tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659002267695782772024-02-07T12:08:34.573+09:00Our Pal SalSalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-17443188602823580152020-08-23T18:18:00.002+09:002020-08-23T18:19:55.189+09:00Remembering Bill Naumann<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: justify;">I just received word my old friend Bill Naumann has left this life and entered into his reward. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the privilege of knowing him, having his influence in my life, and his friendship with my family for nearly sixty years.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Bill’s life in Naperville was interwoven with my family’s, from our first encounter at church in the summer of 1962, and through decades of friendship via Sunday school, community activities with the Y’s Men’s Club, socializing in New Year’s Eve party traditions, family potlucks, and other commonalities.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">God used Bill to help nudge me into my Life Journey of living in Japan. If I look back at the progression of baby steps leading me here, a comment from Bill on the telephone during my high school years was one of the very first footprints I can clearly recall.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Let me explain in more detail. I have very sensitive ears. In Japan they call hearing like mine <i>jigoku no mimi</i> (the ears of Hell), meaning I can hear what people are whispering in the next room, in the middle of a thunderstorm! My mom has perfect pitch, and although I can’t claim that as my own talent, I feel her DNA helped give me my incredible hearing and sensitivity to sound. My body jumps at any sudden outburst of sound, so I physically react to and am bothered by someone clicking his pen mindlessly, the squeak of a rotating fan in need of a good oiling, and even the whine of a mosquito, trapped in my room at bedtime.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Thanks to these ears of mine, I either love or hate the radio DJs’ voice. My husband automatically turns on the radio as soon as he gets up, so my hellish hearing gets a good workout the moment I awake. As a teenager, I was a night owl, enjoying the quiet in the house after everyone had gone to bed, and listened to WGN night radio, where they played moody music and the DJ had a warm and soothing tone to relax to.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">One day, I answered the phone and immediately recognized Mr. Naumann’s voice. I greeted him warmly, as he has always been a close family friend ever since we moved to Naperville. I remember saying how much I loved his telephone voice, and he returned the compliment, suggesting my own voice was ideal to be a disc jockey. Something clicked inside me, and I began to imagine myself working for WGN night radio!! Sure enough, this stubborn notion pushed me into guidance counseling my senior year, and as a college freshman at ISU, I entered the Speech Communications Dept., which had two branches, Mass Communications (where a potential DJ should start her studies) and Speech Communications (Interpersonal & Group Dynamics, etc; the behavioral studies which were my dad’s specialty).</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">To be honest, the first day of Mass Comm. 101, I knew becoming a DJ was NOT for me. They expected you to read three newspapers (cover-to-back) a day, ten magazines a week, and keep a journal on hot news topics from daily TV. This kind of frenetic lifestyle did <b><i>not</i></b> suit me one little bit. I immediately dropped out of the class. But since I’d entered that department, the only thing left to study was Speech Communications, which I soon discovered was my <b>one great love</b>, and I grew a lot from majoring in it! Later, living in Japan, I found my training helped me greatly as an English teacher, managing the group dynamics of classes.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Since I had other strengths I wanted to explore, I took a lot of electives to complete three minors in English (mainly creative writing), Art and Music, which have also served me greatly in my life in Japan. And since a Speech Communications major was not marketable upon graduation, per se, I got a Masters in Counseling, imagining I’d like to work in the Holistic Health field later on. While studying counseling, I found I was not suited to that profession either (what, <i>again?</i>), since I tended to worry about my clients 24/7, never able to leave work at the office! So despite having a BS and an MS when I finished my upper education, I had no potential job in mind, and my dad talked about taking a break by teaching English overseas with the International Y (which also “clicked” internally, when he made the suggestion, just as Bill Naumann’s casual comment had). The rest, they say, is history.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">When I was engaged, and Shigeki came to the U.S. to meet my parents and ‘ask for my hand,’ Bill and Herbie opened their home to him, giving him a room (or should I say ‘basement suite’?) of his own to use during the week he was there. They also housed Shigeki’s best friends from France, who came for our wedding, three months later. I remember spending a LOT of time at the Naumann’s house during that summer, where I spoke with both Bill and Herbie, separately as well as together, as I prepared for my life as a foreign wife in faraway Japan. Herbie’s experiences living there (when she was younger) were a great help to me. Bill’s calm and accepting demeanor always encouraged me to speak very frankly with him. They made that summer so special for me!!!</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">While my son was still in grade school, our family took a driving holiday to visit Bill and Herbie in Kyushu, where Bill was a guest lecturer for a nearby university one semester. That trip was also very memorable for us. While Bill was busy at school, Herbie hosted us and spent time with my son, who was fond of sketching. Bill was a wonderful host to Shigeki, content to just sit companionably with him without forcing conversation. Our love and respect for them as a couple continued to grow through that visit.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">We have lost a dear friend now, but the host of heaven has gained a wonderful musician to join the orchestra praising God continually. Mr. Naumann! Bless you for your kindness toward me in this life! I’m thankful to know you are fully healed now, in the presence of Jesus, our Lord. I promise to continue on in faith, friendship and fellowship with your loved ones you’ve left behind.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: right;">August 3rd, 2020</p>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-57216118530808093252017-07-27T15:11:00.001+09:002017-07-27T15:11:50.079+09:00This Logic Does NOT Compute<div>
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I cannot stand forwarded mail. I get my share of it, although it is at a minimum because I always ask people not to send it to me. My sister-in-law sends me only things that are related to health or safety that she thinks I really should look at. I don't mind this kind of forwarded mail. One woman I know sends me a bunch of stuff, most of which I throw away. But once in a while she sends really interesting and intriguing photo collections. These I also appreciate, and usually save.<br />
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Anything that comes with the request that I send it on to others I automatically resent (and refuse to comply). I don't care how warm and fuzzy it's designed to make people feel...I just think it is inappropriate to try and coerce people into sending email chain letters. We gave that up when we got to junior high age, don't you remember?? It's juvenile behavior. I refuse to participate.<br />
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Facebook users are notorious for sending cute cyber "hugs" to their entire mailing list. The request that you send it on to<i> your</i> entire mailing list or else you won't be blessed or get lucky or meet a fairy or WHATEVER the heck it is they're saying will happen, makes me see red. Cut it out already! What part of "Do <b>not</b> send these to me anymore!!" is <i>unclear</i> I wonder?<br />
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Okay, okay, I know, I'm raving. I'll get off my soap box now. </div>
Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-82881166939701490752017-02-06T11:50:00.000+09:002017-02-06T11:50:01.059+09:00Reflections on Parenting an Adult Child<div style="text-align: justify;">
I grew up the youngest of a three-child family and automatically assumed I would also have three children when I married. But I was blessed with just one son. I had planned to wait a couple of years before giving birth, to give my husband and I time to work on our relationship before embarking on the challenge of parenting. But I got pregnant just four months into our married life, and had to face a milestone for which I was not yet mentally prepared. Life has a way of sweeping us along with the current, often at a speed we are completely unable to control.</div>
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I was rather naive when I wed and entered the world of international marriage, and now, thirty-two years later, have a heavy basketful of experiences I carry around in my heart and mind. I'd like to share some of the reflections I've had recently as the parent of an adult 'only child.' </div>
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My son grew up in Japan in an era when seeing a foreign resident in a city the size of Chicago caused people to stare, point their fingers and whisper <i>"Gaijin!"</i> (foreigner) to whomever they were walking with. When my husband and I moved to the suburbs when my son was one and a half, it got much worse, since I was only the fourth westerner to reside in our rural town of 70,000 people. (Now there are over 1200 foreign residents, 30 years later.) I spent a lot of energy as a young mother, feeling defensive and desperate about being an outsider just trying to find her own niche in her new environment. I volunteered at my son's daycare to try to help acclimate the children to a foreign mom. I taught conversational English as much as I could, to try and build (or at least promote) a community of internationally-tolerant citizens, as well as my own group of friends. </div>
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My son was a sensitive child, and the victim of ostracization at times. He had difficulty bonding with children his own age, and tended to prefer shepherding younger playmates who were easy to lead. As a result, I became his best friend and confidante as he was growing up, in addition to my role as parent. In comparison to most people's experiences parenting a young teenage boy, I had it rather easy, since my son didn't rebel or treat me very disrespectfully during that period. This was partly due to my tireless efforts to instill respect for one's parents in my son, which was a natural part of the religious education he received. But at the time it just felt like a normal component of our relationship.</div>
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So imagine my surprise when after moving out at 21 and going to America to live and pursue his dreams, we embarked on a ten-year journey of Delayed Rebellion Against The Mom, a period in which parental advice, suggestions and lifestyle choices were no longer welcome or acceptable. Phone or video calls inevitably resulted in our pushing each others' buttons and squabbling over semantics. He kept drawing lines which I was strictly forbidden to cross; becoming independent clearly meant: 'I am no longer obliged to endure your take on the matter!' </div>
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Of course there were times when he asked for prayer or encouragement in facing a difficulty (particularly in the first year abroad), and my skills as a referee were needed in the early stages of his own journey in international marriage (when at the tender age of 25 he secretly married a Thai beauty and didn't tell us about it for two months), but basically I felt like I had gone from feast to famine in relation to my importance as a confidante in my son's life. I was delegated as Head Cheerleader Only (unnecessary commentary automatically rejected).</div>
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So the result of ten years living apart has created a sense of caution in the words I choose when speaking with my son, the forced absence of expectation that he will patiently 'hear me out' or value anything I say (beyond "I love you" or "I'm proud of you"), and a redefinition of my role as his mom. Which brings me to the one thing I really wanted to say today, that popped into my head upon waking up this morning and inspired me to write this post in the first place: <b>being the mom of an adult child has its perks.</b> Let me elaborate...</div>
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After years of no letters, one-sentence replies to my emailed comments and questions, and a phone call once every two or three months, my son has begun calling me almost once a week. He usually chooses to call during his drive home from closing the entertainment facility he manages in California. The call comes around 8:30pm my time on a Sunday night, which is roughly 3:30am on his Sunday morning. Last night he admitted one of the reasons he calls is to combat the sleepiness that comes while driving so late at night. This admission helped put his calls in perspective, since I was beginning to feel really flattered by all the attention! (lol) </div>
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But the past month or two of relatively regular contact has somewhat shifted our conversation fodder from "major updates regarding work" to more detailed accounts of meetings with bigwigs, admissions of mistakes or goof ups made after promotions, the freedom to ask questions and get legitimate answers, and a nostalgic sense of being his confidante again! (Will lightening strike me for making such a statement, I wonder??) We seldom get angry with each other, and I rarely need to exercise patience or caution, even in my wording! My son feels all grown up. Of course, at the age of 31, he certainly is a grown up! But I assume for most parents, their kids always <i>feel</i> like kids--green around the edges and naturally lacking the wisdom that comes with a LOT more living. So when he exhibits a particularly mature attitude, I take note!</div>
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Recently I've been delighted to discover things about my son I never knew. Last night he told me about receiving a warning from his supervisor. He mentioned that he believes such feedback is a good opportunity to make improvements so that he can become more flawless in his job. Such an upbeat and positive attitude coming out of my son's mouth felt like winning an award! I am not directly responsible for his optimism at all; this was purely an expression of his own work ethic, but being allowed to hear it from the horse's mouth felt like such an honor! </div>
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I'm sure our relationship will continue to change and grow as time marches on. I hope to record my discoveries in future posts as well. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.</div>
Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-62060280574795001872016-07-10T17:06:00.001+09:002016-07-21T21:48:22.512+09:00Diffusing Stress -- Another Name for Escaping Reality? Part TwoIn Part One, I talked about how hard my husband works physically. He experiences a kind of stress that comes with using your body too much; fatigue to the max! In order to cope with such a lifestyle, he relies on alcohol each evening; if he weren't allowed to 'drink to unwind,' he would probably blow a gasket and refuse to work ever again! That being said, in the past his drink of choice was beer. He'd buy a large can of it at a vending machine in our neighborhood, and drink it with some "tsumami" (a snack suitable to eat with alcohol) that he'd prepare himself, depending on what he felt like eating that day.<br />
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The result of such a lifestyle was a lot of tummy fat accumulating around his midriff, and an elevated uric acid level in his blood checkup results. He was already struggling with high blood pressure at one point, and began paying attention to his diet in earnest. He ate thinly-sliced raw onion faithfully each day, along with "katsuo tataki" (raw bonita fish briefly charcoal grilled and immediately soaked in ice water, then sliced), both noted to reduce the fat globules within the blood. And he cut out beer, drinking "shochu" instead, a clear liquor made from potatoes or other vegetables or grains. Within six months he had cleaned out all fat in his blood and lowered his blood pressure and cholesterol levels considerably. He continues to stick to "shochu" as his main alcohol each evening, occasionally drinking a bottle of wine during dinner over a few days.<br />
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Now he comes home from a hard day at work, and immediately sets up his evening drink and snacks to unwind. I give him an hour to 90 mins, before expecting we begin eating supper together.<br />
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In recent months he has developed a new coping mechanism to diffuse stress--going to the mountains by car for a day at an "onsen" (hot spring). He drives out early in the morning, arrives, soaks in the bath, has a hearty lunch with alcohol, takes a nap for three hours or so, takes another soak in the hot spring before beginning the drive home. On the way he always finds some restaurant that serves something he wants to eat that evening, enjoys his meal, then slowly drives home. If he gets sleepy mid-way, he simply pulls over and takes another nap. He usually arrives home by 12:30 or 1 am. He's refreshed from his day away from thinking about work and all the chores needing to be done at home, and psychologically 'recharged' to face more gradual fatigue build up yet again.<br />
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I, on the other hand, do not feel the need to leave my home in order to diffuse stress. I have my fair share of stress, partly physical (due to being obese and my joints gradually protesting in pain at having to support my weight), but more of a mental and emotional nature, from the difficulty of living in a foreign land and having to adapt to a culture the complete opposite of America's! There is also an undeniable stress that comes with marrying a person from another country and culture; ah, the challenges of international marriage!! (Okay, don't get me started!!)<br />
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For me, the very best way to diffuse stress is to completely escape my world altogether. I do this by watching Korean dramas and TV shows. We don't own TVs in our home, so I rely on my computer and a number of free online sites that sub K-dramas in English for the many foreign fans of K-dramaland. The (world-wide) foreign fans like to write their opinions online about what happens in each episode, and have discussions together, which is fun to read and join in on. I am totally hooked on this method of escaping the stress that comes with my life; I tend to be a pretty responsible person regarding the workplace and my volunteer duties in the community and at church. But I can completely forget EVERYthing during a Korean drama episode (which usually runs a little over an hour straight with the commercials cut out). It is as refreshing to me as my hubby's "shochu" after work. It renews me like his soaks in a hot spring! So I have to be careful to factor in what MUST be done before heading out to a class, etc, before turning on the computer. Otherwise I could easily get myself in a pickle, time-wise!<br />
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Yes, I sometimes wonder if this stress-diffusing method is healthy or not. After all, I feel like I am escaping reality for hours at a time, and is this <i><b>really</b></i> healthy, spiritually?? I'm still thinking it all through. Amazingly enough, my pastor's sermons lately seem to be directed to me personally, as they touch on how to live a God-directed lifestyle. As I chew it over, I'll probably write about this topic again in the future; stay tuned.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-73926090643966380222016-06-29T07:58:00.000+09:002016-06-29T07:58:38.027+09:00Diffusing Stress -- Another Name for Escaping Reality? Part OneMy husband is a really hard worker. When I first knew him, he was a professional bicycle racer, away for four days in a row at races all over the country for two weeks every month, frequently accepting sudden offers to race as a substitute, or act as a pacemaker (leading the nine racers around the track for the initial four laps, breaking the wind for them) in addition to his usual race load. He never complained. He was a very strong athlete, with great endurance.<br />
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After marriage, he continued to race full-time, while planning and preparing a bicycle shop he would then run simultaneously while still racing, for many years. He never took a day off. You think I'm kidding, right? No, he <i>NEVER</i> took a regular day off. Sometimes he would schedule a vacation and fly to France to visit close friends by himself, and occasionally our family would drive up to the mountains for a one-night stay just to take a fast break before diving back into a crazy schedule again. But if he was home, he was usually in the bike shop. So I got used to being married to a workaholic, and ended up taking my son with me to go to church, visit family in the states and Japan, and ended up playing with him (and raising him) the most between the two of us.<br />
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Even after retiring from racing, my husband worked nonstop in our shop, never taking a day off, for <b>many</b> years. I don't remember the exact time when he finally allowed himself to take a weekly holiday, but I'd guess it was in his late forties. My son was already in high school by then.<br />
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Our shop suffered along with all the other small businesses in Japan after the 'bubble economy' burst in the early 1990's. So my husband began juggling a variety of part-time jobs and has continued doing so ever since. He got his "large vehicles" driver's license and worked as a long-distance freight truck driver for a time. He also worked the night shift at a delivery company, loading and unloading heavy boxes from delivery trucks till he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers anymore. Fearing for his health, he'd search for something else and changed employers. He spent ten years coaching university bicycle racers while developing their club activities. Many jobs were thankless and even payless, as employers made big promises that fell through AFTER the hard work had been done. It was very frustrating watching my hard-working hubby suffer for our sake.<br />
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Currently, he does maintenance work at a retirement facility/nursing home part-time, while juggling another job in the bicycle department of a home center (is this expression used in the states these days? It means a <b>really</b> large hardware/housewares store mixed with a nursery/gardening department). He is their star salesman, and can fix absolutely ANYthing broken on a customer's bike! After joining the home center's staff, he got the nickname "Kami-sama" (God) because the bike dept. revenue increased 30% and his reputation had no rival. He's happiest working in that environment, needless to say!<br />
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Despite there being laws against such practice, he is often scheduled by the retirement facility to work a day shift, followed by a night shift, or a night shift followed by a day shift, or the absolute worst: a day shift--night shift--day shift combo that really saps him of all energy. Because he is working two different part-time jobs, he tends to over schedule himself anyway, leading to severe exhaustion, more and more common after he entered his sixties.<br />
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I've explained all that to lead in to the theme of this post, which is Stress Diffusion. Before coming to Japan in 1982, I hadn't heard much about stress or the need to diffuse it, either. But it's a big deal in Japan! And perhaps you can guess why, if my husband is any kind of representative example. People tend to overwork themselves here in this country. At least before the economy collapsed (as I referred to previously), working really hard for your employer was fairly standard practice; people in my husband's generation are all relatively stoic, hard workers. Thus, having more than your fair share of stress is also a given. I'll expound on that in Part Two.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-12274715542098804522016-06-24T00:46:00.002+09:002016-06-24T00:46:27.369+09:00Getting Back in the Saddle AgainInitially I began this blog as a therapeutic tool to process my turbulent feelings during my father's battle with Alzheimer's, and his death that followed. After the "need" for catharsis passed, I found a new hobby (watching Korean dramas) and haven't posted anything much in years.<br />
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My mom is 93 and we speak on the phone every other Saturday night. She is 'allergic' to the Internet, so she hasn't ever looked up this blog herself, but I've sent her printouts of my writings in the past and she is a very enthusiastic supporter. In fact, these days she keeps nagging me to write a book on all my experiences living in a foreign country. It feels a bit overwhelming at this point to revive many memories that have fallen by the wayside, or have become buried too deeply to recall. Yet, I'd like to fulfil this wish of my mum's, knowing that her belief in my ability to articulate my experiences has largely motivated our extensive written correspondence through the years, as well as provided me the courage to keep journal entries during certain significant periods of my life. In fact, whenever I happen to find an old journal and read through it, I am transported to that event and period in my life as surely as if I rode in a time machine! The written word is indeed a powerful medium!<br />
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The concept of "writing a book" is daunting to begin with, so I thought I should just begin blogging again instead. I do have moments of thoughtful contemplation; I simply lost the habit of jotting them down. Because it has been ages since I even took a look at the Blogger Dashboard, I was quite surprised to see some people still check my blog from time to time. For all those kind souls, I apologise for my silence, and hope to get back in the saddle again here on out.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-14495734577781758832013-05-23T08:30:00.000+09:002013-05-29T20:31:07.269+09:00And a Year and a Half Later Still...Just wanted to document a recent change in my journey through Menopause.<br />
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Ever since I fell to my knees on concrete (not once, but twice, and only six weeks apart), injuring my knees so badly that I have since learned to live with daily pain, I had been locked in a narrow, stifling box of hopelessness. I gave up aqua-walking, afraid to strain my knee joints further, and 'life without exercise' had paralyzed my motivation to change. I was simply trying to cope with physically feeling twenty years older than 55, trapped in an endless losing battle.<br />
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But an embarrassing event occurred recently at a restaurant that proved to become the catalyst for change within my heart and mind. When relaying the incident to a friend on Facebook, as I relived the humiliation and thought back with longing to more active days at the pool, our chat evolved into a mutual plea for a "silent partner" to help each of us lose weight and change our current physical situations. We made a pact to pray for each other, and report our progress whenever we could. Her interest in seeing me overcome my despair, and my desire to help her through some of her difficulties has given each of us the hope to change, and has been the encouragement we both needed to snap out of the funk each of us found herself in.<br />
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That was three weeks ago. I have been to the pool four times so far; I am starting off slowly, but I already feel a change within me. It's exciting to gradually take control over my situation again. I am not sure if menopause is officially over, but the end is in sight, anyway. I'll try to keep you posted.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-15665825866601399592011-12-16T18:28:00.002+09:002013-05-29T20:39:05.177+09:00Eight Months Later...When things on the Internet change, it sometimes sets people back a bit. I get used to one way of doing something and when a shift happens to change that routine, I don't always realize how I've been affected.<br />
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A good example is this blog.</div>
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I joined Facebook and began connecting with old friends I thought I'd lost forever, or making new friends I spend a lot of energy and time talking with now, and what was lost was my need to have <i>this</i> place to express myself. I stopped having something to say <i>here</i>, because I'd said it all to someone in Facebook already!</div>
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And Google changed, too. The way I used to get into "Blogger" was by clicking on a certain symbol on the Google homepage interface that no longer exists. So without realizing it, I stopped dropping into the blogger dashboard to check on blogs I was following and nearly the entire year has sped by unnoticed. I'm still not sure how to get to "Dashboard" from the Google homepage.</div>
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Are there still people out there who check my blog to see if I wrote something new? I doubt it. I never developed much of a following to begin with. Only five people were ever willing to admit they followed it. I mostly used this blog to work through my feelings of loss while my dad went through Alzheimer's and then passed away, now three full years ago. I guess that truth be told, that was the main purpose of beginning the blog in the first place.</div>
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I don't want to close up the blog, because I like having this place in cyber space to call my own. But I also know I will not be coming back regularly to talk to all of you, so please accept my apology ahead of time. It will seem like I don't care anymore. I do, but I am busy caring elsewhere; that's all!</div>
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Thank you for checking in on me. May all of you flourish wherever you are planted!</div>
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Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-14046003032669728072011-04-25T12:36:00.002+09:002013-05-29T20:35:17.401+09:00Julie and Julia<div style="text-align: justify;">
I just finished watching the movie, <b>Julie and Julia</b>. I am a big fan of Meryl Streep's work, and I wanted to see her rendition of Julia's unique way of speaking, sort of slurred and throaty. I didn't know it was a Nora Ephron film till I saw the opening credits. This gave me a sense of <i>"yes"</i> in my choice of titles, because I've loved many of the films she has written or directed. My instincts were correct. It was a wonderful film, entwining two true stories: how Julia Child became a French chef and wrote her famous book, <i>Mastering the Art of French Cooking,</i> and about a woman named Julie who decided to take a year to go through that book, cooking up the 524 recipes, and blogging about her experiences. </div>
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My exposure to Julia Child has been limited yet typical, I think. I grew up seeing her show on PBS once in a while and had the prejudiced impression she was a lush, like a kitchen drinker. She was the brunt of many a joke and comedic skit, and imitated (often cruelly) by a large number of professional comedians on TV. I didn't take her too seriously, as a result, and I certainly didn't feel much respect for her craft or lifework. I went into viewing this film with more respect for Meryl Streep than the character she was to embrace on screen, something I am ashamed to admit, now, after watching the story.</div>
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I loved the movie. I loved Meryl's performance; she made me love Julia. If this representation of Julia is accurate, I would have loved Julia (had I known her personally) and I would have tried cooking French cuisine when I was younger, hands down. (Although, I have to admit it baffles me she was a smoker. Aren't smokers supposed to have killed their taste buds or something? This is my only criticism of the woman.) Her enthusiasm for life, and loving food, people, Paris, and challenges must have influenced nearly everyone she met. </div>
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I am greatly tempted to go out and buy her book, at long last, even though I have nearly completely given up cooking myself at this point in my life. If menopause ever finishes, I might even want to start cooking again, to be able to enjoy all those really seemingly delicious recipes the actors got to eat in that movie. I really, truly hope their ecstasy wasn't <i>acting</i> but simply the reflection of really delicious dishes, <i>I </i>could also cook for my husband (a diehard fan of all things French) at home.</div>
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Further, the blogging part of the movie gave me a kick in the butt about expressing myself on this blog as well, which I haven't been very interested in doing for the past year or more. I would have to say the movie inspired me to speak up. Yes, it was an <i><b>inspirational</b></i> film, no question.</div>
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If you haven't seen it yet (although I doubt anyone else out there is as behind in their movie-viewing as I am), <b>promise me</b> you will. It really is worth it. Viva la France! Viva la Julia! Viva Nora Ephron films!</div>
Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-75397322926917009812011-04-05T21:57:00.004+09:002011-04-06T00:44:11.517+09:00Handicraft Hobbies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKxZ57BpwpTOpKfS4bnDXPTuRGA8cMKluU7b5qepD0qggfsfK921P4MiS1igVg3AN0mf3AzRS0EhEyr8e0zp9ut4pMFI-XXkBEi7S52pO01m2hNKZPucxHnXr4ay8U4HuKXPBG9xvvNk/s1600/DSCF0104.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKxZ57BpwpTOpKfS4bnDXPTuRGA8cMKluU7b5qepD0qggfsfK921P4MiS1igVg3AN0mf3AzRS0EhEyr8e0zp9ut4pMFI-XXkBEi7S52pO01m2hNKZPucxHnXr4ay8U4HuKXPBG9xvvNk/s320/DSCF0104.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592124521582660130" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have always enjoyed creating things. I sewed my own clothes in my teens and twenties, did embroidery projects or wrote poems in calligraphy and framed them in colored matte frames to give as gifts from childhood on, studied jewelry-making in high school and college and was honored to make the wedding bands for friends & my brother and sister-in-law. In my late teens I crocheted afghans for my brothers and parents, after my grandma had taught me the basics.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Handicrafts have always been a pleasant hobby, and my perfectionistic nature has helped me maintain a high standard for the finished products. The crafts created give me a great sense of satisfaction and well being. I tend to have low self-esteem, but creating something beautiful makes me feel as though I am living up to my potential, and gives me peace.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That said, it is perhaps unexpected to hear that I gave up most of my handicraft hobbies mid-life when I had T.B. and a number of other physical afflictions hit me simultaneously. Worst affected was my eyesight, making those crafts taxing on the eyes impossible to continue. Even after having laser surgeries on my eyes and recovering, I didn't go back to my creative hobbies; I turned to the television and computer instead. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mother always encouraged me to do something creative while I struggled through menopause; she knew it would make me feel better and give me a sense of self-worth despite the blues that come with hormonal imbalance. But it was difficult to muster the energy to pick up new supplies and my feet dragged. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet, it has been in the past year or so that I have found both the motivation and opportunity to try my hand at some handicrafts again. I made a small wall hanging for friends moving away (shown up at the top of this post), & began making counted cross-stitch ornaments before Christmas to give as gifts. That encouraged me to do more embroidery. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, when I was looking around for the embroidery floss I'd put away more than a decade ago, I came across a box of yarn in various colors. Within the box was the first few rows of three different afghans I'd started but soon abandoned. One was in a color I really liked, so I pulled it out. This past week I have enjoyed discovering that crocheting is just like riding a bike; regardless of how long it's been since you gave it a try, it all comes back to you. Crocheting is easy and can be done while watching TV, or when keeping my husband company during his late evening suppers after a long day's work. It soothes me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I look forward to becoming reacquainted with all the handicrafts I have known and mastered in the past. With my son grown and now married, I have the free time to return to my creative roots and enjoy a new period of artistic productivity.</div></div>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-20902516428453734472010-12-25T22:37:00.002+09:002010-12-25T22:43:41.982+09:00All I Needed Was TimeMac usage update:<div><br /></div><div>It is now about 12 weeks since I began using my new Mac laptop computer. I LOVE it, and have become a firm believer in my son's <i>Gospel According to Apple</i>. I have since downloaded Word into its memory and am happily doing just about everything I used to do on my PC, as well as a myriad of new things learned on the Mac.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't feel like an old dog anymore. I feel like a brand new dog!! It appears that all I needed was a bit of time to get used to the higher technology. Maybe my menopause is ending, too, 'cause I have a new lease on life!</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks, son! I'm so happy with my Macintosh computer! Woof!</div>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-49552452571340462352010-10-02T19:46:00.005+09:002010-10-06T13:31:27.226+09:00Trying to Teach an Old Dog New TricksBow wow.<div><br /></div><div>Yes, I am the old dog. The new trick my son is trying to teach me is how to use a Macintosh laptop computer. This computer was his gift to me, promised a year ago, when my old Compaq PC was giving me fits and moved so slowly he could hardly stand to see me use it. He urged me to use his Mac laptop (brought with him from LA for his visit home) and convinced me my life would be much happier and easier if I also left Windows behind and got on the Mac bandwagon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since I could never in a million years afford to get one for myself, he graciously worked hard, saved a lot and generously spent a cool grand on his old lady by getting her the latest model, the Snow Leopard. He is teaching me how to use it on <i>this</i> year's visit. We are now finishing up Day Two in his quest to reprogram my computer-related know-how and equip me with enough instruction to cover the bases. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am limping along, tail between my legs, whimpering. But I have learned:</div><div><br /></div><div>* how to access the internet and visit all my usual haunts online. </div><div><br /></div><div>* how to download all my favorite CDs into my music library. (Eventually I will learn how to burn my own original compilation CDs on my Mac. Neat, huh?)</div><div><br /></div><div>* how to search for movies and dramas online to watch.</div><div><br /></div><div>* how to do email in either the Mac's mail software or online through gmail, like I used to.</div><div><br /></div><div>* how to send someone a song via email (couldn't do that on my PC).</div><div><br /></div><div>* how to access the external hard drive and its content that was a gift from my son's girlfriend. </div><div><br /></div><div>* how to "share" content from my son's Mac to mine and back again.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's all in two days! I have taken copious notes, and done certain procedures over and over again, till I remembered finally how to follow the steps without prompting. (If only I can recall it again a few days from now--that'll be the true test!!)</div><div><br /></div><div>My biggest regret is not having Microsoft Word installed, which means I can't transfer my MANY files from the old PC into the Mac. This alone is the one argument for keeping my old PC set up somewhere in the house so I can continue using Word. I use Word for creating all my documentation as an editor for newsletters in both English and Japanese. Can't imagine life without it! </div><div><br /></div><div>Such musing, though, is unwelcome to my son's ears. He wants me to be a diehard Mac person now, and no looking back!! I think he feels his money wasn't well spent unless he converts me hook, line and sinker. I hate disappointing him...but...</div><div><br /></div><div>this old dog appears unwilling to comply. Ah, what to do? </div><div><br /></div><div>Bow wow!!</div><div><br /></div>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-45778907900196443442010-08-05T18:11:00.006+09:002010-08-05T18:54:55.827+09:00East or West, Flute is BestThis summer is a scorcher, and the heat is gradually getting to me, I'm afraid. But last night I had a rare treat that transported me from the sweaty grind of my daily life to a beautiful musical experience: I attended a flute concert.<br /><br /><br /><br />I am a pianist (third rate at best), a guitarist (good enough to strum along on the camp songs used in my classes), a former vocalist (before I developed asthma in 1994), and am the daughter of a woman with perfect pitch (which means I have a <em>pretty</em> sharp ear, despite not sharing my mother's gift). I've had a lot of musical experience and training, so I tend to be critical of musicians in general, and performers I get to see with my own eyes in particular. I also LOVE the flute, which both my brother and his wife play, delighting the family with their talents through the many years.<br /><br /><br /><br />So when a former student (a Chinese woman who's lived in Japan almost as long as I have) invited me to this concert, I was eager to go. Well, to be honest here, I really <strong>wanted</strong> to attend, but was afraid I might not be able to. I haven't been out to a concert in YEARS. I usually refuse invitations like this. The main reason is my size; I simply can't get my fanny into the seat!! So I never go to the movie theater, or to see a play or lecture. And I rarely can attend a concert, either.<br /><br /><br /><br />But this woman was part of a group hosting the event, and she had some pull in making arrangements for people who need some "special attention" in their seating. Bless her heart, she went all out for me: arranging a parking space right near the door, making sure there was an ample chair (without armrests) available to sit in along the outer aisle (I was totally comfortable!) with a good view of the stage. She even brought me a cold drink for the intermission! What a dear friend! I didn't have to worry about a thing, and had a VERY easy time of it!<br /><br /><br /><br />And I am <strong>SO</strong> grateful to have had the opportunity to attend this particular concert, because it was <em>wonderful!</em> The flutist was Junichiro Taku, a VERY accomplished and entertaining musician. He wore formal attire [with one costume change midway, into very cool Chinese garb to compliment a Chinese piece he played], and used four different flutes for the international program entitled, EAST x WEST. But his interesting banter between songs, and the tricks he used to transform a classical flute into a Chinese recorder, or some other ethnic instrument along similar lines, were nothing short of genius. I cannot praise his ability enough. [As I tend to be critical of professional musicians (especially in Japan, where the least able singer can become a top idol, due to their looks, dancing abilities, and/or fashion trends), Mr. Taku can take these words as <em>high</em> praise, in fact.]<br /><br /><br /><p></p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501860725410335778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 366px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlfrDVzRcEE03kbwzZh3IdHKeki2LpD3lQtWuRWUxPqMW8MF2Ng-J6bIFMp4O6Lt71MPuZ3zBPdj_vfbhA1Tn_0EgvxuqOBz8ceb_O9jmwSv3eHW6v1drp_FWNihqCFv5JAVP958QY0g/s400/Concert+flyer,+cropped.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br />I know I sound stuck up. Forgive me this tendency I have to sound arrogantly superior. Living in Japan, in a culture that has bred a nation of modest, humbly-minded gentlefolk, my way of speaking is glaringly the opposite, despite my own feelings of humility born of a <strong>major</strong> lack of self-esteem. But I once had a musical gift that defined my identity among my peers, and out of habit I have retained that critical ear and mindset which came with the talent. No one is sadder about having lost it than myself, believe me! But although I am no longer able to carry much of a tune, the asthma hasn't had the power to diminish my appreciation for great entertainment.<br /><br /><br />If you ever have the opportunity to attend Junichiro Taku's flute recital, by all means go, go, GO! You will <em>not </em>regret it!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-40842690965926230782010-06-23T23:46:00.004+09:002010-09-10T21:19:30.122+09:00Menopause, midwayI am in the throes of menopause.<br /><br />It isn't a simple case of one day realizing you haven't gotten a menstrual period in a few months, and lah-di-dah, I think I'll go out and take a new class at the neighborhood culture center! Although, in discussing menopause with my many friends and students, some women have a very lightweight experience and hardly noticed it was happening at the time. Unfortunately, I do not fall into that category!<br /><br />Menopause is defined in the dictionary as: the permanent cessation of menstruation, normally between the ages of 40 and 50, or the period during which this occurs; female climacteric, or change of life.<br /><br />Interestingly enough, the dictionary doesn't list all the symptoms of menopause, which are like a myriad of "side dishes" to the main event. Let's see...what all have I experienced to date?<br /><br />There's the sleeplessness. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself an insomniac; but I struggle with not being able to fall off to sleep for three or four hours at least twice a week. This creates a fatigue that makes me vulnerable to any contagious bug in the air. I've had pneumonia twice in a span of three months this year! It's a drag.<br /><br />There are the hot flashes. (Or maybe they should be spelled hot flushes!) These are completely unrelated to the season, weather, temperature, and humidity. Suddenly you feel so hot you've just got to fan yourself. In my case, the sweat just pours off the top of my head and down my back. Women experiencing hot flashes turn pink and moist-skinned. These happened to me also in the winter. People were sitting with shawls thrown over their knees and heavy sweaters on, and I was sitting there madly fanning myself! I had these frequently during my forties, and they were one of the first symptoms of menopause I encountered.<br /><br />There are the headaches. I have to take a bunch of asthma medication every day, so I don't take aspirin or pain relievers as a rule. Therefore, when the headaches come, they simply have to be endured. I also get these occasionally from high blood pressure or constipation, to be totally honest.<br /><br />There is a sense of hopelessness that comes with the hormonal imbalance of menopause. I find myself trying to escape my life, because if feels intolerable, as is. Work is a saving grace through these shadowy periods. But I rarely feel I have any other value, as a mother, wife, neighbor, or friend, even. Only my relationship with my mom has helped me endure these periods. She has been showering love upon me and that's the only thing that makes me feel better. Gosh, I'm thankful for my mom!<br /><br />There are irratic periods. All normalcy and predictability of the 28-day cycle goes out the window. Recently I go about two months without a period, and then get one for ten to 14 days! Last year, beginning in July, I had 90 days of menstrual bleeding over three and a half months! Not every day was ultra heavy, but many, many days were. Fortunately I did not get anemic through this patch, but I got mighty tired!! It was impossible to go and aquawalk in our local pool, which is my only source of exercise. So I gained weight during this period as an additional kick in the shins!<br /><br />My friend (who takes medication for clinical depression) told me I sound clinically depressed, too. She said she had similar feelings of hopelessness and an intolerance for her life, as is, before she was diagnosed. For all I know, this could be true but I am hoping it is only menopause, and therefore a passing inconvenience, to be endured for a few more years, or months... God only knows.<br /><br />Women have the great privilege and blessing of being able to give birth to children. But the other side to that coin is menopause, and I find I'm paying my dues for that privilege now!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-44867286266014515862010-04-20T20:53:00.004+09:002010-04-20T21:22:32.113+09:00I Love the Mariners<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcG96VlDuxu6UgtS1Ope1-enJa2kSBOjiLu-HRCet1WnrdhGDD5CoIJUoxB9qkrWXOPjgYhhsGuqAP7C1MR3oWrDYjeHDZwD7YVAbHIlkQI3DjoDKcrQDHO2s1MeocLW3LV6zoRA4lnY/s1600/Ichiro+running.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462193556006148290" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 281px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcG96VlDuxu6UgtS1Ope1-enJa2kSBOjiLu-HRCet1WnrdhGDD5CoIJUoxB9qkrWXOPjgYhhsGuqAP7C1MR3oWrDYjeHDZwD7YVAbHIlkQI3DjoDKcrQDHO2s1MeocLW3LV6zoRA4lnY/s400/Ichiro+running.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div>One of my hobbies is watching MLB on TV. NHK broadcasts one or two games a day, but only those that have teams with Japanese players on them. Due to this trend, very naturally I have grown to love the Japanese players, and tend to root for them tirelessly. The most popular players' daily activity is covered on the sports coverage of the evening news , too.</div><br /><br /><div>Of course, my favorite is Ichiro. He grew up outside of Nagoya, and I live about 30-45 min. from that area. So over the years, I've begun to feel a personal pride in his accomplishments; he's one of <strong>our own</strong>, as it were. Why he chose to play with the Mariners, I've never heard an explanation of, but he's been with them for ten years now. The Mariners have one of the greatest baseball players in the history of the game on their team, yet they are unable to make it to the playoffs, and instead come in last place in their division more often than not. This has given them a somewhat <em>underdog</em> status<strong> </strong>and image. I'm an old Cubs fan, so rooting for the underdogs comes natural to me! (LOL)</div><br /><br /><div>For the 2010 season, the Mariners' active roster has some great names on it. Long time Mariner fans were very happy when Ken Griffey Jr came back to the team a year or two ago, but we are all quite grateful he decided to put off his retirement till after this season. He and Ichiro have a great friendship and at the end of their daily batting practice, regularly slug a bunch of homers into the stands, I've heard. Ken loves to tickle Ichiro, who is constantly on his guard, but to no avail. Supposedly he came up with a new type of tickle for this year, which I have yet to see, but hope to catch a glimpse of eventually.</div><br /><br /><div>A great addition this season is Chone Figgins, who came from the LA Angels, I believe. He is a great base stealer, which will put him in good company with Ichiro. Already we have seen the fruit come from him joining the team, and I look forward to getting to know him better in the weeks ahead.</div><br /><br /><div>Last Saturday the Mariners were able to win four in a row, and put their average at .500. We'll see if they can change their image as the West Coast Underdogs this year, or not. Either way, I'll be rooting with great gusto. Go Mariners!!!</div><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GkF952AzLrlZhvHTuI91BW5fvAQEYrBIKrc25YuMY5BaQA3cDXMd-FvUYOybEzIq3xzsz-_5liFzc93qvF78kSfmIRsR1uxPz5M2PjE0dA9HlSZQtAygDr2IPYk6xwIPzXXLRCQIC-I/s1600/Ichiro+jumps+to+make+the+catch,+2008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462193213344334098" style="WIDTH: 307px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GkF952AzLrlZhvHTuI91BW5fvAQEYrBIKrc25YuMY5BaQA3cDXMd-FvUYOybEzIq3xzsz-_5liFzc93qvF78kSfmIRsR1uxPz5M2PjE0dA9HlSZQtAygDr2IPYk6xwIPzXXLRCQIC-I/s400/Ichiro+jumps+to+make+the+catch,+2008.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-27937893225589363372010-03-22T23:02:00.003+09:002010-03-22T23:42:26.776+09:00Scratching the SurfaceI mentioned how I have been having fun on Facebook...reconnecting with old classmates and people from my past. But there is also a downside I've discovered lately that's been disappointing.<br /><br />Americans are friendly and act interested when they meet you (or meet you again after a long absence) but it's not really a genuine interest--it's superficial. And FB is <em>really</em> superficial...totally surface, without depth.<br /><br />I can't tell you the number of people who've asked me to write and explain how and why I've ended up in Japan, and I laboriously write it all down and send it off but no one responds to the story. Or someone will insist they are interested to hear how I met my husband and decided to marry him, and I oblige and then no reply is forthcoming. Time and again I try to continue corresponding with someone and they put me off and then NEVER come back to me as they promise to. I wait, maybe send a little reminder a month later <strong><em>after</em></strong> their big event or school obligation (or whatever it is that got in the way before) has long passed. But they aren't interested in continuing. The initial spark is gone (except somehow, <em>I</em> have kept it alive in <em>me</em>) and all I can do is feel abandoned yet one more time, wishing <strong>someone</strong> would be willing to be a more active friend.<br /><br />It's like email and cyber communication has corrupted the very basis of good manners and common sense in relationship maintenance. People are so busy keeping everything superficial and NOT face-to-face anymore, that they have no idea how to act politely or exert a little effort in honing their online friendships.<br /><br />One example of this happened to me just this past week on Facebook. My association with one old high school friend was erased (by <strong>her,</strong> not me), when she decided she'd had enough of me. Had we lived near each other, or worked in the same office, she wouldn't have been able to just clean me off of her slate with one swipe (and no official goodbye or opportunity offered to work on or repair whatever mishap was the last straw as far as she was concerned), but the cyberworld allowed her to do so: "Slap, whack and don't come back!"<br /><br />A younger version of myself would have been so upset by this I wouldn't have been able to sleep, and would have shed some tears. But the current me just feels sorry for this woman, who is done with a relationship that had provided both of us many happy conversations and relived memories in the past eight months or so. I would have introduced her to you as one of my dearest new FB friends made despite our being only sort of surface friends in the past.<br /><br />But there's the rub. I was trying to scratch <em>through</em> the surface this time, while she wanted to keep it firmly in place and undisturbed.<br /><br />I don't suppose we'll ever get a <strong>third</strong> chance to become real friends at last. Personally, I will continue to look for others who are willing to help scratch through the surface.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-2594663414231162812010-02-18T18:42:00.004+09:002010-02-25T17:21:15.049+09:00Parental PrideMy son had a dream when he left home at the age of 21 and went to LA to live. He dreamed of breaking into the music industry and making his own record label. He is now 24 1/2 and the past three years or so have helped him grow up and change in countless ways. Every new step he has taken, and every new direction he has felt led to follow, have taught me to <strong>let go</strong> as a parent, and come to terms with the constantly changing dynamics of our relationship as parent/child.<br /><br /><br />I've thought over and over through the years, how ill-prepared we are as new parents, and I often feel that way looking at those younger than I, struggling with parenting issues even now. But I naively imagined all that awkward uncertainty would finally end with a child leaving the nest and flying off to live his own life apart from the Mama Bird. I thought I'd be able to let go and allow my fledgling the space to make his own mistakes and learn from them, without my needing to add my own two cents' worth. I imagined an easy transition from active and involved mom, to one who could step back and give her child the space and respect he deserved upon moving out and establishing his independence.<br /><br /><br />I think I've achieved this imagined end, ultimately. My son is sensible (most times) and dependable, hard-working like his folks and grandfolks on <em>both</em> sides of his family tree, and has earned my respect as an independent young person. But each step of his growth (and mine) has been <strong><em>painful</em></strong> for me, full of highs and lows, <em>and</em> each step has come as a big surprise. There hasn't been an easy transition EVER; it's all been difficult, full of confusion and shock, frequently leaving a bad taste in my mouth.<br /><br /><br />Initially, having him leave and establish his own financial independence was an immense relief. I loved the silence in the house during the day; not having to listen to his latest favorite song played over and over (with his CD player set to "repeat") behind his closed door till I went crazy and yelled for him to change it. I admit I missed having someone appreciative to cook for, and I really missed our conversations, but I continued to worry about him and wonder about how things were going for him 24/7. He was so far away, and there was no easy way to check on him, to relieve my imagined 'worst case scenarios.'<br /><br /><br />I didn't have <span style="font-size:130%;">empty nest syndrome</span> (which is where the mama can't function from the loneliness of having her precious child no longer at home), but I did have a big hole in the middle of my Life Purpose suddenly. I didn't know how to fill that hole with something else. It took a good year to allow the rest of my life to stretch and refit into normalcy again.<br /><br /><br />I have learned to let go of the ownership I felt for the choices he makes; it is <em>his</em> life, and a reflection of <em>his</em> choices. I'm finally comfortable with that. His choices continue to surprise me, perplex me, concern me and amaze me. But they are his, and he has every right to them, of course.<br /><br /><br />My most recent area of struggle has been with his making <strong>major level</strong> choices without consulting us at all. He talks things over with his good friends he's made, and we're not involved in the process one little bit. We get wind of the new direction he's headed after he's already packed his bag and left for the station! This is normal, and understandable...I'm just not used to it yet! So being the parent of an adult child is as much of a learning experience in my fifties as it was in my twenties through forties!<br /><br /><br />The latest new development in the unfolding drama of my son's life has pleased me to no end: he's taking classes at a nearby community college in LA!! He has a new dream and in order to pursue it, he is extending his education. Today I had the rare treat of hearing all about the registration, classes, teachers, classmates and homework. He's having a ball, and has discovered the joy of studying something he's actually interested in and eager to learn about. Today I'm bathed in Parental Pride, and thankful I had absolutely nothing to do with his decision to do this. It's <strong>all </strong>his, and all the <em>sweeter</em> because of it.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-86114934952098939542010-01-21T17:17:00.005+09:002010-01-22T13:47:45.802+09:00New Singing Sensation<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXeFyHfsvbeGEO2QDilWOHlT4szDirDwTI-JFW3h7lMgqbIV9-bejufK7mIPLuk4Z_2QOYxQ6qXV96s211HjU92H1O4iOiKuKs0y-xCY3RmvnIw91SNDq9q2zjR9g3vjP1fi7JayHerI/s1600-h/Susan+Boyle"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429130933315250514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXeFyHfsvbeGEO2QDilWOHlT4szDirDwTI-JFW3h7lMgqbIV9-bejufK7mIPLuk4Z_2QOYxQ6qXV96s211HjU92H1O4iOiKuKs0y-xCY3RmvnIw91SNDq9q2zjR9g3vjP1fi7JayHerI/s400/Susan+Boyle%27s+album+cover+photo,+clipped.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>On New Year's Eve, one of the most widely watched shows on Japanese television ("Koh Haku" literally <em>Red, White</em>), which is an annual competition between men and women singers divided into teams [women = red, men = white], hosted a special foreign guest, the new singing sensation, Scotland's Susan Boyle.<br /><br />My husband was sitting on the sofa, using the TV remote liberally, per usual, and I was nearby playing games on the computer, not really listening with much concentration to the TV, when suddenly he says, "Susan Boyle! It's Susan Boyle!" and I said, "Who??" (not having read about her in the paper, as he had). He called me over to watch her sing on Koh Haku, so I did.<br /><br />A simple woman, in a gorgeous designer gown, was standing in front of a mike, with simple make up, and not much expression on her face, singing the song "I Dreamed a Dream" (which I later learned had been the song she sang on the talent competition show in the UK, where she was first discovered). Frankly, she looked like she could be the neighbor grocer lady, or the school librarian, or an Aunt Trudy somewhere, good at baking gingersnaps. She was Anywhere Woman; she was Everyone Woman. I instantly liked her. Of course, her voice was very nice--not affected or enhanced with tricks or vocal manipulations--it was a pleasant voice, a voice you enjoyed listening to, and could listen to forever without complaint.<br /><br />I used to be a singer myself, before asthma ravaged my pulmonary equipment and robbed me of the excellent breath control I used to possess. I have a sharp ear, the daughter of a woman with perfect pitch, so I tend to be critical of singers in general, and hold a rather high standard when it comes to judging the vocal talents of others. Although <strong>I</strong> do not have perfect pitch, I can tell when a voice is off, even a little fraction (sharp or flat), so I am not usually 100% satisfied with the vocal endeavors of the majority of recording artists out there. But Susan Boyle's performance that night, despite being live and in front of a foreign audience in a foreign land (for surely she was nervous!) , seemed flawless and blessed by heaven itself. I was impressed, not with "star quality" but with her excellence in simplicity.<br /><br />Today the CD I ordered through my food co-op, <em>SUSAN BOYLE I Dreamed A Dream</em>, arrived and I'm sitting here listening to it as I type. Not every recording is perfect, but darn near close! And like a gentle hand soothing the brow of a troubled child, her voice caresses my heart and gives me peace. I feel sorry for the western world who can't hear the bonus track for Japan, "Wings to Fly," which is the best song (closely followed by "Silent Night") in my opinion.<br /><br />Earlier today, during my co-op delivery, my friend told me she'd heard that Susan Boyle began shouting in a loud voice at the airport suddenly (supposedly from stress, I guess). It isn't an impossible thought, is it, for a quiet and gentle soul living with her elderly folks to suddenly have her world turn upside down by being discovered on that show, trussed up and stuck in the spotlight to sing on show after show, told where to go and when, ripped from her home and her quiet lifestyle, to reach a point where she just couldn't handle it anymore, and need to give a scream (of protest? of fatigue? from hormones, or what?). It's not an impossible thought to me, anyway, and I hope Susan Boyle is given a little more space, a little more control over what happens in her tomorrows, so that her precious drop of heaven (her voice) isn't squeezed right out of her by celebrity and all the false glitter that goes with it.<br /><br />Go on and holler, Susan! Make them stop a minute and rethink what they're doing to you. Take good care of you, because you are Anywhere Woman, you are Everyone Woman. If you don't look out for yourself, no one else will do it for you, I'm afraid. Thank you for the wonderful songs on your album and this peaceful feeling in my soul which was born while listening to them.</div>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-88749981627206940332010-01-05T20:49:00.003+09:002010-01-05T21:02:28.850+09:00Relationship MaintenanceAlong with the joys of reuniting with old friends on Facebook, I have been inspired to reach out to other friends (who <strong>aren't </strong>on Facebook) and try to rekindle our communication flow in an effort to maintain a present-tense relationship. This isn't an easy task, as people are busy with their lives and daily schedules, having left me long ago in their memories of high school.<br /><br />One friend I have "recaptured" recently, and we are making an effort this week to see how much we can continue our ongoing conversation via email exchanges, now that the work week has begun. I have plenty of free time, so I must make the larger effort, and exert the most patience in waiting for replies. I'm not complaining; I have usually done this, even when we were active friends in school, so I'm accustomed to it. It is such a thrill for me to see my email inbox hold yet another entry...perhaps it is from her, and we can take our discussion on husbands, or health issues, or work, or movies, or whatever! one step further.<br /><br />God made me a born communicator. I'm never happy unless I'm connecting with someone on a genuine, heartfelt level, pouring loving energy into relationship maintenance!!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-59649950360662119852009-12-10T18:29:00.003+09:002009-12-10T19:23:55.660+09:00Back again, at long last, with Christmas musing...Hi Everyone, long time, no write!<br /><br />I took a three-month break from blogging, while having a love affair with Facebook. I didn't have anything significant to say here, 'cause I was so busy reconnecting with old classmates and childhood friends there. I got hooked on a few game applications as well, and then turned all my friends on to them, and THEN took the plunge into challenging them to play against me. Great fun. So much so, that I didn't have any interest in coming back to this blog and trying to articulate anything. Thus, such a long gap between posts.<br /><br />Fall is always a busy time of year for me. I teach my students about the American traditions of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, so I find myself extra busy with parties, baking, dressing up, pulling out old photos to show, searching around for cute stickers or new books about those subjects, or making my own visual aids. Fall has passed and winter is beginning to chill the air; and I must write our yearly family Christmas letter to send out (but haven't finished yet) and get presents into the mail (I'm so behind in that!).<br /><br />At Thanksgiving time, my mom went to my brother's home for a week's stay and we were able to talk via Skype. A suggestion was made that we disband the tradition of giving presents to the main group of adults (which includes everyone now, as all the kids are grown). Many years ago we began the custom of drawing names so that we'd prepare a gift for just one of the eight-to-twelve adults making up our little family circle. This tradition was nice in that every year you'd get a different person to prepare something for, and it enabled us to shower some attention and thought onto a new target. It gave you a different person to <strong>thank</strong> each year, too, extending the close feeling you shared with each, in turn. Since my husband never does anything for the holiday himself, but is perfectly content to receive a gift from a member of my family, I prepared the gift for <em>his</em> yearly target as well, meaning that I'd shop &/or make something for two people and most years send off two packages. I also prepare a gift package for my son, who moved out on his own in late October, 2006.<br /><br />When the suggestion was offered during that Skype call that we stop giving gifts, it was said in a way that sounded like the decision was already made, and everyone seemed glad to stop it; everyone but me. It made the little girl within my heart (who looks forward to the holiday, even now, despite not decorating my home, or having anyone I live with care one way or another) feel forlorn, somehow, to think that my family can't even go to the trouble of having one of them send me a gift anymore.<br /><br />And I tried to explain my feeling to my brother in an e-mail, but all I sounded was whiny, and mercenary, as though getting a present was the only way I could feel Christmas had come. Ever since, I have been mulling this over and over in my mind. Why is getting a gift so important to me? It isn't so much that I have to have a big tree, all decked out with lights (although I <em>loved</em> having one when my son was young) and a million packages crammed underneath. I don't have to have a Christmas brunch like my mom used to make, with fancy egg and sausage casseroles and schtollen (sp?) fruit bread baked from her mother's recipe. I don't require a big turkey dinner later in the day, or even Christmas carols playing in the background. We keep things simple. And I'm not complaining about that. It's a compromise on all the hoopla which happened traditionally at home growing up, sure, but I can live with compromise (while simultaneously envying the family back home).<br /><br />But no presents? I am loathe to this idea.<br /><br />In Japan, Christmas is just another working day. My husband always went downstairs to his shop and opened it for business after we'd taken turns opening our few little gifts (my parents or I had prepared for us) and had pancakes for breakfast. I never accepted jobs on the 25th; I kept the day sacred (and forced my husband to keep the morning sacred, anyway). But this year, my co-worker finally forced me to work in the afternoon on Christmas day; I can't afford to turn down the money because December is a month with a lot of payments due. But to imagine the morning without any presents? It makes me want to cry!<br /><br />But why?<br /><br />I still do not understand this melancholy. 2009 is the last year to get a gift from a relative other than my mom (and possibly my son, if he remembers to send me something; I'm <strong>not</strong> holding my breath!). My dad is gone; he was the big Santa in our family, buying tons of useless junk as well as the occasional useful gift, too. But all his shopping and giftwrapping and hiding gifts here and there and all his <strong><em>generosity</em></strong> just made me feel loved. Maybe it's that presents somehow equals LOVE, to me. Which is why the absence of presents and the implied apathy that goes with it, feels like a lack of esteem, somehow. Oh, I don't know...<br /><br />All I know is, I'm sorry to see the tradition end. It makes me envy everyone in the states for the holiday all the more.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-92063015392522879152009-09-17T18:25:00.004+09:002009-09-17T19:28:59.549+09:00I Still Have a LONG Way to Go!I got together with a class of housewives (roughly my own age) on Wednesday for an English lesson and we got on the subject of establishing a credit rating. I was citing my son's case in the states as an example of how the need to develop your own credit history is often how young people become dependent on using credit cards.<br /><br />I am not a total stranger to the concept myself. I use credit cards to utilize my "speed pass" at the self-service gas station, to charge orders from a certain food co-op in Kobe, Japan, and to pay for my ETC charges. I use a debit card for ordering clothing online, although I am always nervous of potential identity theft, so keep a tight rein on how much I buy.<br /><br />By nature I am as far opposite to a gambler as you can get; I am not willing to risk A SINGLE PENNY or ONE YEN COIN!!! So I tend to only go for "sure things" and "dyed-in-the-wool authenticity" for everything in my life. Typically I assumed most everyone was like me in that class of housewives, too. But I had a real surprise in store that day.<br /><br />When I first came to Japan 27 1/2 years ago, EVERYONE used cash for <em>EVERYTHING</em>. There wasn't any checking system here (still isn't, except for traveler's checks), and people were suspicious and wary of impulsive shopping with credit cards. Then department stores began offering store cards (that incorporated a 5% discount to all purchases) to encourage sales, and many affluent housewives I knew began using such cards automatically. The 5% discount was inconsequential, in my opinion, because prices in dept. stores are marked way up to begin with, but anyway, the custom became less repugnant to the average consumer. Gradually credit card companies began their seductive campaigns to get people to use them, offering free memberships, and other perks for joining. My husband got many cards, despite my lack of interest in using them, and it wasn't until a couple of years later that we discovered some charged as much as 25,000 yen for a year's membership to continue using them. To me, even now, it's like throwing good money after bad, but my husband sees things differently and we continue on using three or four major cards at his insistence. (Oh, brother!)<br /><br />When I assumed that these housewives would also be loathe to use credit in their daily lifestyles, I was shocked to find that one uses her cell phone to "beep in" the bar code of what she wants to buy at convenience stores, another uses store cards exclusively for grocery shopping and trips to the AEON-related stores, all of them were very aware of the point collecting systems (still a mystery to <strong><em>me</em></strong>) and conscientiously chose to pay bills via credit card in order to collect as many points as possible. The accrued points allowed them to buy train passes, or beer coupons, among other useful things.<br /><br />Huh? What did you say??<br /><br />I was flabbergasted and suddenly the odd man out. I knew young people were lulled into living on credit by the "don't bother to think it through" mentality of credit shopping, but these were women who were very industriously thinking things through!! And I hadn't even <em>begun</em> to learn about what had become second nature to them. It certainly gave me pause and forced me to realize I still have a lot to learn in the world of penny-pinching and beating the system at its own game.Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-13984770853349428512009-07-03T18:16:00.003+09:002009-07-03T18:43:33.642+09:00One Year AnniversaryWell, it's been a year since I started this blog. A lot of growth has occurred in that time, regarding my understanding of blogging and what it entails. But one thing cannot be denied: I have definitely lost my passion for "talking outloud" on the web. I'm lucky if I write something once a month, these days. For those kind souls out there who were following my blog with interest and checking in often, I feel like my current pace is doing you a very grave disservice! Yet, I am less introspective and definitely less articulate; I just don't have anything to say that's worth typing. I'm afraid my honeymoon with blogging is irrefutably over.<br /><br />I joined Facebook, and that's been more interesting to me lately; I've been enjoying reconnecting with childhood friends and many people I haven't seen in over 35 years. It's been a little strange--getting in touch with my far distant past. After moving to Japan, I really strove to maintain relationships with people, but in the end, I was too far away and my visits back home were stretched too far apart. The majority of friends couldn't be bothered beyond enduring receiving my Christmas newsletter. I ended up sort of choosing to leave my American past in America and move on with my life.<br /><br />The birth of E-mail helped me remind people of my existance to some degree, but Facebook has been more rewarding because we can show photos, leave our comments on others' pages, join groups, research stuff, get organized with the help of many applications, and feel closer to MANY folk I used to have a really strong bond with B.J. (before Japan). The only catch is they have to be on Facebook, too!<br /><br />An interesting phenomenon has occurred, though, in the midst of "speaking" to old pals in junior high and such...I find myself going right back into my little insecure psyche again. At the ripe old age of 51 I'm chewing my fingernails anxiously wondering if this or that person has decided I'm too weird or straight or religious or verbose to continue a correspondence with me. I'm a tangle of insecure knots. Very distasteful. NOT something I want to be a part of my adult existance!! I paid my dues from 1965-1979. Enough of that, already!<br /><br />I want to be happy with myself!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-46444046858585382352009-06-08T17:05:00.004+09:002009-06-10T23:00:58.811+09:00A New Adventure in CyberspaceRecently I'm exploring the SNS called Facebook. I recently joined without even meaning to, just by checking out my son's url link shared in Mixi, a Japanese SNS. It was all in Japanese, and since I can't read <em>kanji</em> perfectly, wasn't even sure what I was clicking "yes" to, half the time. Before I knew it, I had my own page and the computer was automatically sending out invitations to all the people in my email address to add me to their list of FB friends. It was kind of daunting, frankly, but having already navigated Mixi three years ago, I didn't immediately panic, and have been able to roll with the punches as they've come. (It also helped when I changed the language to English!)<br /><br />A real motivation in this effort, of course, is getting connected to a variety of old friends...or distant friends; or making new friends, and getting to correspond with this palette of people who weren't accessible two weeks ago! I'm always hungry for correspondents...I can't get enough human contact EVER, so social-networking sites are one form of technology I consider user-friendly!<br /><br />I was reading an old Entertainment Weekly magazine the other day and happened upon an article written about how Facebook had undergone a "face lift" in March of this year (news to me!), and how <strong><em>awful </em></strong>everyone was finding it, as a result. Having nothing to compare the newly designed format to, I am relatively satisfied. Ignornace <strong>is</strong> bliss, as they say.<br /><br />I got very excited today when an influx of messages appeared in my email inbox, all reporting on lots of Facebook activity. Since I use the computer as a stress-diffuser most of the time, having a new "toy" to play with in cyberspace has been awfully nice. Since an old high school friend had tracked me down, and another pal had just gotten married and shared his wedding/honeymoon photos in an album, I had fun today reconnecting with two more fellow c-space explorers!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-4282549110702680112009-05-20T16:09:00.004+09:002009-06-08T17:47:46.354+09:00Technology: Friend or Foe?We live in a technological age. Everyone is used to having a cell phone or two and many households out there own laptops as well as desktop computers. A great number of shoppers get a navigational system automatically when they buy a new car and most businesses rely on security systems with extensive technological do-dads, wiring and a fleet of guard men in patrol cars ready to rush over when there's a crack in the armor.<br /><br />Despite all this, the baby boom generation grew up with one phone in the house (and <em>well-to-do</em> people had an <strong>extension!</strong>), the importance of sending handwritten thank you notes drilled into them by their moms, and family conversation around the dinner table as the central way to maintain communication channels. We looked people in the eye to 'chat,' and no one was allowed to read something simultaneously (like an text message) while having a conversation.<br /><br />It was a more polite world, with more considerate and genteel behavior.<br /><br />When I first moved to Japan, owning a computer was NOT a given yet, and email was still only a theory in some techno-whiz's mind. The terms "windows" and "apple" still only referred to glass squares placed in the wall of a house and a fruit as old as Eden, period. I was dragged kicking and screaming to the computer keyboard by a friend who was as determined to teach me how to use it as I was to avoid touching it at all costs. You can imagine how grateful to her I am, now, thirteen years later! But I can remember when television commercials started showing urls of homepages and thinking, "What about people who don't own a computer???" quickly followed by, "Oh right, I'm really going to be able to jot down <em>that</em> in 15 seconds!"<br /><br />So how did we get to where we are today, with our Blackberries, Sidekicks, iphones and who knows what else? (I refuse to own a cell phone, so I'm not up-to-the-minute on the latest key equipment.) What is the slowpoke to do, if they haven't gotten on the technological bandwagon and/or jumped on with both feet?<br /><br />There are a lot of people out there in that kind of pickle...they can't afford to run out and get the latest this and that; they can't afford it even when it's become obsolete and has been replaced by something else hot off the factory lines' press. I'm struggling even with a computer I rely on every day, simply because I haven't updated to Windows XP yet... I'm shut out of much of the latest downloadable software. Sure, I'd like to buy something new, but how in the world do I hope to master using it, if I still haven't got everything on THIS one figured out yet. I know I am so far behind the flow of progression that once I <em>can</em> afford to buy something newer, it'll also be a relic by <em>that</em> time.<br /><br />The expression "user-friendly" is such an ironic joke! Technology, in general, is NOT user-friendly, even to a fraction of an ounce. User-friendly would be <strong>built to last</strong> for one thing. It would be <strong>timeless</strong> for another. I'm left to feel once again, that technology has it in for me... and there's not much hope for change in my situation. <em><strong><span style="color:#ff6600;">sigh</span></strong></em>Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1965900226769578277.post-37429271471409531482009-04-18T23:10:00.009+09:002013-12-19T22:18:57.023+09:00Celebrating a Life VS Mourning a DeathOn March 21st, our family held a memorial service to honor my father, who passed away last November. My mother spent much of the four months between the time of his death till then, planning with great care how best to honor his memory through the memorial service. Anyone who attended it can attest to how lovingly and faithfully she designed every facet; from the musical selections played by the recorder choir my dad loved listening to once a month when they played at church & by the organist in the prelude, to the ones performed by my brother (on guitar) and my nieces (on violin and viola, and again vocally). All the songs the congregation sang were also favorites of my dad.<br />
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The best part of the service for me, though, were the words of remembrance given by my brother and my nephew (representing the kids and grandkids), followed by a random and spontaneous selection of comments offered by the guests in attendance, that the pastor went around capturing with a cordless microphone. Although I knew many of the folk reminiscing and could even remember firsthand some of the anecdotes they shared, it was very interesting hearing how my dad had touched their lives and it was gratifying they wanted us to know what he had meant to them.<br />
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I wasn't able to contribute anything for the service personally, but I also had the opportunity to pay tribute to my dad by preparing a number of small visual exhibits (for the reception afterwards), celebrating various facets of his life:<br />
1. his artistic talents,<br />
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2. his hard work for the International YMCA organization throughout his entire life,<br />
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3. his dedication as an editor to many newsletters through the years,<br />
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4. his work as a college professor, advisor to foreign students and as the director of Continuing Education at his school and later Assistant to the President (of the college).<br />
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5. I had a poster of a world map on the wall, with strings glued from many countries where he worked as consultant and trainer for the Y, to photos from those experiences arranged on the outer border.<br />
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6. There was a collage of photos celebrating his life as family man and friend to so many.<br />
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My biggest regret was that I never took a proper photo of the exhibit before dismantling it. But I was glad many who attended the reception got to see it. My son was able to catch this one shot of part of it, anyway.<br />
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A dear friend wrote me just before I left for the states to attend the service that this was my father's last gift to all of us: the opportunity to gather together and celebrate his life. I felt his presence there, without having him physically present.<br />
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I felt him in my eldest brother, who is <em><strong>so</strong></em> like him in character (despite his great efforts to the contrary), it was a little spooky. <br />
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I felt him in my cousin, whom I hadn't met in 40 years so it hit me like a ton of bricks when he reminded me of my uncle (who was Dad's younger brother).<br />
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I felt him in my son, who dutifully took it upon himself to be the cameraman of the event, bless his heart. I had the same familiar sense of security, knowing I didn't need to use my camera at all and he would "cover" things for all of us (just like my dad used to do).<br />
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I felt him in my nephew, who has the same friendly people skills imbedded in his genes!<br />
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Daddy was everywhere -- in the Y's Men and Women who loved him enough to come all the way from my hometown in Illinois to attend.<br />
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And I felt him in the people of the retirement community where he lived for nearly 13 years, touching lives in a significant way.<br />
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The entire day was a joyous celebration of HIS LIFE, beyond any argument. And it proved what I have believed all along: that there is much more value in holding a big party to honor the one that has "gone before" us, rather than have a funeral to mourn their passing, and our loss. In the case of my dad, there wasn't anything lost. He added life everywhere he was and through everyone he touched. Even through his death, LIFE is what remains for us and LIFE is beckoning us to follow in his footsteps!Salhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03380677140185913733noreply@blogger.com0