With the sweltering sweat of summer that invariably beats town Tokyo for months still fresh in my mind, somehow the holidays have gone and crept upon us with a swiftness that is almost alarming. Or at least it would be if I didn't have so much to look forward to and so many things to keep my mind off the rate of the passage of time.
Best of which is the fact that I'm going home for the first Christmas in four years. The thought of it makes me feel like a 5-year-old child again and I have to admit that I've never really outgrown Christmas. While I have gotten over the urge to scramble out of bed and up the stairs at 5 a.m. on December 25 to see what awaits me under the tree and inside my stocking, I truly, completely adore the holiday more than any other time of the year. The twinkle lights, the music, the movies, the sweets all bring as much comfort as a favorite companion. The sensation of decorating the tree at my grandma's, nibbling a still-warm no-bake cookie and sitting in the hallway with the warm air from the furnace blowing over me as I stared at the sparkling tree are still so fresh and pleasant that I can almost still smell the cardboard boxes that held the delicately packed ornaments, or taste the chewy morsels of chocolate and oatmeal, or feel the heat on my legs as I stretch my T-shirt over my knees.
I am very much hoping for those cookies again this year not only because they are my favorite, but also because they are the only one of these familiar experiences that I can recapture. The freshest loss is that of my childhood home, which I never in my life have not been able to return to until now. This year will be the family's first Christmas in my parents' new home, which I'm certain is wonderful but still I hate to say good-bye to the old house and all the memories it housed, even if the kitchen roof did leak for the better part of a decade and the basement seemed unwilling to ever give up the musty smell of flooding rains gone by. It was a musty odor that I loved. And I could trace those water-stain patterns on the ceiling with my eyes closed.
Repeated viewings of "Home Alone" (at least the first 30 minutes, anyway) and candy-cane logs, sugar cookies and a cup of hot cocoa should have the new place feeling like home in no time. Or there's always a round of Family Fun Game Night.
Hey, family, remember that time Mom made us sit around the dining room table with themed crystal mugs and sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in turns? That was beyond priceless.
* * *
Autumn and especially the approaching holidays sends Tokyo into a over-the-top tizzy of kitsch and contrived romance. Christmas is for lovers, not families, and I know in America it has grown into a chiefly commercial ordeal, but in Japan that is all it ever was and all it ever will be. And people simply can't get enough. Glittery illumination, fancy, over-priced Christmas cakes, a delicious "traditional" meal at Kentucky Fried Chicken are all essential to the holiday.
A equally vital but more deeply rooted rite of the season is fall foliage. Tourist spots are packed with people eager to snap shots of rich red maple leaves or steep themselves in the purifying waters of an onsen, plus it's a good time to catch a glimpse of Mount Fuji capped in snow. Japan is a very outdoors-oriented country, but the heat forces people to stay pent up in the air conditioning, so when the temperatures drop, itchy feet flock to the parks in the city and mountains just outside.
I spent the past two weekends embracing both of these traditions to the best of my abilities.
Last weekend, my girlfriends, Katherine and Arisa, and I went to the mountains of Hakone via the unaptly named Romance Car express train. We couldn't spot Fuji-san because of the rain clouds, but we did have a grand old time wandering through an open-air museum, taste-testing the samples at dozens of gift shops and sitting stark naked in the small hot spring of our inn in the company of several strangers. This Saturday, I met Katherine for lunch in my old neighborhood park and then we took a bottle of wine out on a swan boat. Very little romance but an abundance of humor ensued. And yesterday, Yuu-chan and I took a walk around my neighborhood, where I recently discovered that you can see a surprisingly close Mount Fuji on fine days, then went to an immaculate park Shinjuku Gyoen to catch a little of the brilliantly painted-leaves action. Mostly we sat in a patch of sunshine and took silly pictures of ourselves until closing time, after which we grabbed a coffee and walked over to the holiday lights display. It was pretty. We felt romantic, but then we always do. Then we went home and made our own onsen bath and Yuu-chan, cooking his second meal in the entirety of our relationship, made up a pot of oden (simmered vegetables and tofu and eggs) that was good enough to eat every day until summer comes back. Eating dinner in our underwear and giggling about nothing...now that is my idea of romance.
Best of which is the fact that I'm going home for the first Christmas in four years. The thought of it makes me feel like a 5-year-old child again and I have to admit that I've never really outgrown Christmas. While I have gotten over the urge to scramble out of bed and up the stairs at 5 a.m. on December 25 to see what awaits me under the tree and inside my stocking, I truly, completely adore the holiday more than any other time of the year. The twinkle lights, the music, the movies, the sweets all bring as much comfort as a favorite companion. The sensation of decorating the tree at my grandma's, nibbling a still-warm no-bake cookie and sitting in the hallway with the warm air from the furnace blowing over me as I stared at the sparkling tree are still so fresh and pleasant that I can almost still smell the cardboard boxes that held the delicately packed ornaments, or taste the chewy morsels of chocolate and oatmeal, or feel the heat on my legs as I stretch my T-shirt over my knees.
I am very much hoping for those cookies again this year not only because they are my favorite, but also because they are the only one of these familiar experiences that I can recapture. The freshest loss is that of my childhood home, which I never in my life have not been able to return to until now. This year will be the family's first Christmas in my parents' new home, which I'm certain is wonderful but still I hate to say good-bye to the old house and all the memories it housed, even if the kitchen roof did leak for the better part of a decade and the basement seemed unwilling to ever give up the musty smell of flooding rains gone by. It was a musty odor that I loved. And I could trace those water-stain patterns on the ceiling with my eyes closed.
Repeated viewings of "Home Alone" (at least the first 30 minutes, anyway) and candy-cane logs, sugar cookies and a cup of hot cocoa should have the new place feeling like home in no time. Or there's always a round of Family Fun Game Night.
Hey, family, remember that time Mom made us sit around the dining room table with themed crystal mugs and sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in turns? That was beyond priceless.
* * *
Autumn and especially the approaching holidays sends Tokyo into a over-the-top tizzy of kitsch and contrived romance. Christmas is for lovers, not families, and I know in America it has grown into a chiefly commercial ordeal, but in Japan that is all it ever was and all it ever will be. And people simply can't get enough. Glittery illumination, fancy, over-priced Christmas cakes, a delicious "traditional" meal at Kentucky Fried Chicken are all essential to the holiday.
A equally vital but more deeply rooted rite of the season is fall foliage. Tourist spots are packed with people eager to snap shots of rich red maple leaves or steep themselves in the purifying waters of an onsen, plus it's a good time to catch a glimpse of Mount Fuji capped in snow. Japan is a very outdoors-oriented country, but the heat forces people to stay pent up in the air conditioning, so when the temperatures drop, itchy feet flock to the parks in the city and mountains just outside.
I spent the past two weekends embracing both of these traditions to the best of my abilities.
Last weekend, my girlfriends, Katherine and Arisa, and I went to the mountains of Hakone via the unaptly named Romance Car express train. We couldn't spot Fuji-san because of the rain clouds, but we did have a grand old time wandering through an open-air museum, taste-testing the samples at dozens of gift shops and sitting stark naked in the small hot spring of our inn in the company of several strangers. This Saturday, I met Katherine for lunch in my old neighborhood park and then we took a bottle of wine out on a swan boat. Very little romance but an abundance of humor ensued. And yesterday, Yuu-chan and I took a walk around my neighborhood, where I recently discovered that you can see a surprisingly close Mount Fuji on fine days, then went to an immaculate park Shinjuku Gyoen to catch a little of the brilliantly painted-leaves action. Mostly we sat in a patch of sunshine and took silly pictures of ourselves until closing time, after which we grabbed a coffee and walked over to the holiday lights display. It was pretty. We felt romantic, but then we always do. Then we went home and made our own onsen bath and Yuu-chan, cooking his second meal in the entirety of our relationship, made up a pot of oden (simmered vegetables and tofu and eggs) that was good enough to eat every day until summer comes back. Eating dinner in our underwear and giggling about nothing...now that is my idea of romance.
