The Beauty of Bamboo

 

    If I were rich -- filthy rich, I mean -- I wouldn't spend my money on jewelry, designer bags, or fancy cars.  Nope-- my "discretionary spending" would be on bamboo artworks, especially the modern stuff.  I just love it! 

    I love bamboo for its versatility, its resilience (it will literally take over your garden if you let it) and its practicality.  I've read that there are some 1,450 species of bamboo worldwide. Wherever bamboo grows, people have used it in a multitude of different ways -- they eat it, make shelters, utensils and weapons from it, and create works of art out of it.  There's even reputedly a nasty form of torture that takes advantage of the extraordinary speed at which it grows (one species can grow at 1.2 meters a day), but we won't go into unpleasant stuff like that in this friendly blog.  

     They say that high-quality bamboo can have the strength of steel.  Nowadays, people have discovered that bamboo flooring is attractive and ecologically sound.  But such applications  are just the tip of the iceberg.  We modern folks just getting on the band wagon a bit late after this practical and beautiful material has already been in use for millennia. 


     The aspect of bamboo that appeals to me most, however, is its aesthetic rather than practical use.  I have some lovely old bamboo baskets in the "Becky Collection," all of which are now, out of necessity, stored away where I can't appreciate them. Sob, sob!  Among my favorites is one I got for almost nothing at a Japanese recycle shop where the young whippersnapper who priced it had no idea what he was holding -- thank you very much!    
                 

Lovely old artisan bamboo basket

     Don't get me wrong -- if someone were to give me this lovely old Japanese basket, I'd be thrilled to have it.  It would be a great addition to my small-but-beloved basket collection.  How could anyone not appreciate the dark twig that's been incorporated into the handle and body of this work of art?

      However, it's the modern stuff that really appeals to me, like this room-sized installation, a recent work by a trained "bamboo artist" called Shochiku Watanabe, pictured below.  Unfortunately, no abode of mine would ever be big enough to accommodate such a piece, so I'll have to settle for smaller ones like these others (not that I could afford any of them, either!)

Recent Bamboo Art Installation by Shochiku Tanabe

My birthday is coming soon. I want this!

     

Or this.  Either will do.

      












   
                        What amazes me is the amount of training and skill a bamboo craftsman has to have.  For example, this artist, Shochiku Tanabe, comes from a line of craftsmen or should I say "artisans," whose family art name is Chikuunsai.  So far there have been three before him who carried this name and, when the time comes, Shochiku-san will become the fourth.  He's in his early 40s now, I believe.  I saw on a recent NHK World TV show (my favorite channel, by the way) that, after graduating from college with a degree in art, he spent three years simply splitting and preparing bamboo before being allowed to spend another eight years learning how to fashion things out of it.  That takes a lot of patience and forbearance, but that's the Japanese way. 
 

Shochiku Tanabe and his work

      
      The thing is, though, for every skilled, trained artisan like those in the Chikuunsai line, there are millions of simple, ordinary folk scattered around the world, quietly using their skill and experience to produce their own works and products out of bamboo.  They'll never get global recognition, they'll never have their handicrafts on display in museums.  At best they'll get just a small amount of the local currency for their work.  Yet their creations have their own value and charm and perhaps more "justification for their existence" than more "collectible" pieces.  

      Whether it's a room-sized installation created solely for viewers to appreciate on the aesthetic level or simply an item for daily use, it's all art to me (and many others, I hasten to add.  I obviously didn't originate this momentous concept.)  But I respect both because I couldn't do either myself. Perhaps it'd be smarter for me to yearn for what I can afford, like this simple, utilitarian bread basket that can be found online at "housewaresvietnam.com."  

       Whatever craft we love, whatever items we acquire to use or collect, whatever we feel we can afford, we should all keep this pithy quote about all handmade items in mind:

 Purchase from artisans or craftspeople who enjoy creating their wares. The object holds that positive energy and it spreads.

Mt. Fuji -- Part 2 (New Renditions of the Mountain)

You can buy this t.p. online!

I am pretty even if I look! I use it and am interesting! In a present! I use underflow water of print toilet paper ♪ Mount Fuji!

     What's that gibberish above?  It's the English translation of an online sales pitch that probably sounded pretty good in the original Japanese.  I may not understand the explanation, but I know what this is about because I've seen this Mt. Fuji toilet paper with my own eyes.  

A stack of Fuji-san toilet paper

       

        This toilet paper is one of the many new products centered around Mt. Fuji.  Now that it's been designated Japan's 17th UNESCO World Heritage Site, it's all the rage here in Japan.  It's now one of the country's 13 cultural heritage sites, and there are long with its four natural heritage sites. Why a mountain would be considered a "cultural" site rather than a "natural" one is evident when you learn that it's registered as  “Mt. Fuji: Object of Worship, Wellspring of Art.”  

       But why is that?  At first, they went for the logical "natural heritage site" designation.  However the huge amount of garbage and human waste on Japan's magnificent mountain made that designation difficult to get, so they went for the "cultural" one instead.  And, after a number of years and a concerted clean-up effort they finally got it.  These designations are revocable, however, so they must not give up on environmental projection on and around Fuji-san.

    But back to the toilet paper . . . .  I first saw this stuff on display in -- of all places -- the local post office here in Ogawa-machi.  Instantly I knew I had to have some, but they wouldn't sell it to me under any circumstances. I never did understand what you had to do to get a roll from them, but I see that it's available online at about a dollar a roll.  Maybe I don't want it that badly, even though a portion of the proceeds are donated to the Fuji Club, a group of some 6,000 volunteers who do clean-ups on the mountain they love about 60 times a year. 

Cool designer Tomohiro Ikegaya

Mt. Fuji Tissue Holder

Mirrored paper inside makes Mt. Fuji reflection

      Besides toilet paper, many other clever Fuji-themed products have popped up recently.  Among the most interesting are the ones designed by a 32-year-old, Tomohiro Ikegaya, who grew up in the shadow of Fuji-san. 

Mt. Fuji pocket square

       Talk about good design!   He's created a pocket square that, when folded properly shows that familiar scene. There's an envelope with a mirrored piece inside so when the flap is open, you get that same reflection of Mt. Fuji that you see in the lake below -- you know, the one in all the famous tourist attraction photos. Among his super-creative Mt. Fuji products are a mountain-shaped blue guitar pick.  Over time and with hard use, the paint on the end of the pick chips off, revealing a white top, just like Fuji-san. 

Now it's just a cloth

   Then there's this clever washcloth or towel that looks quite simple ordinarily.  But when it's draped over something, voila--it becomes a fabric Mt. Fuji.   Amaze all your friends and family members after your bath!

Presto-change-o, it's Fuji-san!

Fold it right and Fuji-san appears

      I could go on with this stuff forever, but you get the idea.  Suffice it to say that:
     1)  Mt. Fuji is now big business here in Japan.
     2)  Ikegaya-san is a very smart fellow to follow  his heart, stick to something he loves and make money at it. 

Don't we all wish we were doing that?  I do envy those who are!   

Fantastic Fuji-san -- Part 1

   I don't have to to tell you what this is, do I?   One thing I do want to mention for any foreign readers is that "Fuji-san" doesn't mean "Mr. Fuji," as I used to think before I got here a few decades ago.  That "san" is not a title of respect, but rather the Japanese word for "mountain."  So, if you call it "Fuji-san," the Japanese way, you're not saying "Mr. Fuji,"  but rather "Mt. Fuji" or, more accurately, "Fuji Mountain."

     Whatever you call it, this mountain is  one of the most iconic images of Japan, certainly one of the most important places in Japanese history, culture and, of course, Japanese hearts. In that sense, it's right up there with cherry blossoms, and if you've ever seen it sort of hovering like a dream  in the distance, you'd feel its mystery yourself, believe me!

          Geographically speaking, Mt. Fuji is a "stratovolcano" -- a tall, conically-shaped volcano formed from many layers ("strata") of lava, ash and other scientific stuff, all of which piled up to make Fuji-san Japan's highest mountain. Just FYI, its footprint is oval-shaped and it is located precisely where three tectonic plates meet, making it highly likely to erupt sometime soon.  It's been dormant for 300 years now, and it's long overdue, they say.  In fact  one Japanese researcher has written  a book about how it's due to erupt in 2015!   

      Whether he's right or wrong, the Japanese in charge of such things are certainly taking their emergency and evacuation plans very seriously these days.  It would be ironic indeed, if, after it was finally declared a UNESCO site as it was in June of 2013, Fuji-san blew its top and disappeared or caused untold numbers of people to lose their lives and/or property. The last time it erupted, back in 1707, volcanic ash fell on Tokyo.  Do you know what volcanic ash does to things like train lines?  Well, that's a story for another day . . . . . .

       It's not the size or height of Fuji-san that makes it so special -- it's the unusual shape and the fact that it's so, well, solitary.  If it were tucked into one of Japan's many mountain ranges, instead of floating in isolated splendor like a mirage, it surely wouldn't have gotten the recognition and attention it has enjoyed since the 8th century.  

         For the Japanese, Mt. Fuji, like cherry blossoms, has s cultural significance far beyond what they actually are.  Here, cherry blossoms are more than just flowers, and Fuji-san is more than just a mountain.  For one thing, it has a long religious history. It's one of Japan's "Three Holy Mountains," and it's been regarded as a sacred place since people started living around it.  Followers of Shinto, Japan's native religion, believe it's the holy abode of the goddess Sengen-sama, and there's a shrine at the summit dedicated to her.  Some of the summer hikers to the top are actually religious pilgrims and for them, climbing Mt. Fuji is an important religious ritual.  The many tourists, on the other hand, might consider it to be a very challenging and arduous hike.   

    Fuji-san is important for Buddhists, too.  In fact, it's named for their goddess of fire, called Fuchi.  They consider it to be the gateway to another world.  And even for tourists, in a sense that's true.  After you've clawed your way up to the summit, battling crowds, extreme thirst, incredible fatigue and -- worst of all -- altitude sickness, you might have a religious experience despite your original intention.  You'll certainly have a better opinion of yourself and enjoy a sense of pride that stays with you a long time.

    Whatever your reason for ascending Mt. Fuji, you really ought to do it if you visit Japan and are fit enough for a serious hike that requires planning and provisions. (It takes 8 hours and can only be done during the months of July & August, the official climbing season.)  After all, there's wisdom in proverbs, and a famous Japanese one goes like this:

 "He who climbs Mount Fuji once is a wise man, he who climbs twice is a fool."

There's something fishy about bouillabaisse!

Proper, real, professional bouillabaisse -- Obviously not mine!

     Out here in rural Japan, there isn't a whole lot to entertain the pair of us on a Saturday night (except for pre-recorded TV, but more on that in a soon-to-come post.)  I wouldn't want to say we're "starved for entertainment," but, well, actually we are! I know -- we could always go "clubbing" in not-so-far-away Tokyo.  But anybody who knows us even a little would laugh at that prospect.  Trendy, we ain't!

     I have, however, become much more interested in cooking, since that's my major form of entertainment nowadays. Well, maybe it's not the cooking itself that I find so appealing.  Rather, it's chasing down the ingredients at the supermarkets here in Ogawa-machi.  But that, too, is a blog post for another day.

     However, recently I myself became the best source of entertainment in this household.  I had David doubled over with peals of genuine laughter with just this one sentence:  "I think I might make some bouillabaisse this coming week."   Does that seem funny?  Not really.  But David actually howled with laughter.  

My idea of cooked fish

      "Why?" you may ask.  Well, he loves seafood.  I hate it. It's a simple as that.  He comes from an island nation, where fish-and-chips is the national dish.  I hail from America's Midwest, the suburbs of Chicago.  You know, the place that Robert Frost wrote about in his famous poem of the same name:  "Chicago Hog Butcher for the World."  My mother came from Iowa, famous for corn and Dubuque Ham, which results when you feed that corn to pigs.  My father came from Wisconsin, "America's Dairyland," famous for its cheese, which comes from cows.  What do I know about fish?  Growing up, I always thought fish came in one shape -- sticks -- and from a rectangular box covered in waxed paper labelled "Mrs. Paul's."  

    When I go to a Japanese supermarket, I generally avoid the fish aisle completely.  For one thing, it smells, well, fishy.  For another, things in there look so lifelike.  Heads, tails, fins, glassy eyes  -- oftentimes suckers and curled-up tentacles, too. All arranged in schools -- they clearly died with their friends. Japanese people go into the "Fresh Fish" section of the store to buy fish. They look at it thoughtfully,  turning over the packages while judging the contents'  freshness.  They choose carefully and presumably go directly home to whip it up into wonderful, healthy seafood dishes that will delight their nuclear families. 

Japan's dead fish

      If I go to the fish section at all, it's mostly as a tourist attraction.  No need for Tokyo's famous Tsukiji Fish Market in my life!  I just go to the local supermarket and find schools of scaly dead things galore.  'Course I could always do that in Penang, too, though there the smell was even fishier, if that's possible.  David once said (with love), "Hon, your idea of cooking fish is buying a salmon steak and plopping it into the George Foreman grill until it's dry."  No argument there!

Penang's dead fish

     However, the other day among the marked-down goods at the local grocery store, I saw some packets of bouillabaisse soup  or juice or broth or whatever you call it.  Ready-made, it was and half price.  I thought, "Hmm. . . . this would really impress David.  And the stock is already prepared, so the rest should be quick and easy."  

    I proceeded cautiously, though.  I went home and looked up the recipe for bouillabaisse on the Internet. One said I was going to need "Mediterranean seafood" and lots of it.  Ha!  and Ha! again.  What IS "Mediterranean seafood" anyway?  Another super-chef who actually looked pretty normal in her Internet photo said this:  

   "According to tradition, there should be at least five different kinds of fish in a proper bouillabaisse. In Marseille, considered the mecca of bouillabaisse, they use at least seven, not counting the shellfish. The fish should be extremely fresh – caught and cooked the same day."

    Ha! once more.  Besides fish, I would apparently need "Cockles and mussels" alive, alive-O!"  And I was to serve it with "rustic bread" and "rouille," whatever that is. Oh, and homemade croutons should go on top. Hmm . . . .  Getting discouraged here!

    I decided to run it past David.  I said, "Dear, your birthday is this weekend.  (It actually was yesterday.)  Would you like me to make you some bouillabaisse for a special, celebratory meal?"  Once he'd picked himself up off the floor after his laughing fit, he said, ever-so-diplomatically, "There's a coupon for fish-and-chips at the family restaurant outside town. I get 10% off during my birthday month.  Should we just go there for my special meal and skip the bouillabaisse?"

    What a prince!  We're going there for lunch today. 

500 Characters Carved in Stone

The first row of over 55 rakan (Buddhist disciples)

     Before I show you some very cool pictures (all taken by me), let me give a little background here (with information not original to me.  (I'm not a Buddhist scholar, after all.)

       In Buddhism, as in other religions, there are saints and disciples. Jesus had twelve disciples, Buddha is said to have had ten in his "innermost circle, though it's said that 500 gathered after his death to establish the Buddhist "monkhood."

       Anyway, here in Japan these holy persons  are called "rakan."  The usual English transcriptions of the original language are arhat, arahat, or arahant.   You can get into complicated theological explanations about whether these folk  were those who actually attained Buddhahood or were simply saintly enough to be well on their way. However, an elaborate explanation isn't necessary to appreciate what I saw last weekend, but if you want a good one, check out this link:  http://www.unf.edu/~clunberr/Lunberry/Rakan.html

          As that writer, Dr. Clark Lunberry has indicated, much of the charm of a collection of old hand-carved rakan statues is stumbling upon them by accident, which is exactly what we did last weekend.  Hubby David and I were over in the neighboring city of Kawagoe (as opposed to the town of Ogawa-machi) having breakfast.  Then we decided to take in some of the really historical sites of that former castle town.  So we hopped on the loop tourist bus and disembarked at Kitain (Temple of Much Happiness), a charming, very photogenic temple with a long and important history.  Despite it being a lovely early spring Sunday afternoon, there were few people there and lots of English-capable goodwill guides politely assaulted us with maps, advice, and offers of help.  They all seemed a bit disappointed when we weren't quite "foreign" enough, but that's a story for another day.

       Anyway, a glimpse through a gate showed a vast collection of carved statues.  At first I thought it was a graveyard, but the English explanation said this: 

 There are actually 540 of these statues representing the disciples of Buddha. They were carved between 1782 and 1825 with no two statues alike. It is said that if you feel among the statues in the dead of night you will find one that is warm. Mark it, come back during the day, and you will see it is the statue most resembling yourself.

Pssst!  Lemme tell you about that guy over there!

   Well, that isn't going to happen, considering that you need to buy a ticket to get in, but it's a nice legend anyway.

Oh, boy -- my head sure does ache.

Oh, woe is me!  

         At first glance, this fellow looked like he was ripping out his own heart.  But then I realized that he's actually showing us that he has the Buddha living within his chest.  He seems pretty happy about it and not at all shy about showing it to all comers.

      And this green, mossy fellow?  Well, he was 'waaay ahead of his time, making the "V-sign" or "peace sign" long before it became the thing to do when someone is capturing your image (albeit usually by camera).  And like so many little kids who are getting photographed, he knows you're supposed to make a "V-sign," but he isn't quite sure yet exactly where or how to flash it.

    Well, given a few more centuries, maybe he'll figure it out. . . .


       

Oh-oh! Odaiba or Ogawa?

Venue Tents for "Ovo" in Tokyo

    This is a tale of two weekends and lots of "Os."  Earlier this month, we went into Tokyo so I could see a terrific Cirque du Soliel show based on insects called "Ovo."  It was held in a huge tent in a very trendy part of Tokyo called Odaiba -- that's the first set of "Os".  (Get it?  "Ovo" and "Odaiba".)   

All organic -- no plastic bags here!

Some of the bugs from "Ovo"

     This past weekend we  accidentally stumbled upon a monthly Organic Farmer's Market right here  in Ogawa-machi.   So, that's the second set of "Os" -- an "organic" market here in "Ogawa-machi" where we live.  How cosmic!  
      Despite some basic similarities, the two could not possibly have been any more different.  Which was best?  It's hard to say.

Ogawa Easter Bunny?

    Both had people in costume.  Can you guess which the green one came from?  The pink one was a local Ogawa lady dressed up as . . . . well, I'm not sure -- maybe the Easter Bunny, though it's not a very well-known holiday here in Asia, not like Xmas.  Perhaps a bear . . . ?

Some tremendous Ovo performers-- breathtaking!

Everyone dances in O-machi.

Ogawa "elderly" having fun

  Both had people  performing in lines.  The balanced kiwis above were a marvelous troupe of performers from "Ovo."    The others are a bunch of "elderlies" from right here in Ogawa, all having a marvelous time dancing.  One was slick; one was home-grown.  Who's having more fun?

Ogawa canine fashion. All dressed up & nowhere to go!

   Another thing both places have in common is this inane penchant for dressing dogs up to take them out. (Don't get me started on this one; I'll rant!)  Anyway, which doggies are better dressed, country canines or citified pooches?  You be the judge.

Tokyo pooches evidently favor more casual attire

Oh, no -- she made me wear shoes again!

Spring and Picket Fences

      Well, it's a glorious spring day, with birds chirping and soft air that feels good on the skin.  People are out and about, doing the human equivalent of mating and nest building.  I can hear my neighbor vigorously beating on her futon, all of which are hanging outside to soak up the sun and kill the little beasties dwelling in them.  (Proper futon care is a whole 'nother subject that I'll get into another day.)

     Here in Ogawa-machi, given the demographics, there are lots of folks just sitting around outside the supermarkets, jawing with other folks they've known all their lives.  I sometimes wonder what they're talking about, but with my turquoise top and big ole earrings -- and since I'm likely to be the only foreigner who'll be in the store the whole day -- I can guess that the topic of conversation is ME.  

     For the first time in months, the "elderlies" are out playing gateball, which is croquet in the rest of the world.  Here in Japan it's a sport reserved exclusively for older folks.  In fact, one of the best ways to get a laugh out of a classroom of Japanese students is to answer the question "What do you like sports?" with an unhesitating "Gateball."  There's a shocked silence as they process a response that goes against everything they know about life, then one sharp student will start giggling and soon everybody is in on the joke.

   This is the kind of day that makes you feel positively guilty for being indoors, so out I went, defying my own "picket fence" rule.  What, you ask, is this "picket fence" stuff all about?  Well, it's a theory of human behavior.  I wish I could claim it as my own, but it actually came out of the lips of my therapist friend, Gale.  She has a lot of theories, does Gale, but the only ones that have stuck with me are -- duh! -- those that pertain to me.  She's long said things like: "Becky, if you didn't have any excitement in your life, you'd make some."  And then there was, "Why do you keep asking everybody for advice when you know you're not going to take any of it anyway?"  And then there was "A bored Becky is a dangerous Becky."  No, come to think of it, those immortal words might actually have come out of the mouth of my sweet-but-wary husband, David.

    Anyway, back to picket fences and -- in my opinion -- Gale's best theory.  She says what people do is this:  We set up boundaries (white picket fences) for ourselves and then, sooner or later, often immediately, we step right over them.  So, a person might say something like this:

     --I'd never date one of my students.
    -- I wouldn't even consider getting a tattoo.
    -- You'll never see me wearing ________  (You fill in the blank.)
    --  I have no interest in visiting Asia.  
    -- You'd never catch me owning a _______  (Fill in the blank.)

And then, the next thing you know, that's exactly what they're doing.  They step right over that little picket fence and do just what they said they'd never do.  Now this can be done on the big, life-changing scale (for example, "I'd never marry a foreigner."), but it also applies to small actions in everyday life.

      So, this morning over breakfast, David and I had a grave  discussion about how I didn't need to go to the supermarkets at all today or tomorrow, not when we're going to be away for the weekend.  And not when the house is already so full of "supplies" there's room for no more.  Not when the fridge is already full of what this "big, beautiful woman" likes to call "luscious leftovers."  (A bit of wishful thinking there?) 

    Of course you can guess what I did less than two hours after that little chat.  Not one, not two, but three supermarkets had little visits from me this morning.  (I'm addicted.)

     And that is how I came to know that Ogawa-machi is waking up to springtime, embracing it, enjoying it, luxuriating in it. 


 It's because I just had to step over that little white picket fence!

   

   

Ahhh . . . . Cherry blossoms!

I did actually take this photo myself just this morning.

     What is it about cherry blossoms that makes them so special?  Individually they're not the showiest of flowers.  They have no scent or fragrance that I can discern.  They're hard to arrange because they drop their petals so quickly, and they don't work on their own very well; they require some other flowers as a focal point. Some grow directly out of the tree trunk  -- now those are really hard to arrange!

Right out of the trunk

"In the cherry blossom’s shade 

there's no such thing
as a stranger.”
                            ― Kobayashi Issa

        I have a theory that I honestly cooked up myself just this morning as I was out taking countless photos of cherry blossoms right here in Ogawa Town (before they blew away in the strong wind that's rattling the windows this evening).  I theorize that cherry blossoms are like Japanese people.  Individually, they're very attractive -- crisp, clean, straightforward and uniform.  Each one is a little gem and most of them look alike.  (Let me hasten to say that I don't think all Asians look alike, far from it!  However, many Western folks can't tell one type of Asian person from another -- Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Korean, Vietnamese -- they find it hard to distinguish one from another.  But then, lots of Japanese folks think we foreigners all look kind of alike, which I find utterly amazing.)  

      Anyway, I digress.  What I wanted to say was that, in my opinion, cherry blossoms, like the Japanese themselves, are quite lovely when observed individually, but they're really magnificent when viewed collectively.  Look at the economic miracles the Japanese pulled off by uniting as one after the war left them devastated.  Look at the marvelously smooth operations of a Japanese factory or assembly plant.  Nobody cooperates or synchronizes quite like the Japanese.  All for one, one for all, etc. 

Each of those little dots is a person!

      However, collective action may have been taken to an extreme when the Imperial Household Agency decided this year for the first time to allow the public to do cherry blossom viewing along a small street that runs from one side of the Imperial Palace Grounds to the other.  Only 750 meters in all, and not even completely lined with cherry trees.  So guess how many people decided to go and walk that little street yesterday?  Over 91,000!  How's that for acting collectively?  I'm guessing it wasn't just the cherry blossoms that drew a crowd like that. . . .

     So back to cherry blossoms.  Why are they so glorious?  Part of it is that the pink flowers stand in sharp contrast to the blackish trunks of the trees.  Part of it is that they look like pink fluffy clouds because the leaves don't appear until the blossoms are almost gone.  So there's nothing to dilute that cotton-candy effect.  Then there's the wide variety of species -- over 600, I've read -- from the famous ones that Americans and Canadians have been given by the Japanese government to the weeping cherry trees that look like umbrellas.  (If I ever dwell in a home with a yard, that's the first thing I'm going to plant.)  

I wish I had seen this tree, but, sadly, it isn't in Ogawa-machi!

       

         Besides their intrinsic beauty, there's a lot of symbolic meaning bound up in cherry blossoms for the Japanese .  The school year and new-hire working year both start on April 1st, hopefully timed so the blossoms acknowledge those momentous new beginnings. 

      Historically, the fleeting presence of these fragile flowers has been equated to the short, precarious nature of life itself.  If you were a samurai back in the day, life could well be very fleeting and short. Cherry blossom petals fall like samurai in battle, or so the sentiment went.  Easy come, easy go.  

If I were ever going to have a tattoo . . . .

      And before I go, I just had to share these two cherry-bossom-themed photos with you -- both blatantly "borrowed" from Google Images.  Sorry!  Life is so fleeting, you know, it's hard to find time to attribute photos properly -- but I am going to try hereafter!

. . . or have a proper wedding. . . .