The Quest for Great Hair

It has been time for me to get a haircut for at least a month. I made sure to get one before we moved to Japan, nearly 4 months ago, and I was starting to look a little shaggy. Having had one or two bad hair cuts in the past (the poorly executed pixie of 1998, the double layer bob of 2009) I am a touch gun shy when it comes to finding a new stylist. Not to mention, I left a great on behind – miss you Naomi! I had been researching where to go since I got here, but was not 100% happy with my options until I heard of an Aveda salon in a local shopping mall. I’ve always had luck with Aveda stylists in the past, in fact that was part of the reason I went to my last lady – still love you Naomi!

The Promised Land

The only problem was this: the salon was off base with employees whose English was only slightly better than my Japanese (which consists of about two words). My first obstacle was making the appointment. I found out that one of the services afforded on base is someone who could help translate phone calls. A very kind middle aged Japanese man called on my behalf scheduling my appointment bright and early the following Saturday. Mission one: complete.

Saturday came and it was time to get my hair did. My appointment was right at 10am, the time the mall opens but I headed out about an hour early with the fam thinking I would just walk around beforehand. I assumed this mall, like many American malls, would at least let you into the main building before the stores opened. I was wrong. We arrived at about 9:15 and ended up spending the next 45 minutes walking around the only place that was open, an attached grocery store. Side not: this is when I discovered a curry doughnut is quite yummy.  At precisely 10, an elderly security guard greeted the waiting crowd and opened the large metal doors leading into the mall.

Curry doughnut goodness

The Gate Keeper in a nice blue uniform

We power walked from one end of the mall to the other passing dozens of store fronts on the way. At the entrance of each store stood a clerk and as customers would walk by the clerks would greet the passing group with an, “Ohayo Gozaimasu” and a deep bow. It was like watching a perfectly choreographed kick line.

Starting to really like this place

I entered the salon ready to face my possibly disastrous ‘do, when I was lead to a chair and offered a hot tea and towel. So far so good. I was then escorted to a changing room where I was instructed (more like, mimed) to place my robe over my clothes and trade my shoes for slippers. With the sound of traditional Japanese music playing and my new comfier outfit, I was starting to relax.

Before pic: feeling stylish

 Finally, after getting my hair washed and my scalp massaged (lying on a bed with a lightweight cloth over my face to keep it dry) I was off to the chair to await my fate. The stylists English was FAR better than I expected. He knew key words like layer and trim. We even briefly chatted about his trip to New York and how New Year’s is celebrated in our respective home countries. He looked over the six or so pictures I had printed at home and pulled out his shears. With a snip, snip here and a cut, cut there 45 minutes pass and he’s finished. I looked and touched my hair turning around to see the back…it was perfect! It was exactly what I wanted. I felt both relieved and happy. I would have done a jig but I think that might have been inappropriate so I refrained. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I found my new stylist.

After pic: really happy!

Still loved it after washing it myself. The true test of a good cut.

It turns out you don’t need a common language to communicate with a good stylist; you just need to speak hair. I can’t wait until the next time I need a cut!

A Star is Born...Well, sort of...

For those of you who don’t know, I once planned on being a famous actress. I was confident in my skills as a triple threat, a feeling encouraged by my parents. I even attended a performing arts school for a year after high school. But life happened and, partially because of the school, my confidence dwindled and my love for theater changed. Don’t get me wrong, I still LOVED being on stage, I just wasn’t sure it was the right career for me. Plus I became serious with a certain military man, and wanted to be with him more than I wanted to see my name in lights. While my focus shifted, my feelings never did; not really anyway. I don’t regret giving it up, but I do still enjoy being silly on stage. And every so often if the opportunity presents itself, I get up the nerve to audition for something.

High school performance. Dig the pants!

Up until this last Tuesday, it had been 6 years since I had performed in front of anyone other than singing to my kids. Not even karaoke. And I love karaoke. And then I saw the audition information for an upcoming play with the base community theater. All day before I went I must have gone back and forth about going at least 50 times. I was nervous and have to live with these people for the next few years. What if they judged me? What if they laughed at me? Usually I’m ok with looking silly (frankly, it happens often). Putting yourself up to be rated and judged is an intimidating experience. But the opportunity presented itself so I put on my big girl panties and went to the audition.

REALLY old head shot.

It was a small room with only about 6 other auditioner’s with the director and assistant director sitting at the head table. I had prepared myself for a reading and was emotionally ready to go. We read a few pages as a group and I started to feel confident. I even got a compliment on my New York accent. I was feeling good, at least until they said it was time for the improv portion of the evening.

My NYC apartment. About two feet wider than the picture shows.

Improv??? I think I’m clever but having to be clever on the spot is not my idea of a good time. There was a reason I avoided improve classes. I sucked at them. Once again I had to gather my courage to get up in front of this small group of strangers and think of funny things on the spot. And then is started to be fun. These were not the same sort of people I went to school with in New York. Those people could be judgmental and critical. This group was welcoming and friendly and felt like they were in the same boat as me. My final test was to sing a song. Once again I haven’t sung in public in years and when I get nervous my throat closes up. I picked the only song I could think of: the theme song to The Cleveland Show. I started to sing watching the group sit in front of m, the assistant director videotaping for later review. I was waiting for my throat to close, for the sound to get strangled but it didn’t happen. I forgot to breathe once or twice but I sounded ok.

It turns out I was offered a part! I’m glad I faced my fear and can’t wait until I get to perform again.

Last time I performed on stage. Loved the costume!

On the Road Again, Japanese Style

I have lived here for three months and hadn't driven off base once. There are multiple reasons for this occurring. One is that my husband does most of the driving. He likes it and I don’t mind him doing it so it just works out that way. But the other more important reason is I just didn’t feel comfortable. Sure, I drive on base all the time. But it's small and I can only go so far before running into a wall or a fence. It isn’t like I’m terrified of being off base, but I just couldn’t get up the nerve for a few reasons.

Our very stylish ride. It impresses the ladies. 

I get lost easily. I am not exaggerating when I say I still get turned around in the town I lived in for most of my life. It’s a running joke in our family that I can’t get from point A to point B without at least one detour. My husband still marvels at my inability to navigate even after 15 years. I didn’t want to drive off base alone and get lost. I don’t even speak passable Japanese and I was afraid of being lost on unfamiliar roads with my two small children ending up on the other side of Tokyo. So we got a GPS to solve that problem.

Hands firmly on 10 and 2.

 I didn’t want to drive alone with my kids in the car not only because I would get lost (always assume I will get lost) but also I was afraid of feeling overwhelmed. I was still getting used to driving on the left side of the road, with the steering wheel on the right but to add my sometimes grumpy and always loud children to the mix was intimidating. So I wanted to wait until I didn’t have them in the car.

This Sunday I no longer had any excuses. We had to run a very quick errand to a local hardware store and I decided to drive. The kids were in good moods, it was early in the morning so traffic was light and the sun was shining. It was the perfect day and I was ready to tackle this challenge. With my husband in the seat beside me I pulled the car out of the spot and headed for the gate. And then I drove off base.

Having a moment here. Don't worry, I got it together.

 It was boring. I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I was relieved that I was bored. You know why? Because driving in Japan is like driving anywhere. Honestly, I wasn’t worried about anything. I’m sure it will be harder on a day with rain or tons of traffic but that’s how it is back home too. It turns out that riding in the passenger seat is more challenging than being behind the wheel (this is a subject on which both the hubby and I agree). In that seat, my body still reflexively goes to step on the break. But driving was easy.

I now feel like I can go anywhere. I am so glad I faced my fear and did something scary. I am even more glad that the fear was unfounded. It only took three months. 

Bathroom Breaks: A Cultural Difference

As Westerners we take some of life’s basic creature comforts for granted. So far just about every possible thing we could want we have found to make our lives just a little more comfortable. Whenever taking a trip back home we just expect curtain things, like bathrooms, to be basically like the ones you have at home. Before moving here I read as much about the Japanese culture as I could to get to know my new country. One of the things I had learned about was the bathroom situation. But I hadn’t encountered a traditional bathroom here until this weekend.

A lovely diagram on how to use this cammode. You're welcome.

 Everywhere we’ve gone in the last few months has had a western bathroom. But this week when we went to a light display at a local park, I was once again reminded we aren’t in Kansas anymore.  After an hour drive though heavy traffic Little Man had a bathroom emergency. We parked and he and I jogged over to the public restroom, opened the stall and met our fate. If you don’t know what a normal bathroom in Japan might look like, instead of a toilet, there is what looks like an in-ground urinal that has no place for sitting. Up until that moment almost all of the bathrooms have high-tech, heated seats. Not this one. It was a porcelain hole in the ground.

We both looked at it and started figuring out logistics. It was small and open to the cold air. Trying to fit us both in there without losing a show was a challenge. But we figured it out without falling in. You know something else that you don’t see in a lot of public bathrooms? A means for drying your hands. I keep forgetting this fact and never remember to pack a towel. So as this very sweet looking elderly Japanese woman gently dries her wet hands on her very own wash cloth, Little Man and I were rubbing ours on our jeans.

 

The night went smoothly after that. Baby Girl stayed bundled up in her stroller, wrapped in her pink fur and blanket. Little Man ran and danced the whole way through. The tears were minimal and the lights were beautiful. There was a band playing American Christmas classics and lots of couples walking through the trees enjoying the romantic atmosphere (Christmas here is a time for couples, like Valentine’s back home).

 

There are little things like the bathroom that remind me we’re not at home. But there are so many other, wonderful things that make me love it here. I feel pretty lucky to get the chance to learn about and live among a culture that can be so different from ours and to do so with my little family.

But I really must start remembering a hand towel. 

Christmas Tree Lighting – A Tale of Two Children

 It was the best of Christmas memories. It was the worst of Christmas memories...

 Baby Girl and Little Man couldn’t be more different if they were trying. My son has always been adventurous and excited to participate in whatever was happening. My daughter is cautious and wary of large groups of people. So bringing these two anywhere is an exercise in patience and an interesting character study. One of the reasons having kids is so fun is because we get to participate in childhood activities without judgment or weird looks. This is why we try to take full advantage of holiday traditions like Santa, parties and tree lighting ceremonies. The base had its annual Christmas tree lighting a few nights ago followed by a party and visit with Mr. Claus himself. We were all ready to enjoy the evening; well at least three of us were.

Last year waiting for Santa

 When we arrived at the ceremony site we each took responsibility of a child. I took Baby Girl and my husband took Little Man. Instantly my Little Man started running around asking if he could join existing groups of playing children. Baby Girl kept trying to lead me back to the car. Little Man clapped joyfully with the music playing. Baby Girl dropped to the ground crying out for something I couldn’t identify. Little Man happily climbed onto his father’s shoulders to see the lights. Baby Girl cried like her puppy died while squirming in my arms. You get the idea.

 

Last years picture with Santa. Notice someone missing?

We followed the group to the next building for some treats and Santa time. While waiting in line my son was unusually well behaved, staying next to us the entire time. My sweet daughter kept dropping to the ground in fits of anger. People would try to say hello to her and she would flash a dirty look while sucking her thumb. The only thing that made her even a little happy was the food (by the way, it was pretty darn good). Since my daughter doesn’t like Santa and we didn’t feel like poking the bear, we decided to switch kids; I would take Little Man to see Santa and my husband would babysit our coats and hang out with Grumpy McGee.

For 45 minutes Little Man once again was unusually well behaved and actually listened while we meandered through the slow moving line. He handed his letter to Santa, took his picture and we were on our way back to daddy and sister without incident. My poor husband was glassy-eyed and leaning in a chair while my daughter was occupied for a moment with toys and candy. It turns out she had more than one freak out while I was with my pod-people son.

This is just one more example of how different my children are. Little Man grabbed the evening with both hands while Baby Girl resisted each new experience that didn’t include food. We will get better at balancing their personalities. For now, life is likely to stay an interesting blend of adventure seeking and enjoying the safety of home. 

Tokyo or Bust

So we finally took the train. We left the kids at home and walked over to our nearby station ready to take on the challenge. Not going to lie, it was a day I was a little nervous for. I had heard the stories about how complicated and big, not to mention how crazy busy the train system is here. I was sure we would get lost and possibly trampled. I still remember the first time I saw the images rail workers pushing more passengers into the cars. I was sure that would happen to me.

See what I'm talking about?

We boarded the first train. I noticed two things as I walked on the train: there were no seats available and everyone was quiet. It was the longest ride we had, clocking in at 30-ish minutes before switching to the next train giving me plenty of time for people watching. I saw people dressed for work, falling asleep or playing with smart phones. I saw parents with children of all ages. All of whom were either silent or speaking in low whispers. Oh, and this idea that Japanese children behave better than American? I would like to counter by saying, not better, just quieter. I am here to say, happily, children everywhere are just children. One perfect example was a mother with her two sons standing next to us who (quietly) bopped her tween on the head after he was intentionally squishing the younger one into the door and laughing.

After a half hour of my quiet observations, it was then suddenly time to switch trains, the real test of a transit passenger. I was sure we’d get on the wrong one and somehow end up in another city entirely. We followed the large crowd up the stairs into the main terminal where we were relieved to find most of the signs and ticket kiosks were available in English. But we made it to our destination in one piece and feeling accomplished.

 

View of the city from the Imperial Garden

Wanna know what else I noticed? Tokyo is huge. Not just huge, massive. I have spent a number of years living in or near New York City. Tokyo makes NYC look like a quaint town. We got off the subway in a neighborhood called Roppongi, walked around and then headed for the Imperial Garden, another reminder of just how big the city is. Then we got lost finding food. And then we got lost finding the train station. By the time we made it back to base we had walked 8 miles.

 

Hubby in the Imperial Garden

I was pooped when we finally made it home. But you know what else I was? I was excited! I had done something kind of scary, traveled to a place where I don’t speak the language and can’t tell one character from the next. But my husband and I did it and we did it together. It took about an hour for me to start planning the next trip. I can’t wait to go back and even plan on taking the kiddo’s.