Quick, bash me into your chest!

One of several of the warm-up exercises in this Judo school is to bash your partner into your chest twenty times. This is achieved by heaving the person's body into yours. The impact is further strengthened by a lurch back, followed by a step forward and a mock leg-sweep, at the same time jutting your upper body outward as you pull in. In effect, it shifts the person's weight back and forth, so they never really stand balanced, and creates quite an impact.
Then you switch and they bash you for a while. I think I've got to build up more resistence in the, uhh, chest. They bash me twenty times before I can blink, and then it's my turn and I turn out about five half-bashes before it's time to switch again.
I'm loving this. Somehow, it appeals to my feminine nature.
Really, though, I think it is going to be a great way to create a good relationship with the kids, and it's good for me to feel useful, even if it's only as a sack of potatoes for now. Come to think of it, my job is an awful lot like being a sack of potatoes anyway. At least now, I'm a Useful Sack of Potatoes.

Judo all the way, baby

Check it out--Judo is fun!!
The old sensei is a kind man, who speaks some sort of 'Arao Old-Man' dialect. He's twice as incomprehensible as anyone else, but twice as fun to listen to. He talked directly to me the whole class, with the other students lazing around like some Roman emperors on vacation. Somehow though, it's easier to understand someone who doesn't care if you understand them. People like that seem to want to fill the space with words. It's not a defense, the words aren't important. It's more the feeling of having someone listen and pay attention, just a way to connect with others.
Anyway, it really wasn't important if I understood because he had the kids demonstrate everything for me.
One of the eighth-graders, Ryo Kikukawa, ('Kikukawa-kun', quite a mouthful--'kun' is attached to the last name of most of the boy students to convey a sense of endearment) was ordered to take me under his wing. Kikukawa-kun is the skinny kid with big brown eyes and big lips, the one who everyone likes to throw because he's light as a feather, but he has reasonable skill, and so he was chosen to assist me. I kid you not, he showed me like twenty throws. Then he was like, 'uhh, now you do it.' I repeated the twenty techniques in order, flawlessly.
I like Judo because it makes me look good. It's graceful, and easy. I like Judo because I can do it just as well as the smiling, pudgy seventh grader, who gets pounded every time. I like Judo because I have no fear of learning new things.
(That whole last part was just to encourage me.)
stay tuned...

Two things

Looked into the orchestras in Fukuoka and Kumamoto City again. Moving to Fukuoka would have a lot of advantages, the first one being I could probably play with an orchestra.
I thought that trying life here, not as a JET, might be an exciting possibility. It's some sort of crazy dream that will only make my mother worry but, as long as I'm already here, it's kind of fun to play with all those possibilities.
It all depends on two things...

The first is what I do, and the second is what happens after that, hee hee

most likely will come home in july

night night

diagnosis/cadet-in-training

I went to the doctor again last Tuesday. Mostly coughing, but pretty heavy, consisent coughing, with varying amounts and colors of phlegm(no blood). I decreased to two pack of Marlboros per day, but alas, the doctor's diagnosis: bronchitis.

He gave me four kinds of tablets to take along with some mysterious patches to be worn on the chest. I took the tablets, and although I felt like a dried out old sponge, I have to say that my health did seem to improve after finishing the three day dosage. So, bravely, I decided to try one of the patches, cautiously heeding the doctor's words to remove the patch if I felt my heart rate increase. I left the patch on for a half hour, not knowing what it was actually meant to do, hoping it was meant to suck up all the evil causing my ailment, being careful to note any irregular changes.

Having not sucked up the evil, I took it off and immediately afterward it basically increased my heart rate--like, phenominally. Including the fact that I got 2001 things done in a period of less than two hours, the whole experience would have been spectacular, except it also caused me to get asthma that is currently, in Japan, preventing me from sleeping--like, phenominally.


In other news:

I'm getting used to life at the new new old school, Arao #1 Middle School, which could be called Arao Public Military Academy. My job, while not sitting at my desk, is to assist English teachers by standing with my hands behind my back, posture perfectly aligned, ready to move in an instant should a student misspell a word or rest his or her head on his or her hand.
Secretly, I enjoy my new position as imaginary Assistant Company Leader Cadet-in-Training Julie Sensei.

Somehow, my life has been quite simplified this year, and it's taken many, many months for me to begin to enjoy the solitude. Reminds me of that classic YES hit we all know and love, 'Owner of A Lonely Heart.' It's even more moving while singing it karaoke. Trust me on this one.

http://yesworld.com/lyrics/90125.html#1

Dancing Mushrooms (without drugs)

I have really grown to love the catchy tune that plays in the produce section of Daiei supermarket. Gosh, it's something about lively mushrooms. There is also a TV monitor with a little video that accompanies the song, right over the mushroom section. The video shows a cartoon Japanese eringi mushroom dancing around. Sometimes there are other vegetables dancing too, but the mushroom really steals the show.
Why don't we have dancing mushrooms that sing in America? I've always wondered that.

a simple question

If you knew what you wanted, could you make it your life?
What if it was money? Would you give your life's time for that?
What if you could make money by forming relationships with people, and those people would then support you by buying your 'product'?

To decide what you want, what your 'job is in life', is so difficult that I think many people don't do it out of fear they'll pick the wrong thing. Unfortunately, indecision doesn't stop us from aging.

Devoting your life to one thing means giving up the other things, no longer caring about them. How do we do that?
Only by conscious choice. And unaltering concentration.

So what do you want?

Me: Specialist, Japanese Baby Crying Tendencies

I noticed that Japanese babies tend to be unusually quiet. So, I've been thinking about why they generally don't seem to cry as much all the babies I've ever known in my entire American life.
Here's what I came up with: babies cry when they need something, right? Well, Japanese babies seem to need a lot less of something, I wisely deduced.
So, I secretly watched, when I went to Joy-full Family Restaurant, to see what it was that Japanese babies don't need. I watched(possibly on two or even three exhausting excursions), how Japanese mothers handle their sweet joy bundles. Here's what my observations have uncovered: the moms and the families(around here they frequently live under one roof) seem to be doing something we in the west might call unthinkable: they don't pay gobs of attention to their infant. In fact, if the baby is crying the family doesn't necessarily notice for some time, mom included. Or, perhaps they do notice, but they don't react immediately or at all. Then, the baby may or may not stop crying, to the nonreaction of the family.
These observations have led me to believe that Japanese babies learn to not need as much attention as American babies, or American people, for that matter. Not that it's a bad thing, but doesn't it seem that attention is the fuel of many Americans? In America, being different often merits special treatment, positive or negative. But, who wants to stick out here? Perhaps one of the most well-known Japanese sayings is: "The nail that sticks out is hammered back in."
Babies here are taught not to stick out from the beginning. And that's why I think the babies don't cry as much, they are taught that yearning for attention through crying won't get them much more than a sore throat and a wet pillow.
I'm not saying I think these Japanese mothers are bad mothers, just that they are raising children with different expectations. And it works here!

Bunny bowl in Arita

Bunny bowl
Originally uploaded by jetblossom.

Boy, did I burn to buy bundles of bunny bowls beautifully brushed, backgrounded in blue.

Yet, my hopes of 'rabbit relics' were dashedly crushed upon catching sight of some bunny doo-doo.

Ho, whoah, what seemed to be dirt turned out was really a cottontailed price!
Believe you me now, I set it back down on the table, without thinking twice.

Then I thought twice and I raised it again,
and snapped this quick photo of bunny heaven.

A muscular high school boy is choking a smiling, pudgy 7th grader.

The kid is a big marshmallow, his face bright red, and the older boy is built like a brick tower. The 7th grader's cheeks are so rosy and shiny, his hands so round and plump, they're adorable, really. He knows how to use them too. He taps out innumerable times in three minutes.

After the buzzer they switch partners. Now the boy with the rosy cheeks is getting pounded on by a 9th grader who out-ranks him and could possibly outweigh him too, although it isn't clear.
This 9th grader could be teaching the fatter boy anger. He beats him to the point where the boy cries, then the 9th grader laughs at him. He lets go of the boy's twisted uniform and the boy stops crying. They both stand up and do the same thing again: three times. At last, the boys wails are embarrassingly high-pitched. The buzzer goes off and they move on, the boy, having not learned anger, smiles unaffectedly and looks at his next opponent with hope.

There's another boy on the other side of the mat over here--he's been flat on the mat by himself for about 10 minutes now, just holding his head with his hand. He may have gotten a concussion or something but I don't wanna go over to check it out. With his free hand he keeps reaching into his pants and scratching himself.

The judo coach, whose aura approaches faded gray, probably doesn't notice these boyish games to much. He's having himself a nice long look out the window right now. Doesn't say much to the kids.
This team of would-be mammoths has taken his silent advice to heart: at their last match, five of the seven who attended lost in the first round. The two who won went on to lose in the second round.

This guy here, close to me, wrestling with the tall, dark-skinned, long-foreheaded kid is the team captain. His name's Yamaguchi or something close. He's got some natural wrestling ability and he quite enjoys being loud and merciless. He's the one who made the kid wail earlier.

Oh, the kid with the concussion just sat up. Yamaguchi is going to him. He asks him 'Doshita?(What's the matter?)'. The kid gestures to his neck. Yamaguchi gives him a confident nod and his hands softly seize the kid's head. He bends the kid forward, stretching his neck, encompassing it into a headlock, his body sending pressure into the kid's bend. He releases and the kid sighs with relief. Instantly, his hand is on the kid's chin and he quickly pushes it back the other way, so the kid's looking over and past the ceiling. Then he forcefully rolls the kid's head around, but the kid doesn't seem to be crying or convulsing or anything, so Yamaguchi is now a genius to me. The kid smiles and the buzzer rings. Yamaguchi grabs him by the arm and violently sweeps his leg from under him. 'Yosssh!!!,' he yells. They happily tumble until the kid with the concussion has been pinned several more times.

The match is over. They're taking a little break, and suddenly Yamaguchi jumps on a quiet, docile kid(--a decent kid, told me that he secretly prefers science to English--)'s back and makes the kid run two circles around the ring. The rest of the kids follow stride and jump up on a friend's back for a piggyback romp 'round the ring.

They're going to close class as usual. They do finger-flicking, arm bending and trunk-twisting warmdowns to the unenthusiatic count of 1 to 10, as the teenage boys handoff the count to each other. 'Ichi' to 'ju', I should say.

At the very end, we all line up to end class. I sit in front facing the students, along with the highest ranks, just because I am a teacher in the school. We bow out and I go to gather my things as the whithered coach sneaks into the well-lighted corner to change his clothes. Not that I meant to notice, but he wears tidy whiteys.

At the Hairdresser

I got a haircut today. It involved a glorious 15-minute shampoo/scalp massage, complete with temple-massaging, the works. The cut was good, tapered and razor cut, a la Japanese style.
Afterwards, it took two other people, simultaneously, to blow my hair dry. This was the regular cut for 3990 yen(about $38). No tip required.

The new schedule's out for next week's elementary school. Six class periods in the day, all grade levels, all abilities, two classes combined in each period. And I told them I'd accept it as is, with a smile.

This culture has genuinely broken me.

And so I'll start by offering it back a simple smile.

The pottery festival was nearly two miles of streets lined with stores. There was hand-painted porcelin, hand-thrown vases, and stacks of dishes and cups priced so cheaply it would put Pier One to shame. The town is called Arita, and if you Google it, you'd probably find out that it's one of the largest pottery festivals in the world.
I just returned from a few days of pottery heaven. It was a fun trip, and although I am a bit poorer for it, I came back with a few unique stare-worthy pieces to occupy the mind.

But I know people are probably wondering about that inigmatic phrase I left a couple of blogs ago. I said I was reconsidering my decision to stay. Here's the conclusion:
I told the Board of Education in a meeting last week that I wanted to return home in July, that I would not stay another year.
It was a great combination of things that changed my mind, including one very sincere phone call from my dad. Honestly, though, I was just driving my car to Aikido practice one day, a few weeks ago and I just decided. It sort of came to me. And since that time, I haven't waivered. I'm coming home in July.

Hi Ho!
I'll be gone tomorrow and Wednesday. I'm going to a pottery festival in Saga Prefecture, north of Nagasaki. Catch up with you after!

Meeting Doshu

It's been a little while since I've blogged. A lot has happened in that short time. I've had some time to really reconsider my decision to stay. More on that to come.

And, I'd been preparing for the Aikido Demonstration today. Today was the 35th Anniversary since Suganuma Shihan(9th dan, Fukuoka) established an Aikido Dojo on Kyushu Island. So, there was a demonstration planned for the event.

I wasn't told even that much when I signed up to participate in the demonstration. I didn't know what it was for, or who would be attending. I just thought it would be a good thing to do, to participate in an Aikido demonstration with my dojo, the Kumamoto dojo.

We spent the past couple of weeks preparing in class. My group had two minutes to present a demo. Me and my partner had exactly 40 seconds. But that wasn't the biggest surprise. The biggest surprise was that Doshu would be watching.

Who is Doshu? For those who practice Aikido, there is an automatic response. He is the grandson of the founder of Aikido, the current head of the largest Aikido Association in the world. His name is Moriteru Ueshiba. He's sorta the head honcho of Aikido to many people. I had no idea he would be there. I had no idea I would meet him. After our group performed, we exited the stage and headed out to watch the demos after ours. There were innumerable 6th dans presenting, and I counted at least five 7th dans(7th degree blackbelts).

Then Suganuma Shihan presented. Then Doshu presented. Their presentations were quite enlightening; I won't try to describe them.

At the party afterwards, we all had fun eating and drinking. There were about 1000 people at the demo, and maybe 300 or 400 people at the party. Our dojo had a picture taken with Suganuma and Doshu. Then, thankfully, a couple of slightly drunk people from my dojo pushed me up to Doshu to shake his hand and get his *autograph*! Suganuma Shihan, being also renowned for his accomplishments, was kind enough to give me a signature too.(Honestly, I think signatures are a bit strange to keep, but I'm glad to have them all the same.)

I rode the bus home with my dojo brimming with joy. I'd met Suganuma Shihan before, so I knew his greatness of presence. At first, though, Doshu didn't seem to have a large presence at first, but seeing his eyes changed my mind. They were light brown, and had a shimmer to them. The shimmer looked like joy to me, and I imagine it might've come down the blood line from his grandfather.

I don't know what to say. It was a dream come true for me on this day, once again in my life.

Anything more you'd like to know about that?