A Truly Scary Halloween in Tokyo

Posted on October 30, 2010 by Emily Cannell

IS Halloween celebrated in Japan? Luckily for us it is since Offspring #2 threatened to abandon ship and head for the US if it wasn’t. Even though this Hallows Eve is currently under siege by yet another typhoon, there are still plenty of dripping ghouls prowling about the rainy night.

Sunday is the traditional night for the haunts to make their way around begging door         to door for UNICEF coins (apparently that practice is also worldwide) and filling          pillow cases with Halloween treats- some with “Boo” power of their own.

This Rice cracker wrapped in seawood then filled with onion cream might get a “Boo” from your trick or treating friends.

Here’s some cocktail sand for the little ghosts and goblins.

A little something I hope my kids get a few of- some eyeballs- mixed in with the cocktail nuts. Real ones. And maybe some crawfish… Now that’s what I call Scary.

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The Eyes of Texas are Upon You…

Posted on October 28, 2010 by Emily Cannell

It’s true. And they’re in Japan. The reason? Because Americans will not follow the rules unless forced. How many American journalists have “accidentally” strayed across the borders of North Korea and Iran where they just happen to be apprehended on their “hiking” trips by border guards? The Japanese know this about Americans and have been forced to design a series of clever interventions which allow them to track the foreigners residing upon Japanese soil. Without the eyes upon us, no one would follow the rules, myself included.

I was completely unaware of this process  for tracking the most minute of changes until I became suspicious by a series of demands for alterations to Spouse’s Alien Registration Card. The execution of these edits is cumbersome as none of the ward employees speak English and given the newly arrived status of this alien these interactions are vexatious and extremely difficult to accomplish. My inclination would be not to do them at all as I deem them not important. I am an American, a guest, and not a journalist so I do have to follow the rules. Unfortunately for me, the Japanese government recognizes that the “Head of Household,” is an extremely important and busy person and has deemed that the assistant to the HOH can manage the necessary transactions required to make changes to the Alien Registration Card. All efforts on my part to delegate this noxious duty to another have failed.

Each excrutiatingly painful change took separate trips. Two were routine- establishing the first card for residency and the second for a change of address. The third was more mysterious. HOH completed the original form with his title. A letter arrived in the mail informing us that HOH’s title was incorrect- it needed to be changed. Exactly how did “they” know that? Doesn’t HOH know what his title is? The fourth change was also sinister- the company name change. Had it even been announced?

At this point my weekly visits to the ward officer were giving the impression I had a crush on him. He would give me a big smile and offer a “Genki deska?” when I arrived. He started to come out from behind the counter and pull out my chair.

How was this information getting out? I trained at the foot of the master- my sister in law- CSI Susie. Determined to figure out the route of this funneled information wreaking havoc on my daily routine, I started to think over our daily routines. It all became clear. Looking and listening posts were everywhere:

Exhibit A

This well placed turtle must have heard us talking about spouse having two titles.

Exhibit B:

This chef seemingly marking the entrance to Kappabashi Kitchentown watched us head to our new apartment.

Exhibit C:

This “Man” on the apartment across the street must have seen the new company logo…

Exhibit D:

I wonder what this guy in Sangenjaya saw…

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Park Rules

Posted on October 26, 2010 by Emily Cannell

I find Japanese signs thoroughly entertaining. Not only are the signs understandable for those unable to read, the cartoon form makes for interesting interpretations. Please look at the following “Park Rules” example:

Going clockwise:

1) Please lions, no movie directing or horn blowing in the park.

2) No frisbee throwing. Apparently balls of various sorts are ok. Since most people can’t aim a frisbee, I endorse this rule. My head is a frisbee magnet.

3) Pogo sticks were outlawed but are now ok probably due to its lack of popularity. When Offspring #1 wanted a pogo stick for Christmas I had to special order it from a pogo stick web site. The site actually made it look fun- one ordered the pogo stick based on the height one wanted to jump. I felt 8-10 feet was high enough.

4) When the sun is sleepy- park closes. Also clever- could be AM or PM.

5) No drumming in the park, it kills the birds.

6) And finally, one we can all agree on, kids- no crying in the park. Not only does it make your mother cranky, it scares all the sleeping ghosts in the  park.

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Head of Household?

Posted on October 25, 2010 by Emily Cannell

According to Japan, Spouse is the Head of Household. Since I consider myself to be the holder of that title and have worked diligently for the last 5 years to assume 100% of the previously shared role, this statement has galvanized me into self-analysis regarding this seemingly benign issue. After having left the work force 6 years ago, is my own identity still so closely tied to titles that an alien registration card leaves me sputtering with indignation? Why should I be mad about this statement? No decisions are made based on that information so why should I care? I’m not in competition with Spouse- he’s the better half of this union- that’s not the issue. It’s simple, I see the HOH role as mine.

The HOH role did not come easy to me because of my character defaults. For that reason, it’s advantageous our offspring have two parents since Spouse and I are opposites: Felix and Oscar, Handsome and Homely, All American and “There’s a Girl that Lives Next Door?,” Patient and Commandant.

You can imagine the dichotomy sets up a certain dynamic in our house. Example: Offspring #1 was about 11 months old and I’d enrolled him in swimming lessons. I envisioned him swimming laps around Kurt Cobain’s apple bobbing Nirvana album cover baby. We got to class and Offspring was not getting near the pool. Wouldn’t even put a toe in. The class started. My dream started to evaporate. I’d paid for 6 lessons and at this rate, he wouldn’t be in the water until lesson number 4. Impatient to hurry things along, I picked him up and dropped him in the pool. Not my best parenting day. I’m sure he’ll remember all details of his first swim lesson under hypnosis some day.

I didn’t really feel welcome at the next swimming lesson so spouse volunteered. Spouse sat on the edge of the pool with Offspring #1 in his lap. Spouse stuck his hand in the water and stirred. Offspring followed. Spouse put a foot in and kicked. Offspring followed. You see where this was headed. In 5 minutes they were both in. Spouse, offspring, and all the other moms and babies happily sang and splashed to the “Wheels on the bus.”

Then there was the time that Offspring #2 needed a test where at the age of 8 months her arms and legs were strapped to an x-ray table. Ear piercing, gut wrenching screaming ensued. To whom did she reach upon her release? Dad. The nurses were not impressed with my Armani suit and Prada shoes just aghast that an 8 month old wanted Dad, not mom. This pattern continued until I left work and my children got to know my more sensitive side.

Fast forward to Japan. My mother’s 70th birthday party had been set for a Saturday in Texas. As is the norm for large family functions, the timing was bad. School had started the Wednesday before and we were set to move the Tuesday after. When Offspring #2 learned that I was flying to Texas the weekend sandwiched in between she started to shake.

“Who’s going to take care of us?” she asked as if Spouse was just another one of her siblings.

“Dad” The obvious answer.

“Dad doesn’t know how to take care of us.” Didn’t she remember hearing the story of Spouse changing all Offspring #1’s diapers the first week after he was born?

“Of course he does.” He’s a veterinarian. They can take care of animals or children. As he said when they were small- “Until they can talk, it’s all veterinary medicine.”

“Sometimes he forgets to feed us.”

Offspring #2 jumps in to defend his father, “He DOES feed us ‘Anybody want a peanut butter spoon’” he mimicked.

Offspring #2 was determined to get her brother’s support,” We’ll have to spend the whole weekend in the office, then he’ll make us exercise.” Heaven forbid. A weekend of studying and exercise. Hell on Earth. That made Offspring #1 pause.

“I believe you’re old enough to a) tell him if you’re hungry, b) make yourself something to eat and c) you need to be in shape for cross-country.” 4 blue eyes look back at me, two are tear filled, two are rolling.

Should I stay? This was a terrible weekend to leave. Should I say my flight was cancelled? My mother would never know the truth. I have 2 other sisters who are very entertaining- she might not know I wasn’t there.

Oh but they needed me….Finally.

Recognizing that offspring #2 was concerned with her entree in to middle school, her fresh move 7,000 miles away, and her need to have complete order in her life, I left her what her father- of whom she is a female version- would need- an agenda. She and I reviewed the agenda which was then forwarded to Spouse and his secretary for cross check and coordination. A meal and back up plan were included in case I missed a flight, therefore the move. Offspring #2 approved the agenda.

I boarded the plane, settled in to my middle seat and as I tried to prepare for the next 12 hours I realized it was completely quiet. I had my Kindle, snacks, drinks, headphones, movies and I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s headphones, DVD player, suitcase, lost gum, batteries or any of the other moving related things that had been on my mind for the last 60 days.

Then I realized I was glad not to be the “Head of Household.”  I felt very Japanese in being able to enjoy the moment of handing over the “Head of Household” reigns to the person with whom I had and always will share that role.  All would be fine while I was gone. HOH was on duty.

Posted in Moving to Japan, Offspring | Tagged , | 6 Comments

Mom-Dad- Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

Posted on October 23, 2010 by Emily Cannell

That I’m an Alien?

I now have a card to prove it. This card must be on me at all times. Spouse and offspring are also aliens. Without this card, one is unable to get an apartment or cell phone. HMMM. How about a little “best practice” sharing between the US and Japan? When one inspects this card closely, quite a substantial amount of information can be garnered about me if you care to dig deeper. For instance, my nationality is Pennsylvania. Look at my picture- it is very humid here. The Head of the Household is identified. Interestingly, I am not the Head of the Household.

Aren’t all women the “Heads of the Households”? Men are the primary Breadwinners in many instances and my observation has been that usually women “run” the day-to-day operations of the “Household.” For 18 years spouse and I shared the title “Head of Household”since I worked full-time. I assumed full duty when I left work and roles changed. This alien registration card made me think about this topic and the changes it’s had on our lives and on this move in particular.

To be continued….

 

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Stop #1 on the Tokyo Tour

Posted on October 22, 2010 by Emily Cannell

So have we actually been anywhere? The Nose and The Tourist (my sisters) are getting antsy with my posts about life and are anxious for me to get on with “the Japan stuff.” I’ve been wrestling with my informative Japan posts because Spouse said – in a very nice end of year review sort of way- they read like Wikipedia. His words- “not my voice.” My words? Boring.Visions of a new catchy title popped in my mind-  the “B Series” Bad, Blah, Basic and a few other b words. In my defense, I’ve been sensitive to insulting my country hosts therefore I’ve kept the few I’ve written to verbal spewings of facts which I must admit have not made for a robust read. It is true that the same abnormal thoughts  go through my head when viewing national landmarks as do all the other aspects of my life. At the risk of being shunned by my few Japanese friends who have not learned to completely ignore everything I say and do that is offensive, following is a summary of scouting trip I did to Sensoji Temple circa 628 AD.

Follow  your nose to this Temple in Asakusa- the oldest in Tokyo. The Gods of Thunder and Wind guard the front entrance while the Goddess of Healing- the Kannon- is housed within. You smell it before you see it. People burn incense as the smoke is supposed to have healing powers. I don’t believe anything not FDA approved has healing powers. Although I consider myself to be a fervent Catholic and have taught the confirmation year for  many of our precious Catholic youngsters, I still don’t believe that visiting an entombed saint’s finger will cure your arthritis or calling upon the numerous beheaded patron saints of migraines will cure headaches so please don’t take it personally. My suggestion when visiting the Temple is to buy a map across the street and use it to fan your neighbor’s freshly purchased incense toward your ailments just in case. That way your covered but haven’t wasted any money. Pat smoke on your head because this cure-all incense “Breath of the Buddha” will also  make you smarter. I know some people to whom I will recommend a trip to this location…

I nicknamed this the Camera Temple in order to help me keep it straight vs all the other temples in Japan. The founder of Panasonic donated the entrance to the Temple and the “Canon” camera was named after the Kannon Goddess. Take that Wikipedia.

Following is proof that I do in fact live in Japan:

 

Entrance to Sensoji Temple Built 628

 

Incense

 

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The Incredible Shrinking Woman

Posted on October 20, 2010 by Emily Cannell

It is true, the Japanese are smaller than Westerners. The largest shoe size available for women is an “8” according to a friend of mine who works for Nike Japan. Shoes are also wider than American counterparts- thank goodness for me. According to Offspring #2, the reason I swim “so fast” is due to the uncanny resemblance of my wide, triangular feet to the duck species. Spouse is not so lucky, towering a full foot above the average Japanese male, all clothes must come from home. A nice boon for the family however, as it makes him easy to spot in a crowd.

The Japanese are also smaller around the middle. How could that be with a population that eats rice at every meal- including breakfast? Spouse and I are also starting to shrink. Not by choice. Not that I couldn’t use a nip and tuck here or there. Back fat doesn’t look good no matter tightly squeezed in a Tshirt but here’s my issue- I don’t want to be forced. I like to be in control of my shape- or lack of it.

Example #1 Forced Portion Sizes: This is the biggest serving of ice cream one can buy at the grocery store. What was formerly the family “bite size” has become the family “portion size.” This little gem costs the same as a 1 gallon size back home. I’m shedding tears and pounds as I write.

Bread is in extremely short supply and when you can buy it there isn’t much of it. Here’s a large loaf. At least the butt ends are removed.

Example #2- Increased fruit portions: The fruit is lovingly wrapped and presented in such a “take me home- I’m delicious” sort of way. You have to buy it. No rotten fruit allowed in the grocery store- No flies, no bruises. Through some Japanese trick, we’re all eating more strange fruit. This is a cross between a pear and an apple.

 

Example #3- Make What is “Bad for You ” inedible: Then there are times when you bite in to what you think is a perfect replica of a New York bagel (ie bad carb) only to find it has been the victim of a favorite Japanese cooking technique- fruit filling. Looks perfect on the outside- disgusting on the inside.

Example #4- The Sweets aren’t Sweet: Following is a picture of a Japanese sweet. These are rice crackers covered with sugar and salt. I don’t know any kid that would dive into this bowl with the same enthusiasm as a bowl of M&Ms.

Example #5 Exercise: I guess some of the unaccounted for slimming can be attributed to the carting of said groceries on my back and on foot. I guess it is actually true that one loses weight when more calories burned exceeds calories ingested. Of course, Tokyo is a walking culture due to the public transportation system however, the Japanese are exercisers.

One of the first Sunday mornings after our arrival, I went for an early morning run. I was engulfed and subsequently passed by several groups of elderly out doing their first loop. Hundreds of people all do Tai Chi at the same time- all perfectly silent. Creepy. I noticed many lovely couples, mixed and same-sex running hand and hand joined with bands. How sweet. Then it dawned on me- they’re blind. All passing me like I was standing still.

I expect some guy with a trench coat, hat, and sunglasses will pop out from behind a tree and say,” Ambler angel, we know you abused your body in the 80’s, you’ve been involuntarily enrolled in a placebo controlled, double-blind, randomized, study involving looking at the impact of a forced Asian diet in the reversal of Western living on longevity. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

At the end of the day, it all boils down to this: no food out of a box, more fruit, less sugar, more exercise, fewer calories- I wonder if this healthy living will help spouse and me live to 100. If I make it to 100, I’m going to start smoking again and he’ll fish longer. Now that’s something to look forward to…

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“M” Series Cont’d: Manic- Is it Me, My Spouse or a Middle Schooler?

Posted on October 18, 2010 by Emily Cannell

The “M” Series: All of us with teenagers of a certain age are used to certain characteristics exhibited by these cretins, specifically a lack of motivation for academia, an inability to plan, and an unwillingness to accept advice from eager, over achieving parents. Imagine the manic phase spouse and I enjoyed when Offspring #1 no longer needed the simultaneous “carrot and stick” methodology of encouragement /slash/ berating usually required to complete an assignment. We felt like teenagers ourselves minus the enhancing body changes.

It started with a simple,”I need to go to the Loft and get a poster board.”

Spouse and I looked at each other.

“And what else?” I asked. Certainly he needed something he didn’t want his mother to pick up on his behalf.

“Nothing- just a poster board for a Japanese project. I’m going to work on it in Dad’s office.” Now we were utterly confused.

“I was going in to the office now- do you want me to go with you instead?” Spouse can hardly contain his enthusiasm at this point. He’ll prolong the office visit for hours if he needs to in order to encourage this spark of initiative.

“No- I’ll take the train to the Loft and then to your office.” WHAT!!! Offspring #1 has thought out a plan? He’s realized he has a due date, needs a poster board, and is going to take a train to get supplies? No mom required? It’s only 9:00 AM the day before the due date?

Spouse and I are tempted to look out the window for fire, comets in the sky- anything indicative of a world ending event.

“I’ll just get what I need and meet you at the office.”

Huh? Is drool dripping down the side of my face?

ALL BY HIMSELF? I just spent a day in Tokyo with 10 adult women, 7 of whom still can’t navigate alone on the subway. One couldn’t count Japanese coins. Of course, he did teach Offspring #2 and me how to ride the subway so he is certainly capable of doing this by himself. What else does he know that I don’t know he knows?

Later that day, after riding all over Tokyo on the subway and researching the information at Spouse’s office, he’s finalizing his masterpiece.

“Mom- how does it look?” An opinion requested? Now I’m getting out the thermometer. The rectal thermometer.

Ooh- I see a misspelled word. Mayhem. Meltdown.

“Are you sure that’s spelled right?”

“Oh- it’s not. Thanks”

WHAT!! Could it be maturity is setting in? He’s ok with a mistake pointed out by his mother at the bottom of the ninth? This usually ends up with 10 stomps toward his bedroom and one slammed door that shakes the building sending hundreds of roosting crows squawking and flying toward Kyoto.

Other experienced moms- whom I trust- informed me that this age was a miraculous one- maturation in school. Helicoptering no longer necessary. (Yes- I admit it. I did it) Could an Offspring go from oblivious to enlightened in 3 months? Apparently so.

Spouse and I are in a manic phase. Offspring #1 is in a maturation phase. Now better check to see what Offspring #2 is morphing in to….

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The “M” Series Cont’d: Can a Mouse Save a Moody Middle Schooler?

Posted on October 17, 2010 by Emily Cannell

The “M” Series: Culture shock Phase 3 has set in for Offspring #1. Any one who lives with or ever was a hormone infused teenager knows that drastic hormonal swings crossed with culture shock leads to a chemical and potentially combustible reaction with seismic proportions requiring an immediate and Herculean intervention. During this phase of culture shock, Offspring #1 is craving all things American. Food, words, friends, sports and anything else that resembles home are mandatory. At this point in culture shock, all things related to Japan are sending Offspring #1 in to meltdown mode. These are all classic characteristics of this phase. The question to be answered is how best to manage this middle school mess. Of course there are American food chains here- TGI Fridays, Dennys, Starbucks but a feeble attempt at a real solution utilizing a one pronged approach such as food is best left for  earlier stages of culture shock. I need a grand gesture that completely ensnares Offspring #1’s unwilling attention, imitates complete immersion thus having longer lasting impact and will be acceptable in which to participate with one’s mother and younger sibling, and is without question American. There is only one solution that I can find. You’ll see I didn’t get kicked out of marketing without picking up some tips on branding.

Disneyland. Disneyland Tokyo to be specific. Mickey, Minnie, a few princesses, the same lay out as all the other Disney properties, candy, hot dogs, classic Americana and it’s an all day – ride em hard put em away wet- event. Perfect. Or so I thought…

I always like to get there at park open. In Disneyland California, no one really gets there until the hotel buffets close at 11:00 so we have the park to ourselves. We arrived at the train station to Disney with the rest of Tokyo- at 7:30 AM. Not a kid in site.

“Don’t worry kids. It’s always crowded at the beginning because everyone is waiting for the park to open- if it’s crowded at Disney – we’ll just go over to Disney Sea- no body likes to spring for both sides it’s too expensive.”

At the ticket counter I ask for the park hopper pass. She gives me the cross arms. That’s when one crosses both arms over the chest in an “x” formation and it means NO in Japan. No explanation. Just “NO.” She speaks perfect English. Humm. Crowd control in place. Bad sign.

“Ok kids- we’ll just have to make do with Disneyland.”

The gates are opened and everyone starts running. Ok- everyone does that everywhere. Except that the Japanese do that all day. They run from one ride to the next all day. We should have run because after the first ride, the following ride lines were 2-3 hours.

“Not to worry- fast passes. We’ll get fast passes and then eat.” We were all craving the Mickey Mouse shaped waffles. Maybe Disney had imported the nice fatty bacon from the US. We were all so tired of the healthy hammy version served here. The waffles smelled so good. Offspring #1 and I talked about the crunchy outside and the thick syrup. We all agreed to eat Dumbo’s weight in waffles.

“Tomorrowland by the cars- in that space center food stop.”

Here was breakfast:

The waffles we smelled were the Mickey shaped pastries filled with cheese or banana. Other choices included beef Korean Wrap, Star Shaped Shrimp and Pork Bun, along with a Milk fruit jellied drink.We decided to try the Vietnamese wraps. Good. Not waffles but good. On to Splash Mountain.

Fast Pass entrance was at 12:00-1:00. At 9:30 we entered the line. We got out of Splash Mountain at 1:00, in time for our fast pass. I told the kids we really hadn’t waited in line for 3.5 hours. Since we had fast passes, we only waited one hour and a half  (or so) for each ride. We went again.

Now Offspring #1 needed to satisfy his craving for ice cream in a cone. Like circling vultures, we followed the path of ice cream cone licking park dwellers. Two flavors- Pumpkin and Milk. The Japanese don’t like  their sweets as sweet as Americans so the ice cream tasted just like their names – pumpkin and milk. No sugar. Yummy. Snack food choices were extremely limited. It was either the ice cream or smoked turkey legs which apparently are a crowd favorite. Lunchtime looked like a Viking festival.

Let’s see- by now our debate centered on food vs rides. A long line could starve us so best to eat now. Choices? Hot dog- no. Hamburger-no. Chicken burger- no. Chicken nuggets-no. None of the old Disney stand bys. Korean Bbq-yes. Sushi-yes. Beef and rice-yes. Vietnamese food-yes. Chinese food-yes. One slice of ham and pineapple pizza or sea food pizza-yes. When was the last time you had seafood pizza?

How about a drink? Green tea- yes, oolong tea- yes, coke-yes, water-yes. That’s it.

2:00

Space Mountain. Line time- 90 minutes. We looked at each other.

Offspring #1- “I really just want candy” Music to my ears. I see an opportunity to negotiate my way out of Disney.

Offspring #2-” Me too”

Me- “I’ll buy you all the candy you want if we can leave after.”

Offspring #2- “How about we shop some after then leave.”

Me- “Deal,” She knew I was weak.

What’s that annoyance in the background? ” Halloween, party on, Halloween, party on…” PARADE!!!!

We’ve got to move or we’re going to be blocked in by the parade.

Offspring #1- the Nasal navigator of this generation- starts to lead us around the parade route. Green things on skates are twirling in our direction. A purple float continues to appear over tree tops threatening to trap us at every turn. We get stuck at the Magic Castle.

“Should we just run through the parade?” I’m crazed with desire to get out of Disneyland. I can outrun all these Disney people. What are they going to do to us if we cross the parade in motion? Maybe one of the green things could hunt us down on skates.

“I think we can go around the back and cut through after the purple float” a clear-headed Offspring #1 responds looking at me baffled. Not only have I lost my mind in his view I’m premeditating embarrassing situations in which to put he and Offspring #2.

We make a break and end up on Disney Main Street. The Confectioner’s Store. Home to all things sweet. Except here. It was a mirage for candy. Nothing worse than wanting candy and getting rice crackers.

Offspring #2 dives in like Jacques Cousteau on the hunt for a rare species of sea urchin  but she’s scouring the store for candy of any kind. She surfaces jubilant with a small sack of lozenges possibly the only sugar filled snack in Disney Tokyo. The Disney Confectioners Store might have been #5 on the “Top 10 Most Disappointing Things of My Middle School Years” for both Offspring. Offspring #1 suggested that Grandma FedEX him Orange Tic Tacs as consolation.

Shopping. Let’s just say, that the offspring are still adjusting to a new styles here:

We decided to re-evaluate our position. Hang out in line for the next 3 hours, eat smoked turkey legs, or stop by the “$50 Grocery Store”  for American candy- my nickname for the International grocery store where a small brown lunch bag of items costs $50- and buy two bags full of American candy.

What’s $100 more for a crisis aversion? Maybe x2?

Posted in "M" Series, Moving to Japan, Offspring, Places | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

Hundreds of Centenarians are Missing- I Know Where they are

Posted on October 14, 2010 by Emily Cannell

A recent Japanese scandal has sent thousands of Japanese bureaucrats scouring the countryside searching for missing centenarians for whom Japan is famous. If these “Salary Men,” as they are referred to here, would look out the passenger window they would see all the missing centenarians passing their traffic entrenched government issued Toyotas whizzing past on bikes. These missing centenarians are ubiquitous and not at home in bed where the salary men are currently searching.

If one rides a bus it’s impossible to land a seat for the firmly established ancients have commandeered all the seats from the younger passengers. Firmly followed etiquette demands that younger riders yield seats to older riders or pregnant women and it is followed to the letter. I derive much pleasure watching young rebels get scolded then ejected if they defy custom. It’s the closest to literal hen pecking that exists. As most buses are stepless, these elderly wanderers prefer this to all other forms of mass transportation.

I wrote “mass” transportation. The preferred form of transportation seems to be the bike.

Offspring #2 “I hate how these old people drive so fast. They cut too close when they go by.” The scolding stuck in my throat as I dodged 3 more over 80’s whizzing by, rain coats flapping in the tailwind, Gilligan hats firmly strapped down, peddling fast, and dodging puddles as if this was level 5 on a Nintendo DS game. Don’t they know what a fall could do at their age? How about wearing a helmet at least? Do they mentally regress towards the twenties where one has no understanding of mortality or do they have no regard for their impending demise?

Thus far my humiliations in Japan have all been at the hands of these relics. Every morning I limp over to the park for a mind clearing run only to be passed by the shuffling herd of fossils. Those not doing the shuffle participate in a “Tai Chi” clutch about 400 strong. Tokyo during the summer is like living in New Orleans on a hot summer day plus 15 degrees, however these old folks apparently more disturbed by skin cancer than slow roasting are usually covered from head to toe in clothing. I’d be running nude if it allowed me a comfortable place to carry my alien registration card which must be on my person at all times.

Imagine my surprise when not once, but twice, elderly movers appeared on my doorstep. Not centenarians but certainly not a day under 65. When was the last time your moving crew was over the age of 30? I felt that I should be carrying boxes until I observed these men in action- strong, fast, and hardworking.

Smell. They don’t smell. I can stop there.

I’m fascinated by the following fact. According to my Japanese friends, the definition of “old” in Japan is 85. One of my friends said his Dad is still young. He’s 80. Think about this. Tradition in Asian countries dictates that family’s care for the elderly who typically either live together or on the same block.In theory the 100 yr old centenarian is cared for by her 80-year-old daughter who is cared for by her 60-year-old daughter all in one house. It’s no wonder the average age for marriage among women in Japan is 30. Who wants all those hormones under one roof!

I’ve become embarrassingly fixated on these geriatrics. How do they get to be so old and healthy? I watch them carefully. I try to take their pictures but end up likened to a bad Inspector Clouseau. These wily, crafty oldies turn away or tell me “Iie.” I hide in the bushes. They see me. They cluck their tongues. Foiled again. They have more experience than me. So- sorry- no pictures, blurry or otherwise.

I’m determined to age in a healthy way too. I’m drinking gallons of green tea and having to use the squat toilets as a result. No more red meat- for anyone in the family. I’m dragging them down with me. Only fruits and vegetables in season- the old way. Rice, tofu and miso at every meal. I’m cooking Japanese meals- well, if I’m honest with myself, I was never a good American cook and I’m too lazy to go to the International grocery store but it fits with the healthier aging new more Japanese me.

I’m not doing Tai Chi. I draw the line at that.

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