A tale of two mothers

please excuse the typing and editing. this japanese computer is tricky to use.

Yesterday, my real mother and I wandered the streets of Kobe with my host mother and her best friend, whom i remember well from high school. they are both about 70 years old and are very difficult to chase. Nakafuji:s pedometer reported that we went about 8 miles. That is only one measure. if you were to measure the level of silliness, we would have been off the charts.

After breakfast, we went to see a Japanese flower garden. It was lovely and we took lots of pictures. We took pictures of the flowers, each other, and the gardener too. My host mother kept taking pictures of me when I wasnt looking. I told her that she could have a picture of my behind if she wanted it. we were silly. It was fun.

After the garden, we enjoyed lunch at kaiten zushi. That is the word for those sushi places that deliver plates on a conveyor belt. This was a special place in as much as my host mother wanted to show us that if you order something special, they will deliver it on a special high speed train track (a second level of conveyors). The food was only okay, but the entertainment was priceless. We were pretty silly. I bought a toy train in the vending machine on our way out.

After lunch, we visited a karaoke bar coffee house where my host mother:s friend works. I remember Tanaka san from high school, and of course she remembered me. We traded gifts appropriately, took pictures with people we didn:t know, received gifts from strangers, and I even sang some Elvis. If you have ever heard me sing, you will understand that the patrons were clapping loudly mostly to drown out my voice. When I was finished, I bowed deeply and used a typical Japanese expression which roughly translates to - that must have been very hard work for you, and you must be so very tired. They clapped louder and laughed heartily. We were silly. It was fun.

After karaoke, we went to Motomachi for shopping. Motomachi is sort of like NY 5th avenue, except there is a lot more shopping, a lot more restaurants, and a lot more people. After wandering through the maze of covered streets, I suggested that we go to Diamaru. Diamaru department store is sort of like Neiman Marcus. They carry Burberry, but mostly we were enjoying the excessively high end shopping - Hermes, Tiffany and the like. My mother and I fell in love with a purse that did not have a price tag, but was matched with some Japanese traditional shoes which were marked at about $1500. To be fair, I never saw any outfit for more than $7000, but I suppose I stopped looking. I think my Japanese mothers enjoyed it too since they probably don:t bother going in there very often. We were pretty silly in there, but I suppose the shop owners didn:t mind too much. It was fun.

After shopping, my Japanese mother decided to take us to the top of a tall building to see Kobe from above at night. Since it had started raining, they decided to keep us under roofs the entire way. That is not an unreasonable goal in Japan, but it is still a little bit tricky. We went on quite the tour. My host mother was very polite as we ran past the security guard at a local company and ran into the building. We moved quickly through various hallways and even through the company cafeteria. We all bowed quickly in everyone:s direction and tried hard to not laugh heartily until we were clear of earshot. It was very rediculous. We had fun.

After our office building tour and view of the city, we returned to the house to talk to my host sister via skype. My japanese mother wanted to introduce her grand daughter and give my sister and i time to talk. So, we did. My Japanese mother does this very frequently and showed us how her granddaughter in Australia likes to watch her grandmother in Japan play with a balloon. It was a very serious use of technology. And, it was nice to see my host sister again, even in that way. She explained that we were story book characters to her daughter, so I insisted that she start considering us movie stars. It was silly. We had fun.

After skype, we went to dinner at a local place. We took pictures of each other and different combinations of everyone in the restaurant. The food was good and the sake was warm. My mother received oranges from the shopkeeper. It was fun.

After dinner, we went to a local karaoke place. After all, we hadn:t sung in at least a few hours. By then I had moved to whiskey and was singing in Japanese. Our proprietors encouraged that heartily and I thus acquiesced to what I told my mother were silly foreigner tricks. But, even so, I did quite well with my oral Japanese character exam and surprised everyone with how much I could read. When asked where I learned Japanese, I explained noisily that I had spent 12 weeks with my host mother and she must be brilliant - much laughter. The proprietor also asked my host mother if it was very difficult for her when I lived in her home not speaking any Japanese and how she managed to feed me American food. My host mother laughed.

"Oh, I didn:t do that. Are you kidding? I didn:t even really want to have an exchange student at first. I thought it would be a hassle. But, it wasn:t a problem."

"Oh, but I suppose it was probably a problem for her." she finished with a smile.

I replied on cue.

"Yes, can you imagine how horrible it must have been for me! I had to live with this woman who is always speaking in local dialect and making jokes. I couldn:t understand anything and the food was terribly strange! It was so so horrible. Can you imagine?"

"Oh, do you understand our local dialect?" she asked.

And, I answered in the only possible way.

"No, I don:t understand it at all," spoken with great drama, in perfect local dialect.

It was silly. We had fun.

My mother called

My mother called me in the Spring.

“So, Honey, what are your plans for this summer?”

“Well, Mom, we have a lot of travel planned, but we’d really like to see you. Do you have some time to come up to Cleveland?”

“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

She was vague. My mother is vague occasionally, like anyone, but I wasn’t following her this time.

“Will you be at home long enough for us to come down?” I offered. “If we’re around, I could probably come to you.”

My parents travel a lot. My dad works out West. My mother works on the East Coast. They travel more than your average grandparents, and are thus rather difficult to visit.

“That would be nice. I would like to see the kids, but that isn’t what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind?” I finally asked. My kids were beginning to get restless, in spite of the fact that I had only been on the phone a few minutes.

“I have quite a few frequent flyer miles. You know, your father and I travel quite a bit.”

“Yes, I noticed that. What did you have in mind?” I was trying to think ahead. Maybe she would suggest my sister and I meet her in Vegas. That might be fun. Hmm.

“I was thinking we might go to Japan.”

My reaction was visceral. I started to sweat.

“Japan? Really?”

“Yes. Well, you haven’t been in quite awhile. I thought it would be fun, but maybe you don’t have time.”

“Um, I could probably work that out,” my mind raced, my heart pumped, my body sweated. I started going through the weeks of the summer. They were pretty full. I tried to start switching things around in my head. I started imagining who would watch the kids. What would I do? I couldn’t say ‘no.’ I couldn’t say ‘yes.’

“Maybe in the Fall? Would the Fall work?” my mother asked calmly.

She was serious.

“Um, the Fall?” Yes. My husband had to take a week off every quarter. I might even be able to do the Fall. “Yeah, the Fall. Are some weeks better than others? I’ll call Jay.”

And thus our trip planning began, all those months ago. My head has spun in disbelief ever since. So much has changed since I left in 1999. So many plans must be made before I go. What will we do? What will we bring? Where will we stay? What do you say after all these years?

We are on our way. By Saturday night, I will be bowing in salutation to Kawa-san in Kyoto Station. I will tuck myself into a futon under his roof. I will smell the reedy smell of tatami mats and the smoky, salty grease of tako-yaki at the stand near the Station.

I remember standing at Hiroshima Station in 1994 on the day I moved to Japan.

The smells in the air, the background noise, the high-pitched woman on the train imploring us “wasuremono ga nai you ni go chui kudasai” – “Don’t forget anything.”

In 1994, I remembered Japan as it was in 1987 during my exchange student days in high school. I remembered Japan as it was in 1990 during my days as a college student interning at a Japanese company. The emotions returned, as clear as you would expect if you could travel through time. Standing in the Station in 1994, seven years after my high school exchange experience, I felt the emotions of a high school student, thrust into a country without her parents, barely able to introduce herself – excited and anxious and alone and proud.

I remembered the book I was reading on the plane in high school. I expected to look down and see my old shoes.

And now, in 2009, I remember my going away party in 1999. The most poignant memory of my last days in Japan was that I did not feel like I was going home.

I felt like I was leaving home.

I grew up in the U.S. I spent my childhood in the U.S.

I became an adult in Japan.

If you have ever lived in a foreign country, you know that repatriation is far more difficult than orientation. If you have never lived in a foreign country, I’m not sure I could adequately explain it.

You can’t go home again. It won’t be the same. I’m not the same. But I can’t wait to get there.

Thanks Mom (and Dad)

Survey Says . . .

This morning, in my over-tired, fighting with satin Halloween costumes, getting ready for an important trip, over-committed, bad cold threating to become a sinus-infection sort of way, I decided to make coffee. I drink coffee most mornings. I know, it's a bad habit, but as far as vices go it seems relatively mild. I often think I am addicted to the stuff, but then I get too busy and forget to make it.

I doubt people forget to smoke.

The morning did not go as smoothly as some, so I was brewing coffee as I ran out the door. This seemed like a judicious plan that would prevent me from the $5 coffee at the local drive-thru coffee shop. I imagined a nice cup of coffee when I returned home with only one child in tow.

When I returned home, the coffee maker had been turned off. (My husband is home sick, poor guy).

This leads me to the survey.

Turning off a woman's coffee maker, before she has a cup of coffee should be interpreted as:

a) an honest mistake, to be dismissed with a Christian heart.

b) a prudent reaction to a potential fire hazard.

c) domestic violence.

d) a crime against humanity.

There may be more than one correct answer, but I suspect there is at least one wrong one.

Business Card

I began to wonder how I could possible catch up after having fallen off the face of the blogging earth for nearly three weeks. I stopped wondering. I decided to start in the middle.

I created a business card for myself the other day. You know, those little cards people give to one another in business-like situations? That’s right. I have one.

I returned from MIT a few weeks ago with a long list of ‘things to do.’ I could flip back a few pages in my calendar and even look at my list. I won’t bother you with the details, but let us just recognize that it is long. Most of it is done. Some of it is in progress. The rest will take the rest of my life and become part of my journey.

I make lists like that when I have time, which is why I try not to sit still very long.

In any case, I made myself a business card on the recommendation of several very respectable people who both have my best interest in mind and appeared honestly appalled that I could not produce one upon request. I had the good fortune of collecting a few cards on my trip, one of which turned out to be the inspiration for my card.

A retired man, who happens to be from near my hometown, produced it upon request. It gave me all of the information I needed and made me smile. That seemed like a good format.

So, in roughly 20 minutes, I managed to make myself a business card. A few hours later, I enjoyed great conversation with some very interesting people at a very business-like dinner. We were having great fun discussing some very good (and other not-so-very good) entrepreneurial ideas. Towards the end of dinner, the gentleman next to me offered me his business card.

“Ha!” I thought immediately. “I can play that game!”

And, so, I provided him my very hastily made business card. He nodded, smiled, and seemed genuinely pleased to have met me. In fact, he enjoyed the card so much that the woman sitting across from me wanted to play too.

So, I gave her a card. (She didn’t have one – shame on her!)

She looked at it. She read it. She finally looked up.

“You seem to do quite a few things. Is there anything else I should know about you?”

“I’m an anonymous blogger,” I offered with a smile.

“I suppose you can’t really put that on a business card,” the man next to me said, as soon as we all regained composure.

So, Mr. Man-sitting-next-to-me who was discussing the entrepreneurial ideas. I finally have it!

I need a self-destructing business card.

(Or, perhaps more likely, a less dubious profession, but what’s the fun in that?).

My Week in Review

Can you guess which of these did NOT happen this week? I only did 10 of them, I promise.

1. Organized new after school activity for Andrew, with 5 other children his age.

2. Led successful volunteer meeting.

3. Contracted bizarre virus that caused me to miss preschool pick-up and sleep for 20 out of 24 hours. (Who really needs Thursday anyhow?)

4. Sent ridiculous but original lymric to member of the Dreaded Poet Society.

5. Had my ribs x-rayed.

6. Got caught up on laundry.

7. Caught error in a politician’s note regarding property ownership in our neighborhood, saving time for neighborhood volunteer.

8. Witnessed a grizzly bear receive a root canal within a few yards of the surgery.

9. Enjoyed small talk with an astronaut.

10. Conducted annual maintenance on my dryer and reassembled it.

11. Ran through the pouring rain with a toddler.

You guessed it. I have a lot of laundry to do today.

The Writing on the Wall

You might wonder what two geeky mommy bloggers would do if given a few hours on the campus of their alma mater. Or, maybe you wouldn’t, but I have decided to tell you anyway.

We had lunch at Legal Seafood in Kendall Square - a predictable conclusion.

We then wandered over to the new building 20. I should mention that everything at MIT has an affectionate numerical identification. I have heard people, particularly in course 15 (management), complain that even the people at MIT are reduced to numbers. And, the fact that my freshman dorm room number and course 2 were more meaningful in my introducing myself as a freshman than my own name, might lead you to the same unfortunate conclusion.

An MIT conversation might sound like this:

“So, where is the freshman in 501?”

“The one in course 2?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s in 26-100, but I’m meeting her in lobby 10 at 2 after 8.01.”

“Great. 2.70 isn’t until 3.”

At MIT, people are not reduced to numbers, but elevated by them. Let me offer that the preciseness of numbers offers a common understanding on a campus otherwise so diverse and so unique that, well, understanding may even be beyond the grasp of those in course 16 (that would be rocket science).

I am sure you are terribly impressed.

And so we toured the new building 20, built in the place of the beloved old building 20 (creative, no?) that had seen the birth of radar, and so many other revolutionary technologies. Old building 20 had shaky walls and an excessively warped floor and an incredible history. In its place is a fascinating and unique building built by the very same architect who built the Peter B. Lewis building in Cleveland. This new building is named after someone too, but being an MIT alumn I have already forgotten (proof left to the student), preferring to call it building 20 anyhow.

Building 20 sports a great number of blackboards. Feeling creative, we decided to write our names on the wall. And then, we had a much, much better idea.

Unlike the 8.01 (physics) problem sets of yesteryear, the next step was in fact obvious: 26-100.

And so, we did, we wandered over to our beloved freshman lecture hall, where every MIT student for decades has studied freshman physics, among the core freshman requirements of physics, calculus, and chemistry. We call the room 26-100.

Like so many alumni and students before us, we wrote on the wall.

And, unlike 8.01, it was really, really fun.

Thank you Mommy bytes! I had a great time – and appreciate the ride to the airport.

This is probably not the greatest picture, but had to post it for Jess. If you ever walked along the Charles in the morning, (or ran, as I often did) you know what I mean.

MIT Mommy goes to MIT

This must be the year of revisiting memories. I will call it that because I would hate to think that it is simply age – that I have finally taken enough of the journey that one can’t help but repeat a few scenes.

No, that certainly isn’t the case here.

Due to my career choice , I haven’t had many occasions to travel alone in recent years – the past decade, for example. But, I’m finding that decades are sort of quick nowadays and even that seems a small matter.

Anyway, it is not the same. The places may be the same, but I am not. The coveted ten dollars that I owed my girlfriend today – that I made a special trip to the bank to get – would have been lost on the bottom of my purse years ago. Ironically, I cared more about money in those years. Life is funny.

And, I have to laugh. My packing skills have deteriorated. My ability to extricate myself from the daily routine could be likened only to removing overcooked rice from a shag carpet. There is always another little something – the right shirt for spirit day tomorrow, extra diapers, a snack for soccer, an overdue letter.

As if the children could nary survive without homemade banana muffins.

They’ll be fine. They need me differently now, and that will be different again next year too.

Yesterday, I had a morning conversation with my husband in the driveway. Just a minute really, just about the normal stuff, the daily grind. The minute turned into five and looked up to see the neighbor kids assembled at the bus stop. I had left my children a sticky mess at the breakfast table. We would never make it.

I flew into the house to find Andrew and Gladys dressed, ready, and putting on their shoes on in the front hall.

Don’t they need me to cajole them, harp on them, push them forward?

They need me in different ways.

They are not all grown up. I still kiss their boo boos and scare away the monsters and make them do it one more time, correctly, because I know they can do better.

But, MIT Mommy ought to remember how to pack a bag. I am a better person than I was ten years ago, but a few dusty traits ought to be re-polished to shine again. They need me to be a good example in that way too.

As I entered airport security, my cell phone rang. I assumed it must be about the kids. I checked the message immediately after security.

“I just dropped you off. You forgot to give me the money you owed me.”

My friend’s message went on.

“I just wanted to let you know that you shouldn’t fret about it. I mean, I thought you might because I know you were so specific about paying me back. But, I need you to do me a favor. I want you to take that little bit of money and as soon as you get this message go buy yourself a glass of cabernet. You do that as a favor for me. Have fun. Everyone is good here. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Yes, I got the message.

It is wonderful to visit MIT, especially knowing I am so blessed at home.