Mid June we went out to my parents’ place in Sheridan.  The weather was only so-so summery.  It took a long time to warm up in Sheridan, which is even cooler than Portland.

As it was, the plan to “sleep out on the deck” with my childhood friend Maria became a midnight “haul the kids in out of the rain”.  My parents have two dogs who love nothing better than barking their heads off every night.  Mom and Dad don’t mind.  They claim to not hear a thing, which I would attribute to hearing loss if there weren’t complaints of city noise when they stay in town.  Anyway, midway through our sleep out on the porch adventure, I heard strange scratching noises on the scaffolding underneath the deck.  My dad had been pouring a new footing that day and had beams strung under where we were sleeping.  The dogs were freaking out, and it quickly became clear that SOMETHING was hanging out down there.  I jumped up and yelled over the edge and the unknown lurker tumbled down through the hop trellis, taking half the scaffolding with him (or her).  At that point, I was thoroughly freaked.  Although I knew rationally that a raccoon is not going to climb back up the deck and into bed with me, I felt vulnerable with all those kids strewn all over the deck.  And I guess I am afraid of raccoons after seeing them go after chickens so enthusiastically.  I was actively talking myself out of being scared of a raccoon when it began to rain steadily.  Thank you RAIN!  Now I could wake up my friend and tell her we needed to move inside without sounding like a scaredy cat city girl!  Yes!

Maria and I managed to move 4 sleeping children into the house without waking a single one.  Actually I am not sure that Maria was awake herself.

In the morning, this one slept on:

My dad is amused by us.  I love how relaxed my parents are about their hospitality.  Some people fuss over you when you come to stay, and in their fuss, make you incredibly uncomfortable.  I once stayed somewhere where the parents wanted to give ME their bed, which embarrassed me to no end.  My parents just figure that people can find some nook or cranny where they can be comfortable, and because they’ve been so flexible with their views, over the years I have brought scores of people out to crash on the floor.  Mom and Dad just flow along with it.

The next day it was a visit to a chicken breeding farm out in Sheridan.  Even though this farm had my same town as the address, it was so far in the hills that it took nearly half an hour to get there.  Once there though, the rewards were great!  I learned a lot from the farmers.  They were incredibly generous hosts and we saw some gorgeous birds..

In the afternoon we were off to Sheridan Days parade, which is sort of weirdly charming and strange at the same time.  It is mostly emergency vehicles with their sirens on and protestant church groups angling for more fish in a small pond, attempting to show you how much fun their youth groups are having by sitting in pick up beds singing along the parade route.  When I was a kid there were big log trucks with the biggest tree they had cut down that year, but those are mostly gone now.  Remaining are bagpipe groups and a smattering of rodeo queens from small towns, plus some freaky clowns from the coast and this really strange group of old dudes from Lincoln City who dress like devils, pull women out of the crowd, take them to their “float”, put them in a stockade and stamp “SEXY” on their cheeks.  I am not kidding.  They are called the “Red Devils” and I suppose they are a social group of some sort, (but I do NOT want to know what they do for fun at their secret meetings because their public outings already give me a heart attack).  Half my life I have been afraid of the Red Devils.  The other half I have been pissed at them.  Perhaps for this reason, I have never been picked by them.  They are not dumb, and surely they know to avoid the woman yelling “sexists!”.  Maria was picked though, and she, being a better sport than I, allowed a devil to escort her to where she was branded “sexy”.  He was polite about it, but I couldn’t help but be worried about her as she disappeared around the corner with the Devils.  For Maria’s part, I figure she knows she is sexy.  She is just allowing the Red Devil the mistaken pleasure of thinking it was somehow his discovery.

I need to not be so ernest, but that is a life long struggle for me.

The sun set on much candy gathering, and as you know, I am a gatherer.  I have taught my children my unique skill set.

Too bad you can’t make this crap into jam.

Most of you know that Brad and I have only one car— a trusty 1998 Nissan Sentra.  We bought it in 2003 for something around $4000 and it seemed amazingly new and expensive.  Now it is getting old and ratty, but still drives well.  The kids’ three car seats fit across the back just fine, (only if you tip one armrest into the upright position and wedge it under the sides of Inez’s seat).  It is amazing that we can fit five people in this little compact car (but none of the kids can buckle their own car seats because there isn’t room for them to reach between the seats and down to where the buckle is).  Who knew a compact car could do the work of a mini van?!  (Just make sure that the kids lift their fingers when you shut the doors because all the car seats shove together.  And don’t think you can do anything when they start screaming, “Inez is pulling my hair!” because believe me, there is nowhere to go.  And if at Christmas time, we don’t give you a present, it isn’t because we forgot or because we are cheap, it is that it didn’t fit in our car.)

Most of the time, the one car thing is no problem.  Brad commutes to work by train every day.  I get around largely by walking and sometimes riding my bike.  With a little planning and communication, there are few conflicts.  Every now and then we run in to trouble though.  Early September for example.  Brad wanted to get out to his parents’ place and work from there; Francis had another couple days of school.  What did we do?  Sent the car with Brad (and two younger kids) and Francis and I stayed to catch the Yamhill County Transit Area bus.

Yeah, bus!  There is a bus that connects Hillsboro and McMinnville.  Then there is another bus that goes from McMinnville to Grand Ronde, stopping in between in Sheridan and Willamina.  Who knew?

The webpage schedule is sort of vague on the Hillsboro end.  Unfortunately like smaller town people, they list the pick up as “Hillsboro MAX”, and anyone who has ever been out there knows that Hillsboro has something like 8 stops in town.  A quick call told me that the pick up place was the Hillsboro Transit Center.  ”Nope, no sign,” the guy on the phone said.  ”Just look for the people in line.  It’ll pull up where the buses are.”  That made me a little insecure, but he sounded confident, so I figured we would try it.  Francis and I took MAX out to Hillsboro transit center after school and cast about until we saw people waiting in line along the curb.  There were three of them, but that was enough for me.  Soon enough the cute little bus pulled up and we paid our $2 for a day pass.  Yes, that is right.  It was $2 to take the bus and hour and a half home to Grand Ronde.  Francis, being a child, was free.  The bus driver carefully made out a pass for me representing what I would have paid for a cup of coffee.  How can they pay the gas with such a low fare?  I worried for a minute that if I didn’t shove some more money at the man instantly, the bus line would be bankrupt in a month, but he seemed fine with my $2.  Filled with guilt at not doing my part to support public transportation, I boarded the bus.

The bus was small but comfortable.  The seats were clean and very large.  The windows were fantastically huge, affording an excellent view of the gorgeous farmland of the Yamhill/Carlton area.  I have to say, the dude drove like a bat out of hell.  It was a fast, fast trip.  Occasionally he would swerve to the side of the road and pick up some person (did they wave?  How did he know?) and most of the riders seemed familiar with our driver.  Because they seemed to know him, I figured they had survived the last bus ride and maybe I should relax.

In McMinnville we switched buses at 5th and Davis (where the jail is), and continued towards Grand Ronde.  The other riders were more grungy at this point—-mostly young men checking in with their probation officers I suspect—but they were pleasant enough.  ”How ’bout some tunes dude?” one slightly retarded passenger yelled, and the driver acquiesced with a 70s rock and roll radio station.

At exactly the time stated on the schedule, the bus pulled into the Casino mini mart.  Brad was there to meet us with the trusty Nissan.  We had left Hillsboro at 6:25pm and arrived at Grand Ronde at 8:15pm.  All in all, not bad for $2.  I dream of a day when there is a high speed train to dump me out in the country (after a 40 minute trip), but for now I’ll take the YCTA bus.  Here’s for public transport!

Look!  Look!  I am going to do it!  I think I need to be photo based though as it will never get done if I try to compose a story of my trip.  So here you go— short, sweet, and hopefully comprehensible.

Remember how I went on and on about Osaka & Kobe being sort of industrial?  Well Anne in her infinite wisdom took me to Kyoto for the weekend and it was lovely in all the ways that I expected Japan to be lovely.  Kyoto was not damaged in WWII, so it is full of old and stunning religious sites.  In the city center alone, there are hundreds of shrines and temples to visit… and visit people do!  In Kobe, Anne and I felt like the only westerners walking around.  In Kyoto there were tons of tourists, even though it was Japan’s rainy season.

Anne and I both love to walk (and walk, and walk, and walk), so on our first day there, we took a gander at the map and just took off.  One of the best areas we wandered through was the Gion district.  If you have read Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, you will already be familiar with descriptions of this area.  If you haven’t read it, you are a fool.  Don’t bother with the movie.  I have such a crush on Gong-Li but she really sucked in that.  And I took issue with all these Chinese actresses playing Japanese people.  Stupid Hollywood.

Anyway, Gion was really beautiful— full of these narrow little streets, tea houses, old lights, and a lot of stunning aged cedar buildings.  I like going places that allow you to make believe you are in a different time.  Gion allows that.  Gion invites that.

Overall, Japan is pretty great to travel in, but it is difficult to get around the cultural and language barrier.  Japan is a rule-based society and there are proper ways to do things that are not alway obvious to an outsider.  The subways and public streets are blaring with what sound like VERY IMPORTANT INSTRUCTIONS but are often just incidental information.  If I were standing waiting for the train in America and had that many announcements come on, I would exit the building and prepare for the bomb blast.  Japanese folks must just like their announcements.  I found it interesting that Americans assault your sensibilities directly (for example that person who stinks or talks too loudly on their cell phone or is swearing on the bus), while Japanese society assaults your sensibilities in a more general way (the constant recorded announcements blaring wherever you go).  Japanese people are quiet and eager to not offend in public places.  They are silent on the train in efforts to not bug you, but you can’t walk anywhere without some stupid recording screaming, some “important announcement” giving you information that all Japanese speakers are ignoring, or some ad blaring in your ears.

I think I lost my train of thought.  Oh yeah, what I wanted to say was that it is really awesome to travel with someone who speaks the language!  I am so stupidly proud of my sister Anne for her fluency in Japanese.  I got a foretaste of that parent-proudness.  I never quite stopped thinking, “WOW!  My little sister is SOOOOO SMART!” every time I heard her rattle away in Japanese.  She could say the littlest thing and I was so thrilled.  So smart!  Anyway, the physical manifestation of her smartness was that she arranged for us to stay in a real, live temple in Kyoto.

The first night we were there, we came running through a massive downpour, up through the very impressive gates and rang at a dark, deserted door.  This was our temple—where we were staying and it seemed god-forsakenly empty.  Turns out it was.  After the care-taker rolled back the huge wooden door and showed us where to dump our soaking shoes, we found that we were the only people in the huge place.  We snuck around to verify this.  There seemed to be about 20 or so rooms in the place, all separated by rice paper screens.  All were empty.  Anne told me later that you needed to go through quite an ordeal to reserve to stay there.  It wasn’t something that most travelers might arrange as it involved faxing info and speaking Japanese.

Our room was simple but lovely.  It had a sweet smelling tatami mat floor, a couple futons, piles of blankets, and a low coffee table that we pushed out of the way when it was time to lay out our futons.  I got some of the best nights’ sleep there.  The most wonderful thing about the temple was that it SMELLED good—like rice and straw and wood.  I was still jet-lagged and waking up sort of early, so in the morning, I explored the gardens around the temple.

Holy shit, right?  That is me…. at a temple!  By myself.  Seriously, there was no one anywhere near.  Those rock gardens seemed to suggest that they raked themselves.  (I did see the gardener’s shoes tucked under the deck, so I suppose that is not the case.)

Oh wait!  I said this would be short. Whoops.  To sum up the rest of the trip— a lot of rain, much walking, lots of laughter in a dollar store over the weirdo t-shirt translations, fantastic food, a memorable trip to a public bath, more rain, very cold and delicious beer, and some gardening that was so beautiful your eyes couldn’t quite take it in.

Know what I love about Japan?

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This

When I first met up with Anne right off the plane, she had a long list of “things we would eat”.  Whereas many travelers might arrange their week around things to see, our week was shaping up to incorporate “the best sushi in this little shop”, “okonomiyaki that this old woman makes near my house”, and food on sticks in China town and at a little alley yakatori.

First stop after dropping off my wet luggage at her place was okonomiyaki, a fried pancake of egg & vegetables topped with sauciness.  I think they usually have meat in them, but Anne has hers “like the monks”, which essentially means vegetarian.  It was full of those long stringy mushrooms which I think would have been better if they were of a larger, less ropey variety.  Anne eschews meat, but admits she is a sucker for mayonnaise, an ingredient I have something of a weakness for to.  The whole thing was great!  The shop that she took me to was charming—an old woman worked over a grill in front of us so we were able to watch her creation while drinking super cold beers.  Anne kept up a comfortable banter in Japanese with the owners and I felt like a bit of a superstar to get to be eating okonomiyaki in a tiny hole-in-the-wall in Japan.

So off we go to Ashland via Amtrak Cascades.  We’re pulling into Eugene and my sister’s house at about 9 pm tonight.  If I am really organized, the kids will have a nutritious picnic dinner on the train.  If I am not, $6 corndogs in the dining car everyone!  Either way, I am about breaking my arm patting myself on the back.

Have a great week!  I’ll be back next Monday or so with all new tales to tell (and a wrap up on Japan—-sorry!).

But more about Japan.  I had a few small goals for my time there:

1)  Bond with the sister.  Get the dirt on her life straight from the source.  Take advantage of the time she remains in Japan to get a free tour guide.  Check out her apartment, neighborhood, the school where she teaches— just see and touch the everyday things that she sees and touches.

2)  Eat super good food.  I like Japanese food for both its flavor and aesthetic.  I am an adventurous eater, so I wanted to try as many wonderful things as possible.

3)  Run a bit.  See if I could still pull off 4 to 6 miles in preparation for the 5K I was to run in Willamina on the 4th of July.

I guess I am a bit embarrassed to say that I didn’t feel any need to see many historical or culturally significant sights.  It isn’t so much that I didn’t want to, it is more that I felt no need to seek them out.  I figured they would come to me when they were good and ready.  Is it bad?  When I travel, I prefer to plan very little about what I will do, learn little or nothing about the place, and just sort of plunge in and experience things.  I like to be ignorant and unprepared, but with my eyes and ears wide open, and my feet flexible and ready to wander miles to check out the lay of the land.  Granted, it is sort of a stupid way to travel sometimes, and it has resulted in some really miserable situations, but I pride myself in being unfailingly cheery in the worst of situations, so it seems to work for me.  No one else might want to go with me, but it is my most natural way.

Following my hobo heart, I got off the bus in downtown Sannomiya Kobe 2 hours early in a massive downpour, wearing just a sweater and cap to protect against the rain.  It turns out that the Japanese love their umbrellas–something that Portlanders, even in the rain don’t seem to possess.  I figured that I could sit out the deluge in a tea shop, but I didn’t have any money because I figured I would find an ATM once in Japan.  I was carrying heavy bags full of too many pairs of shoes (a weakness of mine), huge hardback books, and a couple extra pounds of coffee and chocolate as gifts.  My number one priority was to find money, make change, plop my 30 pounds of chocolate and coffee and shoes in a coin locker at the station and find a place to wait.  Instead, tired, penniless, and conspicuously western, I wandered around in circles in the rain toting my huge bag, and looking for an ATM that would take my foreign bankcard.  Five ATMs later, I learned something new—you need to bring cash to Japan.  Preferably Japanese cash.  Who knew?!

Midway in my wanderings, I hopped under this temple tucked in between two huge office buildings just to get out of the rain.  I considered sitting down right there in front of the altar, but that seemed tacky.

Japan is so fascinating in its conjunction of the old and the new.

I did find a lovely lady (God Bless her!) who drew me a detailed map of where to find a “foreign ATM”.  Once there, I came smack up against my ignorance again when it was time to select the amount that I wanted to withdraw.  I had no clue as to the exchange rate.  What should I take out?  100,000 yen?  5000 yen?  Or just 2500?  What amount would be acceptable to pull out at the tea shop while making it clear that I only wanted tea, not to become an investing partner?  And what amount would not make Brad back in Oregon gasp too loudly while checking our online banking?  And WOA!  Which button do I press to show I accept the charges?  It looks like a little gate and a squiggle and then a slash and oh my eyes are blurring!

You’ll be pleased to know that I figured it out.  I got out a decent amount, (it turned out to be about $50 USD), and found a dry tea shop that didn’t look too hoity-toity for my disheveled self.

Stay tuned for EAT SUPER GOOD FOOD!

Kobe, where my dear sister is living, is an interesting little corner of the planet.  Osaka/Kobe itself is not a gorgeous place.  It has some nice elements like the way that the city nestles in between the mountains and the ocean.  It is clean and orderly.  The hills are green and the ocean is wild and lovely.  Coming in from the airport is a trip though!  I couldn’t figure out if it was just the efficiency of a port area, good zoning, or if I should be incredibly depressed with the consumerism that fuels so much industry, because all you see for the first hour on the bus in from Kansai International airport is just warehouses, docks, and manufacturing for miles and miles and miles.

These two photos are actually sort of charming, but I truly saw electrical plants the size of cities.  And no actual housing to be seen for miles and miles.  Is this good or bad?  I guess it is good.  Keep all the ugly stuff that keeps society going in one place…and yet to see it all in one place is sort of depressing.  Some of the factories looked like sets from apocalyptic movies.

Oh dear.  I’ve run out of time.  I have to get to chores around here.  Today is the day to run stuff to proper recycling places: namely, Free Geek and Rebuilding Center.  Stay tuned for Japan Rocks the Asian Continent Part 2!

Anne and I had a fun day yesterday eating street food in China town and then going to her school for a few classes.  She had students interview me, which was fun but sort of exhausting. I am sure that she feels this way at the end of the day—-listening so hard and trying to understand another person is super tiring.  Last night we ate fantastic sushi at this tiny little hole in the wall place.  Then we hoofed it up the hill to her friend’s place.  Japanese people are funny socially.  It isn’t so strange to me that they are excited about drinking, but man, they sit down to drink and go for both quantity and variation of alcohol.  Twice now I have ended up at parties where people have just continued opening bottles of wide-ranging beverages, none of which are water.  Last night it was beer, then shoju, then wine, “where’s that sake?”…I can’t do that.  That is a sure recipe for sick, sick, sick.  I was handed a glass of wine and I gasped, “Oh no, I CAN’T!”, which was confusing to my hostess.  ”Can’t?” she asked.  Yes, can’t.

Today we go for a run with Anne’s American girlfriend, then hopefully to the onsen by the beach.  I am campaigning for massages as I am still totally creaky from the plane ride and just generally being old.  After Anne finishes teaching, we hop a train to Kyoto where we are staying at a monastery. I can’t wait.

Well it is now officially morning as the crossing guard who stand below Anne’s window has started his chorus of “Oh-hi-o!” to the children on their way to school.  Anne had told me that kids go by her window every morning, and I had at first thought that sounded charming.  They are LOUD though.  Who knew that Japanese elementary kids could yell so loud?  Besides the kids’ “Azakabaaaaaaakkarisoooooon!” (just a word I made up), the crossing guard keeps up a steady stream of greetings.  This dude is cheerful…and a little repetitive.  I think Anne will miss waking up to him when she leaves Japan.  I won’t though.

On the Shin Kobe Ropeway

You know how sometimes you have to ditch the husband and kids and just take off for foreign countries?  Well, that is how awesome I am.

I’m in Kobe Japan with my sister Anne… I traveled all by myself and it is awesome.  Anne has been here for a year and a half and I knew I needed to get over to see her life while she was still living it in this locale.  This was the right time to go, while the kids didn’t have much going on and could safely be sequestered at their grandparents’ houses (Thanks Mom and Dad & Dennis and Sue!).  I have had some pangs of guilt, but not many when I think of them having the time of their lives being all spoiled and entertained in the country.  Inez is probably being licked by a dog right now.  Scratch that.  It’s 1 am Oregon time, so that baby had better be sleeping!

Anyway, I don’t intend to be updating this blog much while I am here, but I did want to let people know where I am.  Eating awesome food!  Chatting non-stop with my little sister!  Going running with Kobe Hash Hound Harriers!  In Freakin’ Japan!

In the herb gardens at the top of the rope way