福岡市天神から中洲に行く途中にある出会い橋です。
ハロウィンが終わった途端、クリスマスのイルミネーションが出現しました！！！
まだまだ暑い日です。
サンタを見てください。絶対に汗かいてます！
それぐらい今年の10月から11月の最初の週まで暑かったです。
アメリカでは、いつからクリスマスシーズンが始まるか、知っていますか？
In the United States, the holiday season "is generally considered to begin with the day after Thanksgiving and end after New Year's Day".
ハロウィンが終わった途端クリスマスシーズンに突入するのは、
アメリカ人としては
「ええっ！！？？もうクリスマスなの？ちょっと早いよ！！！」
という驚きの心境なんです。
One of the things I love to do when traveling abroad is to visit local supermarkets. It can be so revealing (啓発), providing you with valuable insight (見識) into the daily lives of the people who live there.
When it comes to supermarkets in America, the first thing that hits you is the size. They are HUGE (広大), the aisles wide enough to drive a Japanese compact car (軽自動車) down them.
The second thing that will impress, or shock, you is the amount of processed, instant and frozen food there is.
The frozen food section at our supermarket in Fukuoka looks like this:
The frozen food section at the Ralph’s in downtown Los Angeles looked like this:
What’s more, there were about six of these gigantic freezers. The frozen food section alone was bigger than our local Bon Repas supermarket.
It was the same with just about every section of the supermarket.
The cereal section at our local Bon Repas.
There were two walls of cereal at the Ralph’s in LA.
Chips at our local supermarket.
Chips at a supermarket in Palm Springs. There were so many different types, we couldn’t decide what to buy.
As I’m knocking back some imo jochu (sweet potato shochu) during the Obon holiday, my wife tells me she needs me to go take some photos in front of our local train station.
“What for?”
Our son’s jiyu kenkyu (independent research project), she tells me.
Whenever I ask any of my Japanese friends how many seasons there are in this country, they invariably tell me four. Shiki, or the four seasons, is one of the magical aspects of Japan that you just won’t experience anywhere else, or so they like to believe.
“What about the rainy season,” I ask. “What’s that?”
“Umm. Summer?”
“Summer, huh? You know, I find tsuyu to be so uniquely different that it deserves to be called a season all by itself.”
“Okay, smart aleck, there are five seasons then.”
“Well, then how about all the sekki (節気)?”
“Sekki?”
“Yes, like rikka (立夏, the first day of summer) in early May, shōman (小満, lit. “a little full” as in growing, waxing) in late May, or bōshu (芒種, lit. bearded grain) in early June. There are 24 of those solar terms. And those can be divided into three five-day-long ‘micro seasons’, or kō (侯), giving you a total of 72 (七十二侯, shijijūni kō). The current micro season, according to Kurashi no Koyomi, A Year Seen Through the Ancient Japanese Calendar, is kohanasakau (紅花栄), or ‘The Safflower Blossoms’, and lasts from May 26 to 30. The one after that is bakushūitaru (麦秋至), or ‘The Time for Wheat’. So how many seasons does Japan really have? 4? 5? 24? 72?”
“You’re confusing me, gaijin-san.”
“I’ll simplify it for you, then. I think there are only two.”
“Two?”
“Yes. Unpleasant and pleasant. Or as a friend once commented accurately: livable and utterly unlivable.”
It’s during the pleasant season that all is forgiven. When April or May come around, a parade of different flowers blooming each week—sakura, azalea, wisteria, iris—the days sunny and warm, you can forget that only a few months ago your teeth were clattering as you sat in your home or office, unable to think about anything but the persistent cold that had seeped into your bones. Ah, if only it were like this all year long, you sigh. But you know it won’t last because the rainy season—cloudy skies, torrential rainfall, and unflagging humidity—is lurking just around the corner like the class bully waiting to pounce.
And this year, he’s even more heartless than ever, having reared his ugly mug three weeks earlier than usual. For some parts of the country, this is the earliest start of the rainy season on record. In Fukuoka, it is the second earliest.
Now you might think that what begins early, ends early, but if past is anything to go by, an early start to the rainy season usually means a longer, wetter rainy season. That was true in 1953, when tsuyu began on May 13th and ended on August 1st. It rained 81% more than usual that year. But no rainy season was more patience-trying than 1993’s, the end of which only came with the typhoons of late summer.
That year I learned a lot of new Japanese words that I could have done without—reika (冷夏, a cool summer), fusoku (不足, shortage), and pasa-pasa (パサパサ, dry, crumbly). The rainy season of ’93 ended up being so long and wet and gray and cool (reika) that Japan’s rice harvest fell by about a quarter (komebusoku) and pasapasa rice had to be imported from Thailand. Personally speaking, I love the so-called taimai (タイ米) or fragrant jasmine rice, so I couldn’t really understand what all the sawagi (騒ぎ, fuss)—another new word for me—was about. Granted, it was almost impossible to make an onigiri with it.
Now, you might think that a shorter, drier rainy season would be just the ticket, but that is exactly what we had the following summer. While there was a bumper crop in rice that year, up twenty percent or so, we would experience another fusoku that was even more trying: mizubusoku (水不足, water shortage). In our area, rainfall was 60% lower than average and drastic water-saving measures had to be taken, such as dansui (断水, cutting off the water supply).
In Fukuoka City, the water supply was cut from 10 PM to 10 AM. In those demoralizing days, I worked from nine in the morning until about eight or nine in the evening, meaning I had only an hour or two of water every weekday to shower, wash clothes, cook and wash the dishes, and fill the tub with water. Now, it wouldn’t have been half as bad if the drought hadn’t been happening at the height of one of the year’s “unpleasant seasons” when you have to change your clothes two or three times a day because they are sopping wet and musty with sweat.
You could say, that in 1994 I learned a valuable lesson: be careful of what you wish for. I also learned that nothing lasts forever and once that other pleasant season, known as fall, came around, I would take in the beauty of the autumnal colors, forget all about the stifling heat and humidity of the summer, and sigh, I wish it were like this all year long.
I used to get so depressed after Christmas when I was young. In America, there really wasn’t much to look forward to once King of All Holidays had passed. We had Easter, of course, but you had to first eke your way through six weeks of Lent, which was no easy task in my devoutly Roman Catholic family.
After coming to Japan, though, I haven’t had that problem. Here, there is always something in the offing to look forward to: Ōmisoka, or New Year’s Eve; Gantan or New Year’s Day itself; the first seven or fifteen days of the New Year called Matsunouchi; the Tōka Ebisu Festival held around the 10th of January; Dondoyaki on the 15th; Setsubun at the beginning of February, and so on.
And so, to keep those Christmas Blues in check, we have made it a habit to decorate our home if not as lavishly, then just as festively for the New Year. That involves a trip to one of my favorite florists, Unpas. Every year they make the most wonderful shimenawa and mini kadomatsu.
This year, in keeping up with the muted mood of the times, we opted for a simple design.
We may add something to this pine branch to make it a bit more colorful.
A few days later, we went to the Yanagibashi Shōtengai market, which is always busy with people shopping for the New Year.
I think this may be the first time we have ever bought a real kagami-mochi. I think we may have started a new tradition.
What is a kagami mochi?
Let’s ask Mr. Wiki:
Kagami Mochi (鏡餅, "mirror rice cake"), is a traditional Japanese New Year decoration. It usually consists of two round mochi (rice cakes), the smaller placed atop the larger, and a daidai (a bitter orange) with an attached leaf on top. In addition, it may have a sheet of kombu and a skewer of dried persimmons under the mochi. It sits on a stand called a sanpō (三宝) over a sheet called a shihōbeni (四方紅), which is supposed to ward off fires from the house for the following years. Sheets of paper called gohei (御幣) folded into lightning shapes similarto those seen on sumo wrestler's belts are also attached.
The kagami mochi first appeared in the Muromachi Period (14th–16th century). The name kagami ("mirror") is said to have originated from its resemblance to an old-fashioned kind of round coppermirror, which also had a religious significance. The reason for it is not clear. Explanations include mochi being a food for special days, the spirit of the rice plant being found in the mochi, and the mochi being a food which gives strength.
The two mochi discs are variously said to symbolize the going and coming years, the human heart, "yin" and "yang", or the moon and the sun. The "daidai", whose name means "generations", is said to symbolize the continuation of a family from generation to generation.
So, how do you think you say 3蜜 in English? Before clicking on the link below, here's a clue: Three Cs. What do the three Cs stand for?
https://ej.alc.co.jp/entry/20200703-threecs
住吉神社にあった節分厄払いコーナー
鬼は外！福は内！！！
鬼チョコ
2019 was another busy year, so busy I can’t quite remember what I actually did. One of the highlights, though, was my younger son starting elementary school, a bittersweet moment, as the kindergarten years were very happy ones for us.
As for the best memory of 2019, that would have to be our trip to Miyazaki for a karate tournament. There, after five years of practicing, our elder son would win his first title—a huge confidence builder that would lead to another title a few months later.
The few days we had in Kagoshima were nostalgic ones for my wife as she used to spend her summers there when she was a child.
Next summer, we will once again be traveling to the US, a trip we are all looking forward to.
紅葉のブログをアップし忘れていました。
上２枚は京都で写した写真です。
京都の紅葉は本当に色鮮やかで美しいです。
最低気温が８度以下になると、葉が緑から赤や黄色に変わるそうで、５〜６度以下の日が何日も続くと一気に紅葉が進んで、色も鮮やかになるそうです。
京都は盆地で昼夜の寒暖の差が激しいため、より紅葉が美しいのですね。
下２枚の写真は、佐賀県基山町にある大興善寺の紅葉です。
大興善寺 → https://daikouzenji.com
福岡から車で約２時間。ずっと行きたかった、佐賀県にある「祐徳稲荷神社」へ行ってきました！
色使いがカラフルな門。
風に揺れる風鈴の音色が、とても心地よかったです。
風鈴に願い事が書いてありました。
山の頂上まで登ると、いい景色を見ることができます。
結構な急勾配でしたが、子供たちはサクサク登っていきました！
わざわざ見に行く価値がある、素晴らしい神社でした。
＊祐徳稲荷神社 → https://www.yutokusan.jp
今まで行った京都の写真もついでに載せます。
京都は何度行っても楽しい街です。
一年に４回、四季が変わるごとに訪れたい街ですね。
京都祇園祭
日帰りで京都に行ってきました。
今回はあまり観光客がいなさそうな場所を狙って観光しました。
街を散歩するだけでも楽しいです。
京都を観光するなら、自転車！小回りがきいてとても便利ですよ。
京都サイクリングツアープロジェクト → https://www.kctp.net/index.html
The boys’ Field Day (運動会) will be held this Sunday and the kids have been practicing—dancing, running, marching, etc.—for hours each day since the beginning of May. They were so exhausted this morning, they couldn’t get out of bed.
I’ve been asking everyone what the purpose of the undōkai is, but still haven’t got any good answers. My suspicion is that it’s training for how to be a good Japanese citizen—namely, how to suppress the ego, how to endure, how to cooperate, how to be a team player, and so on. I suspect that if you can’t hack the undōkai, you probably won’t be able to manage in other areas of Japanese life.
People often ask me if there are field days in America and the answer is yes, there are. But field days in America are very different from those in Japan. For one, the kids normally don’t rehearse or practice for it. And, more importantly, the event is for the kids not for the parents, so mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers normally do not attend. Moreover, the children are free to take part in whatever “events” they like. The purpose seems to be to have fun. And it is fun.
Here are some examples of field days in America:
Three-thirty in the morning and I’m wide awake. I thought I had this jetlag licked, but apparently not.
So, . . .
My older son Yuk-kun kicked and screamed yesterday morning: he did NOT want to go to kindergarten. He was adamant and couldn’t be coaxed or forced out the front door no matter what I tried. After a while, my wife gave in and told him to go back to bed and rest.
“But no books! No toys! No TV!”
Rather than try to deal with it further, I went out with his younger brother to a park that is located just outside the school grounds.
When we arrived at the park, everything—the swings, the slides, the tire, the lawn—was covered with dew. Living as long as I have in the southwest of Japan where it’s seldom foggy, I had forgotten all about dew. I had even forgotten the word “dew” and wouldn’t have remembered it if it weren’t for a young girl of about three or four who called out to her mother and told what the swings were covered with.
“You don’t want to sit down on the swing,” I told my son. “They’re covered with dew, with water. If you sit down on it, you’ll end up with a soggy bottom.”
About forty minutes later, my wife showed up with Yuk-kun. The boy looked genuinely happy to be there.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He had to poo.”
“Aah.”
Yu, standing at the edge of the playground, was about to step in when he stopped himself and suddenly remember: “Oh, I gotta go to school!”
He then ran off towards the school’s doors, my wife chasing after him.
Now the funny thing about kindergarten here—and I don’t know if it just Chapman, or all the kindergartens in the Portland Public School system, or all of them in the States—but the daily routine is highly regimented. There are, for starters, quite a few musts: You MUST drop your child off at school between 7:55 and 8:00. If you are ten minutes late, you MUST report to the school office and bring a note to the teacher! You MUST pick your child up at exactly 2:15! And so on.
My son’s kindergarten back in Japan is, by comparison, in a state of virtual anarchy. Arrival and dismissal times are not clearly defined: you may drop your child off between 8:30 and 9:30. And there is no need to notify the school if you’re late. You can alternate between commuting by school bus and bringing your child on foot or by bicycle, as you please. You may even change the bus stop at which your child gets off as my son often requests. And once at school, the kids spend most of their time playing in the schoolyard and roaming about in the classroom, rather than engaged in structured lessons.
Another big difference, though, is the rituals that mark the day. The kids at my son’s Buddhist school go to school in their formal school attire. Once at school, they remove their street shoes, place them in a cubbyhole, and change into their indoor shoes. Then, they progress to their classrooms where they put their bags into another cubbyhole, hang their water bottles on the appropriate rack and change into their play clothes. For the next hour or so they are allowed to run around, play in the mud, get unbelievably filthy, catch insects, and so on. They are, for the most part, free to do as they like, though there are some controlled activities, such as practice for the school summer festival and the autumn field day.
When lunchtime comes around, they spread their furoshiki out, pray to the Buddha, and then eat. School lunch is served about two or three times a week. On the other days, the children bring their own bentō.
Later that night when Yuk-kun and I were lying in bed, I asked him how his day had been. Unfortunately, I didn’t get many answers. He had fun, that much was clear.
While he didn’t have many answers for me, he certainly had a lot of questions: What does this mean? What does that mean? What is this? What is that? Whenever I explained something it was like a powerful light coming on in his brain: “Ah! So that’s what that was all about!!!”
Tomorrow, er, today will be his third day at Chapman. This weekend we’ll have three days off, thanks to the Labor Day weekend, which will provide all of us a much-needed rest.
But for now, it’s back to sleep!
The Japan Times had an interesting article about kōshitsu yōgo (皇室用語) the other day that is worth sharing. Some of the words featured in the article include:
退位 (taii,) abdication
即位 (sokui) enthronement; accede to the throne
戴冠 (taikan) coronation
皇室用語 (kōshitsu yōgo) or 最高敬語 (saikō keigo), terminology and language used exclusively for the Imperial family
陛下 (heika, lit. “at the bottom of the stairs”) is an honorific used with both 天皇 (tennō, Emperor) and 皇后 (kōgō, Empress) and is similar to saying “your majesty” in English.
皇太子殿下 (kōtaishi-denka) His Highness the Crown Prince
皇太子妃殿下 (kōtaishihi-denka) Her Highness the Crown Princess
行幸 (gyōkō) a visit by the Emperor only
行幸啓 (gyōkōkei) a visit carried out by the Imperial couple together
上皇 (jōkō) the Emperor Emeritus
上皇后 (jōkōgō) the Empress Emerita