Usui

Usui 雨水 Yǔshuǐ (19 February ~ 5 March)

According to the traditional Chinese calendar, which divides the year into 24 solar terms (jieqi, 節氣 in traditional Chinese; sekki, 節気, in Japanese), Usui (雨水, Yǔshuǐ in Chinese) is the second mini season of the year. Lasting from roughly February 19th to March 5th, Usui means “rain water”. It is the time when the first day of spring has passed and we begin preparing for the arrival of full-fledged spring. Falling snow becomes rain, and the snow and ice that have accumulated over the past several weeks melt and turn into water.

Kasumi 霞

The phenomenon in which distant objects appear blurry due to water vapor in the air and the faint cloud-like appearance that appears at this time is called kasumi, or “haze”.

Although similar to fog (霧, kiri), it is usually called kasumi in spring rather than kiri, which is the term usually reserved for the mist that occurs in autumn.

春なれや

名もなき山の

薄霞

Harunare ya

Namonaki yama no

Usugasumi

“Spring and the thin haze of a nameless mountain”

This is a haiku by Matsuo Basho (1644-1694), the famous haiku poet from the early Edo period. Looking at the thin mist that hangs over the nameless mountain, you can see that spring is in the air.

The ethereal haze hanging over the foothills of mountains and lakes can sometimes appear otherworldly, magical.

Nekoyanagi 猫柳

The Pussy willow is a deciduous shrub belonging to the Salicaceae family, which produces dense silvery-white hairy flower spikes in early spring.The flower spike of the pussy willow resembles a cat's fur, which is—no surprise—how it got its name.

Known as neko yanagi in Japanese (猫柳, lit. “cat willow”), the plant is also called senryu (川柳, lit. “river willow”) because it often grows alongside rivers.

The haiku poet Seishi Yamaguchi (1901-1994) wrote the following poem.

猫柳

高嶺は雪を

あらたにす

Nekoyanagi

Takane wa yuki o

arata ni su

“Takane Nekoyanagi renews the snow”

The silver-white fur of the nearby pussy willow shines, and perhaps the high mountains in the distance are covered in fresh snow and shine brightly. This haiku conveys the signs of spring and the harshness of the cold weather that tightens the body.

Are Kinome and Konome the same?

Although written with the same kanji, 木の芽, konome refers to the buds of trees in general. Read kinome, it refers only to the buds of Japanese pepper (山椒, sanshō).

In recent years, the two are often used interchangeably, but in the past they were used separately.

Is “Doll’s Festival” an event for girls?

March 3rd is the well-known as the Doll's Festival, or Hina Matsuri (ひな祭り). It is also called Joshi no Sekku (女子の節句)

In ancient China, there was a custom to purify oneself in the river on the Day of the Snake in early March. This is known as Jōshi no Sekku, ( 上巳の節句) and is believed to be the root of Hinamatsuri.

It is said that this festival was introduced to Japan during the Nara Period. Over time, Japanese began transferring their impurity to dolls made of paper or straw and then sending them adrift in a river (流し雛).

As time passed, these dolls began to be displayed on doll stands, and the festival evolved into the Doll's Festival.

March in the lunar calendar is also the season when peaches begin to bloom, which is why the other name Momo no Sekku (桃の節句, Peach Festival) was born.

Today, the Doll's Festival is as an event to pray for the healthy growth of girls. Until the Muromachi Period, however, it was a festival to pray for the health and safety of not only girls but also boys and adults.

 Translated and abridged from Weather News.

Hempu

Interesting that hemp has long had so many varied uses in Japan except the most obvious one for the leaves and buds.

I found this graphic trying to learn the name of the straw-like material used to wrap up Obon offerings for burning. It was only when I saw the photo that I discovered that some of the items used at Obon are made from the stalk of the hemp plant, or asa.

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〖植物, 繊維〗hemp ; 【亜麻】flax ; 【黄麻】jute ; 〖布〗hemp cloth ; 【亜麻の】linen ; 〖糸〗twine.

The rope, asanawa, the chopsticks, asagara-bashi, and asagara, which are used as kindling in the mukaebi fires that greet the souls of the dead, are all made of hemp. The mat in which all the offerings are rolled up and then burned is called makomogoza (真菰ご座) and is made from makomo, or the stalks of the wild water rice plant.

Hita, Oita

Hita, a small city located in the western part of Ōita Prefecture, was in olden times a tenryo town. During the Edo Period (1603 to 1868) tenryo towns were under the direct control of the Tokugawa Shogunate and charged with keeping an eye on the happenings of outlying feudal domains. In the case of Hita, it came under the direct control of the House of Toyotomi and oversaw all of Kyūshū.

The neighborhood of Mameda Machi in the center of Hita's old town was a major hub of politics and commerce in Kyūshū during the Edo Period.

Although the area has suffered three major fires over the centuries, many of the houses still look pretty much as the did in the early Edo Period, with their white washed walls and decorative wall paintings, called kotei-e. (Minus all the souvenir shops and busloads of tourists, of course.)

The umé were in bloom throughout the town, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. Even on a day as cold as today was, just seeing these blossoms remind you that spring is around the corner, so hang in there.

At first, I thought the wall of this house had been decorated with stones. On closer inspection, however, I realized that the "stones" were actually clay bricks.

Zōri, anyone?

A shop selling wood and bamboo crafts. I was more impressed with the handwritten signs on each item than I was in the actual merchandise.

I wanted to go inside this building, but my father-in-law was eager to push on.

A close-up of the same building.

The Kunchô Sake Brewery. Built in the Taishō Era (1912–1926), the design incorporates both traditional Japanese building techniques and western influences.

March third is Girls Day in Japan, (every day is Girls' Day in my heart), a day on which parents decorate their homes with traditional Heian Period doll sets (hina ningyō) and plum blossoms and pray for the safety and happiness of their daughters. Superstition has it that your daughter's marriage will be postponed if the dolls continue to be displayed after March fourth, so people usually take the dolls out of storage in February.

Throughout Hita you'll find hina ningyō on display in private homes, restaurants, and shops during the festival.

Why was Setsubun on February 2nd?

Many people on SNS have noted that Setsubun, the eve of risshun (立春), or the first day of spring according to the lunisolar calendar (tai'in/taiyō reki, 太陰太陰暦), fell on February 2nd for the first time in 124 years. The last time this happened was Meiji 30 or 1897.

But why is this?

Like many “uniquely" Japanese traditions, risshun is actually one of the 24 solar terms of the Asian calendar which originated in China, but spread throughout the East Asian cultural sphere. In China, it is known as Lìchūn and begins when the Sun reaches the “celestial longitude of 315° and ends when it reaches the longitude of 330°. It should be noted that each of the 24 solar terms are spaced 15° apart along the ecliptic, or the plane of Earth’s orbit around the Sun.

It takes the Earth 365.2422 days to orbit the Sun and because of that 6 hour difference, the exact time at which the four annual setsubun (yes, four) occurs differs from year to year. Today, we add one extra day to the year every four years, or every leap year. The leap year in Japan is called urūdoshi (閏年). Before the adoption of the Gregorian calendar, each month in Japan lasted 30 days, with the year lasting only 354 days. In order to make up for the loss of 11 days a year, an urūtsuki, or “leap month”, was added every three years.

Incidentally, each solar term is divided into three pentads, or (候, hòu in Chinese; kō in Japanese), meaning there are actually 72 pentads or “micro seasons” in Japan, rather than the exalted four. The present micro season or kō is Harukaze Kōri-wo Toku (東風解凍, also tōfū kaitō) and means “Spring (or Eastern) winds thaw the ice."

The next solar term is Usui (雨水, yǔshuǐ in Chinese, ushii in Ryūkyūan) will fall on February 19th and refers to spring rain.

If you would like to know before hand what day Setsubun will fall on, divide the year by four. From 2021 to 2057, if 1 remains, Setsubun will fall on the 2nd; if two, three, or zero remains, Setsubun will fall on the 3rd. Because of this Setsubun will fall on the second of February every four years from 2021 to 2057.

Nodaté

In spite of the fact that I spend a good part of every day with my nose in a Japanese-English dictionary, I seldom come across a completely new word anymore.

I don't mean to imply that my Japanese vocabulary is already so rich or that sentences roll off my tongue like polished jewels. It isn't and they don't. But nowadays whenever I encounter a new word, I find that if I can visualize the kanji that combine to form the word, I can usually guess what the meaning is.

The other day, I was talking with a friend who is a successful restauranteur. He had recently opened up motsu nabe restaurant in Hokkaidō and I was curious to know how he and another friend, who has a chain of yakiniku restaurants in Fukuoka and Tōkyō, could be so consistently successful despite wild fluctuations in the business climate over the past ten years. He answered, "Gūzen-wa hitsuzen." (偶然は必然 (ぐうぜんはひつぜん) literally "Coincidence is inevitable”, but more closer to “Not coincidence, but destiny!”)

He asked me if I knew what hitsuzen meant. I didn't actually, but said I did, because I guessed that the word was written 必然 (ひつぜん), where 必, hitsu orkanarazu, meant "certainly, surely, always", and 然, zen, was a suffix that meant "in that way". I could get the gist of what he was talking about which is usually enough. Not always, but usually.

I sometimes joke that I can understand 90% of the Japanese I read and hear. That may sound impressive until you realize that the remaining 10% is often the most important part of what is being conveyed.

So, it is with nerdish delight when I come across a word that taxes my imagination and yet finds me coming up short of that eureka! of comprehension.

Yesterday, another business man I know, who runs a Doctor Martens boutique and shoe-wholesaling business, told me he had bought a nodatê (野点). I had no idea what he was talking about, so I googled it and found pictures of the large cinnabar-colored paper umbrellas used when the tea ceremony is conducted outdoors. I can't count how many times I've seen them, but never knew what they were called. I would even venture to say that your average Japanese, who hasn't been initiated into the arcana of the Way of Tea, probably doesn't know what they're called, either.

Now I do.

Something else I didn't know yesterday, was the word tateru (点てる、たてる) describes the state in which someone is drinking maccha. It's an unusual reading for the kanji 点 (usually read as ten) and doesn't show up in many dictionaries.

「点てる」は“抹茶をいれる”の意。「お茶を点てる」from my 「スーパー大辞林」

Coming of Age

For someone like me who is fascinated by Japanese traditions and culture, Seijin-no-hi, or Coming-of-Age Day, held on the second Monday of January, is one of the many days to look forward to in Japan. For on that day, you can find many young women, dressed in elaborate kimono, their hair coiffed, make-up and nails perfect—a stunning display of beauty like exotic monocarpic flowers, blooming once after 20 years of growth. Although men, too, occasionally dress in flashy kimono their hair done up in wild pompadours, most of them wear conservative suits more befitting of the occasion. But let’s be honest, I’m much more interested in the women.

The modern version of Seijin-shiki began in Warabi City, Saitama on 22 November 1946. The Pacific War had ended half a year earlier and much of Japan lay in ruins. The ceremony, called Seinensai (青年祭, lit. “Youth Festival”) was held to encourage the young people of that broken country to rise up and dispel the dark mood of the times. Two years later, the ceremony was established as a national holiday originally held on the fifteenth of January. The original date is significant in that before the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar, the full moon fell on the fifteen of every month in Japan, and the fifteenth day of the firstmonth of the year was known as Ko-shōgatsu (小正月, lit. “little New Year”), the day that New Year’s had been traditionally celebrated until the Edo Period. Thanks to the “happy Monday system”, however, the date of Seijin-shiki has been held on the second Monday of January since the year 2000.

While today’s Seijin-shiki has its roots in the immediate post-war years, the rite of passage can actually be traced back to the Nara Period (710-794). In those days, genpuku (元服)—a coming-of-age ceremony modeled, like so many things in that era, after the customs of the Tang Dynasty of China (618~907)—was held for boys between the ages of 10 and 20 (some sources say between 12 and 16). In the genpuku ceremony, which literally means “head” (元) wearing” (服), a boy’s hair was fashioned in the manner of an adult’s, and he no longer wore the clothing of a child (see below). Moreover, his birth name was exchanged for an adult one, or eboshi-na (烏帽子名), and he was given a brimless ceremonial court cap, or kanmuri (冠). The adoption of the new hairstyle and clothing signified the assumption of adult responsibilities. 

Women, on the other hand, would receive a long pleated skirt called a mogi (裳着), to replace the wide-sleeved, unisex hakama-githey wore as children. The timing of a woman’s coming-of-age came typically after menarche, or in her early to late teens, and indicated that she was of marriageable age. While that may seem scandalously young to us in 2021, during the Nara Period, the life expectancy was between 28 and 33, and would get progressively shorter over time rather than longer. In the Muromachi Period (1336~1573), the average life expectancy was a mere blip of 15 years. Imagine that.

In the past, coming-of-age ceremonies were for the most part limited to those in the higher echelons of Japanese society which included the nobility and kugé aristocratic class, and from the Kamakura Period (1185~1333) on, the samurai warrior class, as well.

Children of the court prepared for roles they would assume later on from as young as three or four years of age, studying court ceremonies, Buddhist doctrine, and ethics. Later, they moved on to mastering the skills of calligraphy, which in classical times was indispensable for a courtier. 

In the age of the samurai, from the Kamakura to the Edo Periods (1185~1868), the genpuku ceremony featured the placing of a samurai helmet, rather than a court cap, on the head of the new adult male. During periods of unrest such as the Sengoku Jidai, or Warring States Period, (1467~1615), genpuku was often delayed until a son was full-grown in order to spare the inexperienced warrior the duty to fight, and most likely die, in battle. As peace reigned, however, the age considered appropriate for coming-of-age was lowered in response to pressures to marry and produce heirs, which could not happen until after the ceremony had been performed. In the sixteenth century, the average coming-of-age ceremony for samurai was 15 to 17, and by the 1800s it had dropped to 13 to 15.

Today, both men and women, who will reach the age of adulthood, i.e. twenty, by April 1, take part in the modern-version of Seijin Shiki. The ceremony is held at a venue in the city or town where the new adult resides. There, government officials make speeches and hand out presents. For many of the participants, the day is considered a class reunion of sorts because after the ceremony, they often meet friends from their junior high school at a formal party organized by their former classmates.

Why do women today wear the long-sleeved furisode kimono? 

If my reading of the Japanese is correct, and do correct me if it isn’t, but in the past the furisode that young unmarried women of means wore had much shorter sleeves. Youths, both male and female who were not yet old enough, wore what is known as fudangi, or everyday kimono. As Japan entered the Edo Period, though, the design of furisode gradually came to resemble that of today’s furisode. The longer and more exaggerated the sleeves became, the more impractical they were for everyday use, and eventually came to be reserved as formal attire for unmarried women. By the Shōwa Period, furisode had become established as a costume worn only on special occasions, such as Coming-of-Age Day and weddings. The swinging of the long sleeves of the kimono themselves is said to act as a kind of talisman against evils (魔除け) or drive out evil spirits (厄払い).

This year with the coronavirus pandemic still raging we could use some good luck charms. Unfortunately for those Japanese who have been anticipating the day, many local governments have either cancelled or postponed their planned Coming-of-Age Day ceremonies. As far as I know, Fukuoka City is still going ahead with its event, which will be held at Marine Messe. The ceremony will be shortened and split into two groups in order to prevent the spread of COVID-19. The event will also be live-streamed so that others can attend virtually.

In 2021, there will be 1,240,000 “new adults” or shinseijin (新成人), an increase of 200,000 over last year. For the past 11 years running, the percent of population represented by these new adults has been less than 1%.

The dark navy line indicates the percentage of “new adults” relative the general population. Red is the total number of females—blue, males—who are recognized as adults on the second Monday of January.

Note that in 1987, the number of new adults dropped dramatically. The 20-year-olds were born in 1966, or the Year of the Fire Horse (丙午, Hinoe Uma). Due to the belief that people born on this year have a very strong personality, birthrates in Japan tend to see a sharp decline.

This is the same graph as the one above, only focused on the past 20 years.

You might be curious to know how much the whole Seijin Shiki kit and caboodle costs. As a parent, I certainly am. In 2020, just under half of the women attending the ceremony rented their furisode kimono; whereas the other half either borrowed one from their mother, elder sister, or other relative, or bought it outright. The percent of those who bought theirs last year was up over 5% over the previous year. 

Rental (orange) 48%, down from 53%; borrowed from “Mama” (gray) 25%, up from 20%; bought (dark blue) 19%, up from 13%; borrowed from a sister or relative (yellow), 6%, down from 7%.

As you can see, the percent who rent their kimono (orange) has increased over the years. Those who bought theirs (gray) ticked up last year.

So, how much will renting a furisode kimono set you back? That depends, of course, on the shops, the services they provide, and the kimono itself. The cheapest rental furisode, made, I believe, cardboard origami and duct tape, go for about ¥40,000, but the going rate is closer to ¥250,000. Yes, you read that correctly. New furisode can cost over ¥300,000 to rent, not buy. The more expensive the rental, the more services will be included—kitsuke (helping the woman get dressed), hair setting, make-up, nails, and all that. Some rental salons will also take your photos which is usually done several months before Coming-of-Age. Over half of women report preparing for the day in the first six to eight months of the year prior to the ceremony.

As we have seen above, buying the furisode kimono is the option 20% of the women choose. But how much does a new kimono for a new-adult cost? Once again, prices vary. A single kimono can run ¥150,000 ~ ¥600,000, depending on the material it’s made from and the tailoring. While much more expensive than renting, the kimono can be used again at the graduation ceremony or at weddings and handed down to younger sisters or even one’s own children in the future, saving you money in the long run. If on the other hand you cannot envision ever wearing the furisode again in the future, then you are better off renting. At any rate, if you have a daughter or two, start saving your “yennies”.

In recent years, elementary schools have been holdingni-bun-no-ichi seijin-shiki (二分の一成人式) or “Half Coming-of-Age Day Ceremonies” for fourth graders who have become ten years old. Parents are invited to school where their children read letters of thanks to them. This year, like so many events will probably be cancelled or conducted without parents.

Ebisu Booty

Ask your Japanese friends to try reading 一斗二升五合 and most of them will probably be stumped. It is a riddle of sorts employing 斗, 升, 合, all of which are traditional Japanese measures of volume.

一斗 (itto, about 18 liters) is equal to ten 升 (shô, about 1.8 liters). 一斗, then, can be said to equal 五升の倍 (go shô no bai), which means “five shô doubled”. 五升の倍 (go shô no bai) is synonymous with 御商売 (go shôbai) which means “one’s business or trade”.

Still with me?

二升 (nishô). 升 can also be read masu. 二升 here can be read “masu masu” which sounds like 益々 (masu masu), meaning “more and more”, “steadily”, and son on.

五合 (go gô, 5 x 0.18 liters, or 0.9 liters) is one half of a shô or 半升 (hanjô) and sounds the same as 繁盛 (hanjô, prosperity).

So, putting it all together 一斗二升五合 can be read “Go-shôbai masu masu hanjô!” (御商売益々繁盛), meaning something to the effect that your business or trade will enjoy increasing prosperity.

Ebisu Giveth, Ebisu Taketh

On Saturday I took my brood to the Tōka Ebisu Festival to pray to Ebisu, the god of wealth, fishermen, fortune, and merchants. (And if that isn't already large enough portfolio for one god, Ebisu is also said to be the guardian of the health of small children.)

As I have written before, one of the highlights of the four-day-long festival is a lucky drawing (福引, fukubiki) for Ebisu goods—calendars, large paper fans, daruma dolls, lucky mallets, giant paper-maché fish, and so on. In past years, I've "won" all sorts of prizes, big and small, but last year my elder son and I arrived too late and missed the drawing altogether. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I made sure we left home nice and early Saturday morning, the last day of the festival.

My son wanders off alone in search of a Kyōryūja mask. (I'll have to write about that one of these days.)

And finds a lucky drawing stand, instead. There are all kinds of pellet guns on display.

"Lucky drawing! Everyone's a winner. Lucky drawing!"

"I want this one," he says to me.

"This isn't a shop. You don't buy these. You have to buy a raffle ticket."

"I want this one," he says again.

My son has become rather persistent when he wants something. Usually it's junk, overpriced junk, but he wants it all the same, and wants it NOW.

A few weeks back, the two of us popped into a convenience store. As I was withdrawing some money from the ATM, my son wandered about the aisles looking for candy and toys and found an Anpan Man Camera.

“I want this,” he said, placing the toy on the check-out counter.

"What is it?"

"Anpan Man Camera."

"I don't have any money," I said.

"You have money."

"Yes, but not for this," I said, picking the camera up. "How much is it, anyways? A thousand yen! No way!"

"I want it . . ."

With a tantrum threatening to erupt, I scooped the boy up into my arms and headed straight for the door. We were going a German restaurant that was about a twenty-minutes' walk away and I'll be damned if my son did not keep saying, "I want Anpan Man Camera! I want Anpan Man Camera!" the entire distance.

"You have a camera. I nice digital camera."

"It's broken!" 

"It's not broken," I replied. "I fixed it the other day."

The battery had died, but I had since recharged it and emptied the storage. It was working nicely again.

"I don't want Daddy to fix it! I want Anpan Man camera." 

He finally calmed down by the time we reached the German restaurant, but having carried the 20kg kicking and crying boy the entire distance, I was thoroughly exhausted.

Back at the festival, I tell my son, "You don't understand. You have to buy one of these tickets first. If and ONLY if you're lucky will you win the gun." 

The old woman running the stand says, "Everyone's a winner."

"Yeah, right," I shoot back.

"I want this one!"

I ask the woman how much one of the raffle tickets cost.

"Five hundred yen."

"Five hundred yen! Auntie, I think the biggest winner at this stand is you!"

"Yep," she says with toothless grin.

Just then a middle-aged retarded (sorry, Sarah Palin) man walks up to the booth and says he wants a gun, too. His minder tries to hold him back, but the man tries to take one of the guns, saying in Japanese, "I want this one. I want this one." His minder relents and gives the retarded man a five-hundred-yen coin.

I tell my son: "You watch! You'll see, he won't win anything."

Well, as luck would have it, the retarded man ends up winning the very gun my son wants. A second man in his thirties with severe Down's syndrome comes up next and also wins a gun. 

"I want one, too!" my son says.

Now I have no choice but to also give my son a five-hundred-yen coin and let him have a go at the game.

Maybe it is because it's the last day of the festival and the woman has nothing to gain by cheating us, or maybe it is simply because she doesn't want to make a little boy cry, either way, my son "wins" the gun he wanted.

"What do you say?"

My boy looks up to the woman and very bashfully says, "Thank you."

I tell her thank you, too. "That was awfully decent of you. You didn’t have to do that."

"Lucky drawing! Everyone's a winner! Lucky drawing!"

By the way, the gun didn't look anything like the photo on the box AND, worse, it broke on our way home on the train. Oh, well.

Ringing In The New Year

I used to get so depressed after Christmas when I was young. In America, there really wasn’t much to look forward to once King of All Holidays had passed. We had Easter, of course, but you had to first eke your way through six weeks of Lent, which was no easy task in my devoutly Roman Catholic family.

After coming to Japan, though, I haven’t had that problem. Here, there is always something in the offing to look forward to: Ōmisoka, or New Year’s Eve; Gantan or New Year’s Day itself; the first seven or fifteen days of the New Year called Matsunouchi; the Tōka Ebisu Festival held around the 10th of January; Dondoyaki on the 15th; Setsubun at the beginning of February, and so on.

And so, to keep those Christmas Blues in check, we have made it a habit to decorate our home if not as lavishly, then just as festively for the New Year. That involves a trip to one of my favorite florists, Unpas. Every year they make the most wonderful shimenawa and mini kadomatsu.

This year, in keeping up with the muted mood of the times, we opted for a simple design.

We may add something to this pine branch to make it a bit more colorful.

A few days later, we went to the Yanagibashi Shōtengai market, which is always hopping with at the end of the year, picking up New Year’s decorations and ingredients to make traditional New Year’s dishes.

I think this may be the first time we have ever bought a real kagami-mochi. I think we may have started a new tradition.

What is a kagami mochi you want to know?

Let’s ask Mr. Wiki:

Kagami Mochi (鏡餅, "mirror rice cake"), is a traditional Japanese New Year decoration. It usually consists of two round mochi (rice cakes), the smaller placed atop the larger, and a daidai (a bitter orange) with an attached leaf on top. In addition, it may have a sheet of kombu and a skewer of dried persimmons under the mochi. It sits on a stand called a sanpō (三宝) over a sheet called a shihōbeni (四方紅), which is supposed to ward off fires from the house for the following years.  Sheets of paper called gohei (御幣) folded into lightning shapes similarto those seen on sumo wrestler's belts are also attached.

The kagami mochi first appeared in the Muromachi Period (14th–16th century). The name kagami ("mirror") is said to have originated from its resemblance to an old-fashioned kind of round coppermirror, which also had a religious significance. The reason for it is not clear. Explanations include mochi being a food for special days, the spirit of the rice plant being found in the mochi, and the mochi being a food which gives strength.

The two mochi discs are variously said to symbolize the going and coming years, the human heart, "yin" and "yang", or the moon and the sun. The "daidai", whose name means "generations", is said to symbolize the continuation of a family from generation to generation.

No-Show-Gatsu

In recent years, I have been doing the following activity on the first class after the winter break.

I split the class up into teams and, while listening to traditional Japanese music featuring the koto or shamisen, I have the students write on the blackboard as many words as they can in rōmaji related to the Japanese New Year. 

In addition to being kind of fun—not barrels of fun, mind you, but fun enough—this activity can be rather instructive.

For starters, you'll find that many Japanese students, not being proficient in the Hepburn romanization, will write things such as fukubukuro with an "h" rather than an "f" (hukubukuro) or nengajō with a "y" (nengajyo). The reason for this is that many Japanese learn simpler forms of romanization known as kunrei-shiki or Nihon-shiki. For more on this, go here. This is a good chance to briefly re-introduce the students to the Hepburn romanization and encourage them to use it in the future.

A few years back, my second-year English Communication majors came up with the following words:

One of the interesting things about this is that while many Japanese students will offer up words like hagoita, a decorative paddle used when playing a game resembling badminton called hanetsuki or even tako-agé (kite-flying), you shouldn't expect to see any of your neighbors playing hanetsuki or flying kites on New Year's Day. (In all my years in Japan, I have never once seen young women in kimono playing this game live as I have in television dramas.)

I then tell the students to ask one another if they had done any of the things on the board.

"Did you eat o-sechi or nana-kusa gayu?"

"Did you decorate your homes with shimenawa and kadomatsu?"

"Did you send any nengajō?"

Of the 23 students who attended that day, twenty had eaten o-sechi, four had a shimenawa at the entrance of their homes, six had gone to the hatsu-uri New Year's sales, eleven had drunk o-toso, and so on. 

Erasing those items which few or none of the students had partaken of, we came up with the following significantly pared down list:

Where New Year's in Japan was once a very colorful, tradition-laden event, all that remains of it today, or so it seems, is the food, the shopping, and banal TV programs. Less than half of the students visited one Shintō shrine (hatsumōde), let alone three, during the holiday. It's kind of sad when you think about it. 

Now, I'm not suggesting that we need to put the Shintō back in the Shinnen (New Year), like some good Christians back home demand Christ be kept in that pagan celebration of the winter solstice also known as Christmas. But, I find it odd that the Japanese are so lackadaisical when it comes to their own heritage and culture.

Setsubun 2021

Next year, Setsubun will fall on February 2 for the first time in 124 years. This will also be the first time in 37 years that the seasonal ritual is not February 3rd.

For more, go here:

https://eco.mtk.nao.ac.jp/koyomi/topics/html/topics2021_2.html

Mitama Matsuri

Gokoku Jinja holds a special place in my heart. It was, in fact, where I was first married. And, though, that first marriage could hardly be called a success (My second marriage in a Christian church in Honolulu has fared much better), I still have many fond memories of that wedding day.

The Mimata Matsuri, or the Souls' Festival that is held from the 13th to the 16th at Gokoku Jinja.

Like the similarly named festival at Tōkyō's Yasukuni Shrine, Gokoku's Mitama Matsuri is a festival in honor of those who died in the service of the country. That may sound sinister considering Japan's history, but (at least here in Fukuoka) all this really involves is lanterns being displayed on the grounds of the shrine.

The first time I discovered the "festival" was about fifteen years ago, during one of my evening jogs. Seeing the lanterns, I took a detour and headed into the shrine. There were only a handful of people milling about, but the lanterns must have numbered in the tens of thousands. It was awe-inspiring.

In recent years, the shrine has tried with a modicum success to attract more visitors by offering concerts, food stalls, and other attractions. Unfortunately, the number of lanterns steadily falls year by year and the feeling of awe that struck me the first time has become tempered with disappointment.

Seventy-five years have passed since the end of World War II and those who participated in it are now in their 90s and older, if still alive. Those who lost parents, children, siblings, or spouses in the war, people who'd be most inclined to keep a lantern burning for the souls of loved ones, are even older, more infirm (again, if alive). My own Japanese grandmother, who died about five years ago, lost her husband in the war. The more that time passes since the end of hostilities in the Pacific, the easier it is for me to imagine that the yearly calls of "Never again" might one day become too faint to prevent another destructive war. Just a thought.

Fidelium animae, per misericordiam Dei, requiescant in pace. Amen.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

_______________________________

Note: "The origin of Yasukuni Shrine is Shokonsha established at Kudan in Tōkyō in the second year of the Meiji era (1869) by the will of the Emperor Meiji. In 1879, it was renamed Yasukuni Shrine.

"When the Emperor Meiji visited Tōkyō Shōkonsha for the first time on January 27 in 1874, he composed a poem; "I assure those of you who fought and died for your country that your names will live forever at this shrine in Musashino". As can be seen in this poem, Yasukuni Shrine was established to commemorate and honor the achievement of those who dedicated their precious lives for their country. The name "Yasukuni," given by the Emperor Meiji represents wishes for preserving peace of the nation.

"Currently, more than 2,466,000 divinities are enshrined here at Yasukuni Shrine."

-- From Yasukuni's official home page

Doyo no Ushi

On Tuesday, you will probably be seeing 土用の丑 (doyō no ushi) on signs at your local supermarket or izakaya. What the hell is this?

Doyō (土用) refers to the 18 days before the change of a season (節分). In the case of 7/21, it refers to the 18 days before the start of autumn or rishhū (立秋), lìqiū in Chinese. This year rishhū is on August 7th.

The beginning of this 18-day period is known as 土用の入り (doyō no iri); the final day, 節分 (setsubun). Yes, there is more than one "setsubun" in Japan—four actually—not just the one in February when people play exorcist and throw beans at demons.

As it is believed that one becomes susceptible to all kinds of ailments when seasons change, the Japanese like to fortify themselves with unagi (grilled eel, pictured), udon, and umeboshi (pickled plums). Why these things? Because they start with "u", just like the "u" in "doyō no Ushi". Yes, that is the reason. Silly, ain' it?

The "do" in "doyō" incidentally means earth/soil, and is one of the five ancient elements, 五行 (Gogyō, or wǔxíng in Chinese). These five elements (fire, water, wood, metal/gold, earth) are also the same as the days in the week. Most people believe these came from China, but they actually came from the Roman Empire, which created the 7-day week and gave us the names for the days which today are still reflected in the Japanese--namely, Nichiyōbi (Sun Day), Getsuyōbi (Moon Day), Kayōbi (Mars/FIre Day), Suiyōbi (Mercury/Water Day), Mokuyōbi (Jupiter/Wood Day), Kinyōbi (Venus/Metal Day) and Doyōbi (Saturn/Earth Day). The order of the days, I believe, was connected to the speed at which they passed through the sky. (I need to double check that.) Interestingly, in Chinese, they just call the days "the first day of the week, the second day of the week", which is kind of what you would expect of a humorless and Godless, Communist dictatorship.

The "ushi" in dōyo no ushi means cow. (As you may know, there are 12 animals in the Chinese zodiac. 12 animals x 5 elements gives us 60 different combinations.)

And so what "dōyo no ushi" actually means is this: "the day of the cow that falls within in the 18 days before the start of a new season according to the ancient luni-solar calendar."

Got that?

But wait! If there are only 12 elements and 18 days of the doyō period, then there must be two doyō no ushi days. Yes, you're right. At least in most years you are. This year, there will be two doyō no ushi. The first (一の丑, ichi no ushi) falls on July 21st; the second (二の丑, ni no ushi), on August 2nd.

Bon appétit!

Yamakasa, 2019