A Remarkable Man

Dear Family and Friends,

Yesterday I went on another adventurous hike. I had thought I would write about it specifically. But this morning I realized the leader of the group, Ajiki San, would be equally as interesting. He is an older man, in his mid-70s, and is always upbeat, but not silly or superficial.

There were only seven of us going yesterday. So, we went in two cars. Private transportation would save us time since we were going to Yamagata, the neighboring prefecture. The group consisted of four men and three women. I was fortunate to go in Ajiki San’s car, and even more so to sit next to him. That way I could hear his stories. He loves to talk and has a wealth of information.

On the trip going we discussed mostly about what to expect on the hike. Ajiki San also answered my many questions about the farms and villages we were passing. I am always eager to learn more about this Tohoku region, and he is always delighted to share his knowledge.

The hike began with us going part way up in a “gondola”. After we had walked through a small forest to reach the real climb, one woman said her knees hurt and would not go any further. 

“I’ll just stay here and wait,” she said. It was cold and windy with no place for her to shelter. So, one woman of the group, Otowa San, who had really been looking forward to the climb, opted to stay with her. Later, they would head back to the parking area where there were restaurants and shops.

“Anne, what will you do?” Otowa San asked. “I’m going with the guys,” I replied, maybe a bit selfishly. Years ago, when I first got to Japan and did not know about the rigors of hiking, I had done the same thing: opted out. But when the same woman, Otowa San, offered to stay with me, I flatly refused. Instead I spent the time drawing, luckily having taken along a sketch pad.

When that group returned, and we were heading to the cars, AJiki San said to me, “Why didn’t you give one of your drawings to Otowa San? She offered to stay with you.” I was surprised. Why should I do something like that, I wondered. “That is how we do things here in Tokoku”, he continued. I was still firmly locked in an individualistic mindset. Plus, I did not feel my work was good enough to even show anyone, so I did not give one to her.

Yesterday after waving good-bye to Otowa San and Suzuki San, the rest of us began to focus on getting up the mountain. As we ascended, the views became more gorgeous with a wide sweep of mountains and leaves just hinting change. 

Zaoh Mountain is famous for “Snow Monsters” in winter. They are the hundreds of insect-killed trees that become covered in snow. The fierce winds blow the powder into truly monstrous shapes. For us, though, they were only dark frames waiting to be beaten by gales and clothed in their winter garments.

Ajiki San was an excellent leader, as usual. One man was older and more frail than the rest of us, so needed more attention. Ajiki San went beside him, even as he told us about plants and the many changes he has witnessed over time. He has been hiking Tohoku mountains for over 50 years and knows them well.

The other members of the group are all white-collar professionals. A few are retired university professors, one still works for the city government. Ajiki San, on the other hand, is a builder and carpenter, in addition to a driver for a day service center for oldsters. In a hierarchical society like Japan, it says a lot that everyone in the hiking group looks up to Ajiki San with great respect. And Ajiki San remains forever humble, towards all others and towards the vast powers of Nature.

At almost the top of the mountain, we had a brief lunch and then headed off right away, no time to rest after eating. But ill luck seemed to follow us. About half way down, the left leg of the oldest, rather frail, man gave way. Ajiki San was right there, easing him into a sitting position. We all waited until the intense cramping seemed to have ended.

But no sooner had we taken a few steps than the man collapsed again. This time his brain went blank. Ajiki San, as always, was very calm and attentive, knowing just what to do. Another man raced down the mountain to get his car and another called the ladies below to let them know the story.

Eventually, the man came to and we all were brave enough to continue the very precarious trek to where our friend would meet us. I could not get my mind off of the situation at hand. But to my amazement, all three of the men were telling unrelated stories and laughing loudly.

Later, I asked Ajiki San about that. “Life is full of problems. So, we do what we can to solve them and then focus on a larger picture. It is important to always balance things. That is how life works,” he replied.

Later, on the drive home, after all we had been through, Ajiki felt he could trust Suzuki San and me enough to talk about himself. He had grown up in this rural area. It was right after WWII, so people were poor. But they were determined to build their lives back up from scratch. Ajiki San got through high school and became a carpenter and builder, the work he still does today.

When he was 55, he was hospitalized for several months. “That gave me lots of time to think,” he said. “I realized I wanted to do more with my life. So, as soon as I got out, I enrolled in Tohoku Open University. I love it. I learn so much there. And it is affordable. That is where I met the people in this hiking group. I could never be in contact with people like that if I had not stepped out of what I had done all my life.”

(As an aside, I should add that Ajiki San’s writing is truly refined. His script looks like works of art. I feel as if I write with my foot when I compare what he produces to my scrawl.)

He told us about working as a driver for a day service center for oldsters. “I am there regularly and when they need me. Tomorrow is a national holiday, so I will be there. Other drivers have families. I would not want them to be away from their kids.” 

Then he added, “You know who I truly admire doing this unseen job, being there whenever people need me? Garbage collectors. They are the base of society, are needed and used every day. What would our world be like without them?

“Now my life is well balanced. I work twice a day as a driver. I free-lance fixing houses. I do that when I want. I hike whenever I can. I have a hearing aid, so I am not cut off from life. My wife fusses that she does not like the Enka and Mood Music I play. So, I bought ear phones and we both are happy.

“Of course, life gives me problems. But I am a Tohoku man, so I shrug my shoulders and say, ‘Don’t mind’. I want harmony in situations, balance. That is what life is about. And I have, to at least try, to make it happen.”

A man I deeply admire, Ajiki San. Thank you. And I am looking forward to what unexpected surprises our next hike has to bring.

Love,

Anne

Muddy Acceptance

Dear Family and Friends,

Whatever you think about Japan is true — and so is its opposite. In one situation something can be completely accepted, yet in another looked up with distain. People can be very generous with their thoughts and behavior, or viciously petty and small. I try to focus on the aspect that uplifts, using that as a guide. I am not always successful. But the positive dynamics of human relations here can be very helpful for me.

A good example was on a hike I went on last week. There were eight of us. We are all older, but “genki” enough to happily climb mountains. That day we arrived at our meeting place in appropriate gear. That is, except for one of the ladies. She came wearing sneakers. As soon as she saw the rest of us, she said, “I have not gone hiking in a long time, so I forgot what shoes I should wear.”

In Japan, saving face is of prime importance. Face is what people use to define themselves and to regulate their behavior. “What others think of me is who I am.” That is why shame is far more important than guilt. If guilt in a Western sense is part of Japanese psyche at all. 

Hatto San was part of our group, so there was a protective sense towards her. No one wanted her to lose face. So, immediately everyone started reassuring her. “Don’t worry. You will be fine. And besides, there are six strong men to help you up the mountain if you need it.”

What impressed me was that everyone lent her support. No one criticized her in any way. No one said, “You should not have worn those shoes” or “What a foolish thing to have done.” They simply assessed the situation and accepted it. “We will cope with what comes” was the unspoken agreement.

And sure enough, because of days of rain, the slope was not only very muddy, it was also covered in wet leaves. 

Plus, in some places the trail was so steep, the only way up it was by yanking on well-placed ropes. Even those of us with hiking boots had a hard time. But Hatto San was in real trouble. 

Again, no one complained or criticized her. Instead, the leader of the group put one climber in the front. Then he went to the back to be next to Hatto San. Without a word, another man joined him, allowing Hatto San to be sandwiched between them.

The other five of us went ahead at our own pace, periodically waiting for the struggling three to catch up. Sometimes we had to wait as much as fifteen or twenty minutes. 

Again, not a word of complaint. Instead, people talked about the flowers or mushrooms along the trail, 

about the beautiful mist, or briefly commenting on the incredible heat and humidity.

In the future, if they talk about today at all, they will probably laugh and said, “Wasn’t that a muddy hike? Poor Hatto San. It must have been so hard for her. But she got through it. We admire her fortitude.”

And indeed, somehow

, we all did make it safely back to the start of the trail. All of us were covered in mud. But we laughed about it. “We are heading to the Nikka Whisky factory from here. Won’t they be surprised to see such filthy people!”

They weren’t. They, too, just accepted it. 

Hatto San immediately headed to the Ladies’ room to freshen up. The men headed to the bar. 

And all of us agreed it was a perfect ending to a challenging, but very successful day.

Love, Anne

Kanji Challenges

Dear Family and Friends,

Several years ago, I took a course called Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. It was not given in Sendai, so once a week I would scoot down to Tokyo for the class. Each day was different and challenging. For example, once we had to copy an Old Master. The original was a painting and in color (but photocopied for us in black and white). We did ours with a pencil and an eraser.

I studied art in university, but that was in the 60s. At that time, the focus was on self-expression, not on technique. I essentially learned nothing of worth. I missed out on such crucial things as perspective, shading, and composition. So, the Old Master’s assignment was really good for me. Not only for learning about technique, but also about looking closely and discovering nuances and subtle details. I am still not good at those things. So, in that regard, I feel rather inadequate, in many areas of life, actually, not only in art.

One of those “other” areas is the Japanese language. I can get about in my daily life and when traveling. But to read and write, to use grammar properly, and to increase vocabulary are truly daunting for me. Even so, I have set myself the task of studying Kanji, a few cards at a time.

At first, it was rather easy. Characters like 山 for mountain, or 水 for water posed no problem. Their shape gave the message. Even though they both had two different pronunciations, I could cope. 

As the cards progressed, however, I started getting ones like these: 疑for doubt and 築for construct or build. Obviously, those are more complex to write. Plus, they have more than two pronunciations. Those two are cards 850 and 851.

I have another 650 to go to finish the complete set. I have characters like these to look forward to: 鶴for the beloved bird, the crane, and驚for being surprised or frightened.

Even though all the cards are for elementary or early junior high students, I am beginning to feel rather overwhelmed. In fact, I have already forgotten many, if not most, of what I have studied. And there are so many more to come.

However, I am getting better at reading street signs, labels on food containers, and brief articles. So, I feel there is some progress. But even so, I often live in a fog.

Today when taking a break in my T’ai Chi class, a friend came to me excitedly. Did you see Okada San’s calligraphy in Sendai’s latest show? Here, have a look. Our friend had received a top grade for her piece, so my friend was bursting with delight for her.

Okada San’s characters are particularly bold and clear. So, I asked my friend what the writing meant. He looked rather startled and said, “I have no idea.” Just then Okada San herself appeared, so I asked her. She also looked surprised and said the same. 

But then she added, “My task was to copy the text. I recognize a few characters. So, If I want to understand what was written, I use my imagination and make up a story.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Here were two well educated Japanese who could not read characters that were very clearly and confidently written. But then I smiled. Ah, if they have trouble, too, then maybe I should not feel so bad at how much I forget and how little I know.

But I am determined to keep on trying. I will learn what I can, and use my imagination to fill in the gaps. That is how I have been getting along in Japan for years. And now I know I have been on the right track all along.

Love,

Anne

Peak Experiences

Dear Family and Friends,

Recently a friend came to visit. Of course, I turned to Ito San and her fabulous travel agency to help plan our trip. Instead of heading to the Tohoku area, where I live, we decided on the south. Not as far as Kyushu, with its torrential rains this year. Rather we chose a cluster of three prefectures: Shimane, Yamaguchi, and Hiroshima.

The trip itself was beautifully planned, as usual. Every detail was carefully thought out and perfectly coordinated. Yet, even though each place was a feast of discovery, there were a few that stood out more than others.

Those peak experiences did not include Izumo Taisha, the second most important Shinto Shrine in all Japan. Izumo Taisha is the home of the God Okuni-Nushi, second only to His female counterpart Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. 

Neither did peak experiences include the special housing for the eight million gods and goddesses who make an annual visit to Izumo Taisha. They go there to worship and to rejuvenate before returning to their home shrines and all their incumbent duties.

World Heritage Ginzan silver mines were important. And Matsue City was charming with its castle, a National Treasure, well-kept Samurai houses, and marvelous boat tour around the castle moat. That unique trip entailed crouching very low, over and over again, to pass under a multitude of old bridges. 

Adachi Art Museum with its expansive garden was noteworthy. It included the surrounding mountains and natural waterfall as part of its full landscape.

Towards the end of the trip were the gracious wooden walking bridge in Iwakuni, 

Miyajima with its famous Torii gate, and Hiroshima’s Peace Park.

All of those places were captivating and educational.  But they were not the peak experience that other places offered.

One of those special places was a teeny port village called Yu-No-Tsu Onsen （温泉津温泉）It has been a fishing and spa town for well over a 1,000 years. It has the run-down feel of many rural places in Japan. It has shabby houses and hunched-backed oldsters wandering the few streets there are. 

But what made Yu-No-Tsu unique was the unexpected blend of old and new. Young people who want to get away from the pressures of city living have started buying property there. They have opened guesthouses, craft shops, and restaurants. They try to blend in with what is there, respecting the old timers, while tastefully bringing in a breath of hope.

My friend and I stayed in a guesthouse that felt like a person’s home. There were sliding doors made with handmade Japanese Washi paper, beautiful decorations on the walls, and a casual, at-home feel. 

There was only one shower for everyone, but right down the street was a public bath with natural hot waters that have served the locals for thousands of years, literally. 

We had to eat out, but only one of the town’s three restaurants was open. It overlooked the fishing harbor and sunset. The food was outstanding. We told the waitress we would be back for breakfast. And while we were eating it, she came racing in saying she had hurried there early to say good-bye to us and to thank us for coming. “Please come again. You are always welcome.”

Waiting for the rare train to arrive, by chance, a traditional dancer was there, taking a break from the relentless heat.  We, and the town’s only taxi driver, were the only ones there. So, he was happy to entertain us with silly, but very fluid, dances.

I thought that would be our one and only peak experience. But another was soon to come.

I love Japanese pottery. And I knew that Hagi, in Yamaguchi Prefecture, was famous for it. So, that is where we headed next. Hagi has much of what Matsue offers: a castle and Samurai houses, plus historical sites connected to Japan’s fast and impressive industrialization. But pottery was our purpose. 

So, in the tourist office I asked for information about professional pottery, not just stacks of almost-all-alike pieces often found in tourist shops. The ladies there finally realized how serious we were. So, they called three famous ateliers to make appointments for a visit.

And how breathtakingly wonderful they were! 

The first stop was at the studio of Toubou Taikeian, at his Higuchi-gama, or kiln. The artist himself came out to greet us, while his wife explained in detail about how his pottery was made. 

The next had stunningly beautiful pieces that evoked a very challenging creative process, combined with a silence so deep each piece felt reverential. This thirteenth-generation artist, Miwa Kyusetsu XIII, entered briefly, but his daughter-in-law graciously took us to see the kilns and then showed us a fascinating video of the master at work.  My friend and I left, knowing we had been touched by something unspoken and very profound.

Our final stop was at the home of Saka-Kourai-Zae-Mon. We sat in the room for guests, which looked out on a Japanese garden. We were given tea as an assistant explained the works of the artist. The highlight, though, was the upstairs room. It had one pot for each of the many generations of family artists. The oldest was over 400 years old.

Obviously, this trip was a great success. And as always, I have started thinking of where to go next. When that materializes, I will share, of course.

Love,

Anne

A New Rucksack

Dear Family and Friends,

Most often I embrace my age. I am content watching my mind, emotions, and spiritual self evolving. But my body can be rather uncooperative at times, especially in my joints. To counter that, I wear thick soled shoes and carry less weight. Even so, when I travel I need a backpack. I take a small bag on wheels, of course. But touring during the day and obligatory gift-buying make a rucksack essential.  But the ones I have are not comfortable at all. They pull on my shoulders and neck, causing problems for weeks after the trip is over.

Since I will be going on a trip soon, my travel agent suggested I get a pack made for mountain climbing, designed especially for women. Its weight is on the hips, not the shoulders. I tried hers on and it felt great. So, off I went to get one for myself.

The young man who helped me came from Yokohama. He spoke standard Japanese, which was easy to understand. In this region, Tohoku, a lot of people speak local dialects with mumbled pronunciation. So, much of the time I catch half of what is said, at most. But people are kind, so we usually communicate with no problem.

The sales person and I jabbered happily. He explained the intricacies of the backpacks, while I asked questions to learn more. Since the conversation was friendly, we found out that we lived close to each other and went to the same supermarket. He asked how long I had been in Japan. I returned by asking him how old he was. I like to surprise people that often I have been here longer than they have been alive. 

When I found out his age, he asked mine. I told him to guess. He politely knocked many years off what he really thought. So, we both laughed again. But after that, he felt he should be more differential. After all, this is a hierarchal society. So, he started calling me Okaasan, which means Mother. That was the first time anyone called me that. I found it hilarious. We laughed a lot more.

As I was leaving, he gave me a huge paper bag to carry my new purchase.  He also told me that my Japanese was fine. If he were my teacher, he would give me 70%. I laughed in humiliation. I am not proud of my Japanese.

When I got close to home, a neighbor called out to me, “What’ve you got there. Let me see.”  She is an adorable old woman, well into her 90s. Her house is on a street corner, so she knows everyone that passes and all the news of the area. You don’t keep any secrets from her. 

I showed her what was in the bag . “Well, that means you won’t be using your old one, doesn’t it? You can just give it to me.” I laughed yet again. Japanese are not usually so bold. But with age, they often become very direct and say exactly what is on their mind.

Tomorrow when I head down the hill, I will take my old backpack to give to my friend. I will get as much pleasure, if not more, watching her use it as I will with my own, very comfortable, new traveling companion.

Love,

Anne

Which Tagajo?

Dear Family and Friends,

Rumiko Sensei always gives me very unique Japanese lessons. After a few formal classes in her home, she decided experiencing Japanese culture would be a lot more fun and meaningful for us both. This week was no exception.

Rumiko Sensei told me she wanted to see a newly made Buddha statue. It would only be on display for a few more days. So, this week’s Japanese lesson would be a day trip to see it. She said it was in a town near Sendai, called Tagajo.

Rumiko Sensei and I met at Sendai Station on time and raced to the farthest tracks to catch our train. On board as we were chatting, I suddenly realized we were probably on the wrong train. 

Let me give some background.

Currently near Sendai there is an important exhibition of Buddha statues. This show is being held to commemorate the 10^th anniversary of the Great East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami. However, it had to be postponed until now because of the Corona pandemic. 

The theme compares National Treasures and Important National Properties found in two specific places. One is Nara, which was one of the most highly cultured centers in Japan over 1000 years ago. The other is this local region, Tohoku. The sculptures and other works range from about 1,200 to 400 years old. Although very different in style and sensitivity, they are all truly masterpieces. 

I went to the show twice. It was even more deeply impressive the second time. Also, between my two visits, a new Buddha statue had been added, a modern one. I had not realized it had been added, thinking I had forgotten it after taking in so many other beautiful pieces.

Since I had gone to this show by train, I knew we should go to a town called Kokufu Tagajo. I also knew the tracks to get there were the first two in the station. We had madly run to the farthest tracks, to catch the train going to the other Tagajo.

“Rumiko Sensei, I think we are on the wrong train.” “No! Not possible!” 

But the more we talked, the more we realized we were indeed heading in the opposite direction. 

“Not to worry. My in-laws live on a farm in this direction. Let me call and see if they would mind us stopping by.”

“Of course, you can come. But the house is a mess. And Grandfather and I are repotting marigolds to get to market today. Plus, I’ve never had a foreigner in my house before, so I am rather embarrassed. How will I talk to her?”

Grandma met us at the teeny train station and drove us to her immaculately clean home. It was surrounded by beautifully tended flower and vegetable gardens. 

As soon as we entered the house, Rumiko Sensei went directly to the Buddha altar to thank the ancestors for their protection. I did the same. “We always do that. When we enter a home, we go right to the Butsudan to let the ancestors know we are here and to thank them for caring for us.”

Then we went to another room and had green tea, homemade pickles, sea cucumber, and sweets. After serving us, Grandma left to assist Grandpa. “We have a deadline, you know. Just make yourselves at home. Get more tea, eat more snacks. Enjoy yourselves.”

A short time afterwards she returned and told us to go into the garage, where everyone who had helped with the marigolds was partying. “Work is over. Time to play.”

They were having a ball, laughing and joking, eating snacks and drinking coffee. 

“This is how we do things,” they explained. “We work together to get things done. Then we socialize. We take care of each other. In 2011 we came together and shared food and gave shelter where needed. We also worked as a unit to rebuild. We are one united village.”

When it was time for catch our train back to Sendai, the generous locals collected food from the table to give us. “You can’t go empty-handed. So, take this,” they said. “And be sure to come back in autumn. That is when it is time to harvest rice. We’d love for you to experience that. It is something you will never forget.”

As we boarded our train, we bowed our thanks. If I am lucky, in the autumn Rumiko Sensei will take me back. What a privilege that would be! Working with rice, the Asian staple, far, far older than the Buddha statues we had hoped to see today.

Love,

Anne

A Rare Ceremony

Dear Family and Friends,

Today was very unusual. My friend Izumi had asked me to an initiation ceremony for a new Buddhist priest. It was to take place far from Sendai, in the countryside. It was a very rare event, so we both felt very honored to be able to attend.

I had always understood that becoming a Buddhist priest in Japan was hereditary. The position went from father to son, often for several generations. Each family was in charge of a particular temple. They usually lived next door, which allowed the atmosphere of each place to be unique, some even feeling rather homey.

That, I learned, is often the case, but not always. It seems many men, unconnected to a temple, decide to join the priesthood. They do it as a kind of supplement to their fulltime work. These men probably will never have their own temple, but will assist in places as needed.

And that was the case with the man being initiated today. Even though his wife came from a long line of Buddhist priests, he, Suzuki Yoshiki San, had never been particularly involved with Buddhism. In fact, he had been raised a Christian. 

His life had taken him from job to job, until in his late fifties, he became interested in numerology and how it connected to birthdays, places, and names. He currently carves personal name seals, hanko はんこ. He uses his knowledge of numbers and their influence to carve hanko in such a way that the shape and number of strokes will be harmonious for each individual.

HIs wife has similar interests. Realizing her spouse’s sensitivity to others and the world around him, she kept urging him to become a priest. Finally, in his sixties, he agreed.

I had understood that the kind of ceremony we were to attended today was because Suzuki San had completed his training and was ready to embark on service in the community. But again, I was mistaken. 

It turned out this ceremony was held before Suzuki San had even started training. It was truly an initiation, not a graduation. So, at each stage as the ritual unfolded, a priest whispered to Suzuki what he should do. There were six priests in all. One chanted the prayers, one gave instructions to us witnessing the event, one rang a gong, one instructed Suzuki San step-by-step, and all of them prayed bowing their heads to the floor.

Preparing the ritual

There were parts of the ritual that I was able to understand clearly. For example, at one point, the priest conducting the prayers pretended to shave a bit of hair off Suzuki San’s head. “Are you ready to become a priest?” He asked three times. “Yes, I am.” “Yes, I am.” “Yes, I am.” And then the top part of his head was actually shaved.

Then a whisk was used to sprinkle water on Suzuki San as well as on the priest conducting the prayers. That, obviously, was for washing clean, for purifying the heart.

Despite saying “Yes” three times, Suzuki San seemed unsure and rather worried throughout. Izumi said she thought he was nervous with so many people there. His wife, on the other hand, was very much at home. She glided through the entire afternoon with great poise and happiness. 

I trust with time Suzuki San will become confident in his new role. And then he will be able to serve the community by going from place to place as needed, just as the six priests did for him today.

Formal photo after the ceremony

Love,

Anne

American Impressions

Dear Family and Friends,

I had not been to America in almost four years. But I went last month. I wanted to clear out a storage unit I had had for over thirty years. It was time to get things back into circulation. At this stage, life is no longer about holding on, but rather about putting into circulation and letting go.

Corona brought many changes worldwide. But abruptly returning to America was like being hit with amazement. There was so much I had forgotten, or that had changed significantly.

There were two things that struck me first. America’s beauty and sizes. I had not been there in spring for almost forty, maybe fifty, years. So, I delighted in the gracious splendor of the season. The entire east coast seemed green and bedecked with flowering trees, especially cherry. It touched me deeply to see a necklace of pink blossoms extending from New England to Maryland (and probably much further). I smiled thinking of my Japanese friends who often ask if America has Sakura. Yes, it does. And not only the famous ones in DC (which Japan gave over a hundred years ago). They now seem to almost cover the country.

America thinks big. The size of trucks alone was rather daunting. They were huge and hundreds of them zoomed along highways, right next to small passenger vehicles. The roads themselves were enormous, some six lanes in one direction. And everyone seemed in a hurry.

People, too, have expanded in size. All emphasized by the lycra clothing popular today. What surprised me more than the sizes themselves, however, was the matter-of-fact acceptance that this change was something completely normal. And exposing it was, too. Japanese have been getting fatter, too. But compared to many Americans, they look like stick figures.

I reveled in the variety of so much in America. Variety of races, of cultures, of languages, of food. The blending of people and customs was thrilling. Walking down a street in New York or even strolling on the green in a small town in Maryland was like taking a trip around the world.

The food was splendid. Sizes and portions are much larger, of course. Milk products in particular stuck me, probably because they are richer and fuller than what I buy in Japan. Cottage cheese was a daily delight. So were ice cream and yogurt. Cheese was sprinkled or melted on many dishes. In fact, it was hard to have a meal without it.

There were many ethnic restaurants, even in very small towns. Mexican, Pakistani, and Lebanese were favorites. But there were plenty of Italian and Spanish, and of course, Indian, Vietnamese and Soul. To name a few.

Another thing that struck me about Americans was their self-confidence. Their basic energy seemed to be an outward thrust, a positive attitude, a sense of being able to do anything. And people spoke their ideas loudly, even in public places. It was very common to hear friends discussing relationship problems or emotional issues as they walked down a street. Everything seemed so overt, especially in comparison to the Japanese way of keeping things private and not revealing one’s innermost self.

One more small, but significant, observation concerned toddlers in daycare. In New York there were many nannies pushing strollers. Sometimes there were two, but more often three, four, even five wee ones in one stroller. Each child had an individual seat and was quite separate from the others. In Japan, however, very small children are moved about in what looks like an open box on wheels. All the kids are placed together in one unified space. This allows them to know they are always part of a group. So, something as simple as how children are transported can subtly instill a sense of personal identity, whether individualistic or collective.

I was fascinated watching myself in America. I have not lived there for forty-five years, but even so, I could feel my American roots rising to the surface when I was there. Simple things, like standing with my hands in my back pockets or sitting with one ankle perched on the opposite knee. The way I chatted with people or flowed along in conversations were different from how I do it in Japan. It felt very familiar, as if I were in my younger years and home.

It was a good trip, excellent, in fact. I feel a deep love and appreciation for the country of my birth, my upbringing, my family and friends.  America has its problems, yes. But there is so much hope there, too. Of course, with all the vicissitudes happening everywhere now, I wonder what America’s –  and the world’s — next chapter will be.

Love,

Anne

It was nice being back

Dear Family and Friends,

Imai Sensei is someone I have admired for years. He and I used to work in the same university. But his life’s work took him far beyond being a teacher. He is a Baptist preacher and got the foundation for how to be a Christian from a stint in Germany. There he learned that practicing religion means working for the greater good of the community. That is why he started Yomawari Group when he returned to Sendai.

Yomawari is an NGO that helps homeless people. It started mostly serving meals, plus handing out clothing and daily necessities. Over the years it has expanded to include showers, help with finding odd jobs or work and housing. Fortunately for everyone, the building boom in Sendai has left many old, but perfectly good, buildings vacant. So, Imai Sensei negotiated with city officials to use them as homes for the people he serves. 

I used to go relatively often to prepare and serve meals with Yomawari. But I had not volunteered for many years. However, the other day a friend invited me back, so I decided to go and see what I could do.

As usual, the atmosphere was very welcoming. Long-time volunteers greeted the homeless with kindness and respect, and me with great warmth. They knew everyone by name and made small talk with each person there. The atmosphere was relaxed and happy. It was nice being back. 

It was a cold day. Before things started, volunteers hovered on one side, while the unsheltered slowly drifted in. They sat in a large circle around the park, waiting for the signal to head to the table. 

As we were setting up, however, three young girls came bounding over and said, “We want to help.” We volunteers were both surprised and delighted. 

Of course, there were many questions. Names. Ages. Schools. (All were in 4^th grade of elementary school). 

Two younger boys, not wanting to be left out, dashed over to see what was going on. One was in first grade. 

Being kids, they could not hold still, so there was a lot of jumping and hopping, ceaseless motion. But they did listen attentively. 

And they were great volunteers, working smoothly beside the adults.

I was lucky to work with a fourth-grade girl and the first-grade boy, Mika and Kazuki. They were not shy at all, as most Japanese kids are. They asked questions and gave long answers to mine. They had to explain some vocabulary to me, and did so completely naturally. Most Japanese get very embarrassed and shy when I ask a question. They simply shut down. But these kids were marvelously open and curious. And willing to share ideas and help out.  Mika’s, Kazuki’s, and my job was to offer “lucky bags” with a few daily necessities inside. They did their work efficiently and very proudly.

The guests could come back as often as they liked. Many came for second, even third, helpings. But gradually the crowd dispersed, the volunteers cleared up, and the kids, still hopping and dancing with their boundless energy, decided it was time to go, too, so off they ran. We tossed the bit of leftover rice for the pigeons to enjoy, which they did, of course.

“Thank you. See you next time,” we said as we waved good-bye. It was a very good “soup run”. I am sure I will be back, not waiting so long the next time.

Love,  

Anne

An Equestrian Japanese Lesson

Dear Family and Friends,

My Japanese lessons are not lessons in the conventional sense at all. My teacher thinks that experiencing Japanese culture, while chatting only in Japanese, is one of the best ways to learn the complex intricacies of the Japanese psyche. That, she feels, is far more important than knowing the spoken or written language well. So, the “Language of the Heart” is where our lessons take place. And that often entails a day trip.

Rumiko Sensei and I both have very busy schedules, so do not meet often. But when we do, it is always a joyous time of sharing and discovery. Yesterday, for example, she decided I should see an equestrian center. “I know you will love the horses,” she said. “And besides, it is near the sea, which is so expansive and beautiful.” I laughed and agreed, of course.

The highway to get there was built on a ridge. One side had very flat open spaces, paddies soon to be flooded and planted. The other had been completely devastated by the March 11, 2011 tsunami. Only a few scraggily old pines were still standing. But beneath them was a thick forest of new trees. They had been planted by OISCA after the devastation. It was reassuring to see they were doing well.

The first thing Rumiko Sensei and I did was to buy a cup of snacks for the horses. She told me they used to get carrots, but now it was grasses.

There were two long stables with rows of absolutely gorgeous animals. Their colors ranged from white to jet black, with many shades of grays and browns between. Each had its own stall and was patiently standing, curious when someone came close. Their noses and mouths wiggled delightfully as they ate the treat offered them.

The care given to these magnificent creatures was very impressive. They went on walks, were groomed, and fed on a regular basis. 

When we were there, one mare was having his mane trimmed. And a dentist had just attended to one of his troublesome teeth. The man was not local, but rather had come from a prefecture close to Tokyo, several hours away.

The love felt for these animals was palpable. And the horses responded with gentleness and trust. It was very reassuring and soothing to simply be in their presence.

We spent a long time looking, admiring, and asking questions. Then Rumiko Sensei and I went into the office area. There was a display about the infamous 2011 tsunami. There were pictures and explanations about what had happened at the equestrian center at that time. 

Naturally, the horses had been terrified. They broke loose and tried to escape. They went in all directions in the immediate area. Unfortunately, more than twelve died, but over thirty were found alive. They were all very agitated until given water and food. Then they gradually calmed down.

I was very touched by the number of places in Japan, and even as far as Australia, that took in some of these traumatized horses. Later, after Miyagi had stabilized, many of them were returned. Some were ones we had admired a few minutes before.

Before we left, we went to a memorial for the horses lost in the tsunami. It was a simple, very beautiful black stone with a few words carved into it. A plate of carrots and a bunch of flowers had been placed before it. 

Rumiko Sensei and I couched down and bowed our heads. “Thank you, Lovely Creatures, for having shared your life with us on earth. And may you be well wherever you are now.”

We left, both feeling very calm and refreshed. The gentle, almost Zen-like energy of the horses was a very profound, long-lasting experience indeed.

Love,

Anne

No One Was There

Dear Family and Friends,

My friend Izumi has a way of finding new places and things. So, it is always a delight of discovery when I am with her. Even in the most mundane places, she finds something of interest.

Take our ride home yesterday, for example. She takes my English class, which is a short ride out of Sendai. I go there by train, which toots its way through soothing farmland with paddies and distant mountains. But Izumi drives me home after class. The route by road is entirely different. It is overly built up and an assault of noise and ugliness on all sides. 

I treasure my rare times with Izumi, so go with her, but always miss the beauty the train ride allows.

Yesterday, though, Izumi said she had seen a sign for a shop that she wanted to visit. Would I mind? Everything there was made of soy. That included anything from ice cream to pizzas. 

That in itself was interesting. But what struck me more was that no one was there. It was complete self-service.

Izumi is very skilled with maneuvering the digital kingdom. So, she knew exactly what to do. After we admired everything, 

she selected four pizzas, a few rolls, and a cream cake (all out of soy). She then calculated the price, 

and slid the correct amount into a slot in the wall. 

That was it.

I was completely taken aback. Anyone could have stolen everything there. But Izumi said, “That happens sometime with old people, but there are security cameras, so no problem.”

That incident made me think of a recent “Backstory” I saw on NHK. It was about the labor shortages Japan is facing. As in China and South Korea, Japan has an age-heavy problem with the number of oldsters on pensions far outweighing the young. That means, among other things, a labor shortage.

But people here adapt. In some places, farmers have started using robots to pick fruit. And people who would normally retire are working longer. It is not unusual to see older men working at construction sites or collecting rubbish, and women in their 70s as receptionists or shop keepers.

Also because of this population dilemma, Japan has reluctantly been opening its borders to foreign workers. Most are from Southeast Asia. My Japanese teacher teaches some of them in a very intensive month-long course. Then they head off to jobs, mostly in health care facilities for the aged or factories. They are very needed and appreciated. However, as the NHK program pointed out, with the weak yen and long working hours, many of them realize being in Japan was not what they had expected. Some are returning home and suggesting to others not to come.

Likewise, interestingly, many young Japanese are fleeing this country to find work overseas. I have a former student who worked in Japanese companies for almost fifteen years, but is now in Germany. “I could never work in Japan again,” she told me. “Here everyone goes home at 5 pm and I have my weekends free. In Japan I stayed each day until the job was finished, so was often in the office past midnight.”

The NHK program showed that many young Japanese are now working in Australia. They love the lifestyle there and some have applied for permanent residency. One woman who was a nurse said that in Australia she earned in one week what had taken her a month to earn in Japan.

So, times are definitely changing. As the world seeks ways to adapt, my greatest hope is that we do not lose the importance of actual connections, whether they be between humans or us and our fragile, yet still very beautiful natural world.

Love,

Anne

Old Buildings, Living Essence

Dear Family and Friends,

Ever since I got to Sendai, I have been fascinated by old houses scattered around the city and countryside. At first, most were still lived in and held a charm and wonder that only old things have. In fact, my friend Shuhei told me that in Japan well used items are highly revered. They are considered almost sacred for the essence and history they bear.

Over the years, especially since the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, much of Sendai has been, and still is being, rebuilt. More and more new homes and developments are devouring the city. I find most are soul-less and depressing without gardens or even a tree.

In contrast, though, many old places remain. A large number of them are empty and falling to ruin. Others are appear lived in, as if the owner will soon return from work. And maybe they will. Sometimes it is hard to tell if a shack is still a home or once was. 

(Actually, a precious 92 year old lady lives in this home. She has been there since she got married about 70 years ago. She is an anchor of the neighborhood. Everyone knows and loves her.)

Inhabited or not, all of these places emit a rather haunting feeling, a mystery, a long history of stories, both happy and sad.

I love exploring my neighborhood and beyond. It has many narrow, winding streets, which surely began long ago as footpaths. Of course, on these excursions of discovery, I take a camera and delight in adding to my collection of memories.

It seems I am not the only one who enjoys this pastime. I recently learned of a group of photographers who have been recording old buildings in this area for years. They are currently holding an exhibition called Sendai Collection.

And what a collection it is! Photo after teeny photo of black and white shots from 2000 to 2022. These are punctuated with ones a bit larger for variety and orientation.  The show covers several rooms. At first the sheer number seemed overwhelming. But as I started looking closely at each picture, I found myself completely absorbed. Each building, each home contained a deep spirit that spoke profoundly and nostalgically. Who had lived there? What quiet wisdom does that building have to share?

To my surprise, I found several images of places I myself had photographed, some very close to my home. Some looked the same, others more weatherworn, yet still, more or less, intact. The literally thousands of photos in the show were a treasure trove, requiring many visits to appreciate fully. 

What I appreciated just as much as the pictures were the other visitors. Many were huddled with friends around a photo, examining and discussing everything in great detail. Surely, they were the living history that those buildings now reflect.

Of course, the relentless rebuilding in Sendai will continue to march forward. And the Sendai Collection photographers will continue recording that evolution. For them, perhaps, part of their work involves both reminiscence and a looking ahead. But for me, it is more an ongoing discovery into the profound essence of this culture, with its stories, mysteries, and wonderment that never cease to captivate me to the core of my being.

Love,

Anne

Mashiko Town

Dear Family and Friends,

One of my favorite persons in Sendai is Ito San, my travel agent. She has her own company now, but before that she was a tour guide. She held that job for almost twenty years. So, she knows every nook and cranny of this country. And she has an amazing memory of what she has seen and done. Plus, she knows her clients well and designs tours to suit their preferences. In other words, she is wonderful!

For years Ito San urged me to visit Mashiko Town. “It is famous for pottery. You will love it.” She always said, adding, “There is a long street lined with pottery shops. So, I know it will interest you.”

From her description, I envisioned shops, all pretty much alike, all selling the same sorts of things. I am not interested in that kind of experience while traveling, so have always politely opted out. However, when planning a recent trip for a friend and me, she slipped in Mashiko as part of the tour. I did not have the energy to resist, so went along with it.

I am glad I did.

What a euphoric surprise Mashiko was! Yes, there is a major road cutting through it, but otherwise, it is a charming town with traditional buildings, several with thatched roofs.

Everywhere the long history of pottery-making is promoted. There are posters with old photos throughout the town.

And each shop features unique, handmade pieces that can only be considered pure art. Shop after shop is a feast of artistic wonder.

Pottery masterpieces are everywhere: in restaurants, hotels, the train station, the museum, and even public toilets. It was magical to walk around the town, discovering one gorgeous item after another.

Mashiko’s pottery Master was Hamada Shoji (1894-1978). He was designated a Living National Treasure. Even today, his influence permeates every inch of Mashiko and far beyond. He is world renown.

In addition to pottery, there is one studio specializing in indigo dyeing. Everything there is natural. The building itself is traditional and all the dyes are plant-based. From beginning to end the process is done by hand. The results are gorgeous.

Our time in Mashiko was too short. There are temples and shrines still to visit. And the countryside is filled with fields and farms, so beautiful any time of the year.

When I returned to Sendai, of course, I visited Ito San. I humbly thanked her for planning a trip that included Mashiko. She smiled and said, “See, I told you!”

She knows me well. So, the next time she suggests a place, I am sure to agree right away. I know I will not be disappointed.

Love,
Anne

A Japanese New Year

January 3, 2023

Dear Family and Friends,

Of course, everywhere people celebrate the New Year. But in Japan there seems to be an added dimension to honor that special occasion. お正月 (Oshogatsu) is deeply spiritual and marked by subtle, but highly significant rituals.

I was fortunate to experience this New Year with a visiting friend. Last year Izumi and I were together at her home. So, she took charge of what we did. But this time it was up to me to meaningfully present Japanese customs and traditions.

One very important part of it is New Year’s ritual foodおせち料理 (O-sechi). This beautifully arranged feast is first an offering to the Gods. Afterwards, it is for the family to enjoy with shared time together. There is always plenty, with enough for leftovers. Traditionally, that was a way to thank the women of the house by giving them a few days’ break from their never-ending household tasks.

And what a feast it is! O-sechi containers come in tiers, each with specific choices of fish, meats, cooked vegetables, seaweed, and sweets. Of course, each layer is both breathtakingly beautiful and highly symbolic.

O-sechi boxes are first opened on New Year’s Day. But midnight on the 31^st is also highly significant. People who can go to Shinto Shrines to pray. They also buy charms so as to learn the direction of their fortunes for the year.

My friend and I headed out a bit early to see what was happening. We passed a lovely small shrine that was well lit up. Whether worshippers came or not did not matter. Honoring the Kami (God/desses) is always crucial, especially at times when Heaven is a bit more accessible, such as now, the New Year.

We finally arrived at Aoba Jingu, which is an important shrine in Sendai. To my surprise, it was almost dark and besides us, no one was there. Even so, we stood before the altar with its huge round Shinto mirror, bowed, clapped, prayed, and bowed again.

We were not ready to leave. Fortunately, we found a bench, so sat and immersed ourselves in the profound stillness around us. Gradually a few people arrived. Then a few more. And a few more, until there was a steady stream of worshippers waiting patiently for their turn to approach the altar and make their New Year salutations.

Aoba Shrine is in a very old area that has an arc of Shinto Shrines and Buddhist Temples lining the street. At exactly 23:30, a nearby temple sounded its gong. The deep vibrations reverberated across the entire neighborhood. The echoing sound was haunting and touched deeply into the core of being.

Soon after, another gong sounded and yet another. Each was from a different temple. Each had its own particular vibration, its own unique energy and message. Together they harmonized to promise a unified whole.

Even so, the sounds were uneven and irregular. Some were close and loud, others distant and faint. The darkness, punctuated by a few lights, plus the reverberating sound of the gongs, gave a profoundly sacred texture to the night. Indeed, the entire atmosphere was filled with deep mystery and unspeakable awe.

For me, that experience was probably the most spiritually significant. But honoring the New Year was far from over. The following day and the day after, people continued to flock to shrines. It is important to do so in order to let go of the past and to start the New Year with purity and grace.

Hopefully, those ideals and the generosity of spirit they promise will reverberate throughout the entire world and become a reality that everyone everywhere has the courage and maturity to share.

Love,
Anne

The Japanese Mind

Dear Family and Friends,

Today in my advanced English class we talked about “the Japanese Mind” and how it differed from Western ways of thinking. Of course, we touched up “collective and individualistic cultures” and their differing mindsets. That led to natural disasters and their influence on the Japanese psyche. In times of emergency, the Japanese know they have to act collectively, literally to survive. And of course, being an island nation with a history of years of enforced isolation has also contributed to what could be considered a very unique mindset.

I have lived many years in Japan and have made great efforts to understand the Japanese way of thinking. Even now, I continually try and fit in to this society. However, I realize over and over again that the structure of my psyche will always be American. Let me give you a few examples.

I take T’ai Chi lessons in a program with about seven teachers. Each teacher specializes in one form and we students choose which group we would like join. I did one form for a year. But the teacher and I thought so differently that it was better for me to go elsewhere when the year was up. 

Our differences came mostly because I raised my hand and boldly asked questions. The teacher was not used to that. She felt I was confronting her. I was not. I respected her knowledge, and therefore, asked her advice. The other students, without the teacher knowing, told me they appreciated my questions because they dared not ask themselves. For them, if they asked questions, they felt they would have stood out too much. That would have embarrassed them. It may have also brought shame to the teacher for not instructing in a way that made questions unnecessary.  The teacher could never come to see the situation from my perspective. So, I felt it was better to change groups.

My next teacher was a university professor, so he was fine with my questions. But in this group, too, I stood out as very non-Japanese, but in another way. I had joined after the other members had worked on a particular form for a year. I came in a complete beginner. There were all levels of proficiency. So, the good students were in the front and the struggling ones in the back. I, of course, was in the very back row. 

However, in that humble position I could not see the proper way to do a form. I really wanted to learn. So, I simply moved forward to be next to one of the advanced students. At first, the teacher looked rather startled. But he quickly figured out what I was doing. So, after that, every week he assigned me to the front. I appreciated his understanding and flexibility very much.

There is one thing that amazes me, though. And it might be considered another example of “the Japanese Mind”. The stumbling students in the back, despite being surrounded by only ill-performers, eventually learned how to do the form properly. They seemed to intuit the right way. I, on the other hand,  despite the special treatment I am getting, am still struggling with basics.

Later this same teacher could not come to class. He left instructions what we were to do. We realized what he assigned would never fill the two-hour lesson. So, everyone seemed to panic. As they buzzed and fretted, I simply said, “We are adults. We can choose for ourselves. And Wako San is the best in our group, so maybe she can lead us today.”

As soon as I said that, everyone stopped talking and jumped back, staring at me as if I were some sort of monster. Some even had their mouths open in utter surprise. I just shrugged, backed off , and let them continue deliberating.

The following week, the teacher was again absent. Everyone turned to me and said, “What are we going to do today, Anne.” I was startled and said it depended on what everyone wanted. Again, they were surprised by my response. But eventually one man took over and since then he has been our leader. Everyone seems relieved that way.

But one unexpected addition to this arrangement is that now the more advanced students deliberately help those of us who are struggling. Instead of lining up by ability, we are mixed together. People ask questions and whoever can is  delighted to assist. So, it really is a team effort. And that makes me feel happiest of all.

Love,
Anne

An Autumn Outing

Andrew’s Visit

Dear Family and Friends,

And of course, more food. Yamadera has excellent cuisine, so we indulged. Andrew told me it was maybe one of the best meals he had ever had in Japan.

Shinto Festival

Dear Family and Friends,

A friend told me about a Shinto festival at Sendai’s Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu Shrine today. I had not been to one of their events in a long time, so decided to go. My friend’s son would be there helping. That, of course, added to my eagerness to attend.

As soon as my friend’s son could crawl and make his wishes known, he demanded that his mom take him to the Shrine so he could spend time with the priests. They loved him, of course, and let him crawl around, exploring as he wished. He has been going there ever since, and now at age eleven is happy to serve when and now he can.

I was not sure what to expect today. Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu has a variety of festivals throughout the year. For example, there a special day to honor and protect firemen. And another that entails competitions on horseback. Riders gallop at full speed along a short, narrow pathway, shooting arrows at targets set along the course. Onlookers are alarmingly nearby. And of course, there is Dontosai, held in the dead of winter. For that, male participants wear only loincloths (woman a bit more), and walk through the city ringing bells as they head to the Shrine. There New Year decorations are burned in huge bonfires.

So, what should I expect today?

Several blocks away from Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu, I could already hear the continuous whining drone of flutes and the slow, steady beat of drums. I wandered past festival food stalls