Oh no, I’ve done it again.

I always tell myself I’ll learn from past mistakes but for some reason this one keeps rearing its ugly head.

It’s my fault, truly, and I’m not trying to blame anyone. Oh, I could blame Betty, I suppose, but I’m sure she was just doing her best and trying to make money to feed her family. Girl’s gotta make a living somehow.

Yes, it’s my own doing and I’ll take the blame. Sadly I’ll probably never mend my ways and continue down this sinful path, this sinkhole, black hole, doughnut hole...called gluttony.

I ate a bunch of brownies. Today. Like….a lot. I don’t even want to say how many there were because it’s hard to tell….I was just kind of cutting and eating as I went. Now my belly is full of sugary goodness and a little unrest. Now, before you go waving fingers at me let me put it into perspective for you: my aunt just sent me a care package last week consisting of some baking items. It may or may not have contained Andes peppermint white chocolate baking chips. You’ll be proud to know I did not open the bag and start munching on them in raw form. No, I had enough will power to resist that temptation. I did, however whimsically make chocolate cookies with Rachel and added some of the Andes. To my credit I ate just a few and gave half of them away. At that time (Friday) I was also home sick with a terrible case of something awful, replacing my voice with a squeaker box and stealing my appetite. After going through the weekend forcing myself to eat something at each mealtime I finally came back to my normal self today. Then Rachel and I (are you seeing the trend here?) made brownies. And ate them. Well, I gave one away. Can you guess what else was in them? Yes, the rest of the Andes peppermint goodies and of course walnuts.

We were watching “Elf,” if you’re curious. Tis the season and all that jazz.

About this weekend…

Last Thursday I went to my 3rd club meeting: The Scary Movie Club. I’m not exactly sure how I joined this group but I’m sure peer pressure was involved. I was never a fan of this genre, mostly because of the fakeness and lack of plot, character development, witty dialogue, memorable lines, musical score…yeah, basically lacking. In my mind scary movies consist of dissonant violins playing in the background while girls with mussed up hair are screaming and immature boys are carelessly toting around 2nd rate video cameras as blood spurts from random places. Call me stereotypical. Well, I’m trying to give the world a second chance and prove me wrong; perhaps I can come to appreciate and even enjoy this genre. We’ll see. So far I haven’t jumped, but I did clutch tightly to Han-kun, my stuffed pig, during the recent showing of Paranormal Activity. The 5 members alternately choose a movie. I’m last since I’m the most recent inductee. I already know what I’m picking: Joyride. That movie creeped me out in 11th grade.

At our most recent movie I was feeling quite under the weather, suffering from an 8-hour headache, and hit the hay as soon as the credits started rolling. I walked into work the next day discovering that my voice was no larger than a mouse. I was sent home. I watched a few movies, took a few naps, IM’d a few friends, and basically didn’t talk or sing…sad day. Saturday I embarked on a mission: to find a pan worthy of green bean casserole. That's my charge for Thanksgiving dinner next week. I’ve run into several problems while cooking and baking here in Japan. The most obvious is shortage, expense, or straight-up absence of ingredients. Secondly but not less concerning is finding suitable cookware for the dish. Ever try finding a 9x13 pan in Japan?! Forget it. Pie pan? Look VERY hard. I’ve found ONE, only glass, and only one size. (I’m thinking it’s a 9” but not sure). Deep dish? Forget it. They come smaller, of course, and by that I mean 5” or smaller. I tried making lasagna once…took me two pans and we had to go buy it because Takae’s family didn’t own a pan that large.

Let’s try a friendly little mental exercise.

Think about it: you make your meatloaf, your casserole, your cornbread, and your brownies in particular baking receptacles.

Got it? Can you imagine yourself putting each one in the oven?

Now try baking each dish in something different. Weird, right?   I remember my mom recreating her great grandmothers recipe for rice pudding. She took it out, piping hot from the oven and set it on the table, eager for us to try it. After the first bite she mulled it around in her mouth, forced her gaze up to the ceiling and though aloud: “There’s something missing…I can’t put my finger on it.”

For our listening pleasure she went through the list of ingredients one by one: “Let’s see, I’m sure I put the right amount of rice in there…then, yes, I’m sure I put in the cinnamon and the cloves…just how many eggs…yes, that was right…”

Suddenly her eyes reappeared from behind her head and stared at me. Her voice filled with despair and conviction like someone who knows what must be done but feels powerless to make it happen:

“It’s the pan. I don’t have the pan. I need the pan. You can’t make rice pudding without the pan. The pan makes this recipe. I have to have the pan.”

I thought she was crazy. A pan? They come in two kinds, right? Stainless steel and Teflon?

Anyways, my point is that Japan is lacking in pans, casserole dishes, and basically cookware. Don’t even get me started on ingredients.

The third problem, should you be fortunate enough to procure both ingredients and a suitable receptacle, is the oven. Should I call it an oven? Well, it’s my microwave (see earlier post from May) but it has a button with an “oven” function. It only sets temperature in degrees of 10 Celsius so I can’t even program it to an even 350 degrees. It’s either too hot or not hot enough. Seriously, EVERYTHING is cooked at that temperature! Could you be a little more inconvenient?!?!?

Oh yes, you could.

How about making an oven so tiny that you can’t even fit a normal size pan in it?

Okay.

That’s what I have. Making cookies? Ha. It will take a million years because you can only fit 9 cookies at a time. It’s just a little better than a toaster oven but not by much. Of course, there are two shelf slots in my oven but guess what? There’s only one shelf.

I’m sorry, does it sound like I’m complaining too much? Probably. I just wanna make my cookies…apparently that’s too much to ask around here.

So, with my tiny dysfunctional microwave/oven I’ve been commissioned to make enough green bean casserole and vegetables to feed 20 people for Thanksgiving dinner.

Since I only owned a pan big enough for a batch of cornbread I figured it was time to go shopping.

After poking around in fancy kitchen stores, cheap we-sell-a-little-of-everything stores, department stores, and home depot-ish stores, I finally found something.

It’s just a stainless steel pan, deep for a casserole, and short enough to fit in my oven…barely. It looks like I pinched it from a summer camp kitchen but I paid about 2200 yen for it. It’s a freakin’ pan! There better be some great things coming out of that pan. I also ended up grabbing a metal bowl for my own enjoyment. This girl has some serious Christmas baking plans.

After finding the shiny wonder I decided to kill some time and see what else the store had to offer since it was my first time there. Turns out they sell puppies and kittens. L I’m very much against this. Ask me sometime. But, when I saw the Italian Greyhound puppy nervously pacing and running in his little crate I had to sit down next to him and keep him company for awhile. It was here I saw a fellow walking around pushing his cart with a longhaired daschund inside. Beautiful dog. The man was looking for a new puppy and brought his adult dog along to see if they would be compatible with each other. The adult dog’s eyes got big when the man came into the crated animals section.

“Oh my gaaaaaash! They’re all caged up like ANIMALS here! Pleeeeeze! Don’t leave me here!!!! Nooooo!!!!!”

He looked pretty nervous, that’s all I’m saying.

Putting some items in my backpack and strapping my new aluminum bowl on the back, I covered the entire thing with the built-in rain tarp (Thanks REI) and took a walk in the pouring rain. Strolling along the boulevard underneath my compact umbrella I listened to my “Meh” playlist through deep bass earbuds; fresh Fall air rushed past my throat that was currently under reconstruction after experiencing WWIII.

I met Rachel who had finished working out at the gym and I failed to find a pair of suitable running shoes from Sports Authority. We caught the train back to sleepy Funehiki and watched two movies about mentally disrupted people: The Soloist followed by Benny and Joon. I love both of them. In the evening I hung out with some peeps downstairs and played a pretty sick air guitar. It was my way of making up for not singing.

Sunday was the best day. We moved Bible Study to the morning and then had two hours to prepare for the concert. Our employer treated us English teachers and other employees of the English School and yochien. We drove an hour to the coastal city of Iwaki. The town did suffer damage from the earthquake and tsunami, but is doing well now. It’s pretty close to the nuclear plant, and this is probably its more dire threat at the moment besides reconstruction. There was a concert scheduled here several months ago but was postponed due to the disasters in the Spring. The concert ended up becoming a tribute to the survivors and townspeople who endured these horrific events. Most of the heads of departments, cities, and organizations were present, therefore landing us in the paths of some very important people. We’re talking mayors, heads of …..

The concert itself was amazing. Featuring the Japan Philharmonic, the conductor turned out to be featuring a special conductor: Ken-ichiro Kobayashi. He was invited to conduct this performance because Iwaki is his hometown! Then it got even better when his daughter played the Grieg piano concerto.

Did I mention the seats were in two’s spread throughout the hall. Guess who was sitting in the middle of row 6? Me and Rachel. Oh yeah. I watched every gesture and eyelid flutter on the pianist as she graced over the keys effortlessly. Her expression was so intense, I felt like she was writing the music as she played it. It made me cry. I was definitely emotionally invested throughout the performance.

I was also close enough to enjoy watching the first-chair cellist, a good-looking Japanese fellow, as well as one of the violists. Men, can we please bring back coattails into all formal events?

As we took our seats it was hard not to notice in the sea of tan skin and black-haired heads, a single white guy, front and center in the horn section.

Woah! A foreigner!

It’s hard not to notice. We were all guessing his nationality during the performance but none of us were correct.

How did we find out?

Well, let’s not forget to mention that Enchou-sensei is part of the Rotary club. He probably runs it or something, too.

Well, since they’re an important and influential group and we’re connected to them, we were invited to hors d’oeuvres with the orchestra after the performance at some fancy hotel banquet hall down the street.

So we click-clacked our heels down there and awkwardly took our seats. I say awkwardly because there’s no way a bunch of Americans can go anywhere or do anything discreetly in this country. We’re always noticed.

Guess who was there? Trumpet boy. Our fellows downed a beer or two and went over to his table to make friends under strict instructions to bring him over and be introduced to the ladies.

They did well and showed him to our gaijin table, introducing him as an Italian! Very nice guy from the few minutes we spoke with him. I chuckled when he said that he immediately spotted Rachel and I in the audience before the performance and thought to himself, “there are foreigners here!” And eventually spotted all 8 of us in the crowd. Let’s be honest here: Rachel and I were also looking pretty gorgeous to boot, American or not.

Eventually we had the opportunity to meet the conductor and his daughter and I got to tell him in Japanese how much I enjoyed the performance and it moved me to tears. How many people get to do that?!

Then I got a picture with him. Awesome.


So, in the end our Italian friend has a girlfriend but we’re all Facebook friends now. They live in Tokyo and would be excited if we ever came down to hang out. Yay for international friends!!!

I went to work today, prefacing all my classes with “I can’t talk loudly today so please listen carefully.” I passed out several worksheets and my 8th grade girls watched a movie.

Here’s hoping the week gets better, my voice recovers, and I can get all the ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner.

P.S. Wednesday is a holiday here and Rachel and I have plans to go back to Iwaki and see the ocean!!! I’ll be sad if it’s raining…or snowing.

Oh, my mom finally got her hands on the heirloom pan and now enjoys perfect rice pudding. I’m set to inherit it someday. Too bad I don’t care too much for rice pudding.  


 
While teaching elementary age children at Wakakusa I also have one “juku” class on Monday nights. This is a conversation class for 8th grade girls.

Ha. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

It’s all I can do to wake them up and pay attention. It starts at 7pm, none of them have eaten dinner yet, they’re exhausted and cranky. And hormonal. And they have attitudes to match their age. I don’t care what country you’re from, adolecence takes its toll on everyone.

I was given this class right after summer break. I’m their 4th teacher in the past year, which is very rare. Just like any other class, it holds a range of students concerning English ability and personality traits. One student in particular, we’ll call her Bithia, could have walked right out of an American classroom. She’s ALWAYS talking, turned around 180 degrees in her seat, and wears a sour expression the entirety of the class. She does her work, sometimes, and very begrudgingly. I’ve threatened to kick her out of class several times and she insists she’d rather stay. We might have to end her little game very soon.

Just this Monday I saw her friend “Cindy” uncovertly writing on her desk as I was reading for dictation. Without stopping I calmly took an eraser out of my bag, walked over and put it on her desk. Cindy gave me that typical teenage look that says, “What?! Me?! Well…I hate you.” And erased her desk.

One minute later I passed out another eraser to “Mary” for the same reason.

A minute after that as I was reading “Harry the Dirty Dog,” out of the corner of my eye I saw Bithia (who was of course turned around) grab the eraser from Cindy’s desk and throw it at my head.

Not toss. Throw. Chuck. Launch. Propel. Fire.

I reflexed in time to almost grab it out of the air by my temple but it bounced off my palm onto the floor. I gave Bithia a look of, “Really? How old are you?” and continued reading.

I’m not sure what this girl is looking for, a fight and to be kicked out or a plea for attention. That’s the crazy thing about teaching. You know so much about your kids in the classroom but you still have no idea what happens at home.

If this happens again I don’t really have a plan as to how I will handle the discipline. I was told by a previous teacher that these kinds of things have happened before with Bithia and the past teacher reacted very offensively. I definitely don’t want to do that for several reasons: not to lose my cool and not to repay violence with violence. There’s no reason a teacher should throw an eraser back at an angry child, right?! I’d love to put Bithia in my 2nd grade class...she’d fit right in.  

 
I own the sun.

It sounds like a bold, foolish statement to make but it’s true. In fact, my ownership is so extensive I can force it to obey my commands. A little less heat please….yes, that’s better. No, no, no…over here, a little to the right. Yes….that’s it.

Yes, I own the sun and it pleases me. Everyone knows it. And they’re jealous. Just ask anyone around this joint and they’ll back me up.

Susie owns the sun.

I inherited it when I moved here, sort of a welcome present. Of course I didn’t realize the fullness of the power at first…it took several months for circumstances to change. Autumn lingered long enough but the cold threats of Hokkaido winds are knocking at my window panes.

Winter is at the doorstep, howling and whistling to be let in through the cracks. I summon the sun! Be gone! Away! I chase away the drafty chills with my golden beams of hotness! Mwahahahaaa!!!!

I own the sun.

Before this borders on blasphemy I suppose I should clarify that “the sun” is the endearing term bestowed upon my heater. It’s a large oscillating fan-looking thing only larger. The heating shell is a bit smaller than your average street-garbage can lid. It’s on a little stand and even has a remote and timer. Properly placed, I can turn it on and enjoy the immediate directed warmth as I sit in my massage chair and watch movies on my laptop.

I may have mentioned this before, but Japan doesn’t do heating. Well, that’s not entirely true. They have plenty of ways to get warm besides a fireplace. Here are some common household items that contain heating elements: blankets for the bed, carpets, tables, and toilet seats. Let’s not forget the various units of mass heat production: Air conditioner (air con) that triples as a heater/AC/dehumidifier, electric stand up elements acting like a heat lamp (like “the sun”) and kerosene space heaters. Why we can’t all just insulate our houses I’ll never understand.

So, since there’s no insulation you have to practically run your heater the entire time you’re occupying a room, saving energy by shutting the doors of every unused portion of the house. This includes closets, spare rooms, and basically every room you’re not in at the time. Imagine spending several hours in your room, then you have to use the bathroom. There’s been no heat there for awhile. Have fun with that. I’ve heard stories….people’s toilet seats have ice around them in the morning, they slip on ice in the shower, toothpaste and shampoo are frozen, keeping contact lens solution in the fridge because it’s warmer there…the list goes on. If anyone is reading this and wondering what I would like in a care package, please send instant oatmeal and wool socks.

Oh, in case you’re wondering what they do in public buildings, here’s what happens: people do whatever they want. You can join the national crusade for electricity conservation and keep the heat minimal, or just heat the rooms you use. For schools, this means each teacher can decided when to use the kerosene heater in their room. Yes, heater means ONE heater. Do the hallways have heaters? No, they don’t. Imagine visiting the local elementary school as we do each week. You have to take off your coat and gloves at the door. You’re in the entryway and it’s freezing as you change your shoes. You walk into the toasty teachers office and they serve hot tea. You warm up. You walk down a 30 degree hallway to the classroom. The temperature inside may vary from 60-70 degrees…actually I don’t know if they allow the temperature to go down below that in the classroom. You’d think the kids couldn’t write if it were any colder. It’s quite the temperature change, regardless.

Here’s one of the great ironies of Japan: No insulation requires more heat. The heaters dry out the air which means you have to buy a humidifier. Now you’re running two appliances in the same space. Energy conservation? No.

Let’s change to a more friendly topic: Fall. It’s so beautiful. The yochien is surrounded by well manicured deciduous trees of different species. These yield a variety of shapes and sizes of leaves as well as colors and time of color change. Currently a well-shaped Japanese maple is holding the record for last leaves to fall. The tree is swept by vivid reds and oranges in an orderly yet smooth patch combination. I’ve seen quite a few gorgeous trees and picturesque settings like this and I always tell myself “I’m going to get my camera next time and take a picture.” But, after passing the tree yet again I determine it would be quite a crime to attempt to capture the rapturous beauty of this creation. The greatest offense would be to try and immortalize the moon and the stars in such a picture. The harvest moon rising through the clouds to join the night constellations is a scene best remembered by the most attentive and guarded memory. It’s the times you don’t have a camera and you know you have to pay attention to each detail—that’s when the best memories are captured.