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. . . . 

     

Prayers and Casseroles

       Well, here I am, starting a new blog from a small town in rural Saitama (Japan) called Ogawa-machi.  I should have begun this when I first arrived here semi-permanently (after a couple of years of living happily in Penang).   Instead, I allowed myself a "period of adjustment" -- a lo-o-o-ong one!   I don't know quite what I did during this past year, but it kept me pretty busy.  Cooking, mostly, and traveling back to the States to support my aging parents.  Mom died two weeks ago at 93, so now it'll be just my 96-year-old father who'll greet me when I return.  Life has its own cycles, doesn't it?

      And speaking of cycles, a new year has begun in Japan; April 1st is the beginning of the new academic and company employ-ment year here in Japan.  There's something in the Japanese collective soul that likes having new beginnings just when the cherry blossoms appear.   I'll admit that it does make for charming photos to have little school kids starting their academic lives under cherry trees with their gorgeous displays.  And it's traditional to send new company employees out to local cherry viewing sites to stake out a good spot with their blue tarpaulins.  Then, after working hours, all the other company workers join them to spend several hours in drunken revelry under the glorious blossoms.  The cycle of working life continues.

   I was thinking this morning that life is not only cyclical, but formulaic.  I'm not known for offering up public prayers (private ones are another matter), but I do know there are various formulae for doing so.  On the Internet one John D. Witvliet provides this "pattern for prayer" below.

 a) a statement of address to God,

b) a description of God in terms of a specific attribute or action,

c) a petition for divine action,

d) a statement of result, what some sources call "the aspiration," and

e) a statement of mediation, such as "through Jesus Christ our Lord."

  

    There are others, too, of course, out there in the "blogsphere."  Most have catch words like this PRAY formula by Deacon Thomas Frankenfield.

P - PRAISE God!

R - REVEAL

A- ADORE

Y - YES!

For a complete explanation of what those letters stand for, you could visit:http://www.holyspiritinteractive.net  

     Moving from the divine to the mundane, I note that there seems to be a formula for making casseroles, too.  And here it is -- tah-dah!

The basics are:

• One main ingredient (usually protein)
• One secondary ingredient (usually vegetable)
• One starch
• One binder (with milk or water to make it creamy)
• One topping

      And that, my friends, is how I've become an excellent cook in just 13 months!  Naw--just kidding!  I'm still only a slightly-better-than-average cook working in a Japanese kitchen the size of most American coat closets.  But luckily, I'm married to a very appreciative eater!  My hubby, David, almost always enjoys what I prepare, and he often says, "No matter what you cook, it's better than I could do myself, so of course I like it."  Positive feedback like that causes more casseroles to be produced.

    What I want to know is this:  Is there a formula for making friends in a new place?  And does that formula work in a country where you have a language barrier?  (Do I sound alarmingly like Carrie Bradshaw from "Sex in the City" here?)  You see, I'm really short of friends here in Ogawa-machi ("Small River Town") and have been this whole past year.  I know the "friend-making formula" that works in places where I share a common language with those around me.  It goes something like this:  

Me + mingling social event + potential friends + overture made ("Want to have coffee sometime?) + contact info exchanged and --> voila!   A friendship is born! 

    It may last a lifetime, it may endure only until more compatible friends are found.  But essentially, it works.   So why isn't it working for me here in O-machi?  I reckon it's because all the "ingredients" (except the first one, of course) are not available here, or at least not in English.  My meager Japanese allows me to get my daily needs met (somehow!) but doesn't allow for the subtle nuances that "lady talk" requires.  

    I'm lucky in one respect, however.  My sweet husband has made sure we have excellent "connectivity" here in our little Japanese apartment.  What that means in layman's terms is that our Apple TV works well, Netflix does, too.  I can access American TV easily and -- my lifesaver -- Skype and FaceTime are always available to me.  Without them and email, I think I'd dry up and blow away like a tumbleweed. 

    Well, it's still comforting to know that life has its cycles and this phase of my life is just part of that continuum.  Nothing ever remains the same and, who knows, by the time you read this, I may well have embarked on some new, exciting enterprise that'll make us rich.  (But don't hold your breath!)