ruthful

I have a feeling that my neighbors here in Tokyo get a lot of mileage out of me. It’s probably a local pastime by now, gaijin-watching. “What is she up to today?” they chuckle to themselves. I give them food for gossip and behavior puzzles to ponder over their miso soup in the morning.

I know that I’m supposed to try to fit in, and do things the proper way, but in my life, things just happen and I have to adapt. It makes perfect sense to me that because I will not have time in the morning to hang out my laundry, (which had finished in the wash cycle at 8pm because I started the laundry when I got home from work, but had to do the dishes, check email, look for Elsa’s calculator and a myriad of other tasks before finally getting to the hanging up of the laundry part), now I still need to hang out the laundry on the back porch before going to sleep.

“So what is she doing now?”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, but she’s out on the balcony hanging out her clothes.”
“You’re kidding! It’s 10 o’clock at night! Doesn’t she know that you only hang out your clothes in the morning after viewing the weather report that clearly tells us whether it is a good laundry day or not?”
“I don’t think they have a TV?”
“No TV? Well that’s just not possible.”
“No, I take that back. They do have one TV, but it’s in their car.”
“Yeah, well… lots of cars have TVs in their dashboards along with their navigation system.”
“No, I mean it’s their only TV.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“It’s true. When the Olympics were on, they all sat in their car and watched the opening ceremony.”
“They were probably just sitting there ‘cuz they’d been driving around and wanted to watch the rest in their driveway.”
“Nope. I saw them all come out of the house, get into the car, watch the show, and then go back inside.”
“Wow. That is goofy. Don’t they know how silly that looks.”
“Oh, they’re oblivious, you know. They’re gaijin… foreigners.”

At least I don’t shuffle off to the local store at night in my jammies to pick up a carton of milk. I get dressed… in shorts and a T-shirt. (I guess I’m not really supposed to wear shorts.) And take my own little plastic bag. And I bring my dog along who has learned to run alongside the bike. He puts his nose close to my leg when he has to stop and take a roadside potty break. I am ready with a bag to pick up after him. Someone is always nearby to make sure treasures are not left on the sidewalk. And this is a good thing, I think. Most of my behavior fits the norm. It’s just that things seem to happen to me…

“I think you should come over here and see this.”
“What is it this time?”
“She’s climbing the walls up to the second floor and going into her house through a window.”
“Don’t be silly. Even I know that gaijin don’t climb up the side of their houses to get in. They use the front door just like everyone else.”
“Look! She hauling herself over the side of the balcony.”
“Yikes! Look at her balancing on the railing. What if she falls? Do they have insurance?”
“She made it in. Now what’s she doing?”
“She’s letting the dog in.”
“That big dog? Into the house?”
“Yep. She crawled over the railing and into the house, just so she could let the dog in.”
“Weird. Why doesn’t she just use the front door.”
“Maybe she’s entertaining the dog.”
“Or us. Ha-ha-ha.”
“It’s fun living next to a gaijin.”

Sigh. First thing I need to do is put a key in my backpack so this doesn’t happen again.

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This was the photograph (or close to it) that caught my eye as we wandered about in the atrium of our school. The teachers were engaged in a creative learning exercise, and we were told to choose one photograph… pages of National Geographic magazines were scattered along the walls, waiting to be chosen. I was drawn to this singular image, like space debris to a black hole. Yeah, sometimes I feel like debris. So I snatched it up and then tried to figure out why. Why was this suddenly my corona?

Contrary to what some early humans believed, having the sun blocked out in your part of the world (or in a temporary portion of your life), does not mean the end of the world… it is actually an opportunity for a new perspective… a chance to see what is not always visible in your life. The corona, the crown of the sun, is only visible during a total eclipse. Some opportunities or qualities in your life are only visible during the times of deepest darkness. And you know, often the life darkness does not last that long… just as in an eclipse, when you have only a few moments to see that shimmering halo around the sun, your moment of seeing in the dark can be fleeting. Get the most out of it.

One of our group members mused that she did not recognize it as an eclipse at first. It looked to her life an extreme close-up shot of an eye. The black circle was the pupil. Interesting how one thing can represent two opposite concepts. It is either the very solid moon blocking the circle of life, or the window to the soul; the pupil that, with its blackness absorbs everything it sees. An impediment or an invitation. So many things in life go either way. So many times, it seems my life could go either way… sucked down into the black hole and being absorbed into emptiness or absorbing everything that an eclipse of my life has to teach me.

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My bicycle died the other night. It did not go quietly. It screamed out its death throes through the crowded streets of Tokyo and all the way through Tama Cemetery before giving up the ghost.

My daughter, Elsa, was spared the gruesome symphony. She had biked on home alone, earlier in the evening, and I followed later. As soon as I started off, the moaning began. Every time I pedaled forward… creak, creak, creak. I thought perhaps that the chain and gears had gotten rusty by being out in the rain. Just gotta loosen the bike up a little. I pedaled faster. The screeching got louder. Pedestrians turned to stare.

When I stopped pedaling and merely coasted along, the grinding stopped. At least I could control the cacophony to a certain extent. I coasted past a clump of commuters waiting at the bus stop. Blissful silence. But I was losing momentum and soon had to pedal again.

The squealing, grinding sound started in again, louder than ever. It was the loudest sound that I had ever produced on the polite streets of Tokyo. It echoed off the buildings and drowned out the sound of the busses and cars. It was louder than those obnoxious sound trucks that roll through the streets before every election, prompting plots in my rattled brain that involve rocket launchers and explosives. But now, I was the obvious source of the noise pollution. By the dark looks that I was getting, I’m sure that more than a few were hatching plots of their own.

I coasted past some fellow bikers. I didn’t want to cause an accident. It is rather difficult to steer a bike when both of your hands are desperately clapped over your ears. I wanted to plug my own ears, but then I would have to stop and at that point, I wouldn’t be noisy, so what use would that be?

I squealed sheepishly into a bike shop and stopped behind the proprieter who was watching TV. “Sumimasen… excuse me…” He turned to look at the gaijin, the foreigner. I explained the problem in the best Japanese I could muster, and then demonstrated the horrible noise. He knew exactly what had happened and reckoned that the cost of overhauling the bearings in the pedal crank would not be worth the cost considering the general condition of my poor old bike.

“It will eventually just freeze up, you know,” he counseled. “You won’t be able to turn the pedals.” “So, I’m about 20 minutes from home still,” I told him. “Do you think I’ll make it?” “Probably… maybe,” he said, trying to sound hopeful. I got back on the bike and continued to screech through the streets.

“Just let me make it to the bottom of our street,” I prayed quietly, “then I’ll get off and walk so as not to disturb the neighbors.” It was a relief to finally make it to the wide, empty, dark roads of Tama Cemetery, one of the largest graveyards in Tokyo. The raucous scraping sounded even louder with no other noises with which to compare decibels. It was loud… yes, I couldn’t help but think it… loud enough to wake the dead. Fortunately, most of the grave sites there are inhabited by ashes which might only be disturbed by a strong wind, and not merely a loud sound.

I made it to the other side and the quiet of the stones, lanterns and long wooden prayer sticks closed up behind me, thankful to be rid of my racket, I am sure. I few more turns of the pedal and I would stop at the bottom of the short hill. Sure enough, on the last possible stroke of the pedal, the bearings seized up and would not move. I coasted to a stop and rolled my bike to its resting place. It has been there, leaning against the wall ever since. Maybe I’ll bury it in the cemetery.

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Every once in a while, I am struck by the astonishing grace of a moment in time. It hits me with a comforting thud in the middle of a mundane moment. Like tonight… lounging on the couch (what a luxury that it… not often indulged in and so it remains a luxury) and listening to father and daughter practice the pace of strumming a ukulele. They pass the instrument back and forth, teaching and learning, easily and with (surprisingly) no conflict. The song fits the laid-back evening with its simplicity. Nothing else is needed. The blessing of the moment washes over me. I am aware of it more acutely, perhaps, since my older daughter will leave for college in less than two weeks… and we will not see her again for a whole year.
Thankfully, the pace of my life has slowed so that I can enjoy these evenings together. Last year about wore my strings out, I was strumming so fast. Now I can relax into a saner rhythm that includes time to simply be with my family. Nighttime crickets, drying laundry, silky dog ears, and breathing next to my husband in bed; moments of grace in a stressful world. Moments that hold me together.

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