Up and Over

No Blue Moon in Japan

Strangely enough, the Blue Moon does not show on my Moon Calendar for 2009 Japan. I guess this answers my cosmic question: Do sky events occur at the
same relative times in the West and the East?

The moon calendar shows the phase of the moon for each day. You can see Wednesday, December 2, marked as a full moon and Wednesday December 16 marked as a new moon. But Thursday, December 31st is not marked as a full moon in Japan.

Winter solstice

17 December 2009 sunrise is clear compared with the snow-clouds of the 21 December 2009.
My hand measurement is three outspread hands from the summer solstice sunrise.
My point of view: Kita ku, Kyoto roof.
Camera lacks angle sufficient to capture the spread from solstice to solstice.
Summer solstice is to the north of Mt. Hiei, winter soltice to the south of Mt. Hiei.

My prediction of three and a third hands was too far by a third of a hand.

Cancer Diary Part 2

２００９年１２月１０日
準備して　おります。
二週間後　 通常の生命　を　終わります。
一年で一番短い日に　病院へ行きます。１２月２１日は 冬至　です。
大丈夫かな。
痛みも　涙も　欲しくない。

ーーーーーーー
2009 年１２月１１日

スタイータスーが変わった。
名声とか、お金持ちとか、 結婚とかがどうでもよくなった。
誕生だけが死と同等だ。
猫は　私が元気と　思っているらしい。
良かった。
おいしい食べ物。　　母が　近くにいる　気持ちだ。
子供の時　母のタバコの吸い殻を　見つけた。　
子供だったので　タバコではなく、 レポート用紙だとおもった。
大学校で　私は　タバコ　を　すいはじめた。

ガン 日記

ガン　日記

２１年 １２月 三日

これから、なにも　知らないこと　は　無理だ。
昨日　医者は　病気と　言いましたから。「がんだ　残念　です。」

二年後に　死にます。

だんだん　１０月から　信じられるなった。

始めは　４月のことでした。黒子（ほくろ) に悩ん（なやむ）でいました。　英語　ではbeauty spot　と　言います。　少し　あぶないものです。　１０月に　黒子は　消えた。


うんがいい。　その間　はやく　ガン　が　見つかった。　

元気　らしい。　お母さん、おじさん、従姉（いとこ）　家族が　三人　ガンで　突然　死んだ。

全人　タバコ　を　止めた。

ーーーーー
２００９年１２月４日



医者は黒子を除去し、血液検査をした。黒子はガンではなかった。医者は京都大学病院を紹介してくれた。そこで肺がんであることが判明し。肺に痛みを感じたのは一回だけ。その時、「殺されてしまう。」と思いました。　今日、その時、奇妙な感じを味わったことを思い出した．
兄は「前触れがあったか」と聞きました。



そして、あの夢。１０月３１日。友人が８年間前に死にました。夢の中で、姿はみえなかったが、遊びながら話をしました。彼は言いました。「私を探して下さい。」
ーーーー
２００９年１２月5日

写真を見なかったら、信じられない。写真が　たくさん　あったが　ほんとは写真じゃない。スキャンしたものとか、レントゲンなど。

血液検査の結果　は　悪かったので、医者はどこが悪いのですかと聞きました。
レントゲンとスキャンをして、１週間後にやっと 私は自分が病気であることが分かるようになった。

病院で、肺の専門医の所に行った。　
何かが肺の中にあります。これは　なん　ですか。　　まだ　分からな。

pet-ct.の検査。１週間　待って　下さい。　私は映画を　たくさん　見たり、　ピアノ　を　ひいたり、　散歩を　した。

病院で、　のど　と　腕　と　肺の間、　 pet-ct　検査の写真は　黄色。　　　 医者はのどから採った細胞をもっていました。

医者は１週間　待って　下さいと言いました。　１週間私にはきれいで、ながい命がありました。

秋。　京都。　寒くなった。　　２００８年から　京都に　すんで。　京都は日本の心　と　言う　ようです。　ここで、　死ぬために　日本人はやって　来る。

そうか。　場所が　良い。



ーーーー
２００９年１２月６日
兄も　姉も　家族も　恋人もみんな泣いている。
かれらがそんなに悲しそうに泣くのは見ていられない。
私もまもなく泣くだろう。
まだ　泣かない。　まだ　亡くならない。　
命がおしくないのか。
母は　６１歳で　死んだ、誕生日の日だった。　来年　私も　６１歳。　

notebook prediction of solstice locale

Predicting the winter solstice

A few weeks ago, I posted here a drawing of my prediction of the apparent place of sunrise on the winter solstice, based on my observations of the summer solstice and the spring equinox.

There was a request from the post: "how did you figure that out?"

I post photos of my notebook page of my original calculations. Let me explain.

I had three observations of distance and time. The velocity is a constant. d/t=v.
For distance, I used my outspread hands to measure along the mountain range at the east side of Kyoto. The northernmost point of sunrise was summer equinox, north of Mt. Heie, the tallest mountain in the range. The equinox point was a little south of Mt. Heie.

On November 29, the dawn was clear, and my observation of the sunrise point measure three hands (fingers outspread) from the sunrise point of the summer solstice. I had made observations by photograph.

I realized I could use algebra. The unknown, x, would be the sunrise point of winter solstice.

Summer solstice-------------Equinox----------------November 29----Winter solstice

/\/\ *---------------------/\========*-----------------------/\*----?????????
pair of hills=============Mt. Heie=========================hill=====SOLSTIÇE?

[three hands with fingers outstretched ========================][=====x =====]
[six months================================================================== ]
[six months minus three weeks===================================][three weeks]


d/t=v
EQUATION ONE 3 handwidths + x/6 months = v
EQUATION TWO 3 handwidths/6 months - three weeks = v

EQUATION ONE = EQUATION TWO
3 handwidths + x/6 months=3 handwidths/6 months - three weeks

I set up equation below and solved for x.

Let x = distance (hand widths with fingers outstretched) of sunrise from Nov. 29 to December 21
H = hand with stretched fingers , including thumb

Line one (3H + xH)/24 weeks = 3H/21 weeks

Line two 3H(24 weeks)=21 weeks(3H+xH)
Line three 3H (24 weeks)=3H(21 weeks) + xH(21 weeks)
Line four 3H(24 weeks) - 3H(21 weeks)= xH(21 weeks)
Line five 3H(8 weeks) - 3H (7 weeks) = xH(7 weeks)
Line six 3H(one week)=xH(7 weeks)
Line seven 3H ( one week)/7weeks=xH
Line eight 3/7H=xH
Line nine 3/7=x



x equaled 3/7 HAND. I could look at the mountain range and measure 3 and 3/7 HAND to predict the point of sunrise on the winter solstice.

Prediction equation for winter solstice

A few weeks ago, I posted here a drawing of my prediction of the apparent place of sunrise on the winter solstice, based on my observations of the summer solstice and the spring equinox.

There was a request from the post: “how did you figure that out?”

I post photos of my notebook page of my original calculations. Let me explain.

I had three observations of distance and time. The velocity is a constant. d/t=v.
For distance, I used my outspread hands to measure along the mountain range at the east side of Kyoto. The northernmost point of sunrise was summer equinox, north of Mt. Heie, the tallest mountain in the range. The equinox point was a little south of Mt. Heie.

On November 29, the dawn was clear, and my observation of the sunrise point measure three hands (fingers outspread) from the sunrise point of the summer solstice. I had made observations by photograph.

I realized I could use algebra. The unknown, x, would be the sunrise point of winter solstice.

Summer solstice-------------Equinox----------------November 29----Winter solstice

/\/\ *---------------------/\ *----------------------------/\* --------------- ?????????
pair of hills Mt. Heie hill

[three hands with fingers outstretched ][ x ]
[six months ]
[six months minus three weeks ] [three weeks ]


d/t=v
EQUATION ONE 3 handwidths + x/6 months = v
EQUATION TWO 3 handwidths/6 months – three weeks = v

EQUATION ONE = EQUATION TWO
3 handwidths + x/6 months=3 handwidths/6 months – three weeks

I set up equation below and solved for x.

Let x = distance (hand widths with fingers outstretched) of sunrise from Nov. 29 to December 21
H = hand with stretched fingers , including thumb

Line one (3H + xH)/24 weeks = 3H/21 weeks

Line two 3H(24 weeks)=21 weeks(3H+xH)
Line three 3H (24 weeks)=3H(21 weeks) + xH(21 weeks)
Line four 3H(24 weeks) – 3H(21 weeks)= xH(21 weeks)
Line five 3H(8 weeks) – 3H (7 weeks) = xH(7 weeks)
Line six 3H(one week)=xH(7 weeks)
Line seven 3H ( one week)/7weeks=xH
Line eight 3/7H=xH
Line nine 3/7=x



x equaled 3/7 HAND. I could look at the mountain range and measure 3 and 3/7 HAND to predict the point of sunrise on the winter solstice.

Winter solstice prediction

Three weeks remain to the winter solstice. My calculations predict the point (pen cartridge center) of apparent sunrise. Check back in December!

Murder, snakes, gambling--in the garden!

A volunteer at the Kyoto Botanical Garden last week pointed out local lore. The thorn on the Ninja Star Tree recalls--in shape and size-- a weapon thrown by a ferocious deadly band of warriors.
The gourd on a vine seems to snake along the ground.
Finally, the so-called gambling tree drops bark in large pieces, its exterior wealth peeling like throwing away money. If I understood correctly.

Forgotten parasol

Hanging parasol
Forgotten with kiwi vines
Afternoon arbor

Fall Equinox

The autumn equinox at sunrise

and the summer solstic sunrise


photos made easy by sleeping on the rooftop.
The precession of the equinoxes joined, too, by dedicated digital camera (canon powershop A590) which was preceded by a cell phone camera (Vodafone 802SE).

Mt. Hiei is the tallest in the range of eastern Kyoto at 848.1 metres (2,782 ft).

Brain glue

Lunch in the garden of a restaurant in a Kyoto temple, Daitoku-ji. Something rectangular, deep fried, served on sticks like long thick pine needles.

“What is it?”

The Zen vegetarian waitress returns. “Gu ru ten.”

I expect a Japanese word, and the conversational part of my brain won’t compute. But quietly I see another part of my brain spelling out “gluten”.

She tries another word. “Fu.”

“Barley? Rice?”

“No,” she answers clearly. “Ofu.”

This is definitely a Japanese word and I can remember a few hours.

At home, I consult Japanese dictionaries without success.

But “vegetarian zen” search of the internet brings up “wheat gluten,” “macrobiotic,” “fu (not to be found in Japanese dictionaries),” and so forth. Success.

By the way, the three sticks of gluten sustained me well past my usual dinner time.

Jazz in Japan

A duo perform jazz on September 5 in Kyoto. Above the restaurant, the proprietor has a third floor music room. A dozen folding chairs are set up. Armadillo guitars hang on the wall; lessons take place once a week.

Today, the musicians are a female Japanese vocalist and a male guitarist.

The singer explains in Japanese the two meanings of MEAN in “Mean to Me.”
“You're mean to me…
You shouldn't, for can't you see
What you mean to me.”

For another tune, she first explains that there are three sets of answers “Whatever will be, will be” in “Que Sera, Sera.”

A guest singer from the audience belts out Route 66, later asking my opinion of her pronunciation. The pronunciation and swing beat were great, and I would have liked to extend my compliment by saying that we Americans often riddle ourselves with the lyrics.

“Well it goes through St. Louis, Joplin, Missouri.
Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty.
See Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico.
Flagstaff Arizona, don't forget Winona.
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino….”

Encore request. “Got any more Billie Holiday?”
The vocalist calls out chords—in English—to the guitarist. They play an inspired, “Lover man, where can you be?”

My birthday

My birthday.

I can get into the Kyoto botanical garden free. The two or three dollar entry fee is waived, including for the greenhouse. I arrive at the early opening time, 7.30, for morning glory days. I show my identification card and say breezily to the guard, “Toshi o totte,” slang for “aged.” I notice others of my bent.

Westerners tend toward decades, arbitrarily, discussing a person’s years. In Japan, however, 60 signifies second childhood, I was told, because of being 5 times the 12 year astrological cycle.


In my Japanese language lesson, a grandmother appears on her birthday. The 88th birthday is called "rice celebration" because of the pun in kanji, lingual symbols from China used to write Japanese:

/\ eight

\ | /
----- rice
/ | \

米　　 rice


The 99th is "white birthday." The pun subtracts a horizontal line --"one" in kanji--from "a hundred" to arrive at a kanji that means "white."
百　 hundred　
minus 一　 minus one


becomes　白　 white


Mr. Kokawa, a professor whose specialty is dictionaries, agrees that word play on kanji is very popular in Japan.

“Double numbers are…” He searches for the word.

“Auspicious?”

“Yes, auspicious.”

He draws the kanji for “seven” three times and says it is slang for joyfulness, a homonym for yellow.

“Therefore, 77 is yellow celebration,” he explains. “Forget about the third 7. It is just there to make the pun.”

Hike in Osaka

Wanting to hike in Kyoto, not fluent in reading Japanese maps, trail markers, or cell phone GPS, I found a group called Kansai Ramblers. I call a phone number. The next hike? Tomorrow.

Well organized, a group of about 30 uses a portable bearing sign. In English, a paper with a hand pointing directions is held by small rocks at forks in the trail.

“People were dropping like flies at the last hike along here.” I wonder about first aid. The July weather is not as bad as it could have been. A few people besides me are native English speakers. Every one talks a lot during hiking. I am not used to hiking with so many people who move so close to one another. Distance pointer shows some 10 directions the viewpoint where we eat lunch.

Lunch rest. We brought lunches. Peanut butter and jelly for me, many box lunches among the others. A guy napped. This place name translates to "Tail of the Sword."

“Here is the summit,” a fellow American announces. The geological symbol is a concrete block about a cubic foot with a cross etched onto its top. Surprised, I thought the lunch spot was the top.

“It is good to hear the birds here,” the American tells me as we descend alongside a fence. “This is the Dioxin Dump site.” We are in a town called Nose, Japan, in northern Osaka.

“When was that?” I ask. “About 1997? I remember that Japanese friends went to a community meeting about dioxin near their home in Tokyo.”

“Right. There were compulsory citizen meetings.”

He asks three Japanese in Japanese, but nobody recalls the date.

There is a hot spring. About 4 pm, the ten of us who stayed for the onsen entered the building, paid the seven dollar fee, and went into the bath. The inside bath for women is crowded. I stand five minute wait. A cool bath and hot brown mineral bath inside, outside a clear hot pool. Nympaides.

Someone asks my name. “A man called from over there,” she says, indicating the other side of the bathing area hidden from sight.

Is someone signaling time to leave after less than 30 minutes?

I cannot identify any of the women with whom I hiked, and rather than staying for another round of baths, I exit the area and solicit help when I do not see any of my fellow hikers. A message is sent into the male and females bathers, who reply, yes, we are still here, see you in half an hour.

A train ride, a Chinese dinner, and one of the die-hard group buys a bag of ice cream sticks for the train back into town.

Piano, Unlocked

Piano, Unlocked

I didn’t know that a piano could be locked. A key was handed me with permission to play piano at university where I teach English. The acoustic sound is rich sweet and full. The empty room is large. Temperature control is good, a relief in four-season’d Japan. Tall trees reflect from the wood’s dark finish.

Tell Tale Thriller: Michael Jackson and Japanese cadets

For Performance Day 2005 at the National Defense Academy of Japan, each English class had to be on stage for seven minutes. English classes are mandatory each year of undergraduate education for cadets who need international communication skills.

One of my classes chose to perform Michael Jackson’s hit, “Thriller.” I declined to initiate a discussion about his child abuse trial that had just begun in the United States. The 20-year olds appointed a dance master, watched the video, cleared away desks and practiced for months. I tried to keep up.

Another class opted for "The Tell-Tale Heart." The students wrote a script and refused my offer of a metronome for the victim’s heart beat. Instead, the sound effects man called out in a loud, flat voice, “Do-ki, do ki."

He nodded acknowledgement of my praise. It sounded good, but I wondered what it meant. But linguistic discussion in a low level language class can be taboo. The question was not asked. Acceptable classroom level of inquiry restrains. Jackson was acquitted of all charges in June, during summer vacation.

In November in the big new auditorium commemorating the 50 year establishment of Japan’s security forces, I sat with my colleagues. The performance began with Poe. Ms. Horie whispered, “Do you know what ‘do-ki’ means?”

“An arbitrary sound?” I guessed.

“’Do-ki’ means ‘rapid heart beat,’” she told me. The two Japanese English teachers cited other Japanese onomatopoeia. A "sh" sound means tears, but "only a woman's tears."

I’d drilled pronunciation with a cadet about the mouse crawling across floor. “’It was only the wind in the chimney or a cricket chirp.’"

"She's a very good English speaker,” Mr. Horie said.

“I offered to shorten the sentences, but she protested," I recalled. Her performance was magnificent.

Five hours of skits proceeded. Shakespeare had been banned the previous year. Dance ensembles of Lion King and Sound of Music were popular this year.

A professional actor spoke at the end of the performance ceremony. "Don’t give up NDA to be a dancer," he said. "Except for the class that did 'Thriller.'”

I was elated. But he did not mention “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Perhaps he had arrived late.

"Please don't tear the flower."

Friday evening in June. The flower of the month in Japan is hydrangea. A man in front of a house tends round dark blue blooms. A sign hangs from a flower. I mimic, “Don’t pick the flowers?” The man assents, his posture apologetic.

A Japanese friend translates. The sign cautions, as a mother to a little child: "The flowers are crying. Please kindly don't tear the flowers."

Add a language, add a pun.

A Cat-like Mountain

Comparing landscapes to lifeshapes seems natural. A mountain near San Francisco is sometimes called “the sleeping Indian princess.” From different angles, one imagines postures for Mount Tamalpais.

Three hills stand near my apartment in Kyoto, a river valley surrounded by hills on three sides.

“Let’s go up to the roof,” I encourage visitors from out of town.

We can identify the famous hills with large markings in which there are summer fire ceremonies. But I did not know that the small hills had names.

After a day of sightseeing, strolling and learning local names and histories, we eat dinner in the apartment. The cat lays at the window.

“Takagamine!” exclaims Kazushi, pointing at the cat.

It is the name of one of the hills.

“Exactly,” I reply.

The New Flu Touches Me: a timeline

MONDAY, 11 May
I ask students in conversation classes at Kandai University what news item to discuss next.

“The flu.”
“The flu in Japan?” I ask.
“Yes,” they reply.
-------------
WEDNESDAY, May 13
I find English language flu information on the Ritsumeikan University website. I plan to ask students if our university has such information on its website.
-------------
SATURDAY, May 16
By chance, I meet an administrative assistant from Ritsumeikan University at a Kansai-Stanford annual event in Kyoto. I mention the flu page.

“We have a lot of short-term international travel among students,” she explains.

Someone else at the gathering mentions the news that a Kobe high school student had been diagnosed with the new flu.
-------------

SUNDAY, May 17
1340 hours. A phone call from Kandai informs me—in English-- that a meeting in progress will decide whether to cancel classes because of the flu. I am instructed to check the Kandai website in Japanese after 1500 hours to learn the decision.

“Will I get another phone call?”
“No.”
“Where on the website will the information be?”
“On the first page, on the upper right.”

I imagine that discussions about whether to close universities must be taking place all over western Japan this Sunday afternoon; I wonder whether the universities coordinate their discussions and decision making, and whether health agencies are involved.

1500 hours
I check the Kandai website. I see a posting about the flu, but it was uploaded in the morning.

1700 hours
I check the Kandai website again. There has still been no update since the morning. I send email to my boss at Kandai asking whether classes are canceled.
-------------
MONDAY, May 18, 2009
0520 hours
I check the Kandai website and find the new information in Japanese. I read enough words on “Translate Google” to convince me classes are canceled. The other information matches that from the Ritsumeikan University website regarding dangers, symptoms, referral websites.

I read my email, including a message sent Sunday night about 2300 hours from a head of English department that classes at Osaka University are cancelled all week. Osaka University is the other university at which I teach:

“Dear Colleague,
I am writing to you to let you know that Osaka University has just decided to close all classes from 17th to 24th because of the recent cases of influenza. Please keep watching the University homepage for further information.”

0800 hours
A Japanese friend who also teaches at Osaka University sends email:

“Here is a announcement about cancellation of all lectures at Osaka University. According to newspapers Kandai University also canceled all classes. (Please make sure by yourself).”

I teach Tuesdays at Osaka University.

0930 hours
My boss at Kandai confirms class cancellation. I teach classes Monday and Wednesday at Kandai.

Noon
I get a phone call from Osaka University, in Japanese. I confirm in English: classes are canceled this week. I am to consult the university website frequently to find out whether classes will be cancelled next week.

1500 hours
I twitter about university closures: “Shrill Sunday phone call. Epidemic start or end. Colleges are closed.”

1600 hours
I read New York Times article headlined “W.H.O. May Raise Alert Level as Swine Flu Cases Leap in Japan”

1700 hours
I get the Japanese newspapers. Frontpage stories illustrate the "new flu" fear as people wearing masks: 5000 parents buy masks. A masked mother and daughter shop for disinfectant. Numbers of infected people range to 96.

ONE is the most difficult number

“ONE” IS THE MOST DIFFICULT KANJI

I go to teach at the university by train at 7 in the morning. I scan the advertisements and news and inspirational messages that adorn the inside walls of the commuter train. Here is something I might be able to read. Hmm, I understand the individual words. I conclude it is the Japanese version of the aphorism, “He who travels alone sees the most.”

In class, my students read a newspaper article about the historical difficulty of learning to write. The newspaper commentary says that from time to time, Japan considers abolishing the hard-to-write characters. Not surprisingly, the Japanese sophomores do not want to trade their language’s Chinese characters--called Kanji-- for Roman characters.

Next, I ask the young men and women to discuss favorite and least favorite kanji.

One student claims to hate to write “one” – a horizontal line segment.

I am astonished. “Why? What is challenging about a straight line?”

“One” is hard to align properly, the student says. It tends to crumble into an underscore or a dash. “What is your favorite kanji?” she asks back.

I think of the aphorism in the train. The poem repeated the kanji for “one person”. I ask for the correct pronunciation; the two are pronounced the same. Thus enabled, I garble enough of the poem to achieve recognition.


The poem means, “’Everyone can do one thing uniquely well,’” the students agree. And by implication, they add, the poem suggests, ‘” Find that thing for yourself.’”

I had been wrong about the meaning. But I am very glad for the effective classroom communication. It is a conversational English class.

Way Out

IT TAKES TWO TO READ A MENU

Kyoto--Ah! The reading lesson for the day appears in the form of an exit sign. The square is a mouth, useful for entrance and exit. The top specifies direction. “Way out.”

I am sight seeing in Kyoto during Spring with friends from California. We are at a shrine.

At a restaurant, my Chinese-American friend can read all the Chinese letters on the menu. I can recognize only “bird.” She can read the modifier that specifies chicken.

However, she cannot read the phonetic Japanese script at all. I can. “Curry.”

Naked Magnolia

 

The Magnolia bloomed in March.  I’d been anticipating the opening since noticing the downy buds in a neighborhood shrine on January 1.

 

Ancient, Kyoto is a new city for me.  It is not often that I move to a new city:  Santa Cruz, Tucson, New London, Los Angeles, and San Francisco.    Most recently, I had been eight years in Yokohama. 

 

In Kyoto, I walked the forty minutes to the train station for months before the rainy season, not needing to understand the buses. A family-run fish store sells generous slabs of tuna.  The big street curves to the main post office.  Bicycle traffic converges near the station. 

 

Most surprising, the map of the city was etched in my brain as my cursor feet walked. 

 

After a year’s residence, with the flowering of the old tree, a sense of place is fulfilled in the stony Buddhist garden.

 

It is a naked magnolia, an alluring adjective I learned from my mother driving through Los Angeles.

 

The Kyoto sky is clear enough to see the Big Dipper.  Sleeping on the apartment roof in the elevated northern suburbs on a hill, I imagine the apparent turning of the constellation as a key turning in a lock.

 

 

Piano recital, version 2

Piano recital

The Steinway B in the recital hall is listed on the program. The rehearsal at 1230 goes smoothly, the grand piano living up to its name. But at 4 pm, two hours into the music, a kid in the front row Velcro’ing her shoe shreds my composure. I stop playing and glare in anger until the Velcro noise stops. The scratch of plastic bags also quiets. Even the babies in the room become silent. My fellow performers include many elementary and junior high school pianists and their parents and siblings.

Three days later, at my next lesson, the teacher greets me with effusive apology. She speaks Japanese, but I understand: “I told them to be quiet.”

I speak English; I think she understands: “They are kids; two hours is a long time; I should have been able to ignore the distraction; it was fun anyway.”

The short simple “For Elise” enters my repertory as the fifth memorized piece, to be played every day, worn and walked in.

Darwin's essay on Beetles

To students at Osaka University of Foreign Studies I bring in a Darwin essay. He wrote about collecting beetles as a college student. The students cannot read it. Stony looks meet my apologies. We move on to an alternate plan: short poems in English and Japanese. Their faces warm as the pages rustle in the spring evening. Each chooses a favorite and in English eloquently defends the choice. Why couldn't they understand Darwin, with its correspondence to the Japanese fondness for beetle collection?

Bushie, bye bye

Bye bye Bushie

At the National Defense Academy in Yokosuka, Japan, I got a new private student. He skillfully negotiated a 33% reduction from the rate for professionals, such as director of cadet affairs and a campus librarian. The cadet suggested for his first lesson we walk around the campus, and he would answer my questions. He wanted to improve his English.

I had seen other native English teachers take entire classes on campus excursions. The English-challenged youths would pass my classroom, happily exiting the ponderous new four-floor language arts building. The cadets would walk in clusters of five and six. A retired U.S. Air Force pilot reported excellent results speaking English with his class outside: They talked about the pointy-nosed U.S. jet fighter parked on the well-manicured lawn near the original 50 year-old buildings.

An American civilian, I was curious about a sculpture. I had the impression of a fish or dolphin in an upright posture but could not read the plaque because it was in Japanese.

The private student explained that the sculpture was a samurai helmet. The detail halfway up was a feather symbolizing peace. A person could stand underneath the vast helmet.

He asked very seriously, “Do you know ‘bushi?’” I decided not to joke about George W. Bush. The student told me he had prepared presentation about Bushido, which is the code of the samurai, for an international cadets conference. A bushi is a samurai.

The code of the samurai is also the first chapter of the freshmen English textbook produced at the Academy for its students. I asked each cadet in my 30-member classes to talk for a few minutes, answering two questions:

"When did you first hear of Bushido? Who told you?"

Some of the 18 year-olds had heard of Bushido when they were so young they didn't remember. Some learned the term from the Hollywood movie "The Last Samurai." Most students learned the word from a teacher of kendo, a kind of Japanese fencing associated with warriors.

Samurai do not exist anymore except on movie sets in Japan. Bushi, bye bye.

12 year cohort

We learned each other’s ages on Coming-of-Age Day, sightseeing on that January holiday when the 20-year-olds of Japan share the same birth animal in a once-in-a-lifetime festival. The dozen creatures of the Asian zodiac identify cohort: birth animal targets age—-give or take 12 years. He peered at me in unspoken tally.