Health Advice from Junior High School Boys

Boys: Is this all there is for dinner? No rice?
Me: Yes, there's rice. You need to get your own.
Boys: Where's your rice? You need to eat rice, too.
Me: I ate three rolls today, I don't need rice. You should eat rice, you skinny boys.
Boys: You need to eat rice, too. You're not eating enough. You must have that sickness where you don't want to eat. 

Youngest boy's novel solution: I'm going to have to inject lard into your vegetables.

80 Year Old Farmer

There are many elderly people around here, and they all keep busy. Most seem to tend vegetable gardens, play gate-ball regularly, and lead full lives. I often pass one particularly energetic old woman who tends a couple gardens every day, morning and afternoon, among other things. She has more than once enumerated her weekly and daily schedules to me, animatedly counting off events on her fingers. She's what Denny would describe as "high energy."

Yesterday, while chatting with her at one of her gardens, she quickly turned to show me some rapeseed blossoms growing behind her. She was explaining how the immature flowers were a type of vegetable and how to prepare them. In mid-turn, she slid down a muddy slope, landing on her derriere and back on the hard asphalt walkway! I jumped to help her, but before I could get to her she had sprung up and was on her feet again, "I just landed on my butt. I'm fine." She brushed herself off as she continued her explanation.

That's what I want to be like when I grow up.

Morning Cleanup

My face stung with the chill breeze. The sun had not quite made its way up yet and long shadows were barely visible on the concrete between us. We were, as usual, standing in a silent circle. We bowed at some unseen prompt, and called in unison, “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

It wasn't clear to me who was to get a broom and who a bag and dustpan, but as there were way more brooms, I helped myself to one. Twenty sets of white-gloved hands were busy cleaning the 250 meter long street that was the main entry to our hilltop neighborhood.

The little piles of leaves were multiplying, so I switched to picking them up. Many hands did make light work, and after thirty minutes the road was clean, the clip-boarded roll was checked, brooms piled, bags tied, and we were back in our circle. With the final bow and ending marker of “Otsukaresama deshita” we went back to our houses. It was 7:30am, Sunday morning.

Last summer, I moved away from that chilly area - chilly in more ways than one - to a different neighborhood. Today, this was my experience.

Unlike the former area, the cleanup was scheduled at a more reasonable 7:30am. I went down to help sweep the park right on time, but true to the spirit of collectivism and doing one's best, the park was nearly clean. This lively elderly bunch had started sweeping much early. I grabbed a bamboo broom and swept a swath of the park for about 5 minutes, then a man with a big trash bag and a couple women with brooms came and helped me finish up.

I marked my participation on the name sheet, and the head lady joked to me, "You won't be getting a pack of saran wrap for perfect attendance." Indeed, I hadn't made it down there every time. "Three times a year I actually have a good excuse," I told her, "since I need to leave early for work." She said, "Muri wo shinaide," which means, "Don't stress yourself over it," or something akin to that. There was no final, "Otsukarasama deshita" bow, no formality; after smalltalk, people simply said, "Bye," and went back to their houses.

I like this new neighborhood group much better.

A few hours later, when I came home from swimming and running errands, lo and behold, what did I find in my mailbox? A box of saran wrap.

Gentle Aged Man

One of my newer students at the seniors' day care is without a doubt old. But how old? I couldn't tell. He is soft spoken, polite, as thin as can be, with smooth, almost completely unwrinkled skin. He walks slowly and tentatively.

During my class, I noticed him unobtrusively wiping his mouth after coughing, and I noted the blood staining his handkerchief.

When I asked one of the staff about him, I heard this story.

He is 79. His wife died about 15 years ago. He lives alone with his son in government sponsored housing, which means a very small, most likely old, apartment. His son is disabled and does not have the use of his legs. They live off of his meager pension and the son's disability allowance.

From just meeting him you would never guess what his life was like. It sounds really tough. People are so much more than appearances.

"Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible." Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama