Ashes to Ashes －灰は灰に－

I have a student who had a romantic notion about what should happen to her ashes after she dies. 

“Although I’m Japanese, I wanted my ashes to be scattered into the River Ganges after my death,” she told me. 

She changed her mind after actually visiting India. 

“The river seemed quite dirty.  I’m not sure I would like to spend eternity there.” 

In Britain people are sometimes cremated too, and their ashes are placed in an urn and given to their family. 

Just like my student who had a romantic notion about the River Ganges, Britons sometimes have romantic notions about where their ashes should be placed after their death.  It is not uncommon for fanatical fans of a particular football club to request that their ashes be buried underneath the pitch of their club’s home ground. 

But what if the club moves to another ground? 

This happened at the football club York City recently.  The club sold its old ground, where the team had played for 89 years, to housing developers.  The ashes of 15 fans had been buried under the old ground.  The club called in archaeologists to try to recover the ashes before the houses are built.  In the last article I read about the story, they had recovered 7 sets of ashes.  So 8 sets of ashes have not been recovered. 

I suppose the moral of the story is that this world is for the living, not for the dead.

A Foreigner’s View of Japanese Elections －ジャパンタイムズに記事が掲載されました－

What would you say to the Japanese prime minister if he suddenly appeared in front of you?  How about suggesting that the government support a Go To English study campaign, like the Go To Travel and Go To Eat campaigns?  Maybe you wouldn’t recognise the new prime minister because he is so new in office. 

I recently wrote an article for the Japan Times about elections in Japan.  I wrote about a friend who came close to a former Japanese prime minister, and a foreigner who really wanted to say something at a political rally in Tokorozawa. 

You can read the article here:

ジャパンタイムズ記事リンク（2021/10/18）

The Sand in your Eyes －目の中の砂－

Do you ever wake up with something small and hard, like a grain of sand in the corner of your eye?  If so, then you have been visited by the Sandman.  According to legend, he throws sand into the eyes of sleepers.  In some tales he does this to give them pleasant dreams. 

In the 1954 song by the Chordettes (which is the most famous version), the Sandman also has a “magic beam.”  Perhaps he is carrying a torch, which produces a magical beam of light, allowing him to see into a sleeper’s dreams.

 

Edited extract from, “Mr. Sandman,” by the Chordettes:

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.

Give him two lips like roses and clover

Then tell him that his lonely nights are over

 

Sandman, I’m so alone

Don’t have [anybody] to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

*

And what were you dreaming of last night?  Why is there so much sand in your eyes?  Don’t overuse that magic beam.  Lips like roses and clover can be addictive, you know.

 

The Spy who Loved Me －私を愛したスパイ－

The new James Bond movie is being released in some countries.  A lot of people are excited, since the movie’s release was delayed several times because of the coronavirus pandemic. 

The Bond movies are famous for spectacular stunts, a luxurious lifestyle of fast cars and Martinis, and beautiful “Bond girls”.  James Bond seems to have difficulty maintaining a long term relationship with any of these women.  Maybe it is too difficult to have a long-term girlfriend when you are regularly travelling around, saving the world.  And even if Bond could keep a girlfriend, would it be a happy relationship for his partner? 

* 

His proposal of marriage was certainly memorable.  Instead of going down on one knee and asking me to marry him, he booked a luxury room in an underwater hotel.  There was a window in our room, which looked out into the ocean.  You could see fish swimming past the window, because the room was 10 metres underwater. 

One morning I awoke to the sound of an alarm clock.  My boyfriend wasn’t in the bed next to me.  I turned the alarm clock off and, as I did so, I found a note next to it.  On the note was written, “Look out of the window, darling.” 

So I ran to the curtains and opened them.  My boyfriend was there, outside the window.  He wasn’t wearing a diving suit.  He was just holding his breath.  He pulled out a note from his swimming trunks, and held it up against the window.  It said, “Will you marry me, darling?” 

Well, I didn’t have much time to think.  I thought he would run out of air if I waited too long, so I held up a thumb and nodded my head.  My boyfriend kissed the glass, then pushed a button on his swimming trunks.  I think he had some sort of clever device attached, because he suddenly shot up to the surface in a cloud of bubbles. 

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband suggested that we celebrate by drinking champagne in a private aeroplane, while watching the sunrise. 

When I got to the airport at the time we had arranged, he still wasn’t there.  But he called me to say that he would meet me on the plane.  So I boarded.  The funny thing was, he wasn’t inside.  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just sat in my seat and read an in-flight magazine. 

The plane took off.  An attendant brought me some champagne.  Next to the champagne there was a note.  The note said, “Look out of the window, darling.” 

“Not again,” I thought.  Couldn’t he just give me some flowers or chocolate like a normal man?

 

 

Perseverance in Japan －日本での忍耐力－ ジャパンタイムズに記事が掲載されました

I wrote an article recently for the Japan Times about the importance of perseverance in Japanese culture. 

The article mentions a colleague of mine who wanted to start studying a martial art at a Japanese dojo.  When he went there to ask about lessons, he was told that he would have to wait to see the instructor.  He had to wait several hours before the sensei emerged.  The instructor told him that he deliberately made him wait so long to test his patience.  He only wanted to instruct students who were totally committed. 

I might try the same thing with my English students.  You can keep ringing my doorbell, but I won’t answer until you have proven your commitment. 

Here is the article: ジャパンタイムズ記事リンク（2021/9/27）

 

Dangerous Words －危ない言葉－

“They verbally attacked each another with Mao’s quotations, making cynical use of his guru-like elusiveness – It was easy to select a quotation of Mao to suit any situation, or even both sides of the same argument.”

From “Wild Swans,” by Jung Chang

 

I once had a friend who said that poor people should not be allowed to have children.  “In that way,” he said, “The number of poor people will slowly be reduced.” 

This friend of mine now works in a bank.  Should someone who has said such a controversial thing be allowed to keep his job?  Shouldn’t the bank fire him for his unacceptable opinions? 

No, they shouldn’t.  It would be especially harsh to fire my friend for his opinion of poor people, because he said it when he was about 13 years old.  He has probably changed his mind since then. 

The trouble is that nowadays 13 year olds’ opinions are recorded on Twitter, or other social networks.  And when they apply for a job ten years later, their most stupid childhood comments may still be visible.  The same is true not just for children, but for adults too.  Maybe in the past people could get away with saying stupid things after having a few too many alcoholic drinks.  Now if they post a stupid comment on the internet after drinking a bottle of wine, the message may haunt their life forever more. 

Even if you say something that is not very controversial, it is easy for another person to take what you have written out of context, to twist the apparent meaning into something else.  I remember reading in the book “Wild Swans,” which describes life in Mao’s China, how dangerous a time it was for writers or poets.  They could be attacked so easily for what they had written. 

A poet might write about how beautiful a sunset was.  Then one of his enemies would attack him, saying that the poet really meant that he hated communism and Mao.  The beautiful sunset actually represented the pre-communist era, and the poet was sad that this beautiful era had ended.  Soon the poet was in a prison camp, or worse. 

If we are not careful, in our own society too it will become too dangerous for anyone to share their opinions, or even to write poetry.  People must be allowed to take risks with words.

 

Vocabulary:

verbally – with words

a guru – a kind of teacher, especially a religious leader or cult leader

elusiveness – a quality of being difficult to catch or capture

to get away with something – to do something without being punished for it

for something to haunt you – for something to be an ongoing source of strong regret (eg. “The accident still haunts me after ten years.”)

 

The Curious Curiosity Shop, part 3 －不思議な骨董屋 パート3－

In parts 1 and 2, the narrator and his son enter a narrow lane, which soon becomes a dead end.  But in the lane there is a strange shop with “Curiosity Shop” written on the window outside.  The blind narrator and his five year old son go inside.  The shop clerk, a Japanese lady, shows them some curious items such as “Bruce Lee shoes” and headphones which play “The Devil’s Playlist.”  The Bruce Lee shoes seem to turn the young boy into a kung fu expert, and on the Devil’s Playlist, rock’n roll stars who have died are singing songs they recorded after their death. 

* 

I took the headphones off in shock.  That’s not a real John Lennon song!” I said.  “The correct title should be Strawberry Fields Forever!” 

The clerk said, “Oh, yes.  Lennon has a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t he?  He recorded Sulphurous Fields Forever as a kind of joke, after he died.  All of the songs on the Devil’s Playlist are versions recorded from beyond the grave.” 

* 

“The Curious Curiosity Shop,” part 3: 

I shivered as I felt a chill pass through me. 

“So you sell music from beyond the grave?” I said, trying to make my voice sound cheerful.  “That is a very curious selection of music.” 

“Thank you very much,” said the clerk.  A little movement of air suggested that she had bowed.  “We pride ourselves on providing our customers with only rare and delicate curiosities, and all for a reasonable price.” 

My heart rate quickened.  “Uh, a reasonable price?” 

“We always match the price to the customer’s ability to pay.  The delights of culture should be for the masses, not just the privileged few with the means to pay.  Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Who are the masses, Daddy?” asked my son. 

“People,” I said.  “It means lots of people.” 

There was a strange taste in the back of my throat.  Some of the smells of the shop seemed to be seeping into me.  I thought I could taste natto.  I cleared my throat.  “So how much would it cost for, say, an album of John Lennon’s, recorded after his death?” 

“One hour,” answered the clerk.  “Or two hours if you buy three albums.” 

My son tugged my sleeve.  “Are you going to buy the Bruce Lee shoes, Daddy?  I could kick any bad people if I had my Bruce Lee shoes.” 

“Um, no,” I said.  “We won’t be buying shoes.”  I turned towards the clerk.  “Sorry, you said the price was one hour.  What do you mean?  One hour of what?” 

“It’s a fair exchange,” said the clerk.  “One rare and delicate commodity for a rare and delicate finished product.  You may find posthumous releases by artists on Amazon Music or Spotify, but you will not find posthumous recordings.  So we ask for one hour of your allotted lifespan in exchange.  You could listen to one album 100 times, enjoying it for many hours.  And you would only need to pay one hour of life in return.” 

My son tugged again at my sleeve.  “Ask about the Bruce Lee shoes, Daddy.” 

My breathing was unnaturally quick.  I needed a little time to think.  I wondered if I could get the clerk to move away from us for a little while. 

I bent towards my son’s ear.  “Did you see anything else interesting in the shop?” I asked. 

“Um, um, um…  I like the coffee maker” he said. 

“But you don’t drink coffee,” I said. 

“I think your son means the curious drinks dispenser.  Imagine waking up every morning to a steaming mug of mammoth and crouton soup.  Or refreshing yourself during a hard day’s work with dodo consomme.  Perhaps, Sir, your son would enjoy the tyrannosaur pottage?” 

The clerk had found exactly what my son desired.  He started jumping up and down.  “I want it, Daddy, I want it!” 

“And all for only a six months down payment, with a one week rental fee every year,” said the clerk.  “Perhaps you would like to try a free sample, Sir?  I am not a gourmet, but I believe the tyrannosaur pottage is admired for its robust flavour, with just a hint of chicken.” 

“Uh, yes.  A free sample.  Yes,” I said. 

As the clerk shuffled down the aisle to prepare the soup, I called, “We’ll just take a look around the rest of the shop!” 

Switching to English, I said to my son, “Let’s go and see what curious items there are near the door.  I think I noticed something very interesting just inside the door.” 

There was a whistling, steaming noise coming from the curious drinks dispenser, and the air smelled of dinosaur, which is to say a little like chicken.  I felt the welcome mat just before the door. 

“Can I try the tyrannosaurus soup, Daddy?” asked my son. 

“Yes, well, maybe,” I said.  “But only if you read the letters of the sign outside the shop to practice your English.” 

The bell above the door tinkled as I pulled open the entrance to the outside.  I felt the ground start to shake under my feet as my son pulled me out the door. 

“Is it an earthquake, Daddy?” he asked.  The earth was really shaking beneath our feet.  I wondered how badly the ground would shake if a tyrannosaur were to start running towards us. 

“Never mind the letters,” I said.  “Can you find the way out of this dead end and back into Tokyo?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” said my son and he led me at a jog away from the shop.  We soon reached the narrow entrance to the back lane on which the curious curiosity shop was open for business.  As I stumbled through the gap, I felt that the walls on either side were shaking violently.  My son and I squeezed through to the other side.  We heard the toot of a car horn, and lots of other noises produced by a modern city containing millions of people.  The shaking stopped, the little earthquake subsided. 

“Daddy, look!” said my son.  He grasped my hand and pushed it against the wall behind us.  The wall was smooth.  The gap which had led to the dead end and the curiosity shop was gone. 

“Who wants ramen noodles?” I asked. 

“Can I get the dumplings set too, Daddy?” 

We held hands and strode down the Tokyo street.

 

Vocabulary:

to seep – to leak or flow slowly through small holes or gaps

to tug – to pull sharply

a commodity – a raw material such as copper, or simple product such as coffee

posthumous – after death (e.g. The recently deceased artist’s work was posthumously exhibited.)

allotted – given or set aside

to subside – to become less intense or severe