Okay, now I’ve seen everything. I keep saying this to myself here in Tokyo as I see incomprehensible happenings and think that I will never see anything stranger than that and then something else walks by and I have to change my mind again. I have had to change my mind a lot here in Japan. For example, it is apparently perfectly normal for someone to take a walk through the park… backwards. Yes, they walk backwards for quite some distance and I have never seen them turn around. I am assuming that this practice must exercise different muscle groups and is beneficial in some way. I assumed at first that they were just doing it to confuse me; same reason they don’t name their streets. I can’t give my friends directions to my house here in Japan, so no one ever comes over. Just as well. They would never figure out how to flush our toilet.
But I have seen backwards walkers enough now, that I realize, here in Japan, this is normal behavior. The backwards walkers even take their dogs with them. The dogs walk forward, of course, and their owners walk backwards. I don’t know what the dogs think of this, but dogs put up with a lot of strange behavior, I’ve noticed. I want to take a video of a backwards walker with their dog and then play the clip backwards. That would be interesting. I wonder if I could get Bjorn to walk backwards?
But that is not what made my jaw drop this morning. Since moving here, I have seen dogs in strollers, cats on leashes, dogs in baby carriers, all sorts of animals wearing humiliating outfits of one kind or another, but this morning was the first time that I have ever seen a couple taking their duck to the park for some exercise. I didn’t see the waddle-in-the-park part of this excursion; I saw the trip home. A young couple, crossing the street, coming home from the park, carrying their pet duck. And they did not have it tucked under one arm as you might suppose someone would carry a duck. No. The poor creature was up on the man’s shoulder, on its back, with its big orange feet pointing forward and waving helplessly in the air. Its head was up, looking down the length of its white, feathered belly towards its feet. It is the first time in my life that I have felt embarrassed for a duck. What’s worse, it appeared that the duck was used to this treatment and that this was the way, of course, that one always came home from the park. So, I will say it again. NOW I have seen everything.

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.

Lake Nojiri in Nagano-ken, Japan, is the best place as any, I suppose, to lose one’s soul. “All who wander are not lost,” says Tolkien, and it is true. The dirt paths that criss-cross the steep hills along the north side of this clear lake will always lead homeward. The cabins here are often the only fixed mark that mobile missionary families in Japan can call home. Neighborhoods and deputations change, but the family cabin at Nojiri stays the same, right down to the warped wooden floors and pit toilets that bring us back each summer to an honest and humble outlook on life. A lost soul at Nojiri need not despair. Step up onto any porch and you will soon be found and welcomed. Any place on the cabin-dotted hill is a perfect spot to sit, soak up the silence, and let your soul wander a bit.

And my soul has wandered a bit here, but this was the first time that I had actually stepped out of my sole. I had known it was loose for some time. It was catching on the mossy steps and folding under me occasionally as I walked. Finally it was barely hanging on. I asked my friend, who was walking beside me, watching my gradual detachment, “Helen; could you just step on it for me? I’d just as soon have it all the way off.” She stepped on my sole and I pulled free of it.

“No, no! You can’t carry that!” My husband was quick to intercept my friend who was reaching down to pick my muddy sole up off of the soggy path. “I’m the one to carry my wife’s sole.” And so he did. My soul mate carried my sullied sole all the way home to our rustic cabin on the hillside.

My sole is still laying there, flopped down on the porch. I don’t think it can be reattached. I suppose I should just leave it there, even after we head back home to Tokyo after our summer at the lake. That way, I can always tell someone, “You know, it’s good to be back home, but I left my sole at Lake Nojiri. ” And they might know exactly what I mean, or they might not understand at all.