Every Day is an Adventure

A couple of years ago, I started writing a book called Every Day is an Adventure about the crazy things that happen to us as a family here in Japan. I gave it up, but there are still a few things that are worth writing about so friends and family back home can get an idea of how different things are here, and for those living in Japan to commiserate with. Here are a couple of things that happened this week.

1) We spent our Japanese stimulus money on a new dishwasher--pictured above. Yeah, that's a dishwasher. It sits on our countertop, holds 5 plates, 6 glasses and a few odds and ends. Having a dishwasher is a luxury here, mainly because the kitchens are so small that there isn't enough space to put even this miniscule dishwasher. We are lucky in our perfect and beautiful house because we actually have counter space, but I figure those of you back home will get a laugh at the size of it compared to your own.

2) Byron and I had an argument about the quality of food I prepare for breakfast and dinner, so I made him cook for a whole day. We went together to the grocery store, and the check out lady, who usually sees me alone, asked if he was my son and then commented on how tall Byron is. Being my chatty Cathy self, I answered, "Yes, and he is only 13." Of course, Byron has been 14 since January 16th, so when he corrected me, I said, "I mean 14." Motherhood is the primary responsibility of women in Japan; women so often give up their work in order to stay home with their children until the children are all in school, so the idea that a mother doesn't know how old her children are is unheard of. When I corrected myself, there was only possible reason that I would forget my own child's age. Her response: "Oh, Happy Birthday! Are you having a party?" I didn't realize why this woman thought it was Byron's birthday, so I naturally answered honestly. "It's not his birthday, I just forgot his age." It is one of only two times that I've witnessed the true feelings of confusion or disbelief cross a Japanese person's face before they caught themselves. Byron, of course, was mortified.

The other time a person couldn't hid their true feelings? I met the mother of one of Laura's friends at the gym on her first day there. A couple of days later, I met her again and asked her if her muscles hurt? The poor woman looked so confused and at a loss for words, she just smiled weakly, nodded and walked away. I realized too late that I had used the wrong word. The word for muscle is kinniku. I had said ninniku, which means garlic. Does your garlic hurt?

Linda