This month marks a decade, 10 years that I have been keeping a blog, this one and the I'm a Stranger Here, Too, that I traded in for this one. Recently, I have gotten positive feedback suggesting that I should publish my material in a book. Thank you to those who keep up with me and my thoughts on this blog and thank you to my Mom who says she re-reads the printed compilation that I created for her regularly. She tells me that I am among her favorite authors--clearly from the heart of a mother.
Ten years of writing for no other reason that I feel compelled to put my thoughts in words. With the Internet, my thoughts are like messages in a bottle, I am never sure which shore they may end up on. Sometimes, not always, I get pings telling me the location of the someone reading my blog, sometimes I recognize the location of a friend but other times can't. Someone from Muskegon, MI logged in a few hours ago. Who? No clue, but I hope they found the words of value.
Ten years of writing, my first post seems like yesterday. Will the next 10 years go by so quickly? Will I be able to recall the first post now 20 years gone in the same way I do now. That first post called a Riff on a New Season was as if musical notes formed words in my head. Here are a few memories from that first year of writing 10 years ago.
It's Spring again, the winter is fading into another memory. Another chance at a new beginning seeing as New Years' (Western and Chinese) resolutions have have piled up unused in the corner. Time for them to be swept out, windows opened, fresh air let in. In Japan, the vernal and autumnal equinoxes (shunbun & shuubun respectivally) are national holidays. These holidays are marked by cleaning graves and leaving offerings to long past ancestors. I appreciated the closeness that the Japanese have with nature, superstition and the cycle of life. The subtle appreciation of falling cherry blossoms; throwing beans on Setsubun to chase demons away and inviting luck in; the haunting sounds of a bon-dance on a warm summer eve; Osouji (big cleanings), bonnenkai (end of the year parties)and sun-rise hikes on New Year's Day, washing hands for shrine visits, safe driving charms hanging from rear view mirrors, drinking beer wearing yukata at roof-top beer gardens; the earthly flavors of a bowl of tea served in a delicately scented tatami room, girls wearing hakamas with combat boots for graduation and more. I find that where ever I am, I relate time now with the rhythms of my life in Japan.
I have long thought that the stories I collect are a vital part of me. I always loved to hear the stories of my elder relatives. A story that I often reflect upon is Aunt Virgie's story. She and her sisters--also my great aunts--spent one summer picking cotton. In the hot dusty Oklahoma heat they picked till their fingers bled and picked until they thought they could pick no more but still there was more cotton. The fruits of their labors was 15 cents that they could keep for themselves. With their fifteen cents they bought lengths of calico fabric. In my mind I see a blue calico, I am not sure if I added that detail or if it was also Aunt Virgie's. My great grandmother, sewed the girls identical calico dresses. Aunt Virgie remarked that she could not have been more proud of a piece of clothing than she was of her simple, but extremely hard earned, calico dress. Thirty years later and twenty five after Aunt Virgie could share no more stories, I feel her with me whenever I see simple cotton dresses or a bole of cotton.
Some Day Just Happen All Day Long--April 22, 2008 I should have known what the day had in store for me when I tore my fresh out of the box pantyhose this morning. Not just a simple run that a little nail polish could patch but a significant rip that meant I spent $5.99 for a contorsionist act, 30 seconds of wear, and the sad realization that I would have to shimmy myself into another pair. Damn! I can imagine that the Oracle of Delphi would find pantyhose a suitable substitution for enviserated birds if she were in practice today.