This week marked the beginnings of the snow season here in Japan.
Thanks to a cold front rolling in from Russia across the Sea of Japan, temperatures dropped, winds increased, and winter is officially upon us.
A native Californian, snow is somewhat of an oddity to me. It is not something I have ever had to really 'deal' with, but more something I had the option of experiencing if I chose. All that was required to escape to a winter wonderland was a two hour drive in a car up to the mountains. However, even visiting snow country was a rare occurrence in my family.
This background is required to understand how ill equipped I am to deal with colder temperatures.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky. Although I live on the Sea of Japan coast, notoriously known for its cold winters, living in the southern region makes the winters a little more tolerable. While many of the more northern cities are piled beneath feet of snow, my town has remained relatively free from piles of snow. As the Japanese say, here on the coast "It doesn't pile." However, if one drives about twenty minutes into the very nearby mountains, about two inches has already piled up, making the world into a magical winter wonderland.
All this snow and cold makes one realize just how poorly designed to cope with the winter cold Japanese houses and apartments are. Though I have braved a Japanese winter before, when living in Tokyo, it never seemed to me to be as cold and windy as it is here in my little town. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that my apartment is much larger and older compared to my Tokyo apartment--with more rooms to heat and less unsulation, its down right frosty. The heaters installed in the apartment just don't really cut it either--the temperature never rising above 13 or 14 degrees Celsius. While not a fan of the popular kerosene "stoves" utilized in most schools, I have to say that those suckers can put out a blast of heat.
This drop in the climate means that I have certainly become more sedentary. While I prefer not to go outside, I can't say my apartment is much warmer. In a way, I'm looking forward to the large, warmly heated shopping malls of Tokyo I'll be visiting in a few short weeks.
In the mean time, layers upon layers of clothes, my kotatsu and a bowl of mikan will have to serve me just as well as they do every other Japanese.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
How I Became A School Lunch
In my job I find that food is a conversation that unites people. Everyone likes talking about food. It doesn't matter what kind of food it is, people will talk about it: how delicious, or on the other hand, how disgusting it is.
Here in Japan, I often talk to my coworkers about the nostalgia of food. I usually tend to focus on the fact that "I would make this but...a.) I can't find the ingredients, or b.) the ingredients are too expensive. I also talk about the experiments I have successfully or unsucessfully completed. (Highlights: curry carrot croquettes, apple pie, grape pie, kimchi nabe// lowpoints: sunken banana bread, gobo soup). I like to think that my Japanese coworkers get a kick out my struggles in the kitchen, but also the fact that I approach food from a completely different angle than they.
I am used to having the 'food' conversation at school (why are there no zucchini!?), and coworkers asking for recipes or cooking ideas. However, at Higashi Elementary (the same school, which, in a previous post turned me into the Black Demon), one woman decided to take a more proactive stance. Her name was Kato, and she was in-charge of kyushoku, or, school lunch.
Kyushoku is served at all elementary and (most) middle schools in Japan. Compared to American cafeteria lunches, it is healthy, fresh and relatively tasty. I've eaten my fair share of funky kyushoku, stuff that I don't think my sushi-loving sister could touch (Oh yeah, eating the entire fish body...that includes the eyes. Delish?) But, for all its extreme funkiness, I'm a fan of kyushoku. There are two downsides to kyushoku though: massive amounts of rice and the expectation that one is to eat the lunch in its entirety. For this reason, I'm glad I don't normally eat kyushoku, as I've heard it is the cause of much weight gain for western females living in Japan. It's all that rice.
I digress. Kato-sensei suggested that we have a Lexi Kyushoku. I was to think of things we could eat that would be traditionally American. However, they had to not utilize massive amounts of meat, fruits or foreign veggie. Additionally, they could not be baked. After much pondering, I came up with: pork chops with apple sauce, potato-leek soup, bread, salad and chocolate pudding. I wrote down the recipes in Japanese to the best of my ability (my knowledge of cooking terminology is rather limited), and gave it to Kato, in the process, reexplaining each of the foods several times.
The pork was to be simply pan-fried with salt and pepper, the applesauce slightly flavored with cinnamon, the soup thick and chunky, flavored with rosemary and celery. These were the key points.
Two weeks before the day, I came to school and was given the test taste. The results were surprising, mainly in a positive way. The potato-leek soup was thick and good, also flavored nicely, the applesauce was sweet and spicy. This left only the pork, where she had used fatty thin cuts. In America, we usually avoid the fat on meat--and go for the meat. However, I didn't tell her that--I merely explained that you needed a thicker cut of pork or it'll just come out dry. Anticipating my next visit and the turn out of the food, I left.
A week went by, and I arrived to school that day armed not only with Christmas decorations, but my camera as well. The classes went by and at last lunch arrived. Kato-sensei warned me that she had made the soup too thin (which was too bad, as she got it spot on the first time!). Still, everything tasted good. She had selected a thicker cut of pork and somehow managed to roast the sucker, although the entire piece was about the size of my big toe. Even though there was a minuscule amount of applesauce, what there was tasted good. The soup, for all its thinness and having grown cold, was tasty. Even the bread was not your regular 'shokupan,' there being a sweetness and almost whole-grain texture to it. Minus the broccoli I was forced to eat, it was a good meal. They even managed to throw chocolate pudding into the mix.
Then came the interesting part: watching the kid eat it. Of course, being kids, they're picky. End result? The pork was good, but not to be eaten together with the applesauce. The applesauce (by itself) was a big hit. The soup was tasty (though it needed to be warmer), and the chocolate pudding was also good, but half frozen. Funny part is that although I had been looking forward to this event, showing not just my English classes, but the entire school a little bit more about America--the kids just took it in stride. No one was blown away or even particularly excited. No one came up to me and said how great it was, instead I had to ask every kid--what did you think? What did you think?
Long story short: no matter how hard you try to teach someone about your culture, it will always be seen in their eyes and under their jurisdiction. On the one hand, there were certainly the elements to an American style meal, but on the other, its presentation and enjoyment were uniquely Japanese. The adults were more excited by the event, but perhaps that's because they have the knowledge to understand the rarity of what just occurred. To the students, it's just a slightly different kyushoku. Still, that's also half the fun: seeing how they're going to change it from the normal to the unexpected.
My hope is that at least one of the recipes I shared will be adopted into their regular menu of items, so at least a flavor of me will remain long past when I have returned home.
That is the story of how I became a school lunch.
Here in Japan, I often talk to my coworkers about the nostalgia of food. I usually tend to focus on the fact that "I would make this but...a.) I can't find the ingredients, or b.) the ingredients are too expensive. I also talk about the experiments I have successfully or unsucessfully completed. (Highlights: curry carrot croquettes, apple pie, grape pie, kimchi nabe// lowpoints: sunken banana bread, gobo soup). I like to think that my Japanese coworkers get a kick out my struggles in the kitchen, but also the fact that I approach food from a completely different angle than they.
I am used to having the 'food' conversation at school (why are there no zucchini!?), and coworkers asking for recipes or cooking ideas. However, at Higashi Elementary (the same school, which, in a previous post turned me into the Black Demon), one woman decided to take a more proactive stance. Her name was Kato, and she was in-charge of kyushoku, or, school lunch.
Kyushoku is served at all elementary and (most) middle schools in Japan. Compared to American cafeteria lunches, it is healthy, fresh and relatively tasty. I've eaten my fair share of funky kyushoku, stuff that I don't think my sushi-loving sister could touch (Oh yeah, eating the entire fish body...that includes the eyes. Delish?) But, for all its extreme funkiness, I'm a fan of kyushoku. There are two downsides to kyushoku though: massive amounts of rice and the expectation that one is to eat the lunch in its entirety. For this reason, I'm glad I don't normally eat kyushoku, as I've heard it is the cause of much weight gain for western females living in Japan. It's all that rice.
I digress. Kato-sensei suggested that we have a Lexi Kyushoku. I was to think of things we could eat that would be traditionally American. However, they had to not utilize massive amounts of meat, fruits or foreign veggie. Additionally, they could not be baked. After much pondering, I came up with: pork chops with apple sauce, potato-leek soup, bread, salad and chocolate pudding. I wrote down the recipes in Japanese to the best of my ability (my knowledge of cooking terminology is rather limited), and gave it to Kato, in the process, reexplaining each of the foods several times.
The pork was to be simply pan-fried with salt and pepper, the applesauce slightly flavored with cinnamon, the soup thick and chunky, flavored with rosemary and celery. These were the key points.
Two weeks before the day, I came to school and was given the test taste. The results were surprising, mainly in a positive way. The potato-leek soup was thick and good, also flavored nicely, the applesauce was sweet and spicy. This left only the pork, where she had used fatty thin cuts. In America, we usually avoid the fat on meat--and go for the meat. However, I didn't tell her that--I merely explained that you needed a thicker cut of pork or it'll just come out dry. Anticipating my next visit and the turn out of the food, I left.
A week went by, and I arrived to school that day armed not only with Christmas decorations, but my camera as well. The classes went by and at last lunch arrived. Kato-sensei warned me that she had made the soup too thin (which was too bad, as she got it spot on the first time!). Still, everything tasted good. She had selected a thicker cut of pork and somehow managed to roast the sucker, although the entire piece was about the size of my big toe. Even though there was a minuscule amount of applesauce, what there was tasted good. The soup, for all its thinness and having grown cold, was tasty. Even the bread was not your regular 'shokupan,' there being a sweetness and almost whole-grain texture to it. Minus the broccoli I was forced to eat, it was a good meal. They even managed to throw chocolate pudding into the mix.
Then came the interesting part: watching the kid eat it. Of course, being kids, they're picky. End result? The pork was good, but not to be eaten together with the applesauce. The applesauce (by itself) was a big hit. The soup was tasty (though it needed to be warmer), and the chocolate pudding was also good, but half frozen. Funny part is that although I had been looking forward to this event, showing not just my English classes, but the entire school a little bit more about America--the kids just took it in stride. No one was blown away or even particularly excited. No one came up to me and said how great it was, instead I had to ask every kid--what did you think? What did you think?
Long story short: no matter how hard you try to teach someone about your culture, it will always be seen in their eyes and under their jurisdiction. On the one hand, there were certainly the elements to an American style meal, but on the other, its presentation and enjoyment were uniquely Japanese. The adults were more excited by the event, but perhaps that's because they have the knowledge to understand the rarity of what just occurred. To the students, it's just a slightly different kyushoku. Still, that's also half the fun: seeing how they're going to change it from the normal to the unexpected.
My hope is that at least one of the recipes I shared will be adopted into their regular menu of items, so at least a flavor of me will remain long past when I have returned home.
That is the story of how I became a school lunch.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Hard Nut
Or, the Story of Greed.
About a month ago, I went to visit a very nice friend of mine in Okuizumo. My purpose was to see the autumn foliage and experience an autumn adventure. While we did have an autumn adventure eventually, the plan was at first delayed by an extremely late Japanese person. In an effort to kill time and not have an exploding Lexi, my friend took me to a cute store.
Among the treasure troves of local produce and handicrafts, there were large bags of walnuts for 200 yen each. For the amount of walnuts you got, there could be no disputing it: they were a bargain. I originally bought 1 bag, but, after I had acquired a nutcracker from the 100 yen store, I went back and bought 2 more bags.
Excited with my purchase, I tested out the nutcracker...only to have it shatter on the first try. I suppose this was to be expected, the nutcracker being made out of flimsy wood. Not completely disheartened, I decided to try to go home and hammer them out.
I arrived home and hammered. I hammered in the kitchen, I hammered outside on the cement. The nuts would not open. At school, I used a small metal anvil and a large hammer. One in every four or so would crack open, meanwhile the hammer slamming down on my fingers as well.
I have decided that the only walnuts worth buying are those sold in America, which have a larger, thinner shell with more meat inside. The Japanese walnuts are small, and built like a tank, with only a measly amount of meat inside--meat that needs to be picked out with a metal stick.
Long story short, my greed of nuts leaves me where I am today. 3 bags worth of Japanese walnuts taking up room on my counter.
Any takers?
About a month ago, I went to visit a very nice friend of mine in Okuizumo. My purpose was to see the autumn foliage and experience an autumn adventure. While we did have an autumn adventure eventually, the plan was at first delayed by an extremely late Japanese person. In an effort to kill time and not have an exploding Lexi, my friend took me to a cute store.
Among the treasure troves of local produce and handicrafts, there were large bags of walnuts for 200 yen each. For the amount of walnuts you got, there could be no disputing it: they were a bargain. I originally bought 1 bag, but, after I had acquired a nutcracker from the 100 yen store, I went back and bought 2 more bags.
Excited with my purchase, I tested out the nutcracker...only to have it shatter on the first try. I suppose this was to be expected, the nutcracker being made out of flimsy wood. Not completely disheartened, I decided to try to go home and hammer them out.
I arrived home and hammered. I hammered in the kitchen, I hammered outside on the cement. The nuts would not open. At school, I used a small metal anvil and a large hammer. One in every four or so would crack open, meanwhile the hammer slamming down on my fingers as well.
I have decided that the only walnuts worth buying are those sold in America, which have a larger, thinner shell with more meat inside. The Japanese walnuts are small, and built like a tank, with only a measly amount of meat inside--meat that needs to be picked out with a metal stick.
Long story short, my greed of nuts leaves me where I am today. 3 bags worth of Japanese walnuts taking up room on my counter.
Any takers?
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Winter's Fall
As a child I attended a Waldorf school for a little over a year. Though my time at the school was short, it drastically effected the person I am today. Seasonality is one of the key elements to the Waldorf world, and in that sense, very similar to Japan. When we attended, my sister learned a song for their Christmas festival. Lately, given the weather, the chill, the gloom, the winds, the rain, I have been thinking about this song, and it oftentimes pops into my head while I'm driving along.It goes:
Winter's Fall
Grey are the clouds, Gone are the leaves
Cold winter shrouds, the North Wind weaves
Snow on the rise, ice on the lake
Dark stormy skies, the walls do shake.
King, queen, or knave, lady or knight
Pass round the brave, bright candle light
Sharing the flame, warming us all
Come join the game of Winter's Fall.
The tune itself is slow, melancholy and sung in a minor chord. In it, you can really hear the dispair of winter, the isolation and starkness. As a Californian, I can only imagine what their winter was like. However, these melancholy elements are a part of winter; one must celebrate the light and the dark to the season. After all, holidays wouldn't be so special if they didn't keep the bleakness at bay.
The past few weeks much of the sky has been bathed in gray, and it's rained more often than not. While driving up north this past weekend, I even saw a layer of snow upon the top of Mt. Sanbei. Apparently, this year is to be a harsh winter--if one analyzes the large amounts of kamemushi (stink bugs) we had this autumn. Of course, winter will be long, cold and treacherous--but it will also be amazingly beautiful, as only a hazy, wintry sky and hazy winter landscape can be.
I find that winter is a time to look in, rather than out. Partly, this is done because there is no other option--as keeping physically active is as difficult as keeping warm. Instead, I enjoy winter as a time to ponder myself of the past year, and think back. Has this past year been a good year? Have I accomplished something? What do I want to accomplish? Winter is a time to come together with family and friends, a way to fight out the cold demon of your heart; yet, perhaps it is also a time to come face to face with those demons, and confront them when you are most vulnerable. When you succeed, it will make your efforts all more worth the while.
As the grass fades from rich brown to grey, and the last of the autumn foliage begins to drop to the ground, I look towards the winter. Both the physical hardships, but also with anticipation. For me, winter has often been my most prolific season artistically. Perhaps in studying the wintry landscape in this foreign land, I will find creativity where I least expect it.
Instead of passing round the "brave, bright, candle light," as I may do at home with our fireplace--instead, I'll stay under the kotatsu.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Culture Day Part II. (Or: How I Became a Demon)
This story begins about two weeks ago. During that time, one of my two middle schools were preparing for their Culture Day. As they had canceled many classes for the preparation of this event, I was often left with time on my hand, most of it spent studying.
Usually, in addition to my middle schools, once or twice during the week, I visit an elementary school during the morning. As it happened, the elementary school closest to my middle school was putting on a play. To be exact, Momotaro in English.
Most elementary schools have this type of Culture Day; rather than having a variety of events, performances, etc, each class puts on a play. It seemed that the 5th year teacher was quite keen on English, and thereby, wanted to tell the story of Momotaro in English. (When I say in English, I mean phrases, two syllable words, and a garble of Japanese.) This high level of English study required my presence--being the top source for English pronunciation in the city. The teacher asked if I might come by to help out, the day before my normally scheduled appointment. Having no classes in the afternoon, and after okaying it with the middle school English teachers, I set out to Higashi Elementary School.
The teacher was ecstatic, to say the truth, at my arrival. I first recorded the voices to all the roles, with classic lines like, "Hello! I'm at the river washing now." "Wow! What a big peach!" "I go Onitaiji!" and "Please give me kibidango." The next day I watched a rehearsal, giving my input on their performance. The teacher was so pleased, and I had casually mentioned how there wasn't too much for me to do at the middle school at the moment, that she asked if I could come again. Long story short, I went to Higashi Elementary four out of five days that week and became their acting coach.
Towards the end, the teacher then decided she wanted me to be in the play--not just the coach. In an effort to not to have to work on the weekends, warned her that she should contact my superior at the Board of Education. Without their approval I could do nothing.
I had heard nothing until Friday evening. By that point, I had figured no play and no acting. As I happened to be at a seminar two and a half hours away from my town, I relished the idea of relaxing and sleeping in the next day. Then, I receive the notice: I was expected at Higashi Elementary at 8:30 in the morning. Now, in truth, I rather dreaded the entire experience. I am not normally super happy and "genki" (aka: energetic), but when you're around kids, you have to be.
Still, bright and early I pulled myself out of bed. The transformation from English teacher to demon (oni) began. Wearing all black (as I was the Black Demon), I arrived at school and added to the mix a pair of tiger skin boxers, and Richard Simmons bright red hair with two horns sticking out. Walking down the school halls I heard 1st and 2nd years whispering and giggling to each other about me. "Look at Lexi-sensei!" "She's a demon!" "Woah, look it's Lexi-sensei!" Heck, it felt good, like being a mini celebrity for teeny-boppers.
My kids were nervous for their big debut, and even I was a little. Still, being on the JET program has taught me a certain amount of self-possession, as I have had to do more nerve wracking things to get on the program, and during my time here so far. Acting silly and making stupid, ugly faces was no big deal.
The play went smoothly, and I even got an applause and laughter from the audience when I made my grand entrance onto the stage, looking like a troll or Orc out of Lord of the Rings. I said my lines, over acted up the wazoo, and genuinely had a good time.
Just goes to show you; sometimes, the things you dread turn into better than you expect.
I will end with my lines, so you can get a flavor of the action.
"Hello! I'm Black Oni!"
"No no no no."
"We are strong."
"We are are very very strong."
"Let's fight!"
"I'm sorry."
"Present for you."
"Good bye."
And in a way, the experience was a little present for me.
****
More information on Momotaro:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Momotar%C5%8D
Usually, in addition to my middle schools, once or twice during the week, I visit an elementary school during the morning. As it happened, the elementary school closest to my middle school was putting on a play. To be exact, Momotaro in English.
Most elementary schools have this type of Culture Day; rather than having a variety of events, performances, etc, each class puts on a play. It seemed that the 5th year teacher was quite keen on English, and thereby, wanted to tell the story of Momotaro in English. (When I say in English, I mean phrases, two syllable words, and a garble of Japanese.) This high level of English study required my presence--being the top source for English pronunciation in the city. The teacher asked if I might come by to help out, the day before my normally scheduled appointment. Having no classes in the afternoon, and after okaying it with the middle school English teachers, I set out to Higashi Elementary School.
The teacher was ecstatic, to say the truth, at my arrival. I first recorded the voices to all the roles, with classic lines like, "Hello! I'm at the river washing now." "Wow! What a big peach!" "I go Onitaiji!" and "Please give me kibidango." The next day I watched a rehearsal, giving my input on their performance. The teacher was so pleased, and I had casually mentioned how there wasn't too much for me to do at the middle school at the moment, that she asked if I could come again. Long story short, I went to Higashi Elementary four out of five days that week and became their acting coach.
Towards the end, the teacher then decided she wanted me to be in the play--not just the coach. In an effort to not to have to work on the weekends, warned her that she should contact my superior at the Board of Education. Without their approval I could do nothing.
I had heard nothing until Friday evening. By that point, I had figured no play and no acting. As I happened to be at a seminar two and a half hours away from my town, I relished the idea of relaxing and sleeping in the next day. Then, I receive the notice: I was expected at Higashi Elementary at 8:30 in the morning. Now, in truth, I rather dreaded the entire experience. I am not normally super happy and "genki" (aka: energetic), but when you're around kids, you have to be.
Still, bright and early I pulled myself out of bed. The transformation from English teacher to demon (oni) began. Wearing all black (as I was the Black Demon), I arrived at school and added to the mix a pair of tiger skin boxers, and Richard Simmons bright red hair with two horns sticking out. Walking down the school halls I heard 1st and 2nd years whispering and giggling to each other about me. "Look at Lexi-sensei!" "She's a demon!" "Woah, look it's Lexi-sensei!" Heck, it felt good, like being a mini celebrity for teeny-boppers.
My kids were nervous for their big debut, and even I was a little. Still, being on the JET program has taught me a certain amount of self-possession, as I have had to do more nerve wracking things to get on the program, and during my time here so far. Acting silly and making stupid, ugly faces was no big deal.
The play went smoothly, and I even got an applause and laughter from the audience when I made my grand entrance onto the stage, looking like a troll or Orc out of Lord of the Rings. I said my lines, over acted up the wazoo, and genuinely had a good time.
Just goes to show you; sometimes, the things you dread turn into better than you expect.
I will end with my lines, so you can get a flavor of the action.
"Hello! I'm Black Oni!"
"No no no no."
"We are strong."
"We are are very very strong."
"Let's fight!"
"I'm sorry."
"Present for you."
"Good bye."
And in a way, the experience was a little present for me.
****
More information on Momotaro:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Momotar%C5%8D
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Culture Day
It feels unfair to have written a long, detailed post about Sports Day and then not write an article about its sibling, Culture Day. To me, Culture Day seems the less grueling of the two events, but perhaps that is because I have always sided with the mental over the physical. Culture Day includes performing arts and fine arts alike--it is day is meant as a reminder of creative possibilities that await one.
My role in Culture Day was limited. Unlike Sports Day, where I had to stand outside in the hot sun--at Culture Day I was permitted to remain (relatively) warm indoors, entertaining myself (mainly with studying). While Sports Day seems to be implemented by teachers, Culture Day is 85% the work of the students. While I had the ability to depart at the normal time, the students stayed working till probably six or seven o'clock at night.
And what of the final product? The Culture Day itself? Well, like anything rehearsed, practiced and performed by middle-school students, it was certainly rough around the edges. During many of their recitals a student dropped a baton or drumstick, the singing certainly wasn't smooth, and during the school play fits of giggles broke out in-between the extremely long scene changes. Yet, there is still something charming. While sometimes the irresponsibility and immaturity of my students annoys me, at other times I am overwhelmed with nostalgia to the point of tears. Culture Day was an instance of that.
In America, an activity such as Culture Day may last for the morning or afternoon--certainly not all day long. As I sat on the uncomfortable fold-out chairs with my rear falling asleep, I thought to myself as I studied the parents attending, "My parents wouldn't stay for that long. Physically, they couldn't stay for that long!" With a father with a bad back, the school chairs certainly wouldn't cut it. Not to mention the fact that the auditorium was left unheated in the middle of November...
There were several acts: the most memorable being "zen-in daiko," which is where a class of students play "taiko" drums, but on the floor. The key to this activity is not the sound, but the formation and unison to their brightly colored drum sticks. By coincidence, one of the songs they were practicing was one I had learned at Obon Odori in years past, the Coal Miner's Dance. As a surprise, during the encore, three other teachers and myself danced around the front of the stage to the amusement of all.
Next, there was a chorus challenge, with all three classes singing and the teachers judging the best. Though in truth I wasn't impressed with any (having watched the national junior-high choral competitions on the TV here), the 3rd year students were by far superior. I guess age gives the the confidence to sing more loud and clear.
There were two other different drum contests, one where the drums were the centerpeice and the other where a mock kagura play accompanied it. I enjoyed the latter by far, as they were dressed head to toe in traditional attire--something I get a kick out of. The music was also not limited to drums, as members of the community had come out in support--offering their vocal and musical abilitities with flutes and percussion instruments. This performance also happened to be the best rehearsed and executed. Maybe it is something about getting to those costumes that makes people take their craft seriously...
The afternoon ended with a play, "The Children Who Didn't Know War/Senso ga Shiranai Kodomo." While I believe it was trying to be a serious play with a serious message, the repeated forgetting of lines, giggling, and extremely long scene cuts featuring Studio Ghibli music completely missed the whole point. On the other hand though, it was amusing to see a representation of a foreigner (BIG blond hair and a BIG chest) and see that they (kind of) tried to promote English/international exchange. Another benefit to the song was that I learned about this nifty song and the singers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyShX0kIqYc
By the time the play ended and the Closing Ceremony was complete, it was practically three thirty. I was ready to move on, and feel the return of blood to my rear. One can only sit for so long during the course of the day. However, leaving school when you want to is not so easy. While on the one hand think it is beneficial for students to have to clean the school, I also just wish that sometimes, once an event is over, I can leave with a clear conscious knowing that someone else will take care of the work. But, as effort was required to put on the event, so if the effort required to take down.
All in all, I'd say Culture Day was a success. I learned more about my students, saw some more traditional aspects to Shimane, as well as picked up a dirt cheap sweater at their mini bazaar...
My role in Culture Day was limited. Unlike Sports Day, where I had to stand outside in the hot sun--at Culture Day I was permitted to remain (relatively) warm indoors, entertaining myself (mainly with studying). While Sports Day seems to be implemented by teachers, Culture Day is 85% the work of the students. While I had the ability to depart at the normal time, the students stayed working till probably six or seven o'clock at night.
And what of the final product? The Culture Day itself? Well, like anything rehearsed, practiced and performed by middle-school students, it was certainly rough around the edges. During many of their recitals a student dropped a baton or drumstick, the singing certainly wasn't smooth, and during the school play fits of giggles broke out in-between the extremely long scene changes. Yet, there is still something charming. While sometimes the irresponsibility and immaturity of my students annoys me, at other times I am overwhelmed with nostalgia to the point of tears. Culture Day was an instance of that.
In America, an activity such as Culture Day may last for the morning or afternoon--certainly not all day long. As I sat on the uncomfortable fold-out chairs with my rear falling asleep, I thought to myself as I studied the parents attending, "My parents wouldn't stay for that long. Physically, they couldn't stay for that long!" With a father with a bad back, the school chairs certainly wouldn't cut it. Not to mention the fact that the auditorium was left unheated in the middle of November...
There were several acts: the most memorable being "zen-in daiko," which is where a class of students play "taiko" drums, but on the floor. The key to this activity is not the sound, but the formation and unison to their brightly colored drum sticks. By coincidence, one of the songs they were practicing was one I had learned at Obon Odori in years past, the Coal Miner's Dance. As a surprise, during the encore, three other teachers and myself danced around the front of the stage to the amusement of all.
Next, there was a chorus challenge, with all three classes singing and the teachers judging the best. Though in truth I wasn't impressed with any (having watched the national junior-high choral competitions on the TV here), the 3rd year students were by far superior. I guess age gives the the confidence to sing more loud and clear.
There were two other different drum contests, one where the drums were the centerpeice and the other where a mock kagura play accompanied it. I enjoyed the latter by far, as they were dressed head to toe in traditional attire--something I get a kick out of. The music was also not limited to drums, as members of the community had come out in support--offering their vocal and musical abilitities with flutes and percussion instruments. This performance also happened to be the best rehearsed and executed. Maybe it is something about getting to those costumes that makes people take their craft seriously...
The afternoon ended with a play, "The Children Who Didn't Know War/Senso ga Shiranai Kodomo." While I believe it was trying to be a serious play with a serious message, the repeated forgetting of lines, giggling, and extremely long scene cuts featuring Studio Ghibli music completely missed the whole point. On the other hand though, it was amusing to see a representation of a foreigner (BIG blond hair and a BIG chest) and see that they (kind of) tried to promote English/international exchange. Another benefit to the song was that I learned about this nifty song and the singers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyShX0kIqYc
By the time the play ended and the Closing Ceremony was complete, it was practically three thirty. I was ready to move on, and feel the return of blood to my rear. One can only sit for so long during the course of the day. However, leaving school when you want to is not so easy. While on the one hand think it is beneficial for students to have to clean the school, I also just wish that sometimes, once an event is over, I can leave with a clear conscious knowing that someone else will take care of the work. But, as effort was required to put on the event, so if the effort required to take down.
All in all, I'd say Culture Day was a success. I learned more about my students, saw some more traditional aspects to Shimane, as well as picked up a dirt cheap sweater at their mini bazaar...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
物は言ってみるもん aka: Ask and You Shall Receive
物は言って見るもんだ。 (mono ha itte miru mon da)
Presuming I got it right, this phrase roughly translates to "You'll never know until you try" or "If you never ask, you'll never know" or "the question is the thing."
I learned this phrase while at the post office a few days ago.
The story starts back over a month ago, when I was hurriedly applying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. Not expecting the application deadline to be as soon as it was, I found out the week before it was due. Though Japan is an advanced country, they have not yet proceeded to the next level of having online applications. They also make the application processes very difficult. Especially, when you live out in the countryside, like I do.
On the JLPT website, it says, "Applications should be available at most major bookstores." Problem was, there are no major bookstores in Shimane. The only (and I do mean only) place that sold the applications was two and a half hours away from my house. As I could only go on a weekday, there was no way that I would be able to drive two and a half hours and back during the middle of the day, as I was expected to be at my job. Luckily, my Japanese teacher happened to go to the "city" for work, and brought me back an application.
Our plan was this: she hop out of the train on her way back, and give me the application, and then hop back on the train before it left the platform. So, standing on the platform one Monday night, I watched for the approaching train. Previously having discussed where she would be (in the rear) and where I should stand (towards the end of the platform), I knew I had only about a two minute gap to get the application. Sure enough, when the train pulled up, I saw her face peak out and, rushing to the door, she gave me the application. I accepted it, and bowed in thanks like crazy until the departing train until it was out of sight. I was later told that the application was literally the last one in the prefecture. There were no others left. That, right there, is pure luck.
Then, after receiving the application, the real fun began. They don't make it a simple thing of filling in a form and mailing it off. Passport pictures are required, and even more annoying, an electronic funds transfer that can only be done at the post office before two in the afternoon.
Still relatively new on the job, I began to fret. What would the teachers say to me going to the post office in my lunch hour (even though they do it all the time?) I panicked, but in the end decided to just go through with it, and face the consequences later. (Longterm goal vs. possible short term awkwardness) Teaching two schools that day, one in the morning and afternoon, I tried to call the school I would be teaching in the afternoon to tell them that I would be stopping at the bank before I arrived. Yet, the three times I carefully timed my calls, my teachers were all out. So, instead I moved to plan B and asked my morning school for permission to leave a little earlier than usual. When I explained the reason, they kindly told me that there was a much closer post office than the one I was originally planning on going to.
Speeding through small streets, nervous I would get lost, I found the small post office, and arrived in a flurry of stress and agitation. I had never done a funds transfer through the post office, and I was concernedthat my letter wouldn't be post marked in time. There were two people working the shift, one middle aged man and woman.
You could tell that they didn't get many customers out were they were. The shop was deserted, and they even had the TV going for them to watch. I hurriedly explained my troubles, and they kindly helped turn everything in on time.
Fast forward to a few days ago:
I decided to mail off a letter in between going from my morning to afternoon school. As I knew I literally had no classes to teach that afternoon, I figured they wouldn't be upset if I dropped by the post office. Coincidentally, it was the same post office as before I went to.
Now, in recent weeks, I've been gathering gifts for my family for Christmas. One thing that I had seen around in people's houses, schools, what have you, were these cute coin banks in the shape of an old-fashioned Japanese post box. Now, perhaps for the Japanese, they may not think anything of it--but really, these post boxes, still in use around Japan, are something quite Japanese and unique.
As I was mailing my two letters, I inquired, "Where can I buy those banks I see everywhere, in the shape of the post box?"
The same man and same woman were working again, and the man, on his lunch break popped out of his room and said, "Oh, those? I'll give you one."
"Oh, really? I don't mind paying, actually!" I said, "Because you see, I was thinking of buying about three of four of them."
"Well then, I'll give you three or four. What colors would you like?"
Still trying to insist I pay, I eventually told him that I preferred the traditional red color. I left the store minutes later, flustered and pleased by the experience, and promising to come back and buy the end-of-year postcards, another Japanese tradition.
Right before I was about to leave (and right before the older male clerk casually let it be known he was single, and of the eligible age of forty), he said, "物は言ってみるもん." I didn't know what this meant, and we eventually got the meaning clear that the meaning of this saying is that: nothing will ever happen unless you speak up and ask. The thing itself is the question.
My four coin banks only prove that fact: mono ha itte miru mon.
So, from now on, I won't be afraid to ask. I don't want to suffer in silence, and waste a possible opportunity.
Presuming I got it right, this phrase roughly translates to "You'll never know until you try" or "If you never ask, you'll never know" or "the question is the thing."
I learned this phrase while at the post office a few days ago.
The story starts back over a month ago, when I was hurriedly applying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. Not expecting the application deadline to be as soon as it was, I found out the week before it was due. Though Japan is an advanced country, they have not yet proceeded to the next level of having online applications. They also make the application processes very difficult. Especially, when you live out in the countryside, like I do.
On the JLPT website, it says, "Applications should be available at most major bookstores." Problem was, there are no major bookstores in Shimane. The only (and I do mean only) place that sold the applications was two and a half hours away from my house. As I could only go on a weekday, there was no way that I would be able to drive two and a half hours and back during the middle of the day, as I was expected to be at my job. Luckily, my Japanese teacher happened to go to the "city" for work, and brought me back an application.
Our plan was this: she hop out of the train on her way back, and give me the application, and then hop back on the train before it left the platform. So, standing on the platform one Monday night, I watched for the approaching train. Previously having discussed where she would be (in the rear) and where I should stand (towards the end of the platform), I knew I had only about a two minute gap to get the application. Sure enough, when the train pulled up, I saw her face peak out and, rushing to the door, she gave me the application. I accepted it, and bowed in thanks like crazy until the departing train until it was out of sight. I was later told that the application was literally the last one in the prefecture. There were no others left. That, right there, is pure luck.
Then, after receiving the application, the real fun began. They don't make it a simple thing of filling in a form and mailing it off. Passport pictures are required, and even more annoying, an electronic funds transfer that can only be done at the post office before two in the afternoon.
Still relatively new on the job, I began to fret. What would the teachers say to me going to the post office in my lunch hour (even though they do it all the time?) I panicked, but in the end decided to just go through with it, and face the consequences later. (Longterm goal vs. possible short term awkwardness) Teaching two schools that day, one in the morning and afternoon, I tried to call the school I would be teaching in the afternoon to tell them that I would be stopping at the bank before I arrived. Yet, the three times I carefully timed my calls, my teachers were all out. So, instead I moved to plan B and asked my morning school for permission to leave a little earlier than usual. When I explained the reason, they kindly told me that there was a much closer post office than the one I was originally planning on going to.
Speeding through small streets, nervous I would get lost, I found the small post office, and arrived in a flurry of stress and agitation. I had never done a funds transfer through the post office, and I was concernedthat my letter wouldn't be post marked in time. There were two people working the shift, one middle aged man and woman.
You could tell that they didn't get many customers out were they were. The shop was deserted, and they even had the TV going for them to watch. I hurriedly explained my troubles, and they kindly helped turn everything in on time.
Fast forward to a few days ago:
I decided to mail off a letter in between going from my morning to afternoon school. As I knew I literally had no classes to teach that afternoon, I figured they wouldn't be upset if I dropped by the post office. Coincidentally, it was the same post office as before I went to.
Now, in recent weeks, I've been gathering gifts for my family for Christmas. One thing that I had seen around in people's houses, schools, what have you, were these cute coin banks in the shape of an old-fashioned Japanese post box. Now, perhaps for the Japanese, they may not think anything of it--but really, these post boxes, still in use around Japan, are something quite Japanese and unique.
As I was mailing my two letters, I inquired, "Where can I buy those banks I see everywhere, in the shape of the post box?"
The same man and same woman were working again, and the man, on his lunch break popped out of his room and said, "Oh, those? I'll give you one."
"Oh, really? I don't mind paying, actually!" I said, "Because you see, I was thinking of buying about three of four of them."
"Well then, I'll give you three or four. What colors would you like?"
Still trying to insist I pay, I eventually told him that I preferred the traditional red color. I left the store minutes later, flustered and pleased by the experience, and promising to come back and buy the end-of-year postcards, another Japanese tradition.
Right before I was about to leave (and right before the older male clerk casually let it be known he was single, and of the eligible age of forty), he said, "物は言ってみるもん." I didn't know what this meant, and we eventually got the meaning clear that the meaning of this saying is that: nothing will ever happen unless you speak up and ask. The thing itself is the question.
My four coin banks only prove that fact: mono ha itte miru mon.
So, from now on, I won't be afraid to ask. I don't want to suffer in silence, and waste a possible opportunity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
