nass" but maybe better

My mom arrived a few days before our wedding and bore many cards and items of well-wishing from people in Japan. At dinner the night before the wedding, she gave me one of those half-size ziplock bags with a folded kleenex inside.

Before I could open this weird package, my mom gives me some instruction: "Look inside the tish!"

I skipped just a beat while my little grey cells computed and said, "You mean tissUE?"

Then we all laughed. Anyway, in the tish was a pair of teeny-tiny cranes made by Jun-chan, my friend / mom's ex-student / future mctm for another generation. They really were absolutely amazing.

But TISH? Does it get any cuter than that?!

'Nass,' 'chako cake' and other cute things my students intuited

The confusing thing for many English learners from Japan is that there is an ever-expanding segment of the Japanese lexicon derived from a foreign language - often times English, but also French, German etc. Thus the word for bread is 'pan' after the French 'pain,' the word for backpack is 'ryukku' after the German 'rucksack' and things like apple and orange are simply that, with some necessary vowels thrown in: 'appuru' and 'orenji'

This leads all kinds of people to make the error that they can assume reverse conversions are effective, applying a rule that doesn't always apply. Like how little kids sometimes say 'runned' instead of 'ran.' One of my favorite stories entails a group of 5 & 6 year-olds who would enthusiastically shout the English for the things depicted on my flash cards: "APPLE" "ORANGE" "CABBAGE"

Then they see an eggplant, that purple 'onasu' and shout "NASS" much to my glee.

Or the half-Japanese boy who spoke with nary an accent and proudly informed me that for his snack he was going to get some chako cake.

I had an adult student tell me that she was 'grading up' her computer system, and another who wanted to talk about the new designer 'G-pan' she got.

The seamless blending of the world - it ain't easy. Anyone know where we stand with the whole Esperanto effort anyway?

the final send off was im-perfection

I am leaving for the airport and will say good-bye to Tokyo and my mom in just a few hours. I feel so many emotions but the first and foremost is that I am sad I will no longer have the pleasure of experiencing Yoko in her natural habitat living her daily life. So my departure will also likely mark the end of my blogging days. Well, blogging with any kind of regularity I mean. She will still do amazing things I'm sure, but my noting them will certainly be fewer and further between.

Last night we went out to eat, just the two of us. Our beverages arrived first and my mom lifted her hot tea to toast me. Of course she immediately splashed hot tea on herself. The toast went like this, "Bon Voyage! Achiiiiiiie!" which loosely translates as "Hot! Ow! Ouch!"

I laughed and cried both tears of joy and sadness. This is kind of how I am summing up this past year, with tears of joy and sadness.

an additional measure of home protection

We had a barbeque with a bunch of friends and even though it's Fall and getting cool, it was nice to be outside and not be attacked by throngs of mosquitoes. There were a handful at the most and they were not vicious. The sliding screen doors to our 'yard' (it's more like a glorified patio because of the size but in feeling it's a yard) are made to be easy to slide open and closed. From the inside of the house, that is. There are no such handles or impressions in the frame to help you get a grip when you are outside. It was frustrating when you are trying to go in and out bringing food, drink, adjusting music and doing other hostly activities. When I aired my grief to my mom, but she corrected me in her "glass-is-half-full" manner touched by a little y-logic.

"Erg! Why don't these screens have an easy way to open them from the outside!" I grumbled.
"It's a good thing," she said.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, it makes it harder for robbers," she replied.

I feel safer. Imagine how many countless thefts those screen doors protected us from. It was lucky that the robbers who attempted to break in here were not hardened criminals, but milk toasts who give up at the slightest hindrance. I think one of them didn't even make it to the screen door; they went home when they stubbed their toe on the parapet.

Paul Newman tribute week chez Yoko

She was sad, as was I, as were Paul Newman fans world wide, at his passing this weekend. In tribute we are watching his movies this week. Yesterday we rented "The Sting" and "The Color of Money" (known as "Hustler 2" in Japan, though the store did not stock the first one). "It's really too bad, you know," she said. "Didn't Marlon Brando die a few years ago?" I affirmed this. "Who's that other actor I really like. You know the one."
"If you like them so much, you should probably learn their names," I told her. "What movies has he been in?"
"Cuckoo flew over..." she trailed off into dead silence. I cracked up, of course.
"You mean Jack Nicholson. The movie title is "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."
"Right," she says. "I was in the theater watching it when it won the Academy Award for best picture. Someone came into the theater and shouted, 'It just won best picture!' and everyone stood up and cheered!" It's been 33 years since that movie excursion of hers and she remembers it vividly. I bet everyone who was at that theater remembers it, too. I wonder where they are now, and what they are doing?

First victim of the Japanese Ninja Widow

This morning I got some kind of insect bite. I did not see it, so I don't know what it was. But it wasn't a mosquito. Or, if it was a mosquito, it was a mosquito on steroids. It swelled up at the location at first (pictured), but now my whole arm is slightly bloated. It's been nearly 6 hours but the effects are not gone. In fact, I am having some trouble typing since my arm is sore and my brain isn't functioning to its highest capacity. I think I might have a slight temperature and was mentioning this to my mom. "It's possible, you know," she told me. "Because of the venon." It was cute. Steve asked me if it was a black widow. I don't think so. He suggested grey widow. Maybe that was what it was. My mom said she thought it was something invisible since I didn't see it. Clear widow? or maybe it was just that I didn't see it. So, I guess it was a ninja widow.

a different kind of HD

Japan is switching over to a completely digital television system by the year 2010, so many companies are urging their customers to upgrade their systems and equipment now. Because of this our TV channels recently changed and we now get things like Discovery channel and Discovery HD. We'd had just had the conversation about HD versus regular TV a few minutes earlier, so I cracked up like crazy when my mom turned to me last night and said, "What does HD mean again? High Density?"

Cute!

The Yoko Edict

"My brain is so...," my mom began and then trailed off.

Lately she has been picking up conversations that we had started hours, sometimes days, earlier. This morning, she called up the stairs to me to tell me she had found two more books but they were at least 10 years old, too. You think I'd know what she was talking about and that maybe I had just been asking her about books but our conversations today have not even remotely touched on the subject of published chronicles. My only choice was to let those words settle in and let the natural synapse connection process occur. Eventually I remembered I had asked her the other day if she had any of her old French conversation books still. She'd found one. It had been published in 1968. I decided against using it.

But anyway, back to today. "My brain is so....," we looked steadily at each other, her trying to find the words, and me trying not to crack a smile so as to interrupt her 'thought' process. After a longish pause, she continued, "...not used to being used." What a declaration. What an amazing declaration!

(phrasal verb) - preposition = cute

We are going to Okinawa in November, so I bought a new swimsuit. I bought it on-line after a few discouraging attempts to find one in a store here. Japanese swim wear is either ugly or a billion dollars. Yen. Whatever. Luckily, an on-line store where I'd previously bought a swimsuit was having a sale. Since I knew my size, I went ahead and bought one. It is due to arrive any day now. My mom was shocked at my purchase; she conveyed this to me by remarking, "But, how can you buy one without even trying?" I explained that even using the internet takes a little effort, but of course that wasn't what she meant and I knew it. She's too fun to tease sometimes.

One from the archives

My mom had never watched any reality TV before. I introduced her to Top Chef since I had found a place to watch it illegally on the web (shh, don't tell). She was addicted just as I was. It was season 4 and I had already seen a few episodes before we started to watch them together, again from the beginning, so she knew I already knew who was going to be eliminated at each round. We're all old hands at reality shows, us Americans, and while the dramatic editing and music at the end just makes me annoyed and not really in suspense, she would get tense, wring her hands, and look back and forth from me to the computer until the verdict was announced. This reaction of hers went away after a few episodes, but it was cute while it lasted.

Anyway, we got to the Final Four and there was a chef who served a pigeon pea dish whose peas were not fully cooked. During the deliberation, my mom asked me who was going home. I just shrugged my shoulders and told her to wait and see. "It's the girl who made the peas," she said.
"Why do you think that?" I asked.
"You just don't under-cook peas."
Agreed, but I was surprised she had such a strong opinion in the matter. Anyway, she was right. As we all know.

Generational gap defined, much to her chagrin

I was vaguely partaking in a conversation my mom and one of her former students, Jun chan, were having this morning, when I heard a word I was not familiar with.
"What's ohbehjin," I asked.
"It's what you are," my mom said. A brilliant definition that clarified close to nothing for me.
A giggle escaped my lips. "I don't know what that means."
So she clarified. "Da white people."
I swear to god she said 'da' and not 'the;' I was laughing so hard. But Jun chan didn't agree with this explanation. My mom said that the characters that make up the word come from the words "Europe" and "America" to which Jun chan agreed, but she said that while elderly people might still think that means 'white,' the younger generation may not be so narrow in their interpretation.

As for me, I was just recovering from my loss of control over my mom's 'da white people' comment when the words 'elderly people' passed Jun chan's lips. Of course I had a total relapse. My mom didn't scowl, though. She just laughed. I'm kind of glad that that scowl is reserved only for the disparaging comments that I make. Kinda makes me feel special.

I'm glad I'm not her financial advisor

We were discussing retirement savings options and she seemed a bit confounded and confused as to some of the terminology I was using. I had asked her whether she had an IRA account or if it was a 401k. She didn't know. She just knows she has something.
"But you don't know which kind?" I asked.
"No. And I've never heard of a IRA-k before," she said. She immediately started laughing.

I quickly followed suit. "Neither have I. Neither have I."

obviously!

I was going to a party at place called "Terakoya" and asked my mom if she knew about it. "Well," she began, "Terakoya is an old word for 'school,' like from the Edo period, so it's probably a restaurant."

The cadence of her sentence reminded me of a time when I was younger, hanging out pool side with my dad and some friends, drinking my preferred beverage at the time, a Schweppes Bitter Lemon. I noticed something cloudy floating around at the bottom of the bottle and asked my dad what it was. He said, "Well, since it's bitter lemon, it's probably made out of mostly bananas." I totally believed him for a moment there, too. But, the point of this story is not that I'm super gullible, but that he was joking whilst my mom was absolutely serious in her deduction. And, once again couldn't understand what I was kept chuckling to myself about for the rest of breakfast. If only things were as clear to me as they apparently are to her, I'd be set!