How a chaji is made.

We did a lot over the break between the end of last term and the start of this one. And one of the things we did was throw together a chaji for the departing Midorikaisei and teachers. Although we lost our chance to have an official Midorikai farewell chaji at Chado Kaikan, with official supervision, it seemed that this unofficial one would give us a chance to practice all the preparation and running with the teachers.  Then we were informed that the teachers all planned to come as guests.  Which was both flattering and terrifying, because it meant that we were trusted to be able to do it, but left just the 4 of us to run an entire event with fire, koicha, usucha, and tenshin (a meal) for 6 sempai and teachers-- the first event for us to be the organizers instead of guests, and the only time we would make tea for the sempai. 

Although we'd been trying to organize it for several weeks, we only got a location and date and guests confirmed that they could actually come 2 days in advance, so the whole thing had to come together pretty insanely rapidly.

And it was nice, I think it went well. There were wacky last minute changes and much running around, but in general I think we pulled it off.

Diseases of Kimono

Last week, we all went to a weekend tea event and wore kimono for practice (since the new ichi-a's were about to start wearing it.) One of our new group who is very new to wearing kimono got up 3 hours early to start getting dressed, and even knocked on one of the sempai's (not my) door for help at something like 6am.  I was most definitely not awake at 6 am, and we had already arranged to meet at 7 for all who needed help getting dressed. So, when we did meet, this same person was getting help with the obi from Sarah, and I helped the other who didn't know how. But person A was quite worried about the kimono. When Sarah left her to get herself dressed with only a couple last things to tie up and another helper to do it, she kept getting my attention to help her mess with little details here and there. She looked fine, it was well put together, but she just couldn't stop fighting with a little point here or there and then suddenly, with just 10 minutes before we all needed to be walking out the door to catch the train, out of the corner of my eye with my hands full of person B's obi, I saw a movement--- an entire obi untied and falling to the ground, and I looked over to see A pulling everything apart and taking it off.  With my hands full I couldn't try to stop her but only wail "Nooooo!!! Don't do that! We have no time!" So it was a huge relief when another of the sempai came to the room a couple minutes later so I could wail "stop her!" but it was too late and she was already stripped back down to her juban-- the underkimono with what I later learned was 2 hours of the other two sempais' work dressing her on the ground in piles and 5 minutes to get it all put back together.

So needless to say that didn't go too well and we were late out the door and barely made it to the station in time to catch the train and I found it impossible not to be frustrated and sort of incredulous at the existence of a person who could think that was the thing to do at that moment (even respecting the fact that she may not fully have understood was the plan was.... I mean, I wrote a PhD on fashion and *I* don't think it's acceptable to be getting dressed for 2+ hours.) So, I didn't yell at anybody and I tried to be as kind as I could under the circumstances. And no one needed to explain that it was a foolish thing to do, as in the mad rush she ended up wrapping the kimono backwards (like only dead people are dressed) and the late departure meant we were all speed walking and rushing for the train-- so it was probably pretty clear to her in the end.  This also meant that we needed to do a hardcore kimono fix when we arrived in Nara.  We sent the others on ahead, and the three female sempai musketeers ushered A into the train station bathroom and stripped her down and put her back together at the changing table next to a line of ladies waiting to use the facilities who marveled at us, and one offered advice which we politely assented to and then gently ignored. 8 hands to hold things off the floor, 6 of which were also furiously wrapping and folding and tying put our duckling back together again in about 7 minutes. She didn't look as good as she had before she undid the morning's handiwork, but she wasn't dead anymore, so that was a great improvement.  And we went off to have a lovely day at Ochamori.

Okay, the reason I tell this story is not to embarrass A, but because her trouble with perfectionism has kindled my thinking on kimono. Because the thing is, kimono is not like other clothes. You retailor it to your body everyday. Okusama (the wife of the current iemoto/grand master) said to us just today, it's a mystery, but the same obi and kimono are never the same. That never happens with western clothes that you put them on and say, oh, today I'm not wearing it right.

We have jokes about the diseases of kimono, which I've taken great pleasure in naming: there's schooner obi-- that's when you have a creaky obi, so that when you move or even breathe, the obi makes a creaking noise, like the timbers of a great ship at sea. It's hilarious and annoying. Then there's sausage leg. That's when the folds of the kimono or underkimono (juban) wrap too far around your legs and get trapped when you kneel, so that instead of expanding a little when you settle onto the ground, they squeeze your legs together like you're a sausage in a casing.  Paivi has Sa-chan and Ta-chan, the right and left sides of the hashiori-- the fold in the kimono that shows below the obi. They're named after the Sakura and Tachibana trees that are traditionally planted to the right and left of the entrances of Imperial buildings. There are also slipping obi tails, flipping obi tails, granny collar, open collar, sliding obi, and any number of other "diseases of kimono" that happen everyday.

So the fact that person A was so concerned about little issues here and there that bothered her about the kimono left me sort of nonplussed. I've never had a single day that I think, ooh, nailed it. Kimono is utterly perfect today, every little fold and collar and knot is just right. Once I complained out loud that my obi tail kept wanted to flip up that day, and one of my sempai said, "you need more towels" (this is because some people with more curves that me wear towels to give themselves the more cylindrical shape that the kimono conforms to). I didn't reply but I think to myself, no, I need to stop moving and bending at the hip. That's the only thing that will stop my tail from flipping up.

Because that's why a kimono won't go on just perfectly and stay that way: because inside here I'm a real living human being. I have to move and bend and get things done. I have to use my strength to get around and my body to carry things and clean things and do things. The places where my kimono gets less than perfect are the places where I have used my power to accomplish something. They are proof of my living breathing ability to make change in the world. A doll could be put in a kimono and padded and towelled out to look quite perfect or I could hold perfectly still and probably not have to worry about a fold bubbling out, or a collar slipping, but where my kimono falls short of perfection is where I have accomplished something else using my strength.

At the end of the day, my collar has often settled into a position rather more open than it was in the morning; my sleeves are heavy with trash--tissues and kaishi and things. It annoys me when I see it, but I also see the end of a long day, I see a job accomplished and the strength of my body to do what I ask of it, and to transcend appearances.

well, this is boring

But true. I'm so tired I feel stunned, just leaning against the wall in my bed. I can't tell if the nagging disease I've always had of wishing I could do more and get more done and the pain I feel at having ideas and resolutions and not being capable of achieving it all has taken a turn for the worse, or whether it's just the presentness of that feeling is overwhelming me right now.
Damian's chaji yesterday, tons more things coming up. Unexpected visitors, emotions, working with and taking care of people. Craft projects! Planning. Job applications. A backlog of blog posts. Utter exhaustion.



I miss you.

Boston-Kyoto

Boston and Kyoto are sister cities.
This morning when I woke up in Kyoto, I opened the computer and the first thing I saw was this: 

"I dreamt this morning that I was in the Mapparium (a walk-through globe at the Christian Science Center that I visited with [me]) that's about six blocks from today's Marathon bombing. I don't know that I've ever dreamt of being in Boston before. Weird coincidence. Thoughts and well wishes to all affected."

So then, of course, affected by what? I rushed to find out; it didn't take long, of course.  Around 5am, after my phone's dying battery sound woke me up and I turned it off, unable to charge it because I'd loaned my charger, I myself had had a sort of anxiety dream in which I was in charge of organizing events for a group of about 11 people (hmm, what a weird coincidence: exactly what I started doing about 2 weeks ago) and I had arranged for us all to get in taxis and go to a park and then enjoy a nice drive.  I'm in one taxi and there's two others. In the taxis, just like when we're in any kind of group, we found ourselves idling, waiting for others to catch up and be ready to go, trying to get everyone organized on to the next thing.  And then, amidst the pleasure driving and the dawdling and waiting and trying to get people moving in a group--- I suddenly remember that we're in metered taxis and the German-uncle looking taxi driver is presiding in my vehicle over a 27,000 ish yen fare at the moment. I'm horrified and ashamed that me negligence in planning has caused this massive debt to accrue and am looking around at the irritated faces of the other three passengers. One was one of our new students, another looked like an academic I know from the States, and then the driver, and as if my brain decided to add another passenger after it had dreamed the car, there was another person suddenly in a passenger seat that somehow was positioned between the windshield and the driver. I was doing the math of how much we would each have to pay for this stupid error, and feeling the unspoken frustration with me as a leader... and then time passed and I was awake and realizing that I had only dreamed I'd been so stupid (thank goodness! I guess it was a money anxiety dream and a leadership/organization anxiety dream.)

But then it was Boston had been bombed.  The Marathon takes place on Monday--Glenn sensei's tea lessons also take place on Mondays, and every Marathon Monday for the last six years, I've walked from Back Bay station, mere feet from the bomb sites in the afternoon aftermath of the race to Glenn-sensei's tea room. That was a weird thought.  That's where I walk.  I've heard back from him-- everyone as far as we know is okay. The sirens stopped their practice -- it's so close by really.  It was totally surreal to see the pictures of the locations; they're familiar everyday sights to me. The Lenscrafters on Boylston is decimated. 

So, this was happening, so I decided that I could wait to leave until 8:05, giving myself 5 extra minutes of reading the news.  Then I jumped up and got in the elevator.  It was sumikiri today, so we were in samue, and I was carrying the supplies of gloves and masks for all 11 people, since it's the newbies' first sumikiri.  There were 3 people in the elevator when I got into it on the 3rd floor, including the kenkyuka student with whom I did the zenrei (pre-greeting) at the places that could be affected by our cutting charcoal all day. And then, about 12 centimeters away from the ground floor, CHUNK. The elevator stopped. We were stuck in the elevator. The one elevator we are supposed to use in all of Urasenke--everywhere else we take the stairs, but in the dorm, although I only live on the 3rd floor and I hate waiting for the elevator we have to do it because the stairs are locked from the outside and are emergency exit only from the inside.  Ironic.

So we're stuck in the elevator on our way to school. And we can see out the windows, where one of the new ichi-a's peeks toward us and sees me (and us) there helpless.  So while the other three girls press the alarm and the caretaker lady (Kanrin-san) comes running and another calls the emergency number printed in the elevator, I'm shouting to them-- "Go! Go to school! Tell them where I am!" Remember how my phone died at 5am? Can't call anyone to explain where I am. Stuck in the elevator with the bag of everyone's supplies and the clock counting down to chorei. But this is a pretty iron-clad excuse.  One tells the story of a graduate who got stuck in this elevator for 4 hours a few years ago. Great.  Eventually, Hattori-sensei, the sort of vice-principal of student life, comes and the first thing he does upon seeing us is laugh. We're like goldfish stuck in a bowl. He asks us what did we do? Did we all jump at the same time?  No, no, we did nothing, we touched nothing we insist.  There was the earthquake a couple days ago we reason, maybe something was jarred then. 

Time passes.
20 minutes.

The alarm continues to sound. We talk. One sits down. The others are apparently ushered down the stairs and out the emergency exit to school. And then finally, after about 20 minutes, the repairman comes and we cheer. He tries to open the door from the front, and only the outer one will open.  Then he disappears, and lands on the top of the elevator, and we all marvel, he's in the shaft! And from above he forces open the door halfway and I escape, then the others jump out, shouting with relief.  Hattori sensei waves us into the school minivan in which he had rushed over, and drives us straight up Ogawa dori, past Omotesenke, Kabutomon, and right up to the front doors of the school. "You'll go to chorei?" he asks, "Yes!" we say, and tumble out and up the stairs like a clattering horde, falling all over each other at the edge of the dressing room to fall out of our shoes, get white socks on, pull out a fan, and then stumble out to where the assembled rest of the school is waiting in seiza for us.  

And then there was the day to begin.


My deep sympathies to Boston and all the people affected by this tragedy.

Henshin

If I stop and think about it, it feels too crazy to imagine-- under two weeks ago, we were 8, the 8 I knew and a well-oiled tea machine, and now we are 11 and the 4 turned into 7 brand new ones and in the space of two days we morphed from underdogs to overlords.  Benevolent overlords, I hope. 

And what happened in that 48 hours where it was just us?  Or maybe it was only 36?  Mostly we cleaned I think. And then, how has it been a week already? 

People congratulate us: sempai ni narimashita!  You became sempai.
Yes, I say.  It's busy, this first week!, I say. 

A few of the new kohai have called me Michelle-sempai. 
And I say, no no.

Failure

I just remembered how great this song is!  And topical!

Kings of Convenience

一期一会

一期一会
いちご　いちえ

ichigo , ichie

one time, one meeting.

I think I've mentioned this one before-- this phrase is absurdly popular in Tea-- reminding us that each moment, each encounter is totally unique. Embrace and appreciate each one then and fully inhabit it. Etc etc.


The newly minted "sempai" (that is, us) ---erstwhile "ichi a's" who have just become "ichi b's" have decided that we shall be known as the "Ichi-go's" instead.  That way, we go from having been the Ichi-e's to being the ichi-go's.

Plus, ichigo is also strawberry in Japanese. So we have a ready made symbol too.

The first new kohai arrived today. A day early.  Six more to come in the next two days.  No rest till.... I actually don't know when there will be rest again.