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From Generation to Generation 今世代から次世代へ

Women in my family – from left – me, my daughter, mom, my sister, my niece

My mother suddenly died in 2012. It was the year after the horrific earthquake and tsunami followed by the unbelievable nuclear meltdown in Fukushima. How time flies relentlessly… Her death was totally unexpected. She was only 82 and relatively well. One day, she had heart failure while taking her bath, and drowned.

She was a creative person, elegant and fashionable. A huge collection of her clothes was left behind. It was a weird feeling stepping into the familiar house with all her clothes, and her scent vividly present, but mom herself was gone…nowhere. Yet I feel like I can still hear her voice, her sigh, and laughter…My father passed away late last year, so my sister and I had to do something about their stuff.

One of the big problems was my mother’s hand dyed silk clothes. She dyed them herself, all from scratch and made into beautiful dresses, but all specifically fit to herself. Unfortunately, neither my sister nor myself could wear her dresses. Over many years I watched mom working hard day and night hand-dyeing the silk. She would make patterns, etch and cut, color onto silk, wash, dry…etc., such a complicated process… Who could throw them away, or donate them to strangers who might or might not appreciate the love and sweat that went into the silk. But then, what should I do with them? After thinking hard, I came up with an idea. What if I undo all the dresses and turn them into patch-work quilt and make bed spreads for my sister and myself?

However, there was a serious problem. I had no idea how to quilt; absolutely zero experience and zero knowledge about quilting. It was an incredible challenge for me and I didn’t even know where to start.

Right then, Jeanette came into my life, like an angel God had sent for me, and offered to teach me how to do this step by step. Thus…. the challenge of making my first ever quilt began. I opened my sewing machine which was tightly put away in its cover case. It had traveled with me through many moves, once across the Pacific Ocean, and had never been opened for many years. OMG… it was in disappointing shape. Some critical parts were missing, and it was in no way usable. So that was the end of my sewing machine that had traveled all the way from Japan 35 years ago. Jeanette mercifully lent me her machine.

My heart ached undoing my mother’s perfectly beautiful dresses. Yeah…mom had such sloping shoulders that were great in a kimono, but a couple of shoulder pads were necessary for dresses. She would hand-dye silk fabrics and dry them hanging wall to wall, like flags hanging in the house. I couldn’t help stopping my hand every time such memories occupied my head. What a slow process it was.

Even so, thanks to Jeanette, there are two beautiful bed spreads, after two years, all finished. My mother’s “bingata-zome ” dyes were reborn, reincarnated into something I could be proud of. I can tell my children, nieces and nephews, that these bed spreads were dyed by your grandmother, and quilted by Obaba (me). They can pass them on to their children for generations to come. Isn’t it wonderful?

I was so happy.

Thank you so much, Jeannette. I have no words to express my gratitude to you!

So…., I’m thinking….What should I quilt next….Is it going to be my new hobby?

My mom and my granddaughter Sumi
Quilt Bed spread

母が突然亡くなったのは福島の大震災の翌年、もう13年も前の話だ。年月が経つのは容赦なく早い。母の死はひどいショックだった。母は82歳で元気だったのに入浴中に心不全を起こしてあっけなく溺死してしまったのだ。

おしゃれが大好きでクリエイティブだった母が残した膨大な洋服のコレクション、何年も手付かずに実家に残してあったのだが、父が去年の暮に亡くなったこともあって、ようやく重い腰を上げて実家の整理を始めた。なんとも不思議な感覚だった。母が大好きだった洋服に囲まれて母の声が、息づかいが、笑い声が聞こえてきそうなのに、母はいない。

1番困ったのは母の手染めのシルクの洋服。母の体型に合わせてカスタムメイドされているので私や妹が着ても体型的に合わない。母が一生懸命手染めしている姿を何年も見てきているので処分するなどとんでもない。考えあぐねた挙げ句、洋服をほどいてパッチワークのベッドカバーにしたらどうか。挑戦してみようかと思ったけど、そんなこと全く経験のない私、どこから手をつけていいのやらわからない。

そこにまるで、『神の御使である天使』のように現れたジャネットが、手取り足取り教えてくれると言ってくれて、生まれて初めてのキルト作りに挑戦することになった。何度もの引っ越しを経て40年近くもしまいっぱなしだったミシンの蓋を開けてみると、まあまあなんと足りないものだらけ。結局日本から持ってきたミシンは使いものにならず、ジャネットのものを借りることになった。

母の洋服をほどくのは心が痛んだ。そうだよなあ…

母は撫で肩で着物が似合う体型だったなあ、とか何にでも肩パッドを入れてシャキッと形作ってたよなあ、とか染め上がった反物を旗のように家中に干しまくってたなあ、とかいろんな情景が走馬灯のように現れて、その度に思い出に浸って手が進まない。

それでも、それこそ何から何までおんぶに抱っこでジャネットのお世話になりながら2年がかりで我が家用のクイーンサイズのベッドカバーと妹の家用のソファカバーを作り上げた。これならば母の紅型染の作品も生きる。「これはあんたたちのお婆さんが手染めして、それをオババが縫ってキルトに仕立てたベッドカバーなんだよ」と何代にも渡って子供たち、甥や姪たち、孫たち、ヒー孫たちに語り継いで、残していくことが出来る。すばらしいじゃない？

すごく嬉しかった。

ありがとう、ジャネット。心から感謝している。なんとお礼を言ったらいいのかわからない。

次は何を作ろう、なんて考えたりして…

私の新しい趣味になりそうな予感。


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Kathaumixw 合唱祭

Every two years, Powell River, the small town I live, hosts an international choral festival called Kathaumixw. It is, I was told, the only international choral festival in Canada. Kathaumixw means ‘gathering of different people’ in the local indigenous language.

It’s been around for 40 some years, and apparently this year was the 20th festival. Canada’s Independence Day, July 1, was the opening day and it literally filled the small town with choral music for 5 full days. The participating choirs came from not only Canada and USA, but also Costa Rica, Slovenia, New Zealand, Philippines, and Taiwan. My choir was the festival host choir. What a super-hectic, super-stimulating, super-exciting, and super-exhausting 5 days!

When the festival was over, I found myself in a somewhat stunned or ‘out of it’ state. My heart was crying out…”no, I don’t want it to end!” “Let me linger in the exhilaration!”, then slowly turned to ”I am so sad”, “l’m missing the excitement already”….

Especially the final concert was so inspiring to my heart. For four days since the festival opened, almost 1000 singers, learned the three beautiful choral pieces together, and rehearsed together, under the direction of Dr. Zimfira Poloz. Dr. Zimfira is the director of the Toronto Children’s Choir and a well-known well-respected educator in Toronto. I got to learn so much from her.

Dr. Zimfira told us a bit of her life story. She was an immigrant (refugee?) from Kazakhstan. When the USSR had collapsed, she and her husband emigrated to Canada. They were concerned about their future in Kazakhstan and Canada was one of only two countries in the world willing to welcome them. Their life in Canada was not easy, but every time they were given opportunities or challenges they felt so grateful. She said she would never take anything for granted.

Wow, she went through a similar path as an immigrant as myself, I thought. Of course, I immigrated from Japan which is a peaceful and stable country, and I didn’t have to be concerned with my security or my future. However, to a woman from Japan with hard-to-pronounce name, and not especially talented in anything, Canada gave me opportunities to build a decent life. I met many good hearted people. Abundant nature, peaceful country, clean air, warm kind friends…I feel so grateful.

So now, the festival is over. The town is back to normal getting ready for the tourist season. I run into my choir mates in town, we say to each other, “I can’t get those 3 pieces out of my head…..They are still ringing in my head.” Aren’t we lucky?

Music is the only language that has power to speak directly to our heart. Music can unite people instantly. I want to say my heart-felt “thank you” to my late parents who initiated music education for me 60+ years ago. And “thank you” to our beloved town of Powell River that included me in its music community.

Opening concert
First rehearsal of 3 common songs 参加者全員での最初のリハーサル
Concert コンサート
After the concert with my granddaughter Sumi and her friend コンサートの後で

2年に一度のインターナショナル合唱祭が7月の第1週目、カナダの独立記念日(7月1日)から5日間にわたって、私の住む小さな町、パウエルリバーで繰り広げられた。Kathaumixw というこのフェスティバルはカナダで唯一の国際的な合唱祭だという。Kathaumixwとはこの地域の原住民の言葉で『いろんな人々の集まり』という意味だそうだ。

今回第20回目、カナダ、アメリカを始め、コスタリカ、スロヴィニア、ニュージーランド、フィリピン、台湾など世界中から合唱団が参加して5日間に渡ってのコンサートづくしだった。なんとも忙しく、刺激満タン、疲労困憊の5日間、でも終わってみると、高揚の余韻と共になんともいえない寂しさに心が揺さぶられ続けたことも否定できない。

特に1000人近い参加者で合唱した最後のコンサート、4日間にわたって皆でリハーサルした3曲がなんとも美しくて感動的だった。指導してくださった Dr. Zimfira Polozというトロントの合唱団の指揮者であり教育者である先生との出会いは一生忘れられない。

先生はカザフスタンからの移民(難民？)だそうだ。ソ連が解体してカザフスタンが独立した際、先生ご夫妻は将来を案じて移民申請をしたそうだ。そのときに受け入れ表明をしてくれた世界中でたった2国のうちの一国がカナダだったという。カナダでの生活は薔薇色ではなかったけど、いろんなチャンスが巡ってきて、ひとつひとつ挑戦するたびに、機会を与えてくれたカナダに感謝し続けているそうだ。

そんな話を聞いて私は痛く感動した。私と似た境遇なんだと思った。私は平和な日本から来て、将来を案じて移民したわけではないけど、発音しにくい名前の、何と言って特別な取り柄のない私にカナダはいろいろチャンスを与えてくれた。素敵な出会いがいくつもあった。美しい大自然、温かい親切な人々、私も深く感謝しているんだよ。

フェスティバルの5日間が終わって静かな町が戻ってきた。夏の観光シーズンも間近。町角でコーラス仲間に出会うと、「あの3曲が頭から離れないよ」と言う話になる。こんなすばらしい体験をさせてもらって私は幸せ者だと心から思う。

音楽は世界共通、人々の心に直接深く働きかけてくれる。今さらながら、60＋年前、幼い私に音楽を学ぶ機会を与えてくれた亡き父と母に心から感謝。そして仲間に入れてくれたパウエルリバーに感謝。


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Stuff

—The wooden birds at my parents’ living room—

Two months after my father’s funeral, I went again to Tokyo and spent the whole month sorting stuff at my parents’ house.

It was overwhelming. Amazing volume of stuff, like my mother’s clothes, kimono, her artwork of silk-dye paintings, bone china paintings, and her water color Japanese paintings, lots of gifts given to my father during his 30 years of working in Los Angeles, Indonesia and San Francisco, many of them still beautiful, carved on valuable teak woods that are now extinct, and also…there are many artworks my parents purchased….Where can I start?

I did my best to sort stuff to a pile of keeps, no keeps, and throw aways in that one month I was there. However, I was no way near finishing when I had to return to Canada.

It was beyond my imagination how difficult this task could be….I was stunned to see how wasteful…. I was surprised to find out how different we all are. Even family members have different views and values, different reactions, different tastes…..

Just after we arrived in Los Angeles in 1969, we went on a family driving trip to Mexico. The moment we crossed the border from the US to Mexico, the scenery changed drastically, from green lawns to brown desert. Dry dusty sands were blowing everywhere and tiny houses looked built with layered carton boxes. People looked poor wearing clothes torn and disfigured. I was shocked to see how differently inside and outside of the border looked.

We saw a man with brown tanned face wearing a big straw hat, putting some wooden carved birds at the roadside. My mother said, “how interesting! Can we stop and see?”

So we stopped our yellow Chevy Impala, got out, and looked the birds that this cheerful and friendly man had carved. The birds were so simple, not even oil stained, but so interesting and cute.

From that day, for 55 years the birds sat in the corner of my parents’ living room and watched over us. Whenever I saw these birds, I thought of the man’s smiling face, his straw hat, the burning sun, the dry sand, the poor villages….. I couldn’t dare throw the birds away. I wanted to send them to Canada. However, I was told that since the birds were carved with untreated wood, they would not be permitted to enter Canada. I was crushed…so sad.

After I came back to Canada, I received a message from my daughter in Tokyo. “Look who are here!” The wooden birds are now sitting in my daughter’s home! ‘Oh they were adopted!’ You wouldn’t believe how happy I was!

I was born in 1955, only 10 years after the end of World War II. I grew up during the time Japan was so poor, just recovering from the dreadful war, and there was nothing. Things were scarce and nobody had anything luxurious. ‘Do not waste things,’ ‘you have to take care of things’, ‘cherish your possessions’, my parents and grandparents told me over and over. Perhaps that’s why my heart aches when I see things that look completely fine thrown into the garbage pile. I hear the utterances of others…. I don’t want this… I don’t want that… it’s not my taste…. it doesn’t suit my house….,I don’t have the space for this…..

I know it’s a popular trend to get rid of things, keeping the bare minimum, and living a simple life as an extreme minimalist.

However, I can’t do that. Of course, I don’t agree with the lifestyle with too much stuff, the house turning into a hoarder’s.

But for me, stuff is part of my history.

I would like to treasure things that bring back memories. I want to keep loving stuff that had dear meanings in my life. I would like to value my relationships with those special things.

After all, did you know that Zen Buddhism which is supposed to have had immense influence on Japanese culture, actually teaches that ‘things’ have souls as well?

—The wooden birds in my daughter’s home—

2024年の年末に父が他界した。お葬式の2ヶ月後、私は再度帰国してまるまる1ヶ月ほど実家の整理に明け暮れることになった。実家は亡き母の洋服や着物、母の作品である紅型染や陶器の絵付けや日本画の数々、亡き父の30年にわたる海外駐在中に贈られた置物の数々(多くは今は絶滅したとされる美しいチーク材だ)、それに加えて両親が購入した記念品や美術品で溢れ、どこから手をつけて良いやらわからない状態。とりあえず手をつけられるところから、処分したり片付けたり、できるだけのことをしてカナダに帰ってきた。

それにしても何と難しいことか。なんと無駄が多過ぎることか。物に対する考え方が人それぞれどれだけ異なることか。考えさせられることが多かった。

1969年、ロサンゼルスに父の転勤で落ち着いたばかりのころにメキシコまで初めて家族でドライブ旅行をしたことがあった。アメリカからメキシコの国境を超えた途端、景色が緑の芝生から褐色の乾いた砂漠へとガラッと変わった。砂ぼこりの舞う乾いた土地に、まるでダンボールを重ねただけのように見える小さな家々、ボロボロの服をまとった人々の姿にショックを受けたことをはっきり覚えている。

そんな道端で一人の麦わら帽子をかぶったおじさんが素朴な木彫りの鳥たちを並べていた。母が目ざとく見つけて「面白いね、ちょっと止まって見てみようよ」と言う。私たちは道端に黄色いシェブロンのインパラを停めて、日焼けした人懐っこい顔のおじさんの木彫りの鳥たちに見入った。本当に素朴で木にニスも何も塗ってない、ただ彫っただけの鳥たち、でも何とも愛嬌があって面白かった。

その日から55年以上も2羽の木彫りの鳥たちは実家のリビングルームの一角で私たちの生活を見守り続けてくれた。鳥たちを見ると必ずあの日のおじさんの笑顔が、乾いた強い陽射しが、貧しい村々が、私の胸によみがえってくる。どうしても捨てられなくてカナダに持って帰ろうと思ったら、加工されてない生木の作品だから検疫を通れないと聞いて、泣く泣くあきらめることになった。がっかり…悲しかった。

カナダに帰ってしばらくしたら東京に住む娘の知香から写真が送られてきた。「ここに居るのはだーれだ？」何とあのメキシコの生木の鳥たちが娘の家にちんと居座っているではないか。ああ、引き取ってくれたんだ、と無性に嬉しくなった。

私は1955年生まれ。戦後10年の物のない時代に生まれて、『物を粗末にしてはいけない、大事にしなければいけない』と言われ続けて育ってきた。そのせいか、『これもいらない、あれもいらない、家に合わない、家が狭い、置き場所がない、』とどんどん捨てられていく物たちを見ていると胸が痛む。

今流行りの、物を捨ててすっきり、最小限の物だけで暮らすのが良いとするミニマリストの極端な考え方にはついていけないものを感じる。もちろん物がありすぎてゴミ屋敷になるのは困るけど、想い出に直結した物を大切にすることも大事なんじゃないか。生きてきた軌跡を愛でることは単なるおセンチだとは私は思わない。

『物にも魂がある』というのは大切な禅の教えじゃなかったっけ？


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Funeral

My father in 2019

My father’s funeral was held at his church in Tokyo. It was a Christian service. Although the minister of the church had never met my father, he performed a heartfelt, sincere service that I truly appreciated.

Although I appreciated the funeral service, I didn’t feel peaceful about everything else after the service. The farewell staging was so pretentious that it left me cold. I have to note that it was after the church service and it had nothing to do with the minister or the church.

The farewell staging, or final goodbye, included some discomforting rituals.

The funeral director from the undertaking company, for example, told us to stroke my father’s face to express our love. The family members all stroked the icy cold face.

I also felt awkward sitting in the hearse which was driving off from the church while a group of people singing hymn were seeing it off. It reminded me of a scene from a century old black & white movie. The hearse carried my father and us to the crematorium.

And more dreadful ritual was that the family members picked up his burnt bones with chopsticks and placed them into the urn.

It didn’t sit well with me at all. I felt extremely uncomfortable. People say it’s just how funerals are conducted in Japan. It’s one of those cultural things. It sure is a big cultural difference. But it was not just that. Something was making me feel uneasy. What was it? I kept wondering.

It’s been almost 3 months passed since that funeral day. Thinking back now, I feel that the reason I felt so uneasy could be coming from my fundamental lack of understanding.

What is the objective of the funeral? I feel that in Japan the focus of the funeral is on “death”. It reminds us over and over that the person is now dead.

The focus of a funeral in Canada, where I have been living for the last 35 years, is more on “life”. The life the person lived is remembered.

I still remember how the cold face felt on my palms. It was something I didn’t want to remember. I wanted my father to be alive in my memory until the day I die. I wanted him to be a healthy lively person with a warm and beautiful soul, not a cold corpse or fragile bones.

Experiencing such a cold face would be too shocking for my little grandchildren. I worry that they would only remember that coldness rather than the warm smile and beautiful bass voice of their great grandpa who loved them.

My heart sank. It was the saddest day of my life.

父のお葬式はキリスト教の教会で行われたとはいえ、日本の典型的なお葬式であったことは歪めない。日本のお葬式とカナダのお葬式はなんだか根本的に違う気がする。お葬式の式自体は、父に会ったこともない牧師さんだったとはいえ、心のこもった誠実な式だったと思う。

でも式の後のお別れの演出が何ともわざとらしくて嫌だった。例えば葬儀社の人が、親族の人たちに、冷たくなった父の顔を撫でるように誘導したり、霊柩車を見送るときに讃美歌を歌いながら見送ったり…。そうしてそのまま火葬場に行ってお骨拾いをしたり…。

何か違う、なにかそぐわない気がして抵抗感があった。もちろん文化の違いだと言われればその通りだと納得せざるを得ないのかもしれない。でも何か違う。何だろう、どうしてこんなにモヤモヤするんだろう、とずっと考えていた。

3ヶ月たった今思うと、結局、根本的にお葬式の意義というか、目的というか、フォーカスのようなものが私の知っているカナダのお葬式とは違うような気がするのだ。つまり、日本のお葬式は『死』がフォーカスであるのに対してカナダのお葬式は『生』がフォーカスなのかもしれないと思った。日本のお葬式がその人が死んだことを、これでもかこれでもかと強調するのに対して、カナダのお葬式はその人の生きた人生を強調する。もう35年もカナダに住んでいる私はそういうカナダの感覚に慣れきっているのかもしれない。

私は正直言って冷たくなった父の顔を撫でてその冷たい感触がずっと手を通して私の中に記憶されるのに抵抗を感じる。父は私の記憶の中でずっと生きていてほしい。いつまでも元気で温かい父の感触を覚えていたい。死んで骨になった父ではなく、生きていた元気な父をいつまでも覚えていたい。孫や小さな曾孫が曾祖父さんのことを、触ったときの氷のように冷たい感触として覚えるのではあまりにもせつないではないか。温かい笑い顔を、美しい低音の声をいつまでも覚えていてもらいたい。

無性に切なくて胸が痛む1日だった。


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My Father

My father lived more than 13 years after my mother passed. He lived to be almost 97 years old. People say, he had a long happy life. Yes, for sure, he did have a long life. However, his last 13 years must have been terrible. I cannot believe he had ever felt anywhere near “happy”. Perhaps some natural defense mechanism had kicked in, possibly in order to blur his loneliness, his memory had started to deteriorate little by little. It eventually took away his ability to recognize us, his family faces. He could not remember us despite our strong kinship. He had dementia.

Dementia is a terrifying disease. I read an article about it describing what it would be like. Imagine sitting in an airplane all by yourself, not knowing why, definitely not because you want to go somewhere. The plane takes off and lands somewhere and you have to get off. You see people everywhere, surrounding you and talking. But you don’t know anybody. You don’t understand a word they are saying. You feel helpless, you don’t know what to do. Some people look aggressive, and you feel they may harm you, but there is no way of defending yourself. You are totally alone.

My father must have felt like this for the last several years, fearful and devastated. How terrifying it must have been.

I am sad I was helpless, powerless and worthless for him. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even be physically with him, just sit with him, help him feel at peace. Of course I was living far away, but still…..

My father was the person who was always quick to help me when I got in trouble, in tears, or feeling lost and overwhelmed. He was also quick to celebrate my joyous moments, flying to wherever I was.

It hurts to recognize that I was utterly useless when my father needed me the most, and there is no other chance left for me to make it up.

母が亡くなっておよそ13年たって父が亡くなった。もうすぐ97歳だった。長生きしたね、幸せな人生だったね、と人は言うかもしれない。でも母が亡くなってからの13年間は決して良い人生だったとはいえないと思う。一人ぼっちになった寂しさを忘れるためかのように少しずつ少しずつ記憶が薄れていって最期の数年間は娘たちのことも忘れてしまったように見えた。いわゆる認知症だったのだと思う。

認知症というのは恐ろしい病気だという。どこかで読んだことがある記事によると、まるで自分の意志とは無関係に飛行機に乗せられ、たった一人、どこだかわからない知らない国に連れて行かれるようなものだという。言葉もわからない、知っている人もいない、みたこともないところで降ろされ、放り出されるようなものだという。怖い顔をされても酷いことをされても自分を守る術もない。そんな状態で最期の数年を生きた父、どんなにか恐ろしい思いをしたことだろう。どんなに寂しかったことだろう。

遠い国に住んで近くにいなかったとはいえ、何の役にも立てなかった、いっしょに座っててあげることもできなかった。慰めの言葉さえかけてあげられなかった自分の非力さを思う。

私が困ったとき、悲しかったとき、圧倒されてどうしようもなかったとき、不安に打ちひしがれていたとき、いつもさっと救いの手を差し伸べてくれた父。その父が一番救いを必要としていたときに私は何もしてあげられなかった…何ともやるせない。


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Sloooow Life ゆ〜っくり

In July, I visited my son and his family in Honolulu for a week.

My journey began with taking a small plane from Powell River to Vancouver. I enjoyed the thrill of low altitude flying and dynamic Sunshine Coast sceneries. A few times, the young handsome captain made announcements in the plane. His talk was amazing…supreme tongue twister…totally impossible to keep up and understand what he was speaking. I thought, well… he must be saying something boring that he could even repeat in his sleep for every flight…how could it be important? 😜

So I arrived in Honolulu. My goodness, I noticed people are speaking so fast there too. I had to keep saying “eh?” asking for repetition. How come people speak so fast? Definitely faster than people in Powell River.

Then a memory came back to me. It was perhaps about 30 years ago. I was working in a college called Harbourside College. It was a small school and I was one of the few administrators responsible for key tasks like registration, marketing, and student services. I was always super busy. Every time I walked out of the office, people asked me questions from all corners of the school. Then I would go home to my three little children, all craving for my attention, and waiting to be fed. One day, I went to Japan for business and stayed at my parents’ home for few days. When we were having conversations, my mother looked at me puzzled and said. “Why do you talk so fast?” Suddenly, I was hit by a surprise. Am I speaking so fast? I never even noticed that. Is it because of my busy life? Have I forgotten to take time to enjoy conversations? Have I forgotten to relax?

After all, when I think of it, my mother, then, was around my age.

So, that means, Neil and I with our old dog Lu are aging and becoming slower. No wonder, living in slow countryside towns of Powell River and Texada Island is very comfortable for us. Does that mean we will keep getting older and slower without even noticing? Isn’t it scary?

Grandchildren in Hawaii

７月の1週間、息子とその家族が住むハワイのホノルルに行ってきた。

まず私の住むパウエルリバーからバンクーバーまで小さな飛行機に乗って低空飛行のスリルとダイナミックな西海岸の景色を楽しむ。若いハンサムな機長がいろいろアナウンスしてくれるんだけど何とも言えない強烈な早口で、私は全く雲に巻かれた感じ。何を言ってるのかまるでわからない。もう少しゆっくりしゃべってください、と言いたかったけど、どうせ決まりきったことを言ってるに違いないからまあいいか、と聞き流した。ハワイに着いたらこれまたみんながすごい早口でしゃべっている。私はついていけなくて「え？」と必ず聞き直す始末。何でみんなこんなに早口なんだろう。パウエルリバーとはまるで違うじゃないか。

ふと30年ほど前のことを思い出した。私がハーバーサイドカレッジという学校で働いていた頃…小さな学校だったのでいろいろ責任あるポジションを掛け持ちしていて最高に忙しかった。右を向いても左を向いてもあっちこっちから質問が飛んでくる。家に帰ったら帰ったで3人の子供達がお腹を空かせて待っている。そんな状態だった私が出張で日本に行って実家で泊まっていた時に、母が怪訝な顔で私を見て「あんた、何でそんな早口にしゃべるん？」と聞いてきて、私はハッとした。自分ではそんな早口で喋ってるとは気付いてなかったから心底びっくりした。そう、あんまり忙しくて気持ちに余裕がなかったからか、知らず知らずのうちにベラベラベラベラ早口に喋りまくっていたのかも、と気がついた。そんなことをふと思い出した。

つまり私が歳をとったということだよね。そう言えばあの頃の母の年齢って考えてみたら今の私の年齢じゃないか。

あれから知らず知らずのうちに30年経ってしまったように私も歳をとってしまうのだろうか。パウエルリバーとかタクセーダとかの田舎で、近年とみにゆ～っくりになったニールと私がこれまたお年寄りワンコのルーとの～んびり暮らして、いつの間にか30年たってしまうっていうこと？何だか怖いじゃない？


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Friends?

Last year I suffered from terrible sciatica…perhaps caused by my lack of exercising (?). In any case, I promised myself, “never again”! I was determined to work on becoming fitter. I began with muscle training. I attend fitness classes almost everyday. A class called “Strength and Core” is held on Monday mornings at the Powell River Rec Centre. There are many fitness classes offered there, but I find this class most effective for me.

Of course, there are many other like-minded people who also come to this class. Although demanding and exhausting, the class is very popular. In order to secure a favorite spot, people typically arrive 30 minutes before the class, go straight to the spot and spread their mat. It’s funny…some people like to be close to the instructor; some want to be closer to the wall, some want to have the best view of themselves in the mirror…etc. I like to be in the front row, close to the mirror, and close to the instructor.😆 I’m also one of those people who arrive early before the class, and spread my mat at the right spot. I love to be perfectly prepared.

And, one day….the class was just starting….music came on….bodies began to move….. just at that moment, a tall guy with fuzzy hair arrived to the class. He was perhaps in his 50s, perhaps with some kind of mental/cognitive challenge. He walked right into the class, and walked straight toward where I was. He said to me, “you are in my spot.” Apparently, he usually comes on Tuesdays, and the instructor is reserving this spot for him. I almost said “No, this is my spot!”, but I didn’t. Instead, I just nodded, moved my mat, and let him take my spot. I thought, since he might have some kind of disability, I better let him do whatever he needed. Later on, some of my classmates said to me, “You didn’t have to give him your spot”. Of course I didn’t have to, but I felt I did the right thing.

A few days later, I ran into this guy on the road. I said “Hi!” with my usual smile. His face was motionless. He looked rather nervous and murmured something to me. “What?” I couldn’t hear him. He said, “do you want to go to the Chinese restaurant in the mall nearby?” I was surprised, not expecting such an invitation. What should I say to him? My mouth stumbled….“Uuuum… I have to go home right away.” He nodded and kept on walking. I felt sorry and walked away, but kept on thinking, “did I do the right thing?”

Was I mean? The guy perhaps has no friend….he might have thought I could become his friend. It might have required so much courage for him to talk to me. And no doubt, he thought he was rejected…actually that was true…I did reject him. I’m sorry. When I put myself in his shoes I could really feel his pain.…

Lilacs

昨年、坐骨神経痛なるものにかかって大変苦しい思いをした私。2度と同じ苦しみを味わいたくないと筋肉をつけるトレーニングを始めた。パウエルリバーの市が経営するフィットネスのクラス、いろいろある中で私は月曜日の朝のStrength and Coreというクラスが特に気に入って毎週行くようにしている。

このクラスは他のクラスに比べてハードできついせいか、人気があって、それなりにフィットをめざす人たちですぐ定員いっぱいになる。だからみんな３０分くらい前にはクラスに入って自分のマットを広げる場所を確保する。前方の先生のそばがいい人、後方の壁のそばがいい人、鏡の前がいい人

それぞれいろいろ。私は一番前で、先生の近くで、鏡の見える場所が気に入っていて、皆と同じく３０分以上前に行ってマットを広げて始まりを待つ。準備オーケー。

音楽が鳴り始めて、身体が動き始めて、さあクラスがスタートというそのときに…アルという軽い知能障害(?)のある男性がクラスに入ってきた。まっすぐ私に向かってに歩いて来て、「そこ、僕の場所なんだけど…」といった。彼がいつも来る火曜日のクラスでは先生が彼のためにその場所をキープしているから、というのが理由らしい。私は、一瞬、『今日は火曜日じゃないよ』と思ったけど、異議を挟まず、頷いて場所をゆずった。知能障害があるかもしれない人だから黙って譲った方がいいと思ったのだ。あとで何人かの人に「譲らなくてもよかったのに〜」とか言われたけど、私は自分では仕方ないよね、と納得してた。

数日後、道でばったりアルと出会った。「ハーイ」と普通に挨拶を交わすと、無表情のアルはモコモコ口ごもって小さな声で何か言った。「え？」聞き返すと「近くのモールにある中華レストランに行かない？」と言う。あまりにも思いがけなくて何と答えたらいいのか分からなくて、しどろもどろに「うーん、すぐに家に帰らなきゃいけない用事があるから…」とことわった。でも、あとあと、これでよかったのかな、とずっと考えていた。

意地悪だったかもしれない。友達のいないアルが私なら友達になってくれるかもしれないと思って誘ってくれたんじゃないか。もしそうだったとしたら、ことわって、すごくかわいそうなことをしたんじゃないか…


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Potpourri of Thoughts

We came back to Texada Island finally, after 9 long months. I love this island. It’s so close to my vision of heaven. Hard to believe that we have been coming here for so long. We built our round cottage 20 years ago. In it, we created a Japanese tatami room with some tatami mats. It turned out beautifully. However, of course, our dog Kuma had to go onto the brand new tatami to have a terrible diarrhea. Although somewhat nicely faded over time, the stains are still visible after 20 years. But you know what? I even love those stains. It makes me smile. The cottage has been a restful healing place for us. It has been witnessing our life and family history for 20 years.

‘Gosh… 20 years! No wonder we are getting old…”, we sigh. Time is indeed flying away like a butterfly.

We moved to Powell River 3 years ago and have been enjoying our retirement. We feel blessed to be included in this friendly community…for example….

When I went to my fitness class in the morning, one of my classmates brought me a bunch of green asparagus from her garden. She said, “You told me you love asparagus, right?” “Yes, I love them! Wow…beautiful asparagus!” They were very delicious.

The same day, when I finished exercising, I went to a coffee shop. I ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin. The clerk said, “Yours have been already paid.” “Oh no, I haven’t paid yet….” I looked at her puzzled. She smiled and said, “The person in front of you in the line had a gift card, and said to use the money left on the card to pay for the next person’s order.” Wow, a stranger has treated me my breakfast for no reason, and made my day.

How cool is that! What a happy day.

From the ferry boat to Texada Island
Our Round Cottage

9ヶ月ぶりのタクセーダ島、ここはやっぱり私にとっては天国。考えてみると初めてここを訪れてからもう20年になる。この地にま〜るいコテージを建てて、カナダでは手に入りにくい畳を敷いて和室を作ったのはいいけど、さっそく当時の愛犬、クマがわざわざその真新しい畳の上で、ピーピー下痢をして汚してしまった。だいぶ薄くはなったけど畳にはシミがしっかり残っている。そんなシミさえなんとも愛おしい。子供達に孫たち、そしてクマを始め愛するペットたちの様子を見守ってきたこのコテージ、優しいエネルギーに満ちて、なんとも言えない温かさを感じる。このコテージは私たち夫婦の生活、そして家族の歴史をずっと20年間見守ってくれたんだなあ。

「もうここに来始めてから20年。私たちも歳をとったわけだよね」ニールと話す。年月は矢の如く飛んでいく。

パウエルリバーでリタイア後の人生を過ごすと決めて引っ越してきてからもはや3年、すっかりコミュニティに馴染んで快適な日々を過ごしている。

先日は嬉しいことがあった。朝、いつものフィットネスのクラスに行くとクラスメイトの友人が思いがけず、庭で育てたアスパラガスを持ってきてくれた。「あなた、アスパラガス好きだって言ってたでしょ」「うわーおいしそう!! ありがとう」感激した。夕飯にいただいたアスパラガス、みずみずしくておいしかった。

その同じ日、クラスが終わって、ひとりで近くのコーヒーショップに行き、コーヒーとマフィンを頼むと、「お代はもういただいてますからいいです」と言われた。私がキョトンとしていると、店員さんが笑いながら説明してくれた。私の前のお客さんがギフトカードを持っていて「このカードに残っている金額で次の人のお代を払ってあげてね」と言い残していったそうな… 見ず知らずの人が私の朝食をプレゼントしてくれたんだよ。すごくない？

いたく感激した。うれしい１日だった。


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Racism, or Just Ignorance? 人種差別それとも単に知らないだけ?

Sunrise at Texada Island

I live in Canada, a nation known to be one of the most culturally diverse. However, the major stream of its racial profile is white Caucasian. No doubt about that. So it is a country of European descent people wherein other races, yellow, red, brown, and black people are mixed in. In the countryside, like Powell River where I live, there are way less Asians. Unlike some areas like Vancouver or Richmond, Asians in Powell River are definitely a minority.

Several months ago, I had a lovely lunch with my new friend. She is a Caucasian in her late 60s or early 70s, an intelligent woman with a warm compassionate aura. She seems to emanate loving and caring light, and I truly admire her. So at this lunch, although I can’t remember what we were talking about, in the middle of our conversations she opened her eyes wide and said, “oh, that means….how old are you?” So I said, “67” I have no reason to hide my age. She looked genuinely surprised. “What? So you are of the same generation as I am. I had thought you were in your 40s.” It was my turn to open my eyes wide. “What? Wow… I’m so happy. You made my day!” So as you can imagine, I had a wonderful rest of the day, smiling and humming.

The next day, when I went to my usual fitness class, there was a non-regular person, an older Caucasian woman participating in the class. As soon as she saw me, she said, “are you Emily’s mother?” I was stunned. Emily is a slender Chinese-Canadian woman around my age. “What? No way!” Although pretending like it was no big deal, I was offended like crazy….with my chest burning with anger and shock.

What a change in just one day!!

Recently, I read an article about how hate and racism toward Asians are increasing. It had been boiled up by the Covid turmoil and has been persistently continuing.

After the class I said to Emily “somebody asked me if I am your mother.” Emily laughed and said, “she has probably had no Asian friends in her life. There are a lot of people like that. They merely don’t know or not interested in knowing Asian people.”

I thought Emily’s reaction was pretty cool. Yes, she is right. This is not even racism…it’s only a phenomenon coming from ignorance. It made sense to me.

I’ve read somewhere that the discrimination toward Japanese Canadians around the time of WW2 was ignited by the fear coming from ignorance of the general public about Japanese Canadian people. Ignorance is dangerous and could end up in sad situations.

So if you make friends with people from many different cultures, would the world be more peaceful?

I don’t know. It doesn’t seem that simple, does it?

My 95 year old father surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Only missing is me!

私の住むカナダは多民族国家の最たる国。でもやはり主流はヨーロッパ系の白人。そこに色々な民族が混在しているという感じ。特にパウエルリバーのような田舎に来ると、私のようなアジア人はぐっと少なくなって、マイノリティそのものという感じになる。

数ヶ月前だったかこんなことがあったよ。新しく出来た友達といっしょにランチした時のこと。その友達は知的で優しいオーラに包まれた白人の女性、60代後半か70代前半くらい。何を話していた時か覚えてないけど、話の途中で彼女が「え？」と大きく目を見開いた。「ということは…え？…あなた何歳？」と聞いて来た。もちろん何も隠すことないから正直に「67歳よ」と答えたら「え？じゃあ私と同年代じゃないの。私はまたあなたは40代かなと思っていたわよ。」と言われて今度は私の方が「ええ？」と目を見開くことになった。「そんな…嬉しい！わあYou made my day!」と言って笑った。そしてご想像の通りご機嫌よろしく鼻歌まじりにその日1日を過ごした。

あくる日、朝のフィットネスのクラスに行ったら、いつもは見ない白人のおばさんが参加していた。私の顔を見るなり、「あなた、エミリーのお母さん？」と言ってきて私は愕然とした。エミリーは中国系のどう見ても私と同年代の華奢な女性だからだ。「とんでもない。違うよ」と言ってかわしたけど内心はショック…憮然憮然…胸が燃えてやけど状態。

昨日と今日で何という対照的な出来事！

最近、アジア人に対する人種偏見が北米で増加しているという記事を読んだ。コロナ禍で沸騰した偏見が、まだ根強く続いているという。

クラスが終わって、エミリーに「私のこと、あなたのお母さん？」て聞かれたよ」というと、エミリーは笑って、「アジア人と交わったことがない人なんじゃない？そういう人たちがけっこういるのよ。アジア人のことなんて知らないし見る目もないのよ」とクールに言う。

うん、そうだ。これは偏見以前の現象だね。なんとなく納得した。

日系カナダ人への差別も日本人がどういう民族なのか知らないことからくる恐怖が原因だったというから、知らないってことは悲しいことだと改めて思った。

いろんな人種の人たちと親しく交わるようになれればもっと平和な世の中になるのかな？

ウ～ン…そんな単純なことでもないような気がするけど…ね。


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Friendship 友情

My precious friend, Marlena, has departed from this world as of a few days ago. My previous posting was about her, when I visited her the last time. She has had a long miserable bed-bound time. Once a beautiful healthy woman, she had been reduced to skin and bones….so sad to see her becoming more and more like a withered tree. “Nothing is binding you any more, Marlena. You are now completely free”, I tell her in my heart. I can visualize Marlena with her beautiful smile, looking happy, now hand-in-hand with her beloved husband Michael. Although I am sad, missing her terribly, I feel Marlena herself might be feeling relieved and liberated.

I came to Canada at age 34, and she was one of the first persons I met. Marlena and Michael opened up their home, taught and helped us new immigrants, with English, and Canadian culture, custom, history, law, politics….everything we needed to know to live in this country. There were people from Hong Kong, Mexico, Iran, Spain and Japan in our group. We met every week, talking this and that, and becoming friends in no time. Of course, in the centre of the circle, there was always Marlena giving us wise constructive advice, laughing and weeping with us. I remember the round wooden table where we sat around in her West Vancouver home. Some people found jobs, some moved away, became sick, died….everybody moved on in the end.

I am who I am, what I am, and where I am, because of Marlena. I cannot thank her enough.

Marlena and I got together at every opportunity we could find. I remember we talked a lot about my children, immigration issues, my failing marriage and subsequent divorce. I was in my 30s and it was, perhaps, the most difficult time of my life. At the end of my 30s, I started studying at Simon Fraser University EMBA, a graduate business school held at night for working people. Marlena always supported me by taking the time to read and edit my papers before I handed them in.

Before I got married to Neil, there was a time Marlena got seriously sick. One night, Michael found her lying in bed not breathing. Her heart seemed not pumping. He rushed her to the hospital and miraculously she was resuscitated. While she was wandering in the near death state, she was dreaming. She said to me, “I was sitting, and was pushed slowly into a corridor, and suddenly, you appeared in front of me.” “You opened your arms wide and shouted, ‘you have to go back, Marlena, you still have important things to do!’”

When Marlena woke up in the hospital, she immediately told Michael about this dream, then, she phoned me. They were worried some terrible thing could have happened to me. I was so surprised to hear this strange, mysterious story from her. How could I appear in her dream when I didn’t even know she was so sick. I was shocked to realize how foolish and insensitive I was, totally occupied in my own problems, not even noticing what my precious friend was going through.

After Neil and I were married, when I was 45 years old, surprisingly, I became pregnant with a baby girl. We were so happy, looking forward to her arrival. Then, I was suddenly hit by pre-eclampsia and lost the baby at her 25th week. What a shock….we were devastated. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I didn’t want to see anybody…. But, somehow, Marlena and Michael found out what happened, and knocked on our door. Marlena told me her sad experience of losing her baby girl before she had their three boys. How much comfort and healing their presence brought to us. I was so grateful for their tender love and care.

When Michael passed away, Marlena asked me to play organ at his funeral. I was still an inexperienced beginner organ student at the time, but I thought this would be a gift for Michael and I should do my very best to send him off with my organ playing. It turned out that this opportunity actually was a gift from Michael. The experience helped me to decide redirecting my career from business to music.

Marlena and I got together at least once a month. We enjoyed lunch at her favorite restaurants. I visited her at her home when she was not feeling well. I looked forward to our monthly get-together.

After Neil and I moved to Powell River two years ago, Marlena had a stroke and had to move to a care home. The world was in turmoil because of the raging Covid. Visiting people in care homes became almost impossible for a while. I was able to see her only three times in her final year.

Marlena, thank you so much for being my precious friend for 33 long years. I believe that friends meet for a reason. We cultivate our friendship, get to know deeply about each other and care for each other. Marlena taught me how precious friends are. She taught me that we must appreciate and treasure our friends; we must support them the best we can; and let them know how much you love them. What a profound lesson. I am so very grateful.

I was so fortunate to have you in my life. Thank you, Marlena….from bottom of my heart.

前回にも書いた私の大切な友人、マレナが亡くなった。長い長いつらい闘病生活の末、本当に骨と皮、枯れ木のような姿で最期を迎えた。『とうとう解放されたね。やっと自由になるね。』最愛のマイケルと手を取り合って幸せそうに微笑んでいるマレナの姿が目に浮かぶ。残された私は寂しいけど、悲しいけど、マレナ自身はほっとしているかもしれないと思う。

私が34才でカナダに来て、最初に出会ったのがマレナだった。いろんな国から移民が集まるカナダで、自宅を開放して、英会話や文化、慣習、歴史、法律、政治など、カナダで生活するのに必要なことを教えてくれて、手助けをしてくれたのがマレナとマイケルだった。移民のグループには、香港、メキシコ、イラン、スペイン、日本から来た人たちとか…本当にいろんな国の人々がいた。毎週顔を合わせて、様々な話をして、たちまち仲良くなって、その中心にいて話を聞いてくれて適切なアドバイスをくれて、いっしょに笑って泣いてくれたのがマレナだった。ウエストバンクーバーの家でみんなで囲んだ丸いテーブルを思い出すな。みんなそれぞれ就職したり引越したり病気になったり亡くなったり…バラバラになってしまったけど、あの日々があったからこそ今の私がある…感謝してもしきれない。

マレナと私はその後も機会を見つけては会っていろんな話をした。子育てのこと、永住権取得のこと、離婚のこと、私の人生の中でもむずかしい問題が山積みになっていた苦しい時期だった。特に私がサイモンフレーザー大学の大学院(働く人のための夜間プログラム)に入学してからは、論文だとかリサーチペーパーだとか、必ずマレナに見てもらって文法の間違いとか訂正してから提出していたな。

私がまだニールと再婚する前だったか、マレナが呼吸困難になって救急車で病院に運ばれ、心臓が止まって臨死状態になり、そのあと奇跡的に生還したことがあった。彼女が死の淵を彷徨っていたとき、突然、この私が、彼女の夢の中で腕を大きくひらいて、『戻ってマレナ！まだ大切な役目があるでしょ！』と叫んだという。目を覚ました彼女はマイケルに夢の話をして、その後すぐに私に電話してくれた。私に何かあったんじゃないかと心配してくれたのだ。その不思議な話を聞いて私は心底驚いた。ショックだった。私は自分の困難に気を取られて、マレナの病気の大変さも何も知らずにいたのだ。

ニールと再婚した後、私は突然、妊娠高血圧腎症にかかって24週目の女の子を出産して亡くしてしまった。悲しみに沈んで誰とも話したくない…誰にも会いたくない…家にこもっている時、マレナとマイケルがどこから聞いたのか、訪ねてきてくれた。マレナも3人の男の子を産む前に同じように女の子を亡くしたそうだ。2人の訪問にニールも私もどれだけ癒やされたことか…。

マイケルが亡くなった時には、傷心のマレナに頼まれて、まだ習い始めたばかりでつたない私のオルガンでマイケルを送った。それがきっかけとなって私は本格的に教会のオルガニストになる決心が出来たように思う。

必ず月に一度は会ってランチに行ったり、彼女の体調が悪くて外出できない時はお見舞いに行ったり…マレナとのデートは月1のハイライトだった。

でも残念ながら私たちがパウエルリバーに引っ越して、マレナがケアホームに移って、コロナの規制が厳しくなって、自由に会えなくなった。最後は年に2～3度くらいしか会えなかったな。

マレナ、33年間も大事な友達でいてくれて本当にありがとう。縁があって知り合った友達との絆を大切にして、誠心誠意接し続けることの素晴らしさをマレナは身を持って私に教えてくれた。感謝してもしきれないよ、マレナ。本当に本当にありがとう。