At the Start of a Bright New Year

"And so the old years, fraught with memories, die, one after another; and the new years, bright with hopes, are born to take their places..." This line from the final pages of Kate Douglas Wiggin's The Birds' Christmas Carol, which my family reads aloud every Christmas, has always seemed to me to best describe the end-of-year atmosphere. Of course, on December 31st, a day passes, some numbers change, and in many ways it is not worth bothering about. Yet there really is a kind of melancholy about the passing of the old year, and some natural trepidation about the coming of the new one.

I usually make a journal entry of some length every New Year's Eve, chronicling the past year and trying to draw lessons from it wherever possible. This year, it's a blog entry, and I am not going over all the highlights of 2011. Instead, to start, following are some of the lyrics that have been most meaningful to me this twelvemonth.

Glory Bound, Martin Sexton

"I'm takin' my chance on a win

I'm packin' up all my bags

Takin' a mistake I gotta make

Oh, then I am glory bound, mm hmm."

World Inside the World, Rhett Miller

"Let's call her halcyon and hope that she holds,

'Cause every shore she's gonna touch is gonna

turn to solid gold.

She and I been wishin' for a change in our condition

It's not given, but it's obvious to me

There is a world inside the world...that you see."

Water Night, Eric Whitacre, Octavio Paz

"And, if you close your eyes,

A river, a silent and beautiful current,

fills you from within, flows forward, darkens you.

Night brings its wetness

to beaches in your soul."

Downtown, Petula Clark

"The lights are much brighter there

You can forget all your troubles,

forget all your cares and go

downtown-- things'll be great when you're

downtown-- no finer place for sure

downtown-- everything's waiting for you"

Wash Away, Joe Purdy

"I had friends, oh, but not today

Cause they done washed away

They done washed away

And oh, I been cryin'

And oh, I been cryin'

And oh, no more cryin'

No, no more cryin' here...

And I got troubles, oh, but not today

Cause they gonna wash away..."

One Day, Matisyahu

"I know someday it'll all turn around because

all my life I've been waiting for

I've been praying for

for the people to say

that we don't wanna fight no more

there'll be no more wars

and our children will play

one day"

I was so thankful to be with my family for festivities this year, especially with the passing away of my grandmothers so shortly after I came back to the US. As much as I enjoy, and thrive, living independently, living with family has much to teach about the human condition, that one just can't appreciate when the only person to worry about is oneself.

And as for my grandmothers... I miss them. I will always miss them. But I treasure the time we had together. And I imagine that losing the people we love is what gives us the ability, through detachment, to face death when our own time comes.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.

Crowned with lilies and laurel they go: but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains- but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love-

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

(Dirge Without Music, Edna St. Vincent Millay)

To make an honest evaluation, I'd say I did one heck of a job keeping everything together in 2011. But it won't be enough for 2012. This new year will demand more courage, better organization, deeper commitment, truer friendship, stronger love, higher hope, and greater faith.

It will be quite a year, no doubt filled with events I can't predict; some pleasant, others difficult. That's life.

As for my hopes for 2012, foremost is finding and making the best friend with whom I can share my life. (I don't intend to make any uninformed or hasty decisions, and I am not going to settle. But this is my highest hope. I have no wish to be always alone.) Other hopes are for greater familiarity with the Twin Cities and the friends I have here, continuing friendship with friends overseas, a trip to Japan, improving physical fitness, deciding on a next step, and finishing the 3rd-6th seasons of LOST so I can finally get on with my life. :) Also, I would like to see Ron Paul get in and shake up the status quo. There is no perfect candidate, but if anyone can bring real change in what I believe to be a positive direction, it's Paul.

Happy New Year, everybody!

reflection on Christmas

early days of Advent

I haven't had much time for blogging or anything else since starting my new job-- which I still feel excited and warm and fuzzy about, by the way. I wake up in the morning and after the initial ugh, must I get out of bed? comes a great feeling like a hot chocolate fountain bubbling up inside: I have work to do!

Advent started last Sunday; today was the second Sunday of four. Until a friend recently remarked that he couldn't see the point of Advent, I hadn't thought about it too much. Certainly my Advents in Japan were much quieter affairs than they were when I was a Catholic schoolgirl or even later on in university, but they were powerful for all that, and I came to appreciate the season more.

"For the pagans," a priest said last week, "the season that starts now is a frenzied time to buy, drink, party-- and when Christmas finally comes they'll rip down all the decorations and try to sleep off the hangover. But for Christians, this season is about expectation, prayer, repentance, and self-denial-- and when Christmas finally comes, we will celebrate it for 12 days."

I am thankful for the many blessings I've received since coming home in August, and they give me strength to live most days with a grateful attitude. But I have no wish to deny the pain and suffering around me, either, in my friends, family, and my own life.

Suffering is a dark fire that courses through our veins and works its way into our hearts and minds, to the extent that we let it. To the extent that we let it, it comes pouring out of our eyes and mouth to sully the world outside. Most of us struggle mightily to keep our suffering away from others, especially if those others are somehow involved in the pain. We may try to keep our suffering away even from God, and let it drive itself between us and Him like a blasphemous pillar of fire.

So when confronted with the statement that Advent is a season for prayer, we balk. Fill a quota of memorized, textbook prayers? Force ourselves to sing treacly tunes and recite devotions to which we cannot begin to relate? Or maybe just "talk" to God, a one-way communication that devolves into an endless repetition of our anger and fear?

No. We must bring our whole selves into the Presence of God. An Adoration chapel would be a wonderful place to go. You could take a Bible and find a Psalm that fits your situation; there's sure to be at least one. But when you are ready, look at Him and lay bare your heart. Here it is, Lord. This is how I feel. These are my troubles. I give them all to You.

And He will undoubtedly answer with a question, the same question He asked so many people in Palestine 2000 years ago, people who needed healing just like us: What do you want me to do for you?

Joshua Radin

I love this song. Look into Joshua Radin if you haven't heard of him yet. There are very few songs of his that I don't listen to over and over again. This one, I think, is from his first album.

I like my job, too. I'm a freelance translator now, but working for a specific company this month as a trial for full-time employment, possibly starting in the new year. It keeps me busy because there's a lot to do and a lot of new things to learn, and it's wonderful to be grappling with Japanese all day long. Sometimes the texts are bulky and awkward, sometimes they're peppered with yet unfamiliar technical terms, and sometimes they're pure linguistic elegance, flowing with keigo and courtesy. My goals for now? Increasing my understanding and efficiency, building trust and amicability with my team, and.... writing a bucket list.

where I work

Night over Minneapolis.

I love where I work. <3

intro to Innocent Smith

Love it.

a&e

The tune belies the lyrics, I think.

a blacksmith courted me

A blacksmith courted me nine months and better.

He fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter.

With his hammer in his hand, he looked so clever;

And if I were with my love, I'd live for ever.

O, where has my love gone, with his cheeks like roses?

He's gone across the sea, gath'ring primroses.

I'm afraid the shining sun might burn and scorch his beauty

And if I were with my love, I'd do my duty.

Strange news has come to town, strange news is gath'ring;

Strange news flies up and down that my love's married.

O, I wish them both much joy, though they don't hear me,

And if I were with my love, I'd do my duty.

O, what did you promise me when you lay beside me?

You said you'd marry me and not deny me.

If I said I'd marry you, t'was only to try you,

So bring me witness, love, and I'll not deny you.

O witness have I none, save God Almighty!

And may he reward you well for the slighting of me.

Her lips grew pale and wan, it made her poor heart tremble

For to think she'd loved but one, and he'd proved deceitful.

(Traditional)

does “what I believe" matter?

the love song of j. alfred prufrock

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question….

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

It's good to re-read T.S. Eliot.

do something

Today's homily was based on the same Gospel reading I analyzed here a few weeks ago, the one about the talents. I gained a new insight on it, though: in the Christian life, it isn't enough to just "not sin." That could be comparable to the third servant's burial of the one talent. He isn't doing anything wrong, per se. But it is expected of us to multiply the gifts and the grace that we're given. We have to be active. Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fishes, resulting in a meal for a staggering number of people. But what did He need to do that? A small boy giving up his food. The point is not to worry about the magnitude of our actions as much as the question of whether we are in fact acting at all. If you multiply nothing by a million, it's still nothing. Multiply one by the same number, and bam-- small actions have astronomical repercussions.

Life is supposed to be abundant, exciting, adventurous. Make it happen.

that waterless fish again...

There's a full moon tonight and its luminance, reflected on the wind-driven surface of the dark lake, caught my eye and pulled me a short way back in time.

It was not so very long ago that I felt in control of my life, a competent young professional optimistically working through mysteries and questions while seeking the future as though it held nothing but sincere smiles and firm handshakes and home. If you had asked me then, I would have told you something both modest and reasonably hedged against life's unpredictability, but the way I felt was invincible. I had come through enormous difficulties in my first year or two of life in the inaka, and felt that finally I'd established a good reputation as a hard worker, a helper, a friend, a role model with a fun little off-the-wall streak, a genuine person always seeking to lift people up. I'd not only conquered a terrible long bout of illness, but I'd also regained much of my physical strength and endurance. Finally it seemed there were people who were as comfortable around me as I was around them, and I felt like I belonged-- that with just a bit of companionship I would be happy to go on living and working there forever.

Cruel intervention of contracts and timelines! Yet like the tide, of course, it inevitably came, so what I had been and done was washed away; and though I felt deserved pride in my accomplishments and knew that there were some who would remember them and me, I also knew that for all the world there remained no trace of my ever having lived there.

Sometimes I fancy my spirit returns to the mountain roads or to the harbor--perhaps it is caught there-- quietly observing the ebb and flow of the sea, the to and fro of the people in the streets, and the passing of the seasons while my body sits ten thousand miles away trying to make sense of new conditions. This brings with it overpowering loneliness.

I wonder about my sanity. I wonder too, sometimes, if I've wandered onto the wrong set, and no one has a script. And now the story is interrupted, the curtain's crashed, the program's frozen, and no matter what I try to do I can't move. My hopes and dreams seem to be losing the battle against inertia.

There, you see. You tried to change, to grow. You tried to fit in somewhere new. But nothing ever changes. Here you are again. Don't you know this is all there is for you?

As a rule my mind recoils against such pessimistic, downward-dragging drivel and determines to redouble its efforts, or it recognizes the signs of reverse culture shock and seeks a distraction.

Reverse culture shock. All the ex-JETs I've spoken with have said something like, "Oh, it definitely took me at least six months" or "one year" or even "three years" to work through it and feel like a normal person again. Why?!? I didn't turn into a different person just because I was living in a different culture. But apparently it strikes everyone who spends significant amounts of time abroad. I suppose less-developed aspects of personality and intellect are exerted, grow stronger, and then are superfluous or even harmful upon return to the home country.

It's going to be a process, that much is clear. I refuse to give in to pessimism, defeatism, weakness, or whining. I must. I know, though, that I also should cut myself a little slack and stop trying to force things to work when, for all I know, they may be terrible for me in the long run. What is needed now is prayer, and patience.

live from a place of strength

"My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

＊

「『考えすぎをやめる』ことが、いつでも自在にできるようになると、肩の力が抜けて、生きるのが楽になってきます。笑ったり感動したりすることが多くなってきます。自分自身に盤石の自信が持てるようになります。」

＊

"Don't say, 'That's the way I am--it's my character.' It's your lack of character. Esto vir!--Be a man!"

I do not like

divided hearts;

I give mine whole,

and not in parts.

1. Jane Austen 2. Arina Hosai 3. Jose Maria Escriva de Balaguer

spending it all

At the end of Living the Catholic Faith, author Abp. Charles Chaput poses a question we should all ask ourselves at the end of each day:

"I have paid one day of my life to do what I did today. Was it worth it?"

Bingley's Teas

I want to share with you a wonderful discovery I made at the 2011 Jane Austen Society general meeting in Texas: Bingley's Teas. You may have noticed its debut on the side bar a few weeks ago-- if you haven't already, check it out!

Bingley's Teas is a small company owned and operated by Ms. Julia Matson, tea sommelier and fellow Minnesotan. She describes the Jane Austen Tea Series as her "way of fusing my two great interests, and hopefully, [it] will be seen as doing so with respect to both of them. In this way, I hope to share good teas with my fellow Janeites and to support my habit of traveling to other countries, learning more from others."

In the Jane Austen Tea Series, Julia has crafted a variety of teas in honor of Austen characters, like Elizabeth Bennett and Marianne Dashwood, as well as memorable places or turns of phrase, like Longbourn Wedding Tea, or my favorite tea name of all time, Compassion for Mrs. Bennett's Nerves.

I spent quite a while browsing through all the offerings before finally settling on four: Miss Elizabeth (black), Sweet Jane (green and black), Wicked Wickham (white), and Longbourn Wedding Tea (white). They've all been marvelous!

To be honest, this is my first real, consistent foray into steeping loose leaves rather than using prepackaged teabags. Julia offers first-timers like me a guide on the back of each box, called Respecting the Leaf. It lists exactly how much tea to use for your cup and what temperature the water should be for black, green, and white teas, as well as fruit and herbal tisanes. The results have been brilliant. I certainly still enjoy a quick cuppa from the shop down the road, but there's something very special--and dare I say magical--about these teas.

Yet what impresses me about Bingley's Teas just as much as the quality of the blends is the sweet personality and obvious passion of the owner, Ms. Matson. It was clear as soon as we started talking that Julia thoroughly knows and loves her work. She's a fresh inspiration to me during my own career journey, and it's a real pleasure to give her business.

So next time you're in the market for tea, I hope you'll remember the name of dear Mr. Bingley, always so affable, and give these teas a try!

more revels in rhyming

Everyone Wants

"Everyone wants" a home of her own,

Green grass in the suburbs, her personal throne,

But do I now, really? There's a new thought.

"Everyone wants" a good job with a raise,

Or even a bad one, as long as it pays

Something. What is it exactly, the job that I want?

"Everyone wants" to get married quite young

To the love of their lives, raise a daughter and son.

But how old is young? Is love chosen or destined?

"Everyone wants" this country to change,

More jobs, and more gas, and more cash in the bank.

Which plans really work? I never have questioned.

Maybe I don't want a box from the shelf

Maybe I don't want a cage for the self

Maybe I think I'll find love my own way

Maybe I think about more than I say

November, one more year

In the waiting room the air turns sour

Ears open, but they catch no sounds

The moments gape like open wounds

A hundred thousand every hour.

Visions of a time long gone,

Remembered land across the sea;

Can any ship there carry me?

My heart sinks in the light of dawn.

I seek and search, my heart has flown;

The journey's done, the door's now shut.

Search seaside, seek the forests, but

where it lies hid God knows alone.

Familiar sight, detested place,

Back into the waiting room,

Strung up inside the waiting room,

The future hangs on will and grace.

It's grey and grey, and grey and grey

In the prison outside and within myself.

No words can penetrate the self

that's lost its hope, that's lost its way.

Night comes, and darkness dyes the very air

Where my perceived bonds bind fast.

But the stars emerge like a trumpet blast

Through doors and windows everywhere.

Whence came these burning points of white?

Their pure light bursts my lowered head,

Their voices pierce through what was dead

In me, and herald fairer sight.

They bring the sun, and with its rays

The sad world's bathed in roses' wine.

Look down, the chains are gone, no sign

Of that which held me in this place.

The sad world stays, but all throughout

Dart bright pinpricks of eager souls,

Escaping waiting rooms and holes

To run their paths with joy, and shout

With mirth to find a kindred soul--

A soul to share their dreams and vision,

Inspiration, motivation,

And forge ahead with common goal.

In Dreams

"When the cold of winter comes

starless night will cover day.

In the veiling of the sun

we will walk in bitter rain.

But in dreams

I can hear your name

and in dreams

we will meet again.

When the seas and mountains fall

and we come to end of days

in the dark I hear a call

calling me there; I will go there

and back again."

जय हो

The song "Jai Ho" from Slumdog Millionaire has been in my head all day. Wikipedia tells us it means "may there be victory," just like it sounds (right?). The song was used for a practice warm-up at the Zumba training I attended this past weekend, and that's exactly what was right about the whole experience: so many people who think like I do about infectious music and expressive movement-- and a great many of them are much better at it than I am at this point, but I aspire to their level of creativity and energy.

It's also an apt song for today, because today the company asked for an interview. It's set for later this week.

To paint in broad generalizations, the folly of workers is a propensity to lose sight of the value of work, while the folly of the unemployed is to undervalue the gift of leisure. I hope I've steered clear of both extremes so far, but I also hope to become a much wiser worker in the near future. JAI HO!

the lowlands of holland (lyrics)

The love that I have chosen I therewith be content

And the salt sea shall be frozen before that I repent.

Repent it shall I never until the day I die

But the lowlands of Holland have twined my love and me.

My love lies in the salt sea and I am on the side.

It's enough to break a young thing's heart that lately was a bride.

That lately was a bonny bride with pleasure in her e'e

But the lowlands of Holland have twined my love and me.

My love has built a bonny ship and set her on the sea

With seven score good mariners to bear her company.

But there's three score of them is sunk and three score dead at sea

And the lowlands of Holland have twined my love and me.

My love has built a nether ship and set her on the main

With nane but twenty mariners aboard to bring her hame.

But the weary wind began to rise, the sea began to rout

And my love then and his bonny ship turned with the shins about.

There shall nae the quiff come on my head nor comb come in my hair

There shall neither coal nor candlelight shine in my bower mair.

And neither will I marry until the day I die

For I never had a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.

Oh hold your tongue, my daughter dear, be still and be content.

For there's men enough in Galloway, ye need not sore lament.

Oh there's men enough in Galloway, alas there's none for me

For I never had a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.

Marianne sang Scots songs, and other stories

The AGM wasn't all dancing and feasting. In between, we were treated to a number of lectures and breakout sessions offering further insight on the world of Sense & Sensibility.

Maureen Kelly came all the way from Scotland to introduce us to some of the songs Marianne Dashwood might have sung. Scotland (aka Caledonia) had become something of a national craze in Jane Austen's time, with its romantic, melancholy landscape and the dashing figure of the highlander. Tartans became a fashion statement, and folk songs became the entertainment of choice for young ladies following the cult of sensibility, like the character Marianne. Actually, we know that Jane Austen herself liked the songs, since there are among her possessions several songbooks and some sheet music that she hand-copied--songbooks were expensive! Maureen has a fantastic voice. My favorite Scots song? The Lowlands of Holland, best sung in my humble opinion by Four Pints Shy-- check 'em out!

Dr. Sheryl Craig giving a presentation about the economics of Sense & Sensibility, called "Wealth Has Much to Do with It." (Excerpt: "In the waning years of the 18th century, incredibly wealthy characters living the lifestyles of the rich and famous (preferably in haunted castles) sold books. No-one was publishing novels about ordinary people who lived in a cottage down the lane. In retrospect, it seems a risky thing to have done, but Jane Austen was about to break the mold with heroines whose modest income would determine the course the story would take.")

Art historian Jeffrey Nigro expounding on "The Iconography of Sensibility," i.e., the artwork and literature that shaped the cult of sensibility in Jane Austen's lifetime. That sensibility cult would later evolve into full-blown Romanticism. Much of their influence can be observed in Marianne's postures, actions, and words throughout the novel.

Elaine Bander, Juliet McMaster, and Peter Sabor hailed from Canada to give a panel discussion on "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Sense and Sensibility." They spoke about the judgments characters make of one another, the duel, and the novel's many letters.

Dance Practice

Here's a not uncommon sight at the AGM: ladies in their costumes-- ahem! their dresses--enjoying each other's company. Of course, some of them might be simultaneously sizing up the other's income, as our witty dance instructor, Miss Frances, pointed out.

Here's Miss Frances, now, with the son of one of the attendees and speakers, who gallantly attended more than one dance practice and wowed all the ladies with his accomplished bow.

Although, like any Austen fan, I'd seen many dance scenes in movie adaptations of her books, it was my first experience actually trying the dances myself. English country dance (ECD) had been evolving for more than two hundred years when Jane was born, but sometime after her death in 1817 it began to fall out of style.

My Aunt S. is a talented and avid dancer, and she began to explain the basic rules of ECD as we brought our luggage into the hotel. Soon it was time for dance practice, where Miss Frances took over and taught us to take hands four, set, allemande, and maintain a glowing smile all the way through.

The dancers line up in two facing columns on the dance floor. As a rule, the men are on the right and women on the left as you stand at the head of the column looking down, although of course these days many more women than men dance, meaning they have to keep their adopted gender straight when in the right column. The first pair at the head of the column is designated 1, and the second pair as 2, and the pattern continues all the way down the room. The mission of the 1s is to progress down the column, while the mission of the 2s is to progress up.

Each dance, then, is made up of the same sequence repeated many times, so that the 1s and 2s can progress and then (at least some) turn into the opposite number and progress in the opposite direction.

An endearing thing about ECD is its social and democratic nature: everyone dances with everyone, and no one remains fixed in either a high or low place. It's cultural, perhaps with no value other than pure enjoyment of music and one's neighbors.

But for me, the best things about it were being able to dance to live music, to finally give expression to the movement clearly called for by the music, and to experience for myself the same motions experienced by so many people two and three hundred years ago. The dances' names were lovely, too.

We danced:

Sprigs of Laurel

Highland Lilt

The Margate Hoy

Northdown Waltz

Moll in the Wad

The Midnight Ramble

Mr. Beveridge's Maggot*

The Whim of the Moment

The Hop Ground

The Duke of Kent's Waltz

*In contemporary terms, "maggot" is not a wriggling larvae, but rather a whim or fancy. Mr. Beveridge was a famous dance master, and his Maggot was one of England's greatest hits of 1695. It's unlikely to have maintained this popularity until the 1790s and 1800s, when Austen was writing, but that didn't stop movie makers from using it in their adaptations. We learned the choreography for the dance as it's found in the BBC Pride & Prejudice, ostensibly so that we could all have our "Mr. Darcy moment." :)

Thoughts... I always thought the dancing looked quite sedate, and so it may be, in comparison to many other styles. But in truth, the pace is usually more upbeat. I love the homely-courtly dynamic, too. In part, the dances evoke country folk, simple joys, and earthy energy. Yet at the same time the movements are restrained, demanding courtesy as well as broad smiles and winks, and there is a very procession-like feel to the progression. It's a very human form of dance, if you follow me. In sum, ECD is a cultural and social gem, and I am glad it continues to be preserved and polished.

because it's Friday

I interrupt my Texas reverie to bring you this music cover from Karmin. Love it!

Fort Worth

Few of the areas I've visited over my short career as a conference-goer offer the high level of order and convenience found in Sundance Square and the Renaissance Worthington in particular. With the exception of a Japanese-style convenience store or grocery, it seemed like anything one could wish for was within walking distance. I was struck by the subtle strangeness of yet another state in the Union; a strangeness which found expression in the well-laid streets and architecture as well as in the occasional 'Western' element-- such as one small museum, nestled among the restaurants and shops, showcasing the paintings of Frederic Remington and Charles Russell.

Best of all, the weather and the temperature were consistently favorable. It was a bit beyond me why the hotel and shops persisted in air conditioning when the natural temperature was perfect, but I did sometimes flee the cold interiors for a bask in the outdoor sunshine.

Back from Texas!

I'm back from Texas, where I attended the 2011 Jane Austen Society of North America's Annual General Meeting-- or JASNA AGM, for short. The AGM is held in a different city (and sometimes a different country) every year, and each year a different theme is explored for the benefit of the members' better understanding of Jane Austen and her world. Some years, the theme is broadly defined, allowing for study not only of Austen's novels but also of her letters and "juvenilia" writings. This year, however, marked the 200th anniversary of the publication of Austen's first novel, and so the theme was Sense & Sensibility.

It was a marvelous long weekend. I danced my heart out, found some remarkable teacups, took a picture with a celebrity, and joined the promenade in Fort Worth's Sundance Square, much to the amazement of the local party-goers. I also learned a bit about women's language in the Regency and the various "kidney-rattling" modes of transportation available. If I were a wealthy Regency lady, I might drive a phaeton, whereas the adventurous eldest son in the family would be most flamboyantly accoutered in a curricle. As a lady, it would be improper for me to gallivant about the country on horseback, but that would be my first choice in different circumstances.

Many more photos to follow...

the new look

What do you think of the new look? Changing it was a piece of cake, but perhaps it isn't your cup of tea?

I loved the color and energy of the hitherto-design, but felt that I'd gotten too used to it and too complacent to post much anymore. Enter the chic new colors, textures, and fonts.

As always, I am keeping busy-- now with finding a job and with some personal pursuits I wasn't able to chase in the Japanese countryside. In fact, I will be spending this long weekend in Texas at a Jane Austen conference, where I will gain in-depth knowledge about the novel Sense & Sensibility, as well as about the era in which Austen lived and wrote, the English Regency period.

And tonight, I will dream that all security threats have been neutralized, and consequently all travel is as relaxing and enjoyable as a Frank Sinatra song. Nighty night!

関心

　先週、面白い本を読みました。その本は自己改善がジャンルで、タイトルは「彼はあなたにそれほど関心がない」。３、４年前に大ヒットになって、去年同じタイトルの映画が登場しました。（ところで、ネットで借りて観ました。お勧めです！）

　好きな人、彼氏、夫など、女性は意外な時間をかけて恋人のことを悩むというのがこの本が書かれた理由だそうです。女性同士で話す時に、決まって誰かがその悩み事を打ち明けて、みんなで解決しようとするのですが、みんなが聞いて欲しいような、前向きな考えしかしないらしいです。例えば、「電話を返してくれないなら、たぶん親戚が病気で余裕がない」とか、「もしかして電話を壊しちゃったかも」とか、「記憶喪失でしょう」まで、好きな人の言い訳を考えてばかりいるそうです。

　ところが、事実はもっと簡単です。それは、関心がない。男性は女性が本当に好きになったら、彼女のために何でもします。たとえ偶然に出逢って、名前しか知らなくても、本当に関心を持つと彼女のことを調べたりして、また会えるようにするそうです。

　なので、なかなか連絡してくれない、あるいはデートに誘ってくれない、またはプロポーズしてくれないなら、言い訳を考えてあげたり、悩んだり、待ったりしてはいけません。自分の素晴らしい人生を続けて、大切な時間とエネルギーを関心を持ってくれる人にかけるのは、この本のアドバイスです。

※

　タイトルを耳にしてから、この本をずっと読みたかった。書いてある通り、言い訳を考えたりするし、普通は向こうが何も言わずに姿を消して行く。

女：「あなたのことが大好き。どう思う？」

男：「あなたのことはそんなに好きじゃない。」

女：「ありがとう。お元気で！」

男：「お元気で！」

　この会話はおそらく、世界中に一回も話されたことがない。しかし、「彼の」ことを悩む女性には、「あなたが嫌い」と言われても涙をこぼすほど感謝の気持ちでいっぱい。ほっとする。私たち女性の一番素晴らしいところは一番苦しいところだと思う。それが、希望のない状態になっても、まだ愛し続ける方向である。この苦しみが男性に知られたら、気持ちを早く伝えてもらえるようになるだろうか。本には、知っている男性もいるけど、関心がないと言える勇気がないと書いてある。

　興味深い本だった。

looking back and forging onward

Up-and-coming composer Austin Haynes- check him out!

It's been nearly a month now, since they passed away, my grandmother and her mother. Life feels different, less rich, as if dynamic voices in the great background score of life have fallen silent, leaving the melody to carry on in a weaker form; or as if you awoke to find walls and roof-beams missing from your home, opening it to the wind, falling leaves, and stars.

They, too, had their losses in life to reckon with, and yet they remained strong and vibrant. I kept going back to one particular memory during the first week. It happened one summer in Chicago when I was a child of ten or twelve. I was going off to bed and stopped to give Grandma the usual quick hug-and-kiss goodnight, but she held on to me tight and told me, "I love you so very much, Jessie." I knew it was true. Bigger, wiser, and stronger than I, she never stopped seeming larger than life, an enveloping, protecting, and above all loving presence in my life.

Death affects us all. It defines our world and our species. Some cultures in certain periods in history show a disconcerting preoccupation with it; for many decades American culture has been busily trying to keep death locked in the basement as it distracts itself with whatever is new, shiny, trendy, savvy, sporty, sexy, and youthful. But the closer it hits to home, the more death reminds us of our own mortality, which should be another way of saying it rejuvenates and motivates us. The more powerfully we experience it, the weaker all our distractions become.

Distractions can be good. It wouldn't be possible or indeed healthy to go on breathing the rarified air of death-sharpened consciousness all the days of our life. There is a time to mourn, and a time to dance, after all. But that rarified air brings the horizon into focus. We can no longer keep up the pretense at immortality.

That is not exactly a comfortable realization, but neither is it as unbearable as the burden of fresh grief, when our minds are filled with precise sensory memories of the beloved dead and thoughts of "never again."

When that first, bitter grief gives way to time, we take stock of the situation with some marvel and alarm. What delicate beings we are! Rooted in earth, needy for water, for air, for food, for shelter and heat, we step moment to moment with our lives in our hands. There are many things too big for us, many chasms we can never cross with our feet.

When the sun has sunk well below the horizon and all we have is the damp earth beneath and the dark sky above, perhaps we may find peace in the realization that we are, after all, only mortal. We honor the dead as we loved them in life. We remember them. And being simple men and women, we forge ahead, as they did before us.

pesky wasps

Pesky wasps got you down? Say no more. Just attract some giant dragonflies and they'll take care of your problem.

plans

Tonight on Novus Latium, I have more questions than answers. I'm all right with that, too. Always taking things for granted and cruising along without stopping to wonder why is an unfortunate way to live.

What does it mean to say God has a plan for you? Do you believe it? How do you believe it? Do you believe He has a "Plan" according to which your occupation, spouse, and children are more or less predetermined? Do you believe it's more of a Plan A, Plan B situation, where a less than ideal decision made years ago puts you permanently off the track to the happiest ending? Or might you believe there's no "plan" at all, that God simply allows people to live as we see fit, only intervening in exceptional circumstances for reasons best known to Himself?

Most people have spent some time pondering these questions, I think. No exception myself, the idea in which I've come to find the most comfort follows.

Let's start with the parable of the talents. The rich man doesn't give the servants any instructions; he leaves them the gold and then disappears. In the same way, we all start life with seemingly random assortments of blessings-- in our parents, the neighborhoods and education we grow up with, our natural talents, etc. Likewise, we are for all the world without instruction. Certainly some receive religious or philosophical education, some are trained by ambitious relatives or teachers, and some live by basic instinct. But most people aren't born with an innate sense of their gifts and how best to use them in this world. That "how" is never explained specifically.

In the end the rich man returns, and the servants return his money with whatever they have added to it. Only the third servant has added nothing, saying, 'I knew you for a hard man, reaping where you do not sow, so I buried it in the ground. Here is your money back.'

Multiplying blessings, talents, is part of what makes 'good and faithful servants.' The first two servants did that. And both were rewarded for that, not according to the amount they started or ended with. But the third servant's attitude is all wrong. One can only imagine how his statement made sense in his mind, but burying treasure is much more suited to pirates and robbers than trusted servants. The attitude is one of fearful grasping-- hide this away before anyone sees it-- if the master never returns, then I and I alone can lay claim to the treasure. It is also one of scorn. Perhaps the third servant noticed the others getting more and resented being given the least of all. If this is all he gives me, he doesn't expect much of me. I'll just bury this old bag and take care of my own affairs.

Actually, nothing in the parable suggests that the multiplication must be a doubling. The servant with ten talents might have made only fifteen in the end, and the servant with five might have made twenty, and the servant with one might have made thirty. They didn't. But the first two servants were richly rewarded. The third was thrown outside with nothing.

When I was a kid, before learning what the Church teaches about Hell and how only you can put yourself there, I worried about that third servant. I thought, why couldn't they just teach him how to invest properly and give him another chance?

But I think the servants represent attitudes as much as they model choices and actions. The forward-thinking, forward-looking attitudes of life and growth, mixed with some amount of courage and risk-taking, are praiseworthy. The close-fisted, looking-over-the-shoulder, safety first, grumbling attitude is damnable.

Back to the questions about God's Plan. I think He wants everyone and all things to grow better, more real, more beautiful, and more alive, and to have a grand adventure doing it. Being outside of time, He can see us at every stage of our lives, making every decision and action, simultaneously. It doesn't mean He makes those decisions for us. But He gives us a certain number of "talents" to start with. It's up to us to do something with them. Rather than sitting around, puzzling over the one correct way to 'solve' our life's purpose-- reminiscent of the third servant, who may have been brooding over that sack of gold-- we should be going out of ourselves, sharing what we have, spreading it around, and multiplying goodness, truth, and beauty, all the while trusting in God's love and mercy.

I think God does have a plan for each person: some final shape into which He wants to mold each of our souls. I think the plans are flexible enough that only the most determined and absolute human decisions toward defiance could derail them. I believe God will pick up tool after tool to nudge us into that final shape. Meanwhile, He gives us a great gift in being able to choose, effectually, the color and texture of our life: the places we go, the friends we associate with, the man or woman we marry, all our aspirations and activities. He can, and He does, work on us through every aspect of our lives.

It's easy to think about this at high points like graduations, promotions, birthdays, and retirements. It's a lot harder to remember when you are the lumpy blob of clay, spinning around and around and being pushed and prodded everywhere. Or the block of clay, a bit misshapen, just sitting on a shelf. But as long as you remember to unclench your fists (and your teeth), trust in God, and make it your business to grow and improve something, I don't think you can go far wrong.

a cool jam

A great thing happened tonight, and I remembered to be grateful. Isn't it funny how hard it is to remember that sometimes? Maybe it's only me. But at the top of the list, I know I'm grateful for my lovely friends and family.

in search of

This past weekend, both my grandmother and great-grandmother were laid to rest after a very surreal week, spent with family, making sure the things that needed to be done were done. I learned something new about myself, too. I don't do well with people are crying at me. Call it heartlessness, lack of empathy, or some latent Nordic reserve, but on the few occasions it happened I found myself feeling helpless and assailed when someone would start crying, just looking at me as if for help. The instinct was to get away, and fast. With my own emotional well dried up, I had nothing in me to answer the relentless fountain welling up from someone else. Thankfully, we all kept it together most of the time.

I knew that my grandma was a regular reader of this blog, and whenever I posted a new photo or entry, I imagined her in the front row. She was a go-getter and a hard worker, and she always had projects going on. But she made time to talk to me, imparting new nuggets of knowledge or advice. The week before she died, I kept opening Skype, hoping to catch her online so I could tell her about my job hunt and see if she had any more advice for me. I tried calling, too, but there was no one to answer the phone since my grandparents were out traveling. So, ultimately, I never was able to tell her about the job hunt, or about my ideas at this point, or about Germany; I wasn't able to hear any last words of advice.

Still, I have a feeling I know what she would have said, anyway. I'll always remember our last conversations-- when I spent a night at her house fresh off the airplane from Japan, and when we Skyped before an interview of mine. She encouraged me to set my sights high and pursue them with confidence and poise. She not only believed, she knew that I would do my best in this transitional stage, and that gives me a powerful bit of motivation even amidst all the grief of losing her.

For both of us, being able to live independently is terribly important. She cautioned me strongly against getting stuck in a too-familiar rut, against putting my life on hold.

So now, when all my job leads have dried up once again and every door seems barred, even though I feel angry and powerless about the situation, I have my grandma's confidence that something great will work out, as long as I'm proactive about it and keep smiling.

急な出来事

昨日、夕食の用意をしているところに大好きな叔母から電話がありました。でも、声がいつもと違って、とても辛そうでした。速く母か父に電話を渡すように言いました。母は教会に行っていたので、父を昼寝から起こして電話をとってもらいました。叔母は私の祖父から先に聞いたのですが、祖母が亡くなりました。

二人はよく楽しむ旅行をネバダ州でしていたようですが、昨日はシカゴへの帰り日になっていました。祖父は早く起きて、荷物を片付けたりそろったりしてから、祖母を起こそうとしましたが、どうしても起きなかったそうです。

死亡していることが分かったら、近くの施設に預けることにして、何百マイルも走ってシカゴへ帰り始めました。叔母に電話をしたのは、夕方になってホテルに止まってからでした。シカゴに着くのはたぶん火曜日でしょう。帰ったら葬儀の支度をするそうです。

・・・

このおばあちゃんは、チェコの伝統をよく教えてくれたおばあちゃんでした。もちろん、こんなに急に亡くなるとは予想もしませんでした。とても強い人だったので、いつまでも元気に（しかもちょっと頑固に）生きていくようでした。彼女は、女性がまだ大勢に就職していない時代に大学に入って薬剤師になり、同じクラスにいたおじいちゃんと結婚しました。自分たちの薬局を営むために一所懸命働き、母たちもちゃんと育てました。

私が小学生だったころは、薬局を売ってチェーン薬局で働くようになっていたのですが、「働く女性」の姿を見せてくれたのはシェリーばあちゃんでした。いつも綺麗にしていた化粧や、香りの良い（たまに強い）香水など、または珍しいピアスも思い出します。そして、家にいる時間を無駄にせず、いつも何か美味しい料理やお菓子を作っていました。それは彼女の大好きな趣味でした。でもほかにも、先祖のことを調べたり、古い写真をパソコンに入れ込んだり、編み物をしたり、クラスリツェを作ったりしました。

私は日本で留学したり、就職したりしても、いつも応援してくれました。特に今回伊方町にいた３年間、メールのやり取り以外にスカイプでも話しました。「これからの就職活動は心配です」と言うと、必ずいくつかの助言や提案を出してくれました。

一ヶ月ぐらい前に私はアメリカに帰り、派遣生より一泊早く着いたので、一泊祖父母の家でできました。とても短い時間でしたが、何よりも貴重だったのです。あれができて、感謝しています。最後までおばあちゃんは、就活を頑張れ頑張れと応援してくれました。

もしほかに動機がなくなっても、彼女のために頑張ります。

また天国で会えるように祈っています。

今週は特に難しいと思いますが、家族と一緒にいるのは有り難いです。

明日から

明日朝一から就職活動に戻ります。今週こそ進歩しないと！と思っていますが、もちろん私だけの努力でできることではないので、違う活動もするつもりです。まずはお祈り。そして、運動。

家に帰ったら、まるで毎日のように甘いものが台所に置いてあるのにびっくりしました。パイ、カップケーキ、ケーキ、クッキー、プリン・・・　とりあえず太らないように頑張ります！

survival

It's been quite some time, but I've been, in various ways, digging out from under piles of stuff. I've also been pursuing a number of job opportunities, but so far I haven't succeeded in catching any of them, which is frustrating and preventing me from posting regularly. Still, I've been telling myself (and my mom has been telling me, too) that I'll just find something better.

I suppose it's time to start casting a wider net.

Since, in the US anyway, this is Labor Day weekend, there isn't much I can do to further the job-hunt-- but I will use the time to regroup and rethink versions of my resume. I know that the economy is bad and that many people have been out of work for years now, but I have a feeling that the longer one stays unemployed, the harder it becomes to get employed again. Therefore, now is the time for an energetic and thorough approach.

Meanwhile, I aim to see if I can get any work as a freelance translator. Fitness is still an option, too. I'll have to make myself a timeline and research group ex certification.

vertigo

Life goes on, and very soon this epilogue as a volunteer interpreter will come to a close. For all that, it's been a fairly relaxed experience compared to last year, enough so that I was able to go to an internship interview earlier this week. Next week, after saying goodbye to the Japanese group, I'll go to another interview, this time for a paying job. And then I'll be off to an undisclosed location for a week of learning and rejuvenation.

Meanwhile, I'm getting ready for the Sense and Sensibility conference in October.

"After all that is bewitching in the idea of one's happiness depending entirely on one person, it is not always possible, we must accept."

lilies of the field

"Bee on Flower" is apparently such a popular photo subject that some digital cameras have actually named it as a mode, similar to Portrait or Landscape. I think Macro does as good a job as any in describing it.

But there is something about these tiny creatures.

if you're thirsty, come and drink

Henna

リバーシティーデーズで色々な売店がありますが、最後の方にあるところではヘンナをつけることができます。ヘンナというのは、インドからのミソバギ科の植物ですが、昔からヘンナタトゥー（入れ墨）の染料としても使われてきました。私は一回もつけてもらったことがなかったですが、いつも面白そうに思っていたから、今日こそやってみよう！と決めました。

（タトゥーといっても、入れるのでなく肌につけるものだし、一週間ぐらいしか保たないので、心配しないでください。笑）

the city

As a child spending the best part of the summer on the outskirts of Chicago, the primary impression I had of the city itself was that it was a dark, dirty, dangerous place where people would clobber you as soon as look at you. I'm sure this came about after some occasion when my siblings and I asked about going to downtown Chicago, and one of our parents or grandparents very simply said, "it isn't safe," leaving our imaginations to work out the worst.

But this very neighborhood watch sign was at least equally important. I was scared to death of the bad guy on the sign, and imagined his bulldog-like profile lurking like a black hole behind trees and bushes even in our utopian little neighborhood.

(At the same time, of course, I felt some pride in spending my summers in proximity to such a great big, dangerous city.)

The first time I really changed perspectives was in high school, when the National Catholic Youth Choir took a side trip to Navy Pier during its tour in the Midwest. I had the time of my life with my choir buddies there.

Since then, I've had a few more opportunities to better acquaint myself with the city, and my conclusion is that it's a loud, friendly, complex, vibrant place. Its future looks bright. If I had a job downtown, I could imagine living quite contentedly among its venerable brick edifices and the masses of humanity moving in and around them.

In fact, at this point, three days after leaving my home of three years, Chicago, with its vast resources and larger numbers of Japanese speakers, seems like it could be a more comfortable fit than Minneapolis. But then, since I now have a couple of job prospects in the Twin Cities, I'm afraid Chicago might not be in my immediate future. Of course, what I keep finding myself thinking about is going "home" to Ikata. Then I recall that my home and desk and job are all in the hands of another person now, and I've lost my foothold there.

Home.

Ultimately, nowhere on Earth will ever feel exactly like home. I'm a big fan of an idea in C.S. Lewis's book The Last Battle, namely that when we get to Heaven, we will find that it is what we have been looking for and loving all our lives-- that everything we loved here on Earth will be like a reflection in a small handmirror, and entering Heaven will be more like turning around to find the glorious reality all around us. Then we will go "further up and further in."

Still, I'm a home-maker through and through-- and by that I mean that I have an innate need and skill to make the space around me as homelike and easy to attach oneself to as possible. There are few things so disagreeable to my mind as the prospect of merely passing through place after place, just inhabiting space so foreign and unrelated to oneself that one might as well be a drone or video game character, signifying nothing, needing nothing, feeling nothing.

At the moment I feel like a very unwilling rolling stone or fish out of water, but eventually the home-making process will start again.