Friday, November 19, 2010

oh my diabolical childes.......

this.
cannot.
go on.
I FORBEEEEEEED IT!!!!!!!!!!!
No more skulking about in the shadows!! POST!!
I'm gonna get off my soapbox now... but let the shadow of my threat remain a scarlet imprint upon your minds lest you forget my wraithlike abilities to make your life miserable if you displease me....

'hem 'hem.
So..... i made this entry just after we came home to Befu three days ago. I tried to make it witty... failed a little... I'm floundering towards my Japan style but slowly. Arrrrrrr.

"10:35 P.M. 11/17/2010
back in Japan after 18 mos... and what do i have to say for myself?
Here I sit, lodged behind celluloid desk, butt firmly entrenched in my garbage-crap chair.
I smell terrifically musty in the way only a Japanese closet can reek, because these old velour pants and Illini sweatshirt have acquired the bouquet of their dusty coffin over the period of my absence from their bagged-out glory. Of course, the cold cuts to my skin anyway; the unshakable chill which creeps over the floors and lives in the walls of this place has not become less with the sudden dearth of bodies who feel and refuse to accept its questing touch. If anything, it is emboldened by the new, more favorable balance of the composition of the apartment. Dust, silence, and closed doors are substances which so much more readily accede to its influence than do living flesh, the quick echoes of warm voices, and a constant flurrying of motion and flouting of decay that it most probably leaps into activity the moment we leave for a longer period of time than can be accounted for by the standards of someone actually residing in the abode.
Familiar sounds and the associations they carry assault me from all sides. A lady's demure, cheery voice requests compliance over the raucous whine of a siren. The gurgling vroom of a 50-cc moped precedes the passage of a haggard, helmeted twenty-something in a pinstripe suit by at least 12 seconds. Staccato syncopated clicks and taps echo down the little cemented avenue outside when a college student chooses our street to wend her way home. Closer to home, I can hear the gentle confusion and bumblingness exuded by Dad's shuffling, slippered footsteps and emotive grunts. Mom pulls a subdued Roadrunner act with her usual effortless verve. Already in the few minutes I've snatched here and there of observation, she has annihilated away the combined efforts of Luke and Dad to plant a garden of carnage in their bedroom, made beds, changed sheets, checked email, swapped out crusty slipcovers and doilies, extincted - armed with only a few squares of toilet paper - a curious species of dust bunny inhabiting all corners of the loo, herded the paternal menagerie of dental equipment and hygienic oddities into their own little leper colony/concentration camp in the cabinets, crushed the imperial tendencies of the dirty-dish army, arranged the shoes at the front door, held brisk, cathartic farewell ceremonies for the honored dead of our potted-plant collection, made a steaming pot of rich green tea, placed area rugs, fed the cat, dusted the china, and cleaned out the fridge of all offensive comestibles. By the time i finish, she will most likely have the piano tuned and 50% of Dad's extraneous underclothing will be a smoking heap of charred ash in the barbeque outside. meep-meep! All the while she keeps up a steady stream of clipped commentary to herself, follows an intermittent thread of conversation with Dad [inevitable snippets - "pre-Christian society" "east-European collective" "antioxidant enzymes" "Protestant dirges"], and taps out a smooth, brisk rhythm with her footsteps and motions which flows around the house and seems to disrupt and dethrone the pervasive disorder that has settled on the place.
meep-meep!!
Ah, the squalor of beauty. Returning home was a study in contrasts for me. How could a place so foreign and hostile to my feelings slip onto my psyche like a well-worn glove? When all I can think of is our bookshelf at home, why does our erratic, scant collection give me warmth and comfort. While I ache for the earnestness of Catharine's voice and the richness of Jonathan's laugh, how can I manage to muster only a very slight irritability at Dad's inanities and grammatical mishaps? As I remember our granite countertops, silk accent pillows, butternut-squash walls, fluted mahogany furniture pieces, and crown molding, what stops me from despising the total and uncompromising utilitarianism of the Japanese decor scene with all its cement, plastic, exposed pipes, fluorescent bulbs, naked metal, and harsh edges?
Arrrrrrr. More later."




I'm letting myself fall in love with Japan again. There is something about it that gets me every time.... the way the sunlight comes in the windows, it looks like Saturday morning every day. Pure, yellowy-white... resounding and bouncing and laughing and yet totally silent. The way the sky seems to be a deeper, smoother blue here than it ever is in America, and the way the mountains ring you in like guardians with their noses rubbing against that deep, silky curtain of sky. The music of the place... smooth ivory songs from the piano, raw tangy songs from the acoustic, songs of power and latent energy from Fawkes and the bass...... and every kind of tune imaginable from the sleek 24-inch Mac in the closet.
I've been eating a lot of strange food, and it's making me so happy!! My system suffered so happily from a libation of amazing protein yesterday!! Fish, miso, protein-pack squeezy-gels, edamame, oh man it was GREAT!!
I should goooooo.................................... the only reason I'm able to post is because Mom and Dad didn't wake me for Mass this morning and I had a lovely hour or so to myself........................ and I have other eggs to gather. Other bells to pull. Other boxes to stack. et cetera. I'm gonna go now before my verbosity gets out of hand.
"Right. I'll see you shortly. There's a meteorite that hit the ground near here. I want to check it out. It won't take long. Echo 3 over and out."




.... tee hee!! star wars!!

2 comments:

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  2. Coming back to a place when I've been away a long while always sends a wave of nostalgia through me, especially if it's one I've spent a long time there, or consider it my home, or a home. The familiarity is so relaxing, and you just fall into that same old routine easily. I think I've got an idea of Japan being really beautiful and laid back, maybe from all your accounts of it... I think I read some essay about cherry blossoms and warm breezes wafting in through a balcony window. Sounds wonderful, once you get settled in.

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