Hi...

We found five kittens, found homes for four of them and kept one. His name is Ebi, which means shrimp in Japanese, because his coloring resembles that of a cooked shrimp. He's really cute, but has some bad habits which seem to be hereditary, because all his brothers and sisters do it, too. Or maybe its just a kitten thing to pretend your caretaker is a tree, and climb on them. Or climb on the table, the drapes, and other places where you tell him repeatedly not to climb. Or sleep on your caretaker's face...Ebi isn't as bad as his brother Angel, who actually sleeps ON my friend's face, he chooses to sleep next to my face, and in between Shinpei and I on one of our pillows. He is actually a really adorable kitten, and he has made our lives so much more peaceful just by being around.

On another note, Turkey Day came and went. So fast. And I didn't have any turkey. Grrr.
Hopefully there will be one at a Christmas Dinner... I did get my pumpkin pie fix, however, thanks to Costco!! Thanksgiving Day is an interesting holiday to teach in Japan. It was fun to make turkeys with the elementary school kids and teach them words of thanks in their lives. I think that we all forget how much we have, and it is important every day to reiterate some little place in your life that you are thankful for. Thanksgiving is just a reminder to do that.

Too bad the day that was chosen by my country to praise life, was the day that the Massachusetts Puritans chose to massacre 700 men, women and children in what was also referred to as the Piquot "War". (This is just one example of the lies that the country tells to protect the Church. Children are never taught, for example, what all of the Missions in California were really for, either.) I learned about it while searching for information on Thanksgiving. I knew the holiday was probably not as happy as it seemed, from what I had learned in college about the number of natives who died due to Small Pox and other European illnesses when the pilgrims came, but I had no idea that the actual naming of the holiday had this dark of a history.

Well, if we were to dwell on all of the horrible things that have happened in the past, we would never be able to move on. It is important to know what happened, so that one can understand the present, and one can possibly prevent future similar occurrences. It is also crucial to a positive and healthy progression to forgive what happened 200 years ago, or 20, or 2, if the aggravation is no longer occurring, to move on for one's own health.
Today's lesson; to forgive and forget so that we can move on. Much harder when it is my own skin, but nonetheless important...

Last night we watched the Golden Compass. Shinpei commented on how fractured the plot was. We discussed why there might have not been a sequel, when one was promised. And then he commented on the anti-Christian angle of the film. I looked it up online at that point, and lo and behold, the story is based on a series of books called "His Dark Materials" by Phillip Pullman. According to Wiki, He won several medals for the series and is considered one of the best authors of the past 50 years, but the series has a very anti-religious sentiment. How it got into Hollywood is beyond me. The film went through a lot of change, because I guess people didn't read the script before they OK'd it... So that explains the choppy plot; a bunch of it is missing. And after it was made, with plans for a sequel, it got canned due to the anti-Christian aspects of the series, almost imperceptible in the film. Secular people complained that the religious aspects had not been addressed, and the religous people complained that the film was based on something that they didn't approve of. So the sequels won't happen. The books are available on Amazon, however, and I am going to order them asap. I want to know what all the hubbub is about, and hear what Mr. Pullman's religious viewpoint is. Is he a devil worshipper? Is he flagrantly insulting to the Church and the Heavenly Father? Why? Novels are better than movies anyway...

Immigrants' Stories

We have been watching The Sound of Music in the JHS 2nd grade class. First, I would like to say that I think this movie is amazing. What a great film. It has a bit of everything very well orchestrated into it. It is funny, sad, happy, elegant, down-to-earth, and very well composed. The directing, acting, and camera work is great. And the plot is really good. I saw this movie when I was about seven, but I was too young to know enough about life to appreciate it.
It constantly reminds me of my father in Mexico when we watch it. He is Austrian, and the movie is about Austrians. It shows us the culture before the second world war. It is a culture that I know he yearns for, a beautiful culture of elegant waltzes, classical music, quiet mountains, and many other things. I am sure, if I were to see a movie about Cuba, the same thing would happen with regard to my mother.
It makes me realize that I have chosen the same path. The path of the immigrant.
The other night I had a dream. I was in the mountains somewhere in California. I had met some people at the store. A young woman, a young man and an older woman. They were laughing and talking in the checkout isle. The man began to sing a short song, an addition to what we were talking about. And then the young checkout woman said to me "Why don't you stay here? It is fun, the people are nice. You would probably be happy here." I began to cry, and I woke up crying. It had been a long time since that happened. I realized how much I still missed being in the US, the way the people so freely greet strangers, and treat people like they are important, even if they don't know them, how easy it is to make real friends. But all of these feelings and this nostalgia are meaningless. The fact is that I am an immigrant. I have married a foreign man and moved to a foreign land. No one understands or cares, why should they? They didn't leave their homeland. I have chosen a lonely path, perhaps. Or perhaps it takes years to build a life, and most people have started from childhood, but I started 5 years ago, as an adult. I am not lonely with my husband; he is a lovely man, and very masculine and very proud. He is always at my side, if I should need someone, he is there for me. So I have the seed of a life here, and slowly, little by little, am meeting people and learning the language to a point of semi-literacy. And I am learning what it means to be Japanese, not in the obvious ways, but the ways that I am sure the Japanese Immigrants miss so much when they have left their home to live abroad. The quiet nature of homelife. What it means to be proud of yourself because you have really tried and prevailed at something, and then to keep going. Patience. The art of focus. And littler things... that I might not notice until I left, to go back to my homeland, and then looking back, realized how they had struck me so deeply. This may also be the plight of the Immigrant. That time and space always move forward, but that your become a part of that moving sphere, and once separated, are lost, in some part, forever. We can never go back. To where we were born, or to the place where we lived for some years.

Immigrants never forget their homeland. They never forget the way that people interacted. They never forget the little things, like how the place looked, the shapes and styles of things, when people smiled, when people connected, the sounds, the smells, the tastes. Those things may fall away with the years, changing, but for the immigrant, and perhaps, for the elderly as well, the nostalgia of a life never goes away. It lives forever in their hearts.

I am planting a garden. There is a Pineapple Guava in it. It is a rare ornamental here. I am also planting all sorts of citrus fruits, which are very popular here. I hope that my garden will flourish. It resembles my hopes.

Past, Present and Future

My stepmother, Lidija, called me last night. She said that my grandma had a stroke. She can't move half of her body, and she can't talk.
My mother's mother and father I often worry about. They have been getting older.
Lidija recently had a baby.
My brother's wife is pregnant.
He and his wife just got married.
I just got married a year ago.
I miss my family.
I feel like at this time, past and present and future are at a crossroads.
There are many people being born. People getting married. People near death.

I am painting a painting for the Geijitsusai, an art and music exhibit.
It is called memories. It is a memory of my mother's mother when she used to rock me, and all the memories of her life behind her, like a map. We are being watched over by a sparrow.
She loves sparrows, and so do I. When I was a baby,I used to sleep at her house. Early in the morning, the sparrows would come to play in her driveway and the roses below the window. They would wake me up with their joyful chatter. So at 5 AM in the morning, I would wake up and run to her bed and say,
"Mama Nene, Mama Nene! Los pio pios estan cantando!!" which means Mama Nene, Mama Nene! The pio pios are singing! (Time to wake up) To which she would sleepily respond, "Go back to sleep, Sofia! Its 5:00 in the morning..." I would go back and watch the birdies for hours until she woke up.