Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I am so excited. So excited! The other night I went to my friend's house for a birthday party. Yes, a friend. Not just an ordinary friend. A best friend.
"You are my best friend," she said as she hugged me. "It's so great to have found such great friend in Tokyo. I didn't know I was going to find such a great friend but here you are!"

I did it! I really did it! After nearly two years here, I have found a true friend.

Oh no, it wasn't easy finding a friend in a foreign country. First, I had to remember how to find a friend. I actually think the last time I had to find a friend was in kindergarten...and that was easy. Sit near the girl with all the crayons. Stay away from anyone who eats paste. Learn how to skip rope. Done. By afternoon snack, I had a best buddy.

But, here, in a new home with new neighbors and, well, ..how does an adult find friends? Where do you start?

I started on the first floor of my apartment complex: the mailroom.
"Oh, hi there," I said to the first person who entered the mailroom to open her box, "you caught me getting my mail. We haven't met. Would you like to go out for some coffee sometime?"
"Actually, I don't drink coffee. Thanks though. See you later."
Open box.
Close box.
Peek around the room corner.
Open box.
Close box.
Peek around the room corner.

"Oh, hello there," I said to the next person who entered the room. "Just checking for my mail. You here for mail too, right? I see we both like to check the mail.....How about coffee? Would you like to join me for coffee?"
"Oh, I'm busy this week and I don't drink coffee. Maybe some other time."
Open box.
Close box.
Peek around the corner.
Open.
Close.
Peek around the corner.
Open.
Close.
Watch the sun set.

"G'day," a woman said to me.
Apparently I had fallen asleep leaning against the wall of the mailroom. Finding friends is exhausting work. "I'm new here," I said in a bored voice. "And, I'd love to have coffee with you sometime."
"Coffee?" She answered in an Australian accent. "I don't drink coffee, mate. But, I do drink Fosters. Why don't you come over now?"
Ding! I found a friend!

Another method I used to find friends was to go to my boys' bus stop. The hard part was actually getting to the bus stop. My boys don't really need me to escort them anymore. "It's raining," I pleaded to my boys. "I'll carry the umbrella for you, if you let me walk with you."
"OK, Mom. Just this time. But no kisses at the stop. Fist pumps only."

But I discovered the best way to find friends is through the kid's school. I met my best friend (she and I are definitely best friends now) while cheering for our sons' football team. It was much easier than standing in the mail room for hours.

"You are my best friend," my best friend repeated at her party. And, I took a picture of us. Me and my best friend. My ray of sunshine. Telling stories. Laughing. Eating cake.

It took nearly two years, but I've got a buddy.

I am excited. So excited.


Dear Diary,
Scratch the last entry.

Yesterday on campus I saw my best friend, my amigo, my tomodachi, mon ami, my freund. "Hi!" I said. I air kissed her cheek. Best friends air kiss.

"It's too bad you didn't make it to my house last night," she said.

Apparently, I look like someone else altogether in the dim light. And, after a few glasses of wine.

I'm heading back down to the mailroom.

Tongue-tied in Tokyo

It's been two months since our return to Tokyo. Although we've been very busy adjusting to Tokyo life again (starting school, starting Japanese class, reconnecting with friends, spending yen, grocery shopping everyday, figuring out train maps, trying to find a restaurant that might serve the American Thanksgiving dinner--by the way, there are 80,000 food venues in Tokyo), we have experienced some very exciting events too:

In late August, we watched a spectacular fireworks display--10,000 fireworks with about the same number of spectators. http://www.tourism.metro.tokyo.jp/english/index.html

In September, my courageous husband, a few of his brave colleagues and our motivated 12-year-old son climbed Mt. Fuji in the sleet and rain and cold. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Fuji

In late September, I put on my hiking boots and participated in my own grueling ascent. I climbed Mt. Toei Oedo. This is actually not a mountain. It's a subway line that's 48 meters below ground. Believe me, after struggling up several flights of stairs and escalators to get from the center of the earth to fresh air, you are definitely ready for a bowl of ramen and a hot coffee. I keep hoping to buy a souvenir walking stick as a proof of my endurance.

And then, last Thursday night, well, we received a very memorable "gift" from one of our favorite local restaurants. And, to make a long story even longer, here's the story and I'm sticking to it.....

Think. Think. Think.
Quickly, I tried to think of some of the other gifts my husband and I have received from other Japanese shopkeepers over the last two years.

I looked at the wrapped package once again.
Definitely too heavy to be dishware. Probably not a Snoopy mug.
Definitely too big to be any kind of accessory. Probably not a cell phone strap.
Definitely too bulky to be a promotional giveaway. Probably not a point card.
Definitely too lumpy to be a decoration. Probably not a Pet Hotel calendar.
Could it be a bag of potatoes? Maybe it’s a pumpkin?

Think. Think. Think. What could it be?

“Gift. For you,” the Japanese chef said in English as he presented the package to us. He appeared to be waiting our reaction. This was one of our favorite local restaurants, so I didn’t want to disappoint him. But, I had no idea what “the gift” was.

Think. Think. Think.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” my husband said to the chef. “Arigato gozaimas.”
Clearly my husband had figured it out. “Honey,” he said to me. “Congratulations. You are the recipient of a gift of beef tongue.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beef_tongue

And, for the first time in my life, I was tongue-tied.

Think. Think. Think.
“Maybe,” I said to my husband later that evening as we both stared at the block of beef now sitting on our kitchen counter. “Maybe it’s too special to eat. Maybe I’m supposed to wrap it up in washi paper or something. Or maybe I’m supposed place it on our mantel next to our Hummel.”

“No,” he said. “We definitely need to cook it. And we should find a recipe fast. We probably can’t return to the restaurant until we’ve feasted on tongue. They will definitely want to know if we liked it.”

So, now I’ve got an important mission for this week, actually two. I’ve got until next Saturday night to serve an awesome tongue dinner. And, I have to figure out the custom for beef tongue gift giving. Is it proper etiquette to show up at the restaurant with an equally kind and thoughtful present?

Think. Think. Think.
The chef’s expertise is cooking. He gave us a gift of food.
My forte is writing. I should give him the gift of….hmmm.....

My Beef Tongue Haiku
Oh sweet, beefy t
You are not chicken, nor pork
Oh, my precious tongue
My poetry in a pot
I have got your tongue
But you have my heart, tonight
Be a tasty treat
In my covered kettle
Boil and simmer
Be a slice of goodness, please
And, if not, my sweet
Please, oh, please, pass the sake