Chabana - Tea Flowers

Recently, I had another opportunity to get outside those gates and experience a part of Japanese culture. I am a member of Ikebana International and the October program was held in KitaKamakura at the Engaku-ji Temple. For those of you who follow my blog this was the temple our family went to in August to see the archery demonstration.

This event afforded me yet another chance to experience the life of a temple beyond the sightseeing areas and to learn about Chabana, a simple free-style form of flower arranging used for the Japanese tea ceremony. Temples and flowers? Count me in!

My friends and I thought we were being ooohhhh, soooo, smart by driving there - but as usual it was another reminder on why the Japanese take the trains ... everywhere. We got stuck in traffic, for no readily apparent reason other than too many people trying to get into Kamakura at the same time. We arrived right as the program was about to start – which is not a good thing in Japan. You don't just "scoot in" at the last minute here. If the program says it will start at 10:30 (and believe me it will – their adherence to schedule is uber efficient), everyone is checked in and seated by 10.  For someone who is always trying to cram in one more thing before an appointment or arrival time – if my "deadline" is 10:30, in the States I'd be walking through the door at 10:29 and 59 seconds – Japan has forced me to let go of that bad habit. But traffic is an unpredictable variable here, we should have known better. Our friend, Bossy Explorer, meets us at the gate and says the program is about to start and they've had the largest turn out ... ever. With name tags picked up, shoes off and socks on, we round the corner to the large tatami mat room to see it is packed, really packed, and the only "seats" available are the cushions on the floor in front. My back, neck, knees and hips give a groan and a crack as they desperately try to find a way to be comfortable. I am truly in awe of the Japanese ladies who fold their legs up under themselves and appear to sit quite comfortably for hours. I was like a little kid, shifting one way, then another as various limbs proceeded to fall asleep and my neck and back felt like someone had stretched them in an odd way. Comfort aside, there was a distinct benefit to all this ... we were basically front and center – I could get in some photos unobstructed and could hear the soft spoken Chabana sensei.

So what is Chabana or tea flowers? It is the simple yet artful arrangement of flowers for the Japanese tea ceremony. The flowers are arranged in their natural state, meaning they are not fussed with, no wiring, no tape, no kenzan (frog) - once they are placed in their vase you leave them alone. The flowers are only used for the tea ceremony and once the ceremony is over they are discarded. The flowers or greenery matches the season – "it is as it was in the fields" and they are supposed to match the atmosphere, the tranquility of the tea ceremony. Nothing flashy here folks, no speciality flowers. The Chabana master explained a bit about the tea ceremony and how it is like a theatre performance. Act I you are served a thick green tea and a small meal. There is a traditional hanging scroll in the tea alcove with perhaps a poem about the season. There is a break and then Act II begins where the scroll is changed and the tea flowers are brought out and placed in the alcove with the scroll. We learned about the importance of odd numbers - you would have 3 or 5 different types of flowers/foliage for good balance; in the warm seasons you would use a bamboo basket for it's lightness and movement of air; in the cold season a simple vase of unglazed pottery or bronze. The flowers should have different size, shape and colors. The leaves on the flowers should have different patterns. If you are going to place a single flower in the vase, like a camelia, there should be an odd number of leaves on the stem. The flowers are lightly arranged in your hand and then placed in the vase. A gentle spray of water over the arrangement gives the impression of early morning dew.

It was a miserable day, pouring down rain, but with all the attendees the tatami room had become stuffy during the lecture and they had opened the sliding doors to let in some air. Our group found our lunch boxes with our names on them (note the pretty box in the photo), opened them up and enjoyed a boxed lunch, Japanese style, while taking in the view of the small garden at our feet and the Engaku-ji grounds beyond.

Aside from shifting constantly, trying in vain to find a comfortable place on the floor, I enjoyed the program. I continue to be amazed at the "Japanese Way" – this interconnectedness of patience, tranquility, the attention to detail, the quest for essence. I'm trying to take it all in, I'm trying to lose some of my Western ways and focus on the lessons I'm learning while here ... like patience. The traffic (patience), the sitting on the floor (patience and tranquility), the flower arrangement (essence) ... all these lessons ... now that's inspiring.

Help Wanted: No Irish Need Apply

Friends and family wonder what base life is like, how is it different from living in a small town or neighborhood. In many ways I suppose it is not so different – you cannot as the expression goes “swing a cat without bumping into someone you know.” Commissary (i.e. grocery store), Exchange (i.e. company store), gym, post office, bowling alley, Main Street (i.e. fast-food-Nation), movie theatre – all of these you are pretty much guaranteed to run into someone you know. It is a bit like living in a fish bowl. It’s something I’m still trying to get used to – I sort of liked my anonymity of living in the civilian world. Here that’s a bit more difficult to pull off, especially as a wife of a pediatrician. If you have kidos here on base you probably know him, and there’s the trickle down effect. “Ooooooooooohhhhhh your Dr. Cleary’s wife!” mmmm, well yes. I not complaining really, I’m glad he is so well liked. But it is an adjustment transitioning from the civilian world to the military lifestyle.

There are something’s though that are very unique to living on base – and I’m reminded of this each time I go to the movie theatre (we stand for the National Anthem before the movie begins) or in the early morning when Jeff and I are out on our own PT and the different commands are out drilling. There is nothing quite like listening to a group of military members jog by chanting their cadence at 5:30 in the morning to get you to pick up your pace. This is one in particular that makes me crack up, especially when it’s delivered with the deep resonant voice that sounds like James Earl Jones is out there calling it out:

My Grandma

Left Left Lefty right-o left

Left Left keep it in step

When my grand mama was 91

She did PT just for fun

When my grand mama was 92

She did PT better than you

When my grand mama was 93

She did PT better than me

Hoo-rah grand mama

Whatcha doin grand mama

She loves to double time

She does it all the time

Left Left Lefty right-o left right

Left Left keep it in step now

We also have morning colors here on base each morning at 8 a.m. – there is nothing quite like a daily reminder that you are an American as watching everything around you come to a complete halt as pedestrians and joggers stop, active duty members salute, cars all stop and pause to pay respect to the raising of our flag while the National Anthem is being played throughout the base. Since we are also here in Japan, the Japanese flag is raised following the U.S. while their National Anthem is played. There is the bugle call of “Carry On” and then it’s business as usual … everyone picks up where they left off and move on. In the evening, if I’m lucky enough to have the doors or windows open I can hear the sound of “Retreat” being played at sunset as they retire the colors for the night. I don’t know that I ever really considered myself an extreme patriot – don’t get me wrong, I love my country even for all it’s difficulties, and I’d defend it to the end – but I don’t think I realized just how deeply American I am until I moved here to Japan and lived on base. I love hearing morning and evening colors – it stirs my soul. It’s a way to remind me daily that we are a military family and we have made many sacrifices (12 moves, 5 school systems, loss of friends, missing family events are just a few things that come to mind) and yes, it’s worth it.

So yesterday morning as Jeff and I were out for our morning dog walk, we were out much later than usual and morning colors sounded. We stopped, as did the jogger going past, paused and faced towards the flag (THE base flag that we are supposed to turn to face is on Command Hill – we can’t actually see it but you know which way to face). It was 9/11. I couldn’t help reflect just how much my country has changed in the last 9 years. For my generation 9/11 is the Pearl Harbor equivalent. And then as my thoughts tend to do, they kept streaming … and I thought if I’m standing here in Japan facing towards the U.S. and the Japanese flag, paying them both respect, then I have hope. I remembered that we have a sign dated 1918 from Boston that says “Help Wanted: No Irish Need Apply” (just to remind my husband that he needs to keep it real) – things change, people change, prejudices can be overcome. My family and I watch with astonishment and horror at the divisiveness that has seeped into our country, how those with fear and prejudice have spread an infection in the name of God and country. I’m looking for an antibiotic. Yesterday and everyday I get to have a booster shot – I get to listen to our National Anthem and take pride and have hope. That thing’s will change, that people can change, that personal prejudices will fine a cure. I have to go now, colors are about to sound and I need my daily dose of inspiration.

Enabler vs. Supportive Friend

In the Spring I went to the Tokyo Hobby Show and had my fill of interesting eye-candy. Some things spoke to me more than others, but the one thing I thought was really interesting were some multicolored purses I saw at a booth – the hoards of Japanese ladies surrounding the booth would be my big clue that something very cool was there that I had to see. With very little English, and even less Japanese (on my part) I was able to purchase the supplies that came with an instruction sheet ... that was of course in Japanese. I seem to be accumulating multiple sewing projects, and it would appear that for our time here in Japan I have acquired a taste for Japanese handbags. I have collected numerous patterns, which are all naturally in Japanese. I keep buying, and stuffing the patterns in my craft drawer (please note the word drawer, not room, not closet, but drawer - in a years time I have gone from a studio space to a drawer!) with the hope that one day I would be able to pull them out and spend hours sewing away, making really chic bags out of Japanese obis (the beautiful sashes they wear around their kimonos).

So I have two problems. The first is that I cannot read Japanese. The second is that I do not have my sewing machine (a.k.a my "Ferrari" - Jeff's name for my Bernina, which has to do with how much it cost not how fast I sew, although I can make it go pretty darn fast thank you very much). Not one to let a couple of obstacles like language barriers and lack of essential machines to get in my way of accomplishing a project I figured it would all work itself out ...

First problem solved. I have a neighbor friend, Etsuko, who is Japanese and happened to fall in love with a guy in the Navy and now follows her husband all over the world too. Lucky her, for the first time since they've been married she got to come home to Japan. Lucky me, I asked if she would mind looking at the directions and help walk me through the process and she said yes. As she started looking over the instructions she commented "wow" and I of course wanting to be clued in and asked "what?" It turns out the "fabric" I bought isn't really fabric but tatami matt webbing that's used to cover the edges of the tatami matts. O.K. I think, now that's cool. I'm going to make a purse out of tatami matt webbing. Love it!

Second problem, well sometimes you need your friends to support you in your endeavors - by either standing firm and saying "no" ... like as in "no, you don't need that Mocha Frapp if you plan to fit back into the clothes you arrived here with" or they could be an enabler and respond like my friend Val did with a "sure you can borrow my sewing machine, even though you put yours in storage for 3 years so that you could explore life beyond the machine." Thank you Val for being an Enabler! I had so much fun creating this bag, mmmm, well o.k. I'm sure sewing to most of you wouldn't be on your "fun" list but maybe creating would be ... and so for the first time in quite a while I created something out of flat pieces of webbing and even though I'm sure some of my "winging it" with the instructions wouldn't pass with the Japanese ladies I wiggled my way through to see what they were all looking at, it worked for me and I was ... inspired.

Reflections

Normally, automobiles really don't do much for me, they are a necessity, a tool to get me from one place to another. Just show me where the gas goes, hand me the keys and I'm good. It's just a car. Vintage cars however are a completely different story. My dad loves old cars and for as long as I can remember he has stopped at every vintage car show we happened to pass by, if a vintage car is in a parking lot he will amble over to it - drawn to it like a moth to light. He knows the details ... make, year, etc. And if the owner is around, it will be at least another 10 to 15 minutes before we're on our way - he gathers all the info. Perhaps it was this exposure to vintage cars from a young age that I learned to appreciate their beauty. And I had my dreams, when I was younger I really wanted a 1965 Ford Mustang Convertible ... in red of course. On the weekends my dad and I would stop and look at the cars for sale in the parking lot of a local store and I'd dream ... but it wasn't meant to be. Too much money, not very practical for driving back and forth to college in ... it sure was fun to look though.

This past weekend was Friendship Day here on base. The gates are open and after standing in hours long lines to get through security the Japanese are welcomed on base to various festivities. A couple of ships are open to tour, there are music performances, many organizations selling various kinds of American food - pizza is a HUGE hit here (I actually see the Japanese walking out with luggage carts with 10+ pizza boxes strapped to the luggage carrier with bungee cords - and I wonder why? The pizza I've had out in town beats what we have here on base). I avoided the crowds, it was a beastly hot and humid day, and hunkered down inside our air conditioned townhouse until 4:30 ... when I grabbed my camera, hoped that the afternoon light would be my friend and I headed to the auto show portion of Friendship Day. There I figured I had photo ops galore to continue practicing my photography skills (and I use that term loosely).

There were all kinds of cars there, many newer souped up cars and low-riders (hadn't seen those since we lived in San Diego) but those did not interest me, I passed them with hardly a glance my focus was on something a couple of rows over ... like that moth to the light, there was a 1965 Black Ford Mustang, beautifully restored. There were also some other really cool older cars that I wished I'd had my dad next to me telling me about them - an old yellow pick up truck, a beautiful British sports car. All were great opportunities for me to practice my photography, I learned a lot that day about lighting and reflection, angles and focus. I still have such a long ways to go, but each time I'm out I learn a little bit more. And, I realized I really loved taking pictures of these vintage cars – they are beautiful, and the care their owners have taken to maintain their beauty for others to enjoy is well ... inspiring.

Indigo dye

One of the spouses here on base amazes me ... she has a newborn and a toddler, she just finished up her masters degree and she has a home business, making and selling the cutest little kimono tops - American style.


In addition to all of the above she is also an avid knitter and has been experimenting with natural dyes. I am in awe of her and I wonder ... did I have that much energy 20 years ago (she's much younger than me)? Does she even sleep? When she mentioned that she would be interested in having an informal dye workshop I immediately piped up and said I wanted in. I ordered my supplies from Dharma but even with guidance managed to leave out a few necessary ingredients ... luckily for me Tara had extra's to share.


The first session involved various natural dyes like madder (the orange/rust color), cochineal (pink color), lak and some others. It was all just one big experiment to me so I ordered some ready to dye yarn and had at it ... the hank in the slide show with rust, shows one where I dyed two ends but I felt like it still needed something else. Same with the cochineal. And so we decided to have round two and agreed to meet a few weeks later to experiment with Indigo.


I have been very interested in learning about indigo dyeing with my passion for all things Shibori. Indigo is the traditional dye used for shibori work here in Japan. I have seen the in-ground ancient dye pots in Mashiko, saw a demonstration at the Tokyo International Quilt show and of course immerse my work in it every month in my Shibori class but I do not know how to make the dye. I have used chemical dyes for a number of years but the natural indigo dye process seemed intimidating to me and I just had not worked up the courage to try this out on my own. So with Tara's guiding hands we ordered indigo from Dharma, I sacrificed my blender (I hated the thing anyways ... I don't care what Jeff said Consumer Reports rated it, it was the worst blender ever - perhaps good enough for chopping up indigo into tiny little pieces but nothing else), and we dyed away. The kids came home from school and between the fermenting indigo smell and the wet wool smell just about gagged on the farm smell that permeated our house – an aroma somewhere between a compost pile mixed in with a bunch of wet wool. "Eeewwww, what is that smell?!" as they covered their mouths and noses upon walking into the house. Not that they were probably too surprised, since I'm pretty darn sure they think they have a wacked-out mom anyways, with art projects always around ("Wait! Don't throw that out, it's not trash it's for an idea I have."), my "Darth Vadar" particle mask that I used to wear when mixing chemical dyes, and now hanks of damp wool hanging in our laundry room (think wet dog times 100).


Oh, but it was so worth it ... the experiment worked and I can't wait to order more Indigo and have another round – when there's no humidity, I can open all the doors and windows, and go crazy dyeing away. I have no idea what I will knit with these yarns, and since I am probably the world's slowest knitter anyways it will be years before I see the results. But I was inspired. Inspired by a much younger mom to try new things and to not be afraid to make mistakes (oops, we let the madder dye bath boil – that's o.k. look the color is a lovely burnt orange) and inspired to share. I got so much more out of these two dye days having shared the experience with others. Try new things, make mistakes, share with others ... now that's inspiring.

50 Years

Today is my parents 50th wedding anniversary. I have no idea what their dreams for their future together were when they exchanged vows on July 9th 1960. I can only imagine some of their vision has played out as they expected but I'm guessing most of it has not. I also suspect though that looking back, as only two people can that have shared a half a century together, that they would agree that it has been a good ride, not always a smooth ride, there were certainly some potholes thrown in there but all in all it's been a good trip.

They raised two daughters that I hope have brought them more joy than heartache – although I would guess that during the teenage years there were many times they wondered just what the hell they had gotten themselves into. Now they get to sit back and reap the benefits of surviving the turbulent teenage years and wallow in the joy of having 5 grandchildren that adore Nana and Granddaddy.

They had several dogs – Boots, Penny, Gwen – and one more thrown in there that was so short lived I can't even remember it's name. Remarkable to me when I think that my mom did not grow up with pets, but my dad being a country boy grew up around more animals than he probably would care to remember. A good example of how two different backgrounds can come together to form their own vision of what their home would be. Even though I know at times having dogs was way more hassle than it was worth, my parents gave me a gift of having a family pet that I now carry on with my own family.

They lived commitment and support when my dad lost his job and my mom turned her talents into a successful business. They lived together and worked together – with my independent Navy spouse ways I cannot fathom how their marriage survived that! They survived countless trips up and down I-85 from Richmond to Atlanta as my mom dealt with aging parents and my dad logged in miles and miles behind the wheel getting her there. They know all the places to stop, the mileage/time goals and when to leave Atlanta to time it just right to miss rush hour traffic around Greenville/Charlotte/Raleigh-Durham.

They've had some great trips starting off small when my sister and I were younger – Myrtle Beach with my grandparents and always the traveling bar. I think that thing got cracked open before the suitcases, Whiskey Sours and Manhattans on the rocks. Let the vacation begin! Later, with my sister and I married and off on our own lives, there were trips to Europe and of course the many vacations to St. Augustine Beach where my mom fulfilled one of her dreams by owning a place at the beach. Sharing that dream with us, with our own vacations shared and spent there. So many great memories.

Twenty-six years ago, just before I got married I had a family friend tell me that "being married will be the toughest job you've ever had. The kids grow up and move away, the family dog dies ... but if you want to stay married you're going to have to work at it, every-single-day." Your words of wisdom were spot on Mr. Harris, and I've thought of them often – today more than any day. Today I look at my parents and see their marriage as more than just words exchanged in a ceremony, I see it as hope for the future together, when you don't know what the future is but you know you're in it together. Secure in the knowledge that their lives together are so much richer because they stuck it out – staying together when things are good is easy, it's when life throws you the lemons that you learn how to make the lemonade – tart and sweet southern style. 

We are half a world away, the Navy in it's infinite wisdom has parked us in Japan for the time being, and like many military families based overseas we cannot always be where our hearts want to be. I wish our family could be in Atlanta on this special day, to give my mom and dad a hug and a kiss in person, to thank them for all they've done – for not just saying their wedding vows fifty years ago but for living them as well. I can think of nothing more inspiring.

Teaching an old dog new tricks

For the past two days I have traveled up to Tokyo for a photography workshop class. It has been incredibly frustrating and rewarding at the same time. I am an amateur photographer, on the beginning side of that category. When we moved last year and I went through my major purge/organize mode I realized that I had really stopped taking photos. Jeff had taken many at the kids sporting events but with reluctant family members I no longer had the camera out to capture those precious moments of childhood. Coming to Japan has changed all of that, I hardly ever leave the house without my camera and the days I do I kick myself because of the missed photo op. But my camera skills are rusty. I had become a complacent photographer leaving the camera mode on "auto" for the first 6 months we were here but being continuously frustrated with my results. I took the baby step of graduating to "vari-modes" where I helped the camera determine if I was shooting a landscape or a portrait or action. Better, but still not fabulous. I signed up for an online photography workshop which kick started me into trying to take some portraits of my unwilling children and attempted to take the final step into Manual Mode where I set up everything. I used to do this, my old SLR was all me – I had to determine aperture, shutter speed even considering the film I was using. But that information had atrophied in my brain with the introduction of digital photography, I was letting the camera think for me and it wasn't working. What I really needed was Photography 101 and found a 3-day photography class/seminar being held in Tokyo with hands on instruction. It has been great. I have had to relearn my camera and also come to realize that Jeff and I are using a Matchbox VW Bug to try and get great shots while the others in the class are driving Ferrari's. But that's o.k. with me for now, until I can get the shots I want out of this camera there's no point in forking out the big bucks (and I've had a reminder in just how expensive this hobby is) for a high powered model.

Yesterday in the sweltering heat and humidity of rainy season in Tokyo our group took a fieldtrip to the the Harajyuku area. I fiddled with settings, got shooed away from unwilling shopkeepers who I guess get tired of all the tourists taking photographs and not buying anything. It started to rain and I pulled out my umbrella, waiting for the rain to pass. While I was standing there looking at the cool Keith Harringesque artwork on the construction fence I decided to use some of the knowledge relearned and put it to use. I got the shot above - my best of the day. A few weeks ago it could have ended with a photo just like this and I'd wonder what was missing. Yesterday, a match was lit and rekindled some of what I learned in the photography class I took at RISD 20 years ago. An afternoon spent in the mushi-atsui (steaming hot humidity) was well worth it. I realized I can relearn lost information and as with most things in life it just takes a boatload of practice and getting out there to get what you want. Now that's inspiring.