Resting

"A note of music gains significance from the silence on either side." Anne Morrow Lindberg

To those who still check into this blog from time to time, my apologies. It seems that the jazz melody I was improvising here has ended on a rest notation.

Many thanks for reading! :-)

Remembering

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” Mother Theresa

A year ago this morning, I was at home getting ready to go to my Japanese class. I’d been living in London for just about 10 weeks, and still spent my days alternating between trips downtown to explore the city, and running errands in our West London neighbourhood. Trying to establish a normal routine of life in a new city.

The phone rang, and it was the Good Guy, calling from work.

“Oh good, you’re still home!” he said.

“What’s up?”

“Something’s happened on the London Underground. I don’t think you should go out today.”

At that point, neither of us knew the extent of the tragedy. But as soon as I turned on the television and began to watch the unfolding story of the July 7 bombings, I was stunned. It was some time before we found out all the facts: 52 people killed and hundreds more injured by four separate suicide bombs, three on the tube and one on a bus. The more I learned, the more I felt numb with sadness and shock.

Yes, I’ve lived a very sheltered life. I grew up in a country that is extraordinarily peaceful and prosperous by international standards. Random bombings have not been a part of my reality the way they have been for people in other parts of the world, including London.

It was literally weeks before I could get on a bus or underground train again, and even then I would find myself filled with panic and would hop off at random stops along the way to wait for another vehicle. (I still do this sometimes.)

I couldn’t banish the images of July 7 from my overactive imagination. I would regard my fellow passengers alternately with suspicion and with kinship or compassion, realising that we could all die together at any moment. It was a macabre thought, but one that made me reflect on the fact that we are all connected, here on this planet. All of us.

I was amazed and admiring of all the Londoners who were able to get on with their lives so stoically. But then, I didn’t really have a life to get on with. And I wasn’t really sure I wanted one in London any longer.

A year later, I realise that I still haven’t made peace with what happened that day. Perhaps it's best not to let such acts of brutality ever sit comfortably in our souls. I can’t turn off the television this morning; I don’t want to turn it off. Heart-wrenching photos of those who were killed flash across the screen, their faces carefree and smiling, bringing tears to my eyes. I listen to the stories of the survivors, of the families of those who were killed, and I think, “I can’t imagine how they must be feeling today.”

But you know what? I can. Anyone with even a glimmer of imagination can. It’s called empathy, and as humans we are gifted with this ability to think and feel our way into someone else’s experience, if we but try. I try much less than I used to. I’d like to change that.

The interview that touched me the most deeply was with George Psaradakis, the driver of the number 30 bus where a bomb went off in Tavistock Square, about an hour after the three underground explosions. “What really bothers me,” he told the BBC reporter, speaking of the passengers killed on his bus, “is that they were under my care.”

We are all under each other’s care. We need to remember that. It is what I will try to remember this July 7, as I pray for peace.

Bodacious Blogging Babes' Balderdash

The nice thing about having friends who blog is that if you go for long enough without posting anything, there is a good chance that one of them will leave a comment or write something in their own blog that will spur you to action. And so it is that while lolling about in the London heatwave, writing pieces in my head that I am too lazy to post, I have been ‘tagged’ by Marvelous Medea to come up with a list of 10 words that are meaningful to me that start with the letter B. So here is a rather random (but alphabetized, of course!) collection of some of the Bs that spring to mind:

1. Bald(ing) men – Incredibly sexy. After two years of marriage I think the Good Guy finally believes I really mean it when I say this.
2. Banjo – The instrument played by my beloved grandfather, whose nickname also began with a “B”.
3. Beaker – My favourite muppet (along with Animal). His perpetually wide-eyed and panicked reaction to life always felt familiar.
4. The Blues Brothers and The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension – Two of my favourite ‘cult’ movies from long ago.
5. Books – My obsession. I love reading and I love being surrounded by books! Libraries and bookstores are my favourite haunts.
6. Border collies – My absolute favourite dog, because they are so smart and fast and adorable and can follow whistled commands.
7. The Box – A 1980s New Wave band from Montreal that provided the soundtrack for a lot of my high school summer memories. I’ll be curious to know if anyone else who reads this blog knows them.
8. Breakfast – My favourite meal of the day. I’ve never understood how people could skip it!
9. Brownies – The first thing I ever learned to cook. My grandmother made the best brownies in the world.
10. Buddhism – The spiritual tradition where I feel most at home.

I feel like this is an incredibly BORING list but since that also starts with B I suppose it’s okay. :-)

I'm not sure whether or not they will want to play, but I tag:

Kiki with the letter T
Laura with the letter A
Sheri with the letter S

Run away, run away!

On Shotgun Weddings and Cheeky Monkeys

“We are one big family of people, trying to make our way through the unfolding puzzle of life.” Sara Paddison

Last night the Good Guy and I celebrated the 2nd anniversary of our marriage* in a hotel room in East London, trying to explain the concept of a “shotgun wedding” to his parents. Apparently, William Shakespeare and his wife had one. (Who knew?)

My in-laws had just completed a Japanese bus tour of the UK, and were full of stories of what they had seen. They shared beautiful photos of thatched-roof cottages, narrow village streets and forbidding castles. While they laughingly recounted their travels in Japanese, I did my best to follow along, with the Good Guy translating into English as much as possible.

I know that relationships with in-laws can be difficult even when there are no cultural differences involved, so I feel very grateful to have married into the family of two such kind, humorous, warm-hearted and down-to-earth souls. The week before the Good Guy and I got married, I went to visit his parents for the first time, and his mother gave me her pearl necklace as a gift for our wedding day. When I shared the story with my own mother, I was touched to learn that my (American) paternal grandmother had made the exact same gesture. The generosity and welcome of women across generations and cultures, linking Canada, the United States and Japan.

The Good Guy and I didn’t have a wedding ceremony, but I wore those pearls to the municipal office when we filed our marriage paperwork, and then out to a romantic dinner afterwards. I treasure them still.

There is culture, and then there is personality, and I knew from the first that my parents-in-law would get along well with my mother and stepfather. They are all open-minded and curious, adventurous in their own ways, caring and appreciative of the simple things in life. Last September, they all met up at our place in London, and I found out that I was right.

I spent time playing tour guide while the Good Guy was at work, but eventually the two couples decided they didn’t really need me, and went off on their own adventures. My father-in-law’s English is very good, and I gather that the electronic dictionaries got a lot of use that day! My parents still rave about the Japanese lunch that they had at Mitsukoshi, and my in-laws still chuckle at how my mother scolded a squirrel by calling it a “cheeky monkey.” Once they sorted out that squirrels are not in fact members of the primate family, they were thrilled to add another colourful English expression to their repertoire.

Upon hearing that my parents love jigsaw puzzles, my in-laws bought them a puzzle of the Rosetta Stone from the British Museum. 800 pieces of incomprehensible, squiggly lines on a background of varying shades of black. It took us over a week to complete and was the hardest puzzle I have ever worked on, albeit the most satisfying. (When I visited the British Museum a few weeks later and saw the actual Rosetta Stone, I had to stifle a strong and spiteful desire to kick it.) My in-laws never saw the finished puzzle, but on this return trip my father-in-law couldn’t help commenting with a wicked gleam in his eye that perhaps they could find a more difficult puzzle for next time...

My parents-in-law will be coming over later this afternoon for a visit and a meal, and I know that I will enjoy my time with them, even as I wish my own parents could be with us again. In spite of the occasional challenges of geography and language, I am grateful to be part of this crazy, cross-cultural family, with whom life is never dull.
____________________

*I feel compelled to add, however, that it’s been 20 years since our first date!!!

A Little Bit Country, A Little Bit Rock 'n' Roll

“London is a roost for every bird.” Benjamin Disraeli

Here is what I love about London.

Sometimes, it is sunny. And when it is, London seems to be not so much a city as a patchwork quilt of parks, threaded together by museums and galleries, office buildings and shops. Green jewels set in a concrete crown.

Step off the tube at Hyde Park Corner, walk through the gates, cross a couple of perpetually under construction roads, and suddenly you are cradled in foliage. Sun-starved bodies sprawl in small packs on the lawns; themed gardens, monuments and ponds break up the monotony of grass, paths and trees.

You meet your pregnant friend and her puppy for lunch at a café on the water. Over lamb koftas and roasted vegetable salads you talk about your lives. You have nothing in common, you have everything in common: you are both ex-pat wives in intercultural marriages.

After lunch you stroll through an endless emerald bubble of peace and activity. The sleek, copper puppy galumphs into the water, happily eating algae and suffering the hissing of swans. You discover that even Londoners will talk to you if you have a dog, and you wonder if the same is true for babies. You realise that in a few months, going for a walk with this same friend, you will find out.

Once you’ve said your goodbyes, you decide to stroll up to Piccadilly Circus, tripping over bookstores, cafes, high-quality food shops, and Christopher Wren’s favourite church along the way. Piccadilly Circus is the sun around which you circled like a lost satellite those first few months in London, a Canadian wearing Japan as a second skin. The Japanese embassy is here, and a fabulous (but expensive!) authentic Japanese okashi (sweet) shop, not to mention Japan Centre, where you can find a Japanese bookstore, travel agent, grocery store and restaurant all behind one very English-looking façade.

Perhaps that’s what I love about Piccadilly Circus: that here the youthful energy and digital billboards of Tokyo's Shibuya meet the staid and majestic Edwardian architecture of Regent Street, and the whole world comes to gawk.

This is my London, neither here nor there, but somewhere in between. A place where it’s okay not to be completely at home.

Our Wildish Nature

Although we live only 30-40 minutes from Central London, there is no shortage of wildlife in our little corner of this sprawling metropolis. Herds of deer roam in some of the local parks and flocks of wild parakeets (yes, that's right, wild parakeets!) fly screeching overhead like brilliant green arrows. My stepfather is convinced that he smelled a badger's musky scent near our garage, and I like to imagine that hedgehogs come and wuffle around in the darkness from time to time.

But nothing startled and delighted me more than the lanky creature that appeared on a sunny afternoon last summer, ears alert to danger, russet fur somewhat the worse for wear. Something like a dog but unmistakably wild, with shades of the coyotes I would sometimes surprise on early morning walks through Vancouver rainforests. A fox.

Actually, two foxes found refuge in our back garden last summer, never at the same time, but one noticeably smaller and mangier than the other. They would curl up in the grass and nap in the sunshine, or in warier moments make a little nest out of sight in the unkempt bushes. The slightest noise or movement in the window would be enough to startle them out through the hole in the neighbour's fence, but we often managed to let them nap out their day undisturbed. Naps are sacred in this household.

They disappeared over the winter and right through the long grey spring, with only the occasional, brief sighting to give me hope that they would be back. And at last, on Friday, one of our rust-coloured bundles of wildness spent the day in our yard again, napping fiercely in those rare, bright rays.

I know that most people around here view foxes as nothing more than pests. And I also know that this little fox lives a fast, fierce, wild and threatened life that has nothing to do with me. But there is something in the sight of that sleeping creature that speaks to what Clarissa Pinkola Estés, author of Women Who Run With the Wolves, would call my wildish nature:

"It is our brush with the wild nature that drives us not to limit our conversations to humans, not to limit our most splendid movements to dance floors, nor our ears only to music made by human-made instruments, nor our eyes to 'taught' beauty, nor our bodies to approved sensations, nor our minds to those things we all agree upon already. All these stories present the knife of insight, the flame of the passionate life, the breath to speak what one knows, the courage to stand what one sees without looking away, the fragrance of the wild soul." (Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves, paperback edition p. 21).

If I were to try to engage our little fox in conversation, I have no doubt that she would flee, jumping up over the back fence and into the grassy beyond. That's all right. She has her wildness, and I have mine, brought home to me by her sleepy presence in the middle of the sun-shadowed lawn.

Odd Things in Common (or, “Goldorak, Go!”)

One of the more minor drawbacks to being in an intercultural marriage is that you and your partner have so few pop culture reference points in common from the years before you met. The television shows and cartoon characters you idolized as children, the music you danced to and the movie heroes you styled yourselves after as adolescents, are likely to be worlds apart in terms of appearance and values.

In this respect, the Good Guy and I got lucky on a few counts. We first met while we were high school students in Canada, and two years in my country at an impressionable age gave him an appreciation for some of the in-jokes that usually only Canadians understand (Beauty, eh?). A few long stays in Hawaii as a child infected me with a love of all things Hello Kitty that I’ve never been able to shake (okay, I admit it, I haven’t even tried!), and encountering her again in Tokyo as an adult was like meeting a long-lost childhood pal. And of course we were both teenagers in the 80s, the decade when good tunes and bad music videos went global together for the first time.

But what I find most amusing and curious of all, is the fact that thanks to a French fascination with Japanese anime in the 1970s, and the fact that I grew up in Montreal during that decade, the Good Guy and I actually spent our childhoods glued to some of the same cartoons on TV.

When I lived in Japan, at one point I went on a quest to discover the Japanese name of my favourite anime, and to see if I could find any old episodes on video. After scouring the shelves of the local video store and finding that all of those robot-spaceships actually look kind of the same, I found the French theme song on the Internet and played it for the Good Guy. He immediately began singing along in Japanese, having recognized it as Grendizer (or Goldorak in French).

Well, sadly I never found the show on video, but recently, while we were amusing ourselves looking up old 80s music videos on the Internet (and yes, they really were deliciously bad), we came across short clips of the theme song to Grendizer/Goldorak, in both French and Japanese. And thanks to the fact that those were also the very early days of karaoke, the Japanese song has the lyrics appearing in hiragana at the bottom of the screen, which fits in perfectly with my desire to adopt a more childlike approach to language learning.

So I’ve now learned the words for “justice” and “pledge” and “protect” in Japanese, and although there are some obvious differences between the two versions of the song – the French hero is Prince Actarus, which I can’t help but feel is so much more romantic than the Japanese Duke Freed, but Actarus comes across in the French lyrics as something of an intergalactic planet-stalker (“He dreamed of our earth, the blue planet / Whose light he could see from a hundred thousand leagues away.”) – they both sing of the courage and strength of someone pledged to protect a fragile planet and a people he loved, in spite of being treated as an outcast himself.

I find it strangely comforting to know that at a young age, the Good Guy and I were both absorbing those admittedly cheesy but fundamentally good values. Along with some terribly exciting space robot battle scenes, of course. And I wonder what odd things other intercultural couples have in common, that help build the evolving and unexpected foundations of their relationships.