Meanwhile, I've never been in a funk that couldn't be helped by a good self-portrait

This afternoon we went for a walk along a river that flows through the city.  It's flanked on both sides by cherry trees, which are in blissful bloom right now.  We slowed down every time we passed under a pale pink cloud of blossoms, just to stay in that moment of fairytale beauty a few seconds longer.

Grant spotted some koi fish in the river and he quickly fell under their spell.  One in particular caught his attention and he soon declared that he and this fish were friends.  "He's really friendly," he said.

It is so damn easy to make friends with a 9-year-old boy.

Sensing that Grant and his new friend wanted some time alone, Audrey and I sat down on the stone steps at the edge of the river and watched the pastel cherry petals drift by on the glassy surface of the water.

"What do you think a fish does to make itself appear friendly, or unfriendly for that matter?" I asked her.

She rolled her eyes and we both laughed.  Then she leaned in a little closer to me.  "You laugh more in Japan," she said gingerly.

"I don't know if that's because we're in Japan or because we're on vacation," I said.

Grant ran over to us and said, "Sometimes he swims this way, then he turns around and swims that way.  It's like he doesn't know where he's going."

"Maybe he's not going anywhere," I offered.

I began thinking out loud with Audrey what it means to be on vacation.  Especially a vacation where we're visiting with family.

Since we came here last week, I haven't planned a single meal.  I haven't gone grocery shopping.  I haven't cooked.  I haven't washed a single dish.  I haven't washed any clothes.  I haven't fed the dog, haven't walked him, haven't cleaned up after him.  I haven't done a minute of homework with the kids.  I haven't run a single errand.  I haven't dialed in to a single conference call, haven't taught a class, haven't pushed myself to meet a deadline.  So much of the pressure of everyday life has been lifted from my shoulders.  Maybe when the everyday pressures vanished, that created a vacuum in my soul and laughter rushed in to fill the void.

Grant was back.  "He's so big!  He's really huge.  How do koi fish get so big?"

"I don't know if this is true but I think I read once that koi fish will get as big as the space they're in.  If they have lots of space, they'll get really really big.  But if they're in a small tank they won't grow very big," I told him.

I think that's true.  At any rate it's something that I want to be true.  It sounds so good.

As the sun set the river water grew darker and darker, until finally the water and the slate-grey koi fish swimming in it blended into one slippery shadow.  The three of us quietly rose and gathered our things and walked back to the train station in the enchanted darkness.

Hours later, back in my hotel room, my mind keeps coming back to that koi fish that grew big because he was in a big space.  That means something to me but I can't quite put my finger on it.  Does it mean something to you?  If so would you leave me a comment and tell me about it?  I would love to read that.  Maybe you can help me figure it out.

I blame the police officer

The kids and I wanted to go to a 100 yen shop this afternoon so we asked a police officer for directions.  He was having a hard time explaining it, and frankly, his directions didn't make any sense at all.  But I thanked him politely and set off in the general direction that he had been pointing, mostly just to give him face.

We walked around for a fruitless 15 minutes and finally I told the kids that we were going to have to give up.  Maybe their grandma could take us to a 100 yen shop tomorrow.  She knows the area better than I do.

"Can you just give me one last chance to try and find it?  I feel like I can," said Audrey.

"Knock yourself out," I replied.  I let her take the lead and Grant and I followed behind.  Clearly I make things look too easy sometimes, this would be a good chance for her to learn.

Within three minutes we were standing in the 100 yen shop.  And that's when the relentless teasing began.

"I found it!  I found it!  I don't even speak Japanese and I understood that policeman's directions better than you did!!" Audrey hooted.

Grant joined in, "She's the master now!  She's the Number One Master and you're Number Three!"

"First of all, I am not Number Three, I am Number One," I countered.  "Second of all, how did I slip from Number One to Number Three?  What happened to Number Two?" I asked.

"That's always been me," Grant said.

"Mommy will you please write about this on your blog?" Audrey begged.  "Please write on your blog how awesome I am and what a loser you are!"

"Yeah, tell everyone you're a loser!  The Number Three Master!" Grant challenged.

"So I'm going to write a blog post about what a loser I am and how great you are?" I asked.  "Not happening.  Get your own blog and write whatever you want.  I'l tell you what's going on my blog tonight is that picture of you guys with the kimono girl in the train station.  That's what's going on my blog tonight."

Dammit.  

It was her pumpkin tempura that first caught my eye.

I was at the sushi bar next to two older women, Girl Scout leaders who were just coming back from a regional meeting. They had elected their district leaders and all the political hoopla had left them famished so they came right away for some sushi. The older one, who was next to me, had ordered too much food.

“I didn't realize how much food this was going to be,” she apologized to the sushi chef, who was busily clapping out sushi for the lunch crowd. I love the sound it makes when they dip their hands in the salt water and then clap their hands together, then grab another bit of rice and pat it into shape. “You went to all this trouble to make it for me,” she said. He shook his head, as if to say that she shouldn't worry about it.

I looked at that pumpkin tempura and thought what a win-win this could be. She was too full to eat it, but she didn't want to insult the sushi chef by leaving it on her plate. I wanted the tempura but had already ordered something else.

She looked at me, looked at the tempura and said, “Please, if you'd like it, go ahead.” 

Good grief, how had she known? I looked hesitantly at the tempura. “Really please, I don't want it to go to waste,” she said.

I did a quick risk analysis, a habit I have never shaken after my days as a program manager in high tech.

How likely was it that she had sneezed on her food before I got there? Not impossible, I guess.

How likely was it that I would pick up some other germ if I ate this pumpkin? Sort of likely but then again I also have a very strong immune system.

How likely is it that pumpkin tempura tastes awesome? VERY LIKELY!

I hesitated for a few polite seconds before finally scooping the tempura over to my plate. 

“Put some salt on it,” she instructed. “It makes the sweetness of the pumpkin come out.” I did as she said - there is enough of a Girl Scout left in me to follow instructions from a leader. “But not too much!” she said. I stopped apparently before a salt disaster occurred.

These lovely ladies went on to tell me about their adventures with the Girl Scouts. They had recently returned from a trip to Korea with four scouts. The trip was ten days, and then they came home and were so tired they slept for two weeks straight.

It was such a pleasant little chat. We laughed about Girl Scouts and cookies and Korean food. The sushi chef listened to our chatter as he continued to fill lunch plates for the crowd. The world was a friendly place where smiles were bountiful, where food was shared among strangers and where conversation flowed freely. 

And that pumpkin tempura was every bit as good as I thought it would be.  It really was a win-win.

Tokyo, Me and Two T-Shirts

What did you see first - the city or me?  Where does the city stop and where do I begin?

It's hard to say.

The kids and I are in Tokyo visiting their grandparents during Spring Break and we're having a ball.  At dinner tonight I was trying to take a picture of the city and then I realized I was taking a picture of myself.  The city is tiny and I am a giant, looming over it.

How did that happen?

In other news - you probably know that many items in Japan have things written in "Japanglish".  Today I saw two T-shirts that made me laugh out loud.

One said "Make sense".  Wouldn't you love to be able to shout that at people sometimes?  "Would you please just make some sense?!"

The other said "Losing Heart Without Losing Mind".  What a lofty goal.  Until you stop and think about it...