Challenging #17

Oh Spring, have you sprung? The buds I captured on camera just weeks ago are now blooming along our street - a mix of purple and white with soft petals. Though the temperature took a brief dip, the weather warmed up this weekend and allowed the sun to show its face. Since we are tired of being inside, David and I decided to go for a hike on Saturday. I spent the week looking up places to hike on the internet, and found a mess of them in Fujieda (the city next to ours on the east side). My natural inclination when choosing hikes is to find the longest and most strenuous, the ones I actually consider challenging. None of those walk-around-the-park types. However, David convinced me that I needed to take it easy since I am so out of shape from sitting around since last Fall. He was right, I knew, even though I still wanted to choose the 14k (8.6 miles) that traverses 5 mountains or something.

So instead, I looked at #16, 17, 20 and 10. They were all under 5k (3.1 miles) and appeared to be large loops that took under 3 hours to complete. I figured they'd be super easy, even for me, the out of shape one. David looked at them, gave his consent and I decided upon #17, a 3.5k course. This colorful, childish/cutesy looking map indicated some exciting stuff, waterfalls, a bridge, a "cat" rock, and even a tunnel. Whoa, tunnel? It all sounded very "Alice in Wonderland" or some such thing.

We set off Saturday morning armed with enough snacks to sustain us for a 6k hike rather than our short one. Though the sun was peeking out here and there, the wind decided it would rather be its beastly self instead of its happy, carefree, light breezy self. Though, at times I was thankful for the wind during our hike.

The bus dropped us off on the side of the freeway. We walked back a bit as I had to go to the bathroom (go figure). Then set forth, only to meet a slight incline on a cutesy path. "Hills already?" I asked, through deep breaths. David says nothing in reply, but rather is admiring the scenery. He says something only when I keep stopping to take pictures, saying the hike will take us double the time with me stopping all the time.

The park came up first, and we wandered through it, checking out the man-made waterfalls. Wandered towards the woods and walked for a bit when we realized we missed our turn somewhere behind us. When we found our turn, and started up this rock embankment, I almost cursed our decision to turn around. This path was straight up the mountain. So we climbed, me stopping every few seconds to take pictures (and get my breath, I was dying). David disappeared out of my sight eventually, as he kept going. Though, the higher we climbed, the more came into view, and I remembered why I love the hikes that go up a mountain and back down. Those make me feel like I got somewhere, that I accomplished something, and that for a brief moment in time, I could survey the world around me and feel a sense of peace. I had missed climbing mountains.

We climbed higher, and passed the cat rock. It looked nothing like a cat. We have no idea why it is called cat rock. Looking out off the left of our trail, tea fields appeared on the sides of mountain peaks. The tea farmers must be brave souls, or billy goats.

Not long after, we reached the top. The elderly folks' hiking clubs were stopped for lunch, taking up space all over the summit. I tried to angle in between them to get a good view for a picture, but alas, they blocked all the good spots, and ironically, none were facing the view, they were all turned in towards the woods (or in the woods).

Now, by this time I was quite tired, though invigorated over the fact we had just climbed a mountain without intent. Nonetheless, our trail was beckoning, and thus we continued down the mountain. (Rather, trying to keep from falling down the mountain. Have the Japanese ever heard of switchbacks? (Please know I'm exaggerating there.))  We passed a woman wearing UGG boots, dragging a small child up the mountain. Our subsequent comments included something like "crazy," "why those shoes?" and "I'd never take a child on something like this."

The next bit was quite boring and not even worth writing about. Part of it involved concrete and the freeway and a giant overpass.

Soon enough, we were almost to the tunnel. We walked along the Old Tokaido road through what seemed to be a ghost town, and reached - The Meiji Tunnel!

A bit of info: The Old Tokaido Road was part of the original route (in the Edo period) connecting Kyoto and Edo (modern day Tokyo). This route was (and still is) the most traveled route in Japan.

After walking through the tunnel, our hike was essentially over, as the freeway was just in view. So, after another bathroom break, and some soft cream, we met the bus to head home. A fantastic hike, I mused. Though, later that night and the next day, my body revolted against me for putting it through so much trauma and stress. It was only then, that David pointed out the course was an advanced course. Or maybe he mentioned it when we were hiking. In any case, I didn't even bother to notice the kanji written above the title, the ones that clearly state (in small lettering) "advanced course" (in Japanese).


Of course. You see, I really can't get away from the most strenuous and difficult hikes, even if they are short. They find their way to me.

Spring is the Season of Change

Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, Saipan... as of late, suddenly beach vacations are pervading my thoughts and inspiring me to spend hours looking up hotels, flight information, and the best beaches in Southeast Asia. The idea of summer, vacations, beach trips and just going outside has expired my patience with winter. This and the fact that spring is slowly nudging its way in, with temps in the 60's last week, and budding cherry blossoms. Well, warm temps and more rain than usual... Can't say the rain is what I want, but the few warm, sunny days were a blessing. Now that March has arrived, I suppose the weather must make way for spring?
Spring is important to me more than ever this year, as it symbolizes the fact I am finally starting to feel like a human being again. David and I went for a nice walk along the Oi River (Big River) a week ago. I also wanted donuts from Mister Donut, which is near the river. The bike ride there miraculously felt normal, even the part where we were riding along a main road that is more like a highway, as the shoulder suddenly disappears and I am almost hit by the back end of a "semi" (who am I kidding, can they really be called semis here? They're tiny.).  Or, as we walked our bikes down a concrete embankment to the river, my bike felt heavy and I was using all my weight to hold it back from rolling down, yelling, "it's so heavy! AHH! Oh, it almost fell! AHH! Oh, I almost fell! Why is this so heavy? OW! I hurt my leg!"

David rolls his eyes and says "of course you did."

Me: "Why was that so hard? Why is it so heavy??"

David: "Did you use the brakes?"

I start laughing hysterically, how stupid of me not to use my brakes. I've used them plenty of times before walking my bike down a hill... So, perhaps my head isn't quite back to normal yet. Or it's just been that long since I've done anything aside sit at home and make food.

The next day, I was beside myself with excitement to go watch David's basketball tourney in the next city over. I mapped out the route, taking the train and bus. I'm going outside! I'm going out into the world! This is the happiest day of my life! Weee!!! Er, yes, well it sounded something like that.

All went well and I made it to the school, where the tourney was, in one piece. After watching David's first game (they won!), and freezing in the gym while it was so warm and sunny outside, I ran downstairs to use the bathroom. As I walked towards it, and almost into it, I realized it was a boy's bathroom. Alas! I have to go so bad! A man saw me and starting explaining something about the bathroom being outside and gave me directions, except that I was in shock about this whole ordeal that I didn't understand most of what he said. So, I went outside and walked around the building. No girl's bathroom.

Back upstairs to the gym and asked David about the bathroom. He said he didn't think it was in the building. Of course. So I go back downstairs and outside. I walked around the school, checking different buildings to see if they are locked or not. I found some old abandoned building that looked like the baseball team used it as a locker room or something. No one was there, so I walked in, down the creaky hallway and found a bathroom. Hooray! Finally I can go! 

No, it was too soon, as I noticed the urinals on the right side. I glanced over my shoulder. No boys around. I'm sure it's fine. Not like I haven't done this before. However, none of the stalls had toilet paper. UGH! Why!? I have to go!

So, walked back outside and did another loop. Walked back into the gym building and see my husband coming down the stairs. Phew, he can help me! I told David that I could not find the stupid bathroom anywhere. He, though was about to start his game and I believe was going to use the bathroom himself, ran back upstairs (what chivalry!) and asked where the ladies bathroom was. While he was gone, I was sort or staring off and around the building, as I do when I have nothing to do. A white and black sign caught my attention. It had the kanji for "women's bathroom" on it. Right in front of me, about five feet away, was a map for how to get there. How had I missed this map before? Then David appears and I laughed, pointing at the sign. "ha hahahaha! There's a map!" I said.

David smiled and then proceeded to point out the bathroom to me with a brief explanation. I head outside, once again, in search of my destination. It's been about 25 minutes now of me searching for the bathroom.

The women's bathroom is located in some "grounds building" between the baseball fields. At the time, the baseball team was playing in both fields. I walked along a dusty, dirt path, walking towards the first building, the one in which David said the bathroom was located. I passed a vending machine, but saw no bathroom, just a wall. No doors. Didn't he say the bathroom was here? 

So, I kept walking, thinking it must be the next building. Suddenly, to my right, a boy stops, takes off his hat, bows and says "konnichiwa." (hello) I reply in kind, embarrassed over the fact I'm searching for a bathroom amidst all these teenage boys. As I continued walking, a building in front of me looked very similar to a bathroom. That must be it! The closer I got, however, I saw urinals inside. My desperate line of thinking led me to believe that perhaps it was just turned into a women's bathroom from a men's. Now that I think about it, that really doesn't make sense, especially since it was quite open and there wasn't a lot of privacy.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to pee. I wanted to escape the line of vision of the teenage boys watching me peer into their bathroom. I turned back, thinking I needed to look at that stupid map again, and also thinking I was missing David's game. As I walked back, suddenly, boy after boy on either side of me stopped, turned, took off their hats, bowing and saying "konnichiwa." One boy yelled, "hello!" I replied to all them, thinking, AHH! I'm being ambushed! I just need to pee for crying out loud! Stop looking at me! Wait, maybe I can ask them where the bathroom is? 

I'm sure you were hoping I would ask a bunch of teenage boys where the women's bathroom was. No, sorry, can't give you that satisfaction. However, as I walked faster to escape the chorus of konnichiwa-ing going on, the vending machine came into view. Almost instantly, my eyes dart to the universal symbol for "woman," in red, on a small door, almost behind the vending machine. I almost did a dance, or exclaimed my relief. I could finally pee!!!

Yes, that weekend was full of excitement, and nothing out of the ordinary for my so-called "normal" life.

On that note, a final confession. Due to the length of time it is taking me to get over this, and all that we've put my school through, who have bent over backwards to accommodate me and this illness, we decided, after meeting with my school, that it would best if I quit and let someone new come in April. We had to make this decision a couple weeks ago, so they could have time to get a new person for the start of the new school year. Though, I'm sure I'll be fine by April (hopefully), due to the fact that I still have bad days sometimes, I felt it would be too much of a risk for them, and ultimately unfair that the students have not had an ALT for months now. David and I think it was the best decision for all the concerned parties, and so, as of now, I am no longer teaching at Shimada High School. In the meantime, as I recover to 100%, I'll be working on writing, blogging and web stuff, and we'll see what kind of work opportunities come up after that.

Spring symbolizes the new, coming to life, and transformation. In Japan, much of the culture revolves around the Springtime changes, such as a new school year starting in April. So, this year, Spring represents a lot more than in many seasons past. We'll see what kind of change will come in the near (and far) future. For now, I'll enjoy Spring's beginning.

My Dough Kids and Children of the World

Though this isn't a food blog, I've been moved to write about my recent experiences baking and cooking. Particularly, the truffles I made for myself for Valentine's Day and the sourdough starter I've been working on. I attempted to revive a pre-made starter I bought from a natural foods store here, and yet that failed quite miserably. You see, these starters seem to be rather fickle, and from what I've read online, sourdough starters seem to have their cult following. People argue fervently over the best method to begin one, sounding something like the digs hurled between ardent Mac and PC users. Some say you need to start with pineapple juice or grapes, other argue this is ridiculous. Some say you need to keep it at a warm temperature, while others retort that people have been making sourdough starters for centuries without temperature control. Some swear by starting with sterilized utensils and containers, and yet others refute that this is unecessary. Don't use metal bowls; don't use metal spoons; metal spoons are ok; five days is long enough; No, seven days is required; feeding every 8 hours is best; No, every 12; No, every 24; use 1-1 ratio flour-water; No, equal grams ratio; Use only spring water!; Filtered tap is OK.

With all this mish-mash I was puzzled how to start my starters, after the failure of the first attempt. So, I sort of compiled the various ideas and threw some whole wheat flour and water in my rice cooker. I figured at least, this would keep it warm, though it's a metal interior. That attempt died quickly, as the rice cooker baked the starter (it was on "keep warm"!!!). So, I added more and this time alternated turning on and off the rice cooker to gently heat the starter, opening the lid often to check on it. I soon named him Bubbly, as the bubbles appearing were a brilliant sign. After a couple days of successful survival, I took some of Bubbly and put it in a jar to create Bubbly Jr, and popped Jr in the oven.

In any case, it is now day 6 and both Bubbly and Bubbly Jr are still alive and kicking. I've just been feeding them every 12 hours, making sure they have air, and keeping them somewhat warm in the oven now. I didn't need pineapple or grapes, and used bottled water, and so far so good. I'm waiting for them to double in size today to see if they are up to snuff yet for some sourdough English muffins...

And now, apparently, they are like children. I talk to them often and say things like "time for dinner" and "time for bed" as David looks at me confused, thinking I am speaking to him. I've become one of the crazed sourdough starter-obsessed people I read about on the internet... They even have NAMES. Alas.

On a less entertaining note, lately, I've become wrapped up in reading real-life, rather horrific yet illuminating stories of world events. The current one, I felt I should share with you, and as heart-wrenching as it is, I haven't been able to put it down. Nothing to Envy by Barbara Demick. This journalist interviewed several Koreans who defected from the North. The book chronicles their lives and experiences in the years since World War II (with some brief history of how North and South Korea became divided in the first place and how North Korea's dictators came to power). Though I've yet to finish, I would strongly recommend reading this book.

Another few books that have moved me (and David) recently: Dreams and Shadows, a brief historical and present day overview of various countries in the Middle East and where they may be heading in the future; Columbine, a look into the events leading up to, during and following the Columbine High School massacre; and Iran Awakening, a memoir written by Nobel Peace Prize winner Shirin Ebadi pertaining to the Islamic Revolution in Iran, events surrounding, and consequences.

Each of these books offer unique perspectives and though some may be limited to certain people's viewpoints, they at least provide deeper insight into cultures less understood by many (such as the Middle East and North Korea). Reading books like these reminds me just how important education is. Especially in the West, we lack a certain amount of education about cultures that aren't directly related to the development of the West. I never learned about the history of China in elementary, middle or high school, for example, and China is one of the ancient cultures. Though World War II is taught multiple times through one's basic education, the events pertaining to Southeast Asia (Japan, China, Korea, etc) aren't mentioned unless related to the US (such as Pearl Harbor or the nuclear bombings).

My point is that we gain a better understanding of situations and cultures when we can look at the entire picture, the all-encompassing context. I realize this can be difficult to teach to youth in history, but unless students seek it out in higher education, many go without ever knowing. For example, after I took a Southeast Asian history class at WSU while finishing my degree, I realized the events pertaining to World War II were more complex than simply Western conflict and Germany and Japan joining forces. Earlier on when I did Running Start in high school, I remember debating and discussing with classmates over the nuclear bombings in Japan. We discussed the pros and cons, how horrific we thought it was that any country would use a nuclear bomb on another, but also that Japan wouldn't have likely surrendered otherwise. Now, after I've learned more about Japan's attempt to take over Southeast Asia, the war crimes in China and Korea, it illuminates the situation more in its entirety, and as such, can sway people's thoughts towards events one way or another.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to paint Japan as horrible, and anyone who already knows this history will understand. Many countries in the world have done horrible things, to each other and to their own people. No one is exempt from wearing that kind of shame. And yet, countries and their cultures all have their good points too. Granted, it's hard to see that in a place like North Korea, what good really comes out of the country? Hard for the people to preserve their own culture when their daily lives revolve around survival. Yes, other countries also experience this as well... and so it makes me more inspired that those countries attempting to survive can yet find joy in it. Or love.

I'm also reminded of the call to action, to care for our planet, for people. So I ask that you all remember and remind others to advocate for our planet, and to advocate for those who don't have voices. One of the softest spots I have is for youth. There are many who are in need, physical need as well as emotional need. We all are aware of the countries and places where the children are starving, diseased and often orphaned. Sometimes there isn't a whole lot we can do about that, but remember there are children around you every day who need someone in their life. They may have their physical needs met, but so many have deep emotional needs as well. As I mentioned this to David yesterday, I stated that it is easy to remember the images we see on TV and donate money, or to adopt a foreign child, or anything else to help children in need. This is incredibly important, and yet, I finished, there are children who are dying from emotional neediness. No matter how you look at it, people are in need everywhere.

Now that I've been on the soapbox, I should just reiterate that I'm not trying to preach to anyone or be negative in any way. I simply felt it strongly in my heart this morning to write my advocacy. I applaud those who do the best they can to help others, not only children, but adults as well - or to make a difference in the world somehow. Thank you for that. You never know how much you may help someone you reach out to, even just a friendly hello - cliched though that is, people ultimately just need to know they matter to someone - anyone.

The Kitchen and I

What constitutes a successful day for you? Accomplishing something big at work or school (or both)? Eating three healthy meals? Completing a to-do list? I certainly agree with all of these things, and am sure you all have your own "successful day" indicator. While a successful day for me fluctuates, depending on what I'm currently involved in or the status of my life, lately these successful days equal completing various household tasks. My energy is coming back bit by bit, my second cold waning (though not this forceful cough) and my motivation to get our apartment back in order runs high.

Now is Wednesday evening. Tuesday I slaved away at our kitchen floor, scrubbing a few month's worth of crap and grime. I alternated mopping and vacuuming, until the floor shined in only a way dull hardwood can. My next task involved clearing off the dining table. From one end to the other, the fact that it was indeed a table was hard to recognize. After another hour of putting away, throwing away, cleaning and again, vacuuming, the table shone in all its black-brown glory. I smiled with the greatest sense of self-satisfaction as I admired the clean kitchen. I willed the kitchen at that moment to stay clean for at least a month.

Of course, later on, as David was working on our muffin pizzas, carrying them to the oven, he suddenly makes a noise as if in trouble. I glance up from my cooking and run over to help. SPLAT! Too late. A muffin met its fate on the newly cleaned floor. I wasn't sure what to cry over, the lost homemade muffin, or the sauce and cheese splattered on the FLOOR. In the end, I think my attachment to the floor won out. David was nice enough to clean it up though.

So ever since this cleaning spree, I vacuum the floor a couple times a day and wipe up spills almost immediately. Did I mention, that our apartment is a dust-magnet? I have no idea where it comes from. No matter how often I vacuum, it never lasts very long! Curses dust. Curses to you.

Uh.... anyway. So since yesterday was cleaning day, today was cooking/baking day. After David's sudden declaration he was going to make pancakes this morning, I mixed up a batch. Lunch was meatloaf I baked up last night. I wanted to make roasted potatoes, with these special potatoes I have never tried before. (Never seen them in the States). So, I cut them per the usual, seasoned them and tossed them in the oven. My taste test 20 minutes later led me to a burning, coppery mouth. Me in the kitchen, spitting it all out, rinsing out my mouth with water. What kind of potatoes ARE these? What if they are poisonous? What if I'm allergic? I was sure my face would puff up any instant, and so I brushed my teeth. As if that could really help...

David walks in for lunch to see me brushing my mouth out like mad.

"Something is wrong with those potatoes!" I asserted.

David pops a piece in his mouth and says he doesn't notice anything.

"My mouth is BURNING," I insist. "You don't feel anything???"

"Nope."

Figures.

Then I obsessively scrubbed the cutting board I cut them up on... so they wouldn't poison me some other way.

What else did I try today? Lately I have been experimenting making whole wheat English muffins. I've actually never made English muffins before, so it has definitely been trial and some error. However, the second batch came out quite nice. Fluffy, wheaty, full of air pockets you expect in any good bread. Yum.

Just the other day I made these scrumptious peanut butter cookies.

And cinnamon buns:

If only I had a picture of those English muffins... but, some other time perhaps. Now, the evening is winding down and off to bed I go.  (Well, after I've had to edit the stupid html ten times to make the pictures stop messing with the text.) Tomorrow is a new day - and a day that will most likely not involve any time in the kitchen, cooking or cleaning.

Reflections of a Winter Walk

Last week, amidst the tragedy fallen upon Haiti, constant abdominal pain, and the need to get some fresh air, I decided to take a short walk with my new camera. I had wanted to write a blog that week, but in light of the situation in Haiti, I felt there wasn't anything to say. So consider my silence a tribute.

Sometimes, or oftentimes, it is easy to envision your surrounding life as difficult, depressing, or even mundane. Perhaps you wonder, what happened to my passion for life? For (insert something you think is important)? What happened to motivation, or even interest? The past months have, in any case, facilitated the time to think of these things. Even now, I am continuously pondering why and how passion always changes.

And in some of those times, a simple walk can cure a case of lost passion.

A walk to the hills behind your dwelling. Hills you often think about and wonder, what would I find if I climbed those hills? Perhaps, an old blue shack, crackling paint revealing the building's nature.

Or, bright, red cherries hiding in tall, dry brush.

Then, discovery of a small temple. A pathway nearby climbs even higher to reveal a peek of the landscape.

Continue further, over felled bamboo trees, and discover - magic.

 

  Leaves rustle loudly as the wind throws its way through. The gentle clunking of hollow bamboo trees against each other creates a symphony all its own.

The sun glimmers through the trees as they sway to and fro, and the forest floor shimmers in response.

A time like this takes words from not only the mouth, but also the mind. They disappear in the forest's song, and suddenly perspective finds its way back. There, in the midst of tragedy and turmoil, depression and monotony, exists peace. Even, joy.

I returned back home that afternoon with numb fingers, rosy cheeks, and peace - not only of mind, but also of heart.

The First Sunrise

明けましておめでとうございます！ (akemashite omedetou gozaimasu, i.e. Happy New Year!)

Winter has settled in here on the east side of central Japan. Days begin with gradient, transformative colors as the sun's orange circle slowly awakes the country. This is the land of the rising sun, after all. As the sun makes it daily trajectory through the sky, we enjoy its warmth - all we have really, as Shizuoka is so windy and drops the otherwise moderate temperature. Our apartment was frigid when we arrived back home at the end of New Year's Day. Two weeks absence + no heating + drop in temperature = freezing cold apartment. Somehow I shivered and shook my way through making our bed, brushing my teeth and leaping into our icy bed, the heater on high. Remember, no central heating in Japan (well, except in Northern Japan, where it's like the North Pole or something).

Two weeks flew by quickly in Washington. We greatly enjoyed the precious time with family and friends, and sad that we could not have more time to spend with others we didn't have a chance to see. We realize now that two weeks isn't nearly long enough to manage this. Perhaps a longer visit next time? We'll see.

However, on to other matters! The great success of this trip is what shall be known from here on out as: The Diagnosis. After a messy departure from Japan (we left a day late due to my being incredibly ill), almost-constant nausea, hard-feelings towards anyone driving but my husband, whom my sister says must have driven like an old woman (no offense to old women, but David isn't exactly an old woman) and incredible jet-lag, the moment of truth finally arrived. (Of course, I swore off all moving things after the trip, and every time I see an escalator now I scrunch up my face - only realizing this when David laughs.) As the nurse did the pre-doctor things nurses do, and as I fitfully tried to explain two months of hell to the nurse, my doctor knocked on the door with the two-page letter I had faxed her.

"You've just been through it haven't you?" she said empathetically.

"Yes! We are so frustrated! I haven't been at work, I feel so terrible... it's so awful..." Feelings tumbled out of my mouth easily, opposite of my inability to vomit when in any moving object.

"Well, let's see if we can fix you up!"

She did a quick check, asked a few questions, and as she explained that she wanted to run her own panel of tests on me, the words we'd been waiting for finally arrived:

"I think you have labrynthitis."

"Really??" Was I dreaming?

"I've seen it a hundred times. My husband, poor man, has a doctor for a wife, was crawling on the floor one day when I came home. I ran so many tests on him, and he had labrynthitis."

Even she noticed, as others missed, there was some fluid in my ears, and STILL in my sinuses. She explained labrynthitis - that it is a deep inner ear inflammation, caused by a virus. The virus has to run its course; there is no way to treat it. The symptoms I was experiencing caused chronic nausea (which I think may have ended up as an ulcer) and of course cause motion sickness and other things. My allergies end up making things worse. She fixed me up with some drugs for the nausea, motion sickness and inflammation, and sent me on my merry way.

Thank you oh incredibly competent American doctor! You have helped me infinitely more than the round of doctors we saw in Japan! I practically cried as I left, thanking her over and over, practically bowing out of habit. (You would too if you'd gone two months sick at home without a diagnosis).

Of course, travel and lack of sleep put me out with a cold when we got back. Have almost fought it off now though...


On the subject of feeling grateful, I thought I might revisit a few things from 2009 I'm thankful for. Although we completely missed New Year's Eve, (we were somewhere over the Pacific Ocean at the time, although I'm not sure which time...) and I was drugged and out of my mind most of New Year's Day, my New Year spirit hasn't left me yet. So,

A few things I'm grateful for in 2009 (in no particular order aside #1):
1. marrying the most amazing man
2. precious time with loved ones in Washington
3. our "grown-up kids" from youth group days
4. the chance to take a writing workshop
5. rediscovering passions
6. living in Shizuoka
7. moving to Shimada
8. heaters
9. top floor of the apartment building
10. delicious, healthy food
11. money to buy said food
12. a new camera to capture moments
13. a Christmas tree
14. the chance to read others' stories
15. a new laptop, to write with, to transform pictures with, to entertain me for endless hours sitting sick

These hardly mark them all, as there is so much to be grateful for and highlight.

I hope this New Year is a tremendous one for you. Here's to 2010!

Counting Change... err... Double Bagging?

Alas, my days continue to be spent wrapped up in fleece in front of a space heater at home. Setting out on any kind of adventure typically requires movement, and as such, leaves me in a state of delirium and overwhelming feelings of possibly losing whatever food I managed to eat before said adventure. Oh, motion sickness, I have not known you my entire life! You have plagued others mercilessly, and I laughed in your face. You could never take me with you motion sickness! Never!

Oh, but now, motion sickness is my close friend. I hope you are all spared from this feeling if you have yet to experience it, as it is completely miserable. We have a ten-hour flight coming up this week, so I am desperately praying I will be saved from this dark plague, if only for ten hours...

The medical mystery continues! An MRI has been scheduled Monday afternoon, and an appointment set with my American doctor in Seattle. I should note, that in order to schedule the MRI, I had to wait an hour and a half at the hospital on Friday, just to SEE the neurologist. Then, the neurologist asked two questions, and then, "when should we schedule the MRI?"

I replied, "we can't just do it today?" Thinking, I thought that is what I came here for. Couldn't we have done this over the phone?

So far, as my illness continues to puzzle everyone, doctors, in effort to save face or some such very Japanese way of thinking, they go out with their last resort diagnosis: stress, mental problems, stress, see a psychiatrist. You see, in Japan, people are expected to take the doctor's word as the final word. They are definitely not encouraged to question anything the doctor says, while in the States, questions are *usually encouraged (with exception of crazy hypochondriacs that look everything up on the internet... uh... I don't know who does that! Certainly not I!). So, if you so much as question them, or in my case, say you are going to stop taking their drugs because they aren't working, they fume and refuse to help you out with say... filling out a leave of absence form for your boss. Doctors are like gods. Listen to them! Respect them! Never question them. They know everything, after all. (Note: I don't mean anything against doctors, I have had good ones, but simply my rant on the majority of Japanese doctors I've seen here).

Anyway, so as I try to cope with this strange illness that takes me on twists and turns, faster and more ferocious than river rafting (and just as nauseating, for extreme kinds), I try to go to the store to test how well I am doing. Can I move? Can I stand? Can I last through the entire experience and make it home feeling the same as before I had left?

I went to a nearby grocery store yesterday. David was gone, throwing kids around somewhere, and so I decided I felt well enough to bike to the store, grab a few things and go home to start my cookie baking extravaganza (homemade gifts for people here). The bumpy ride proved too much, as I arrived at the store a bit green and lightheaded. I wandered around the store, throwing things in my basket, straining my eyes as I tried to keep my head stationary (to not perpetuate the motion sickness). After finding the things we needed, and feeling I was going to lose it, I shuffled to the cashiers, and went to what I thought seemed the shortest line. A man that had been in front of me was going to take my spot in that line, as I was still shuffling there, but he seemed to find that a bad decision and went into another line. I thought, YES! I have won! I get the spot! In only moments, I would realize how wrong I was.

There were only two women in front of me, and the cashier was helping the first woman already. As I waited, I started to feel light-headed and hot. Uh-oh... hot flash coming, as I started to panic. It was then I noticed that the prim woman in front of me had double-bagged all of the items in her basket. Not only the produce, which is typical to put in those plastic bags, but every single item, including things like butter or cheese (which are already wrapped or in some kind of container!). I was shocked. This woman was the epitome of the environment's Antichrist. She obsessively double-checked all her items, and then twisted a plastic bag full of plastic bags into a knot, patting it three times and situating it delicately in her giant plastic pile. My heart felt as if it had been stabbed - all that work to be environmentally conscious and utilize the three R's, felt as if it was being canceled out by this woman and her plastic-mongering.

As the moments wore on, I felt weaker, hotter, and more lightheaded. The cashier finished with the first woman and moved on to plastic-hoarding woman. To aggravate me even more, she handed her items to the cashier ONE by ONE. Usually the cashier handles things themselves, as in the States. But NO, this woman would pick through her basket, hand the cashier the items in some order she needed them to be, saying "Thanks" with each one. To let out my frustration, and my anxiety over the fact I might pass out any minute and wasn't sure what to do about that since people were pushing up against me from behind, I sighed loudly, "Oh my GOSH." No one noticed. They usually don't, since they don't understand.

Finally the woman finished and took ten minutes to count out her exact change. At that point, I couldn't even move my head as it aggravated the lightheadedness even more. Thus, I couldn't look at the cashier when she told me the amount and when I handed her the change. I probably looked like I had a broken neck or something. Then, out of the corner of my eye, plastic woman proceeded to bag her plastic piles in what else, more plastic. At this point I hurried to the bathroom though, before I blacked out.

Suffice to say, I made it home, though felt miserable most of the rest of the day. Today is cookie-baking day so I must tend to that now. Oh, and packing.

Has been a pleasure, and please remember the moral of the story: reduce, reuse, recycle! Resist the urge to double bag every item you purchase in plastic. You too, can prevent global warming! Oh wait, that is the forest fire slogan isn't it. Well, you get the idea.