The ties that bind
picture by quasimondo
Bo-nen-kai is the usual end of year gathering for all Japanese - whether it be with their work-mates, fellow students or friends - rather the same as we do here. It’s not traditionally a Xmas gathering, as Xmas isn’t celebrated in the buddhist and shinto religious traditions. But there are still trees and lights and baubles galore, because the Japanese love gift-giving, and so, they have adopted Xmas into their culture - and their traditional New Year cards are somehow ‘christmasified’ to acknowledge the festive season.
I’ll admit, I rarely do Xmas cards, and I tend to be a bit ‘bah humbug’ when it comes to receiving them, too. But the card that always raises a smile from this Scrooge is the one that, without fail, has arrived from Tokyo every Xmas/New Year for the past twelve years from my class at the U-Port adult education centre where I taught for two years. I am truly touched and, I confess, surprised that so many of them still gather for bonenkai every year and to sign a newsy greeting card especially for me.
How lovely to learn that Itsuyo’s daughter just got married! I remember how I used to tutor him and his wife every Saturday and share a Japanese lunch, often something I’d never tasted before. Back then his daughter was a ballet dancing high school student.
Shigemi, in the past year, has travelled to China twice, as well as Canada, Germany, Indonesia - a new travel record for him (must be work related).
Sayo, the seasoned traveller, goes somewhere challenging every year - this time to the Ukraine.
Hiroko, who speaks fluent French, asks about my life in the country and Shizuko, who is a new mother, is probably too busy for English lessons now. But for having been their teacher for two short years, the remarkable connection remains.
In fact, Shizuko and her friends (and husband to be) were in Australia for their Millenium Party, when I was pregnant with my first baby, now almost ten. And we met again when she came back to Australia to study glass blowing at The Jam Factory in Adelaide, and, complete with her Blue Bear costume, she helped my husband and I celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. By then the baby in my belly was a toddler with a baby sister to boot.
I know I simply must go back to Tokyo and visit them, and it’s looking like I may have an opportunity in April next year, around my fortieth birthday. It will have been ten years since I was last in Japan and I’m looking forward to it like a child looks forward to Xmas. It’s so wonderful to know my old U-Port class will come out and visit me then. I can’t wait to see them and thank them for all the smiles and wonderful memories they’ve given me from a humble Xmas card.
December 23rd, 2009 - Posted in gratitude, happiness, nostalgia, community, ritual, love, friendship | | 0 Comments
Food is love
picture by zaveqna
It’s a Wednesday before the holiday we call Xmas and we have arrived home with our bounty from our food co-operative. This season we are indulging ourselves with a decadent box of cherries!
For those who don’t know, I’ve been buying a portion of our family’s staple foods ‘co-operatively’ every fortnight for over five years now. We order directly from an organic food hub in Brisbane’s Rocklea Markets and gather in a co-op member’s shed to divvy up the booty. It is a nourishing ritual beyond the obvious means of getting fresh, ethical food and groceries into our fridge and pantry. We are a network of families, our children are broadly similar ages, and we have a common agreement to contribute to the running of the co-operative. It’s not quite that simple, but I promise I will write a few future posts explaining our local food co-op because I realise I have omitted a huge chunk of my home life by failing to include that aspect of our home life in this blog.
But not today. Today I just want to thank the universe for cherries. And for the food co-op that enriches our family network by the simplest of means: sharing food. Love to you all.
December 16th, 2009 - Posted in gratitude, consumerism, community, ritual, friendship | | 0 Comments
Body image
picture by littleREDelf
It’s summertime and the bikinis have come out of the bottom drawer. I love to swim, I love the sun on my skin. I know it’s considered dangerous these days, but I love just a hint of real tan, and baring all that skin as we dress to cope with the relentless summer heat. I do think the heat becomes me.
Except that losing the layers leaves less to the imagination. With my fortieth birthday looming, I’m suffering a few more body image issues than I seemed to have last summer. Somehow, between last year and this year, my bustline has whithered to empty pouches of skin that really need no bra at all except as a matter of propriety.
In some ways this has been liberating - I can buy a flimsy swimsuit off the rack without having to try it on and the necklines of my summer blouses can swoop quite low, as there is no cleavage to peer down the gap of anymore. Where having boobs (any size really) can attract unwanted attention from men on the street, having no boobs at all means receiving a different kind of attention … possibly more ‘blokey’ and definitely involving more eye contact. 
But in other ways it has been disappointing to put on a favourite dress and find it no longer has the flattering silhouette I remember. Or sometimes I just miss the sexiness of having breasts - for the few days of the month when I revel in the sensual. I’m sure women readers will know what I mean.
It is at those times when I briefly consider surgical intervention. Is that vain? What does it say about me when I admit that? At first I didn’t dare name it but now those two words, ‘boob job’ have entered my lexicon. Would it really make my body image issues evaporate? Or would it just introduce a new body image issue into my life?
So, at a possibly vulnerable moment, I put it to my husband: “What would you think if I got a boob job?” I can’t deny I saw a brief flicker of delight in his eyes before he sombrely said, “Whatever makes you happy, Jodie.”
That was really not the response I wanted from him at the time. I wanted him to beat his chest and spout feminist ideologies at me. I wanted him to tell me that I was still as gorgeous as the day we met. That my body still drives him wild with desire. Actually, he did say that, and more. But that tiny glimmer of ‘what if’ in his eyes before he’d opened his mouth to speak fed my insecurity. I found myself fixating on what he really thought about my deflated breasts. Would he love me more if I could return to my previous body shape? Would I love me more knowing I’d had foreign objects implanted in my body purely for aesthetic reasons? Was I forgetting to love myself? Afterall, there are women out there who’ve endured cancer, who’ve had to confront the loss of a breast, who wear a prothesis, who are simply grateful to be alive.
I’m feeling otherwise healthy and balanced and I’m being more generous and kind to myself than I have in years. Why should I care about the size of my breasts? They are (literally) such a small part of who I am. Last night, darling hubby said the words that have helped me put this to rest. He said, “Jodie, I have been on a journey with your body for the past twenty years, and I understand every aspect of why it is the way it is, and I love it still.”
OK, I’m paraphrasing, but it was good to be reminded that he has seen this body of mine through four pregnancies, each followed by between one and 2.5 years of breastfeeding, and overall, I’ve fared the journey rather well. Maybe I’ll go get a professionally fitted bra and invest in a set of silicone fillets to put inside it - just for those times when I yearn for curves - and call myself grateful for small boobs and good health.
December 14th, 2009 - Posted in personal growth, happiness, nostalgia, beliefs, self-care | | 2 Comments
School is out
picture by daisybush
School is out and we’re on holidays! WOOT!
Thursday was a pool fun day and even though Friday was officially the last day of term, the school is having some major works begin and we were urged to keep our kids home if we can.
In defense of public schools: the more time I spend at our local, rapidly growing state school, the more delighted I am with the choice to put our trust in the public education system. But that doesn’t mean I think all public schools are equal, nor private schools for that matter. A lot of factors are at play when we choose a school for our kids. Even more factors are at play for a school staff looking to place its best offer on the table. The community that school exists within, the demographic and dynamic of the families who populate it, affects the stability and longevity of staff placements and internal politics of a school. What a complicated social dynamic!
Our family are fortunate to live in a place were families have lived for generations. Other families, tree-changers like us, are migrating from the city and settling in for the long term. This makes it a stable community, rich with social capital, skills and talents. I’m sure there is no such thing as a ‘perfect’ school (it depends on the child) but our little school, capped at 230 students, ticks quite a few boxes. I’m satisfied for now that a private school wouldn’t offer us more at this point in time. What I don’t like, I feel I can address through being active in the school P&C. I’m still deciding just how involved I’d like to be next year as it will be my last year at home with Miss Four, and I don’t want to miss a beat.
During the holidays, we plan to cram in all the craft and projects, board games and outdoor play that we can. The flying fox is up and getting a work out every day. We’re also planning a long Xmas car trip to be with family for the holidays. It will be our first drive for longer than three hours. Wish us luck!
December 12th, 2009 - Posted in gratitude, childhood, play, community | | 2 Comments
Failure
picture by jmtimages
It’s the end of the year and every serious music student will have had to endure the ritual of ‘the recital’. I think it’s a good thing to do, to get up and perform, no matter what your achievement level, or expertise. Public performance is a great experience that can impact so many other aspects of our wellbeing.
Miss Eight and I started our piano lessons together. When our teacher recommended participating in the annual recital, I thought, absolutely, it’s a great experience. But secretly, I worried for Miss Eight, who is prone to anxiety. If she performed poorly, would it have a lasting impact on her confidence?
I needn’t have worried on her behalf. Despite my having to actively encourage her to practise, and despite the many regular mistakes she made during her practise, she overcame her nerves and played perfectly on the day. I wish I could say the same for myself.
After performing a Christmas Carol duet together, which I needlessly fretted I might mess up for her, I had to sit down while another student performed his pieces. During that time, my own nerves set in and by the time I had to sit and play my own pieces, my hands were shaking and my nerves had got the better of me. I felt like I was eleven, all over again, and playing (the hideous) electronic organ in our local eisteddford. Actually, I played better back then.
So I played my four pieces, rather poorly, but I got through the ordeal with a smile on my face. Yes, I was disappointed in myself - for I knew I could play them all perfectly - but at the same time, in a small country hall, in front of thirty or so supportive people, it was a safe place in which to fail. I am humbled, and I have learned that I don’t perform under pressure as well as I thought. I’ve already decided I will try again next year. The eleven year old child inside of me won’t quit. Not yet.
December 7th, 2009 - Posted in personal growth, childhood, community, ritual, beliefs, wisdom | | 0 Comments
