Homework

Panic stations: Broadband was down all day. Despite 150 hours of Japanese lessons with a private tutor (fellow cat-lover T-san) I can't dial zero and chat in techno with the operator to cure the passo-con (personal computer). I just about manage the two syllabaries (hiragana and katakana) plus kiddie kanji (Chinese characters), which qualified me to take the Level 4 Proficiency Exam after sending in my Y 5,500 and a photo to prevent cheating. My special talent is reading menus.

One Sunday in December I boarded the Keio line for a station north of Shinjuku. The platform was crowded with fellow gaijin since the exam is given just once a year. We headed to the University of Electro-Communications, an 8 minute walk from Chofu Station. (Station to destination, measured in minutes, is always offered in this punctual country.) One block into my 8 minutes and I heard," Misherru?" Someone from the Tokyo American Club, who else?

The last time I took a standardized exam was B.M. (before marriage). Not to mention it was in my native tongue. Here I sat between an older African gentleman and a young Indian lad, each with bottled water and a pencil. Instructions were offered rapidfire. What a relief to start filling in the boxes: one hour of vocabulary, one of listening comprehension and a third of reading. After each section, some of the seats emptied out. Results, mailed in February, will confirm that it wasn't just a bad dream.

Yesterday T-san apologized for the Exam Board: Sumimassen, in 2010 it has changed the material so that this year Level 4 is more like last year's Level 3. Hai, forever four, that unlucky number. Our building concierge, the charming O-san, encourages me to practice with him, and the academic women's club holds conversation sessions twice a month in which we exchange data about where we live now and where we came from.

So how did I resolve my internet problem? The same way I have everywhere else I've lived: Push a lot of buttons, feel annoyed for a few hours and finally remember to take the jack out of the modem and count to 30. My in-box included an invitation from the Tokyo American Club to the Sudoku Fun Day this Saturday. Current count is 33 contestants.

Eating Out Group

Eating Out Group is in shock: A founding member has died. When she missed the November lunch, no one had the courage to call. In December her husband sent word. Our January luncheon (Michelin starred Honda) in Shibuya was a tribute to our dear eating companion, an English prof who studied at the University of London and attended her son's wedding in May. She was only arou kan (around 60). We looked at photos from lunches past.

"Do you like to eat lunch?" S-san inquired two years ago. There is just one answer that I know to this question: Hai. In this casual way six sophisticated Japanese ladies invited me to a monthly Eating Out Group program. Each had lived abroad; one studied piano at Juilliard. Coincidence that the other gaijin in the group was Wanda from Toronto, the best neighbor in the world?

Foodies know that this town boasts more Michelin stars than New York and Paris combined. Lunch sets (aka prix fixe) are an amazing value, still. Eating Out members take turns choosing the venue. After a year the group gave me a go; I passed muster. Last January S-san asked, "Did you win anything in the New Year's sweepstakes?"(Japanese New Year's cards --not holiday ones--have lottery numbers that qualify for prizes from the Post Office.) When I didn't, S-san passed along a prize to me. Now it is a legacy of our connection.

"In the US we would send a card to her family," I said. The eldest E.O.G. member pulled a selection of condolence notes from her purse: "Will you write it in English?" Eating Out Group instructed me to write a note to S-san to be placed at her grave. It was the first time I intentionally wrote a letter to a deceased friend. "With memories of 14 years of lunches, we miss you and will always remember you." I-san said, "I will never delete the last e-mail she sent. Don't you feel she is with us now?"

Perhaps she will attend Sudoku Fun Day,too.

Adventures in English

Every Wednesday five soignee Japanese ladies come over for coffee and conversation. I put on my sensei hat and they become English speakers for 90 minutes. (Five is a good number; four is the equivalent of Western 13.) "I feel so different when I speak English," beams N-san, the bilingual grandmother of three. All have grown children; two lived in the New York metro area as ex pats. All around Tokyo coffee klatsches meet with native speakers for practice.

"We're off to Istanbul. Please take over one of my conversation groups?" asked a YIS (Yokohama International School) mum. "Hai," I automatically replied, without a clue about what this entailed. "Just go on the BBC web site and you will find material," was all she said before she vanished without a trace. Between BBC and a textbook called New Interchange, a year flew by and the group fell into a comfortable rhythm.

"Let's read a book aloud, okay?" I asked at the beginning of our second year. Every Japanese sentence begins with "hai," so it sounded like they agreed. I selected Winnie-the-Pooh. "Pooh-san? Kawaii (cute)!" I told them that Mr. Milne wrote the book for his son and that Mrs. Milne sold the rights to Disney. "What a wonderful family that boy had! These drawings are more charming than the Disney version!"

At each session I discover as much about my native tongue as the group. "What is the English term for the time you spend in a coffee shop before an appointment?" asked N-san. These ladies press the buzzer at 11 AM on the dot. (No wonder Starbucks took off in Tokyo!) "We just say, Sorry I'm early. But more often, we're late." Shocked faces all around.

"What is the the difference between ashamed and embarrassed?" M-san asked me after we read of Piglet's embarrassment. I am ashamed to say that it took a moment, and that I was embarrassed in front of these good women. Feeling inadequate and feeling uncomfortable, that sounds like me on a daily basis in Tokyo. For example, when I tried to buy lice shampoo for my daughter at the local pharmacy.

But I digress: Nine days before Sudoku Fun Day!

T minus 10 days

"The nail that sticks up is hammered down." This Japanese proverb was the last wisdom offered in a cultural training session before take-off from New York in 2007. Rugged individualism has no place in Tokyo. "You're so New York," I've been told. Does that mean sticking up nail? How do nails hold the box together without a hammer? I want to find out.

G-san has e-mailed me a minute-by-minute schedule for the two hour Sudoku Fun Day. Yes, everyone is a nail in this 9 x 9 box! My role (five minutes) is to introduce the guest of honor, Kaji san (10 minutes). Then K-san explains the rules (15 minutes) and the puzzle is distributed. Nikoli estimates that even fast solvers need 20 minutes to complete the sudoku. Winners are selected (10 minutes). Awards (20 minutes). The only remaining question is: Will there be a booby prize?

Gratifying to see posters at TAC promoting Sudoku Fun Day and an email sent in English and Japanese. I am free to spend the afternoon at Kabuki-za, the Japanese opera house that is to be demolished in 95 days. Benjamin Harrison was president when this stately theater was built so it is not earthquake proof. No Jackie Kennedy rescue a la Grand Central Station, so down it will come.

For Y 1,000 ($12) I find a seat in the peanut gallery for Haru no Kotobuki (New Year Celebration). As with opera, the audience knows the plot; they are fans of the performers. Final day of the New Year's Program and the audience is keyed up. Kimonoed ladies fill the orchestra seats. Rather than shouting "Bravo" at the end, the (male) aficionados bellow out the names of the performers at appropriate times and startle me. The ensemble (all men) reenact tales from centuries ago. The text is in old Japanese, which means I am not the only one with an audiophone. Backstage do the performers work sudoku? I am becoming obsessed.

T minus 12 days

Forgive me, Sudoku, for cheating on you with two Tokyo women's organizations: AM at a Board meeting of a social cross-cultural women's group, PM reviewing the annual report with the Japanese Treasurer of an academic cross-cultural women's group. (It is her kimono you see in my photo.)

I am doing a term as VP of the social group, which revolves around Embassy events. My Japanese counterpart is related to the Imperial Family and speaks often of the Princess, her daughter. (Does it count if I named my daughter after a princess?) French is her first language, as she grew up in Paris in the 1930s. We communicate by FAX as she resists 21st century technology.

A fellow Board member is also a key player at the Tokyo American Club. We gaijin live in a small world as Tokyo is only 1% NJ (non-Japanese). The up side of this is that even those of us of un certain age are not invisible as we are at home: Whenever in public all eyes are assessing what we are wearing. My compatriot has promised to send out an APB to help me fill the room with sudoku fans, including the Japanese contingent.

After adding financial terms to the annual report for the Treasurer ("allocation," "shortfall" "cutback", "variance") I check my e-mail. G-san has written! His staff has put together a minute by minute schedule for the Fun Day. The most important lesson of living in Japan is that perfection is attainable, but it is time-consuming. G-san will translate it for me tomorrow. I can't wait.

Sudoku fever

Do you remember the first time you heard the term sudoku? For me it was Christmas 2004 when dear Virginia in Bury St Edmunds sent me a clipping from the Times of London. Her family had gone mad for this number puzzle. Our family had recently repatriated to New York from London at the time and I was in no mood to pick up a pencil. Two months later, when I asked my editor at Dummies if I could do a book on the subject, they had it in the hopper. Curses!

The fever started thanks to a Mr. Gould who approached the Times of London. His puzzle journey began in 1997 after retiring his wig as a judge in Hong Kong. In Tokyo Judge Gould discovered the Nikoli puzzle magazines on a vacation. He observed other old geezers clutching their sudoku magazines, and he followed suit. But he took it to the limit: He devoted the next six years to developing a program that could spit out sudoku puzzles. Such is the depth of devotion sudoku inspires.

Much like Marilyn Monroe (nee Norma Jean Baker) this puzzle started life as plain Jane "Number Place." Those in the know believe that a retired architect from Indiana invented the little 9 x 9 pencil game. That puzzle appeared in Dell Puzzle magazines, the competitor of my former employer, the Kappa Puzzle Group.

The sexy term popped out of Maki Kaji's tousled head in 1984. He told me that he admired the Number Place puzzle and decided to try it in the Nikoli magazines. As the magazine was being pasted up his staff asked: "What are we going to call the new puzzle?" In a flash he answered suji wa dokushin ni kagiru (digits must be single). Since Japanese like to use abbreviated terms in conversation (like air-kon for air-conditioning) within months the puzzle acquired its sexier nickname.

Just five years after sudoku fever swept the globe here I sit in Tokyo, stoking the flame for local solvers with the guys who started it all. Small world, desu ne.

T minus 14 days

Dirty secret: I am a crossword fan, not keen on sudoku. G-san and I agree that everyone's dad likes sudoku but everyone's mom prefers crosswords. This seems to be global. On the Namboku line all the commuters with sudoku magazines are older men while the young ones read manga, graphic stuff. I even spotted one gent working a sudoku as he walked through Shimbashi station, much like Grand Central Station. Whenever I reveal that I spent most of my professional career in the field of crosswords I get the same remark: "My mom loves crosswords!"

Since I am a "Connector," as described by Malcolm Gladwell, could I resist the impulse to introduce the sudoku crowd to their solving public at the Tokyo American Club? In my American zeal I overlooked the nemawashi, the support of the staff at the Club. The Librarian arranged for posters to be displayed in the Library, which serves one third of the members. The low-key marketing effort took place politely and promptly. Yet our target audience, Japanese men, are not among the book borrowers.

Much to my surprise, the sign up sheet requests the age of our participants. In a culture where seniority counts, age is a brag rather than a state secret. Job hunters list their age on resumes and employers recruit based on age. Blood type is another factor that determines personality, and Japanese politicians are required to reveal if they are unruly B or easygoing O. Not sure exactly how age matters to sudoku solving, but we have the demographics.

The Club president, our own Barack Obama, is pleased to see an event that transcends cultures. Since he took office last year, his hair has grayed as steadily as Obama's. His photo on the wall of Club presidents makes a striking contrast to the string of Walter Cronkites who came before. At the Library I use my pseudonym "Mrs. B," a name I never legally adopted despite 30 years of marriage to Mr. B.

As my insightful friend Imogen put it: "Japan is surprisingly 20th century."

On January 8th I invited G-san and young K-san to the first official planning meeting at the Tokyo American Club. For two years the club has relocated to new digs in Shinagawa allowing Pelli Clarke Pelli time to produce"the premier international club in Asia" on the old site. Never mind that Americans are thin on the ground nowadays, contracts are in place. By contrast to the puzzle palace in Asakusa, K-san is getting the picture.

"All temporary?" he asks, gesturing to chandeliers and carpets as I give the tour of the Library, which houses one of the largest collections of current English books in Tokyo. For gaijin like me who struggled with sudden illiteracy, wandering grocery store aisles with pockets full of cash in this credit averse city, the Club feeds the hunger for a glimpse of People. In return for chairing the Library committee I am guaranteed the selection of magazines on loan at the New York Society Library, my old haunt.

After we choose from among three on-site restaurants I point out a Smoking Room. While the lunch crowd is all Japanese, which has become typical, portions are American size and require silverware. The guys are happy that our event is called Sudoku Fun Day after experiencing the US Sudoku Championship last year. "Imagine 2,000 people quietly working puzzles together!" G-san said. "It was too serious." Of course, the grand prize in Philadelphia was $10,000 while we might offer as much as 10,000 Yen.

When G-san steps out for a smoke, K-san suggests we set the age of participants from eight to 88. We agree to have three categories of participants: Junior (8 to 19), Beginner and Expert. Then he tells me he has a degree in engineering. For 16 years he worked freelance for Nikoli Puzzles. A bike commuter, he has become a familiar face to the patrolmen who see him pedaling home after midnight. With the New Year's family celebrations over, K-san was looking forward to leaving the next day on a ski weekend with the staff.

The men speak English perfectly but they are more comfortable communicating in their own language with the Club Librarian. Every remark begins with hai, technically "yes" but in truth "yeah, I get it, I hear you." When asked about culture shock in Japan, I reply that it took me a while to adjust to living in a city where everyone is polite and prompt to which one gaijin remarked, "They are only polite to your face." For a native New Yorker like me, that works.

As of today we have 20 sign ups for Sudoku Fun Day, all gaijin, and one-third in the Junior category.

Countdown to Sudoku Fun Day

Today marks 3 years since we arrived in Tokyo and 16 days until I host the first Sudoku Fun Day at the Tokyo American Club. Members of the club will have the pleasure of meeting the man who coined the word sudoku yet neglected to patent it. Never mind, he is a devotee of the track and named his puzzle company after a prize filly, Nikoli. He is pleased to provide the rest of us with a time waster that only costs pennies per puzzle.

My circuitous path to Kaji-san originated at TAC, as insiders call the oasis of Western culture in Tokyo where one-third of the members are American. The balance is divided between Japanese and that all encompassing "other." It didn't take much to persuade me to join the Library Committee, a hodgepodge of avid readers including one Mrs M, a Kentucky native who has lived in Tokyo on and off for 30 years.

"You will give a talk to the English Speaking Union of Japan on the subject of puzzles," she told me in a drawl that spills over when she speaks nihongo. So one rainy evening in April 2009 I expounded to 50 retired businessmen on the power of puzzles. What wild opportunities we native English speakers have in Nihon! In the crowd sat three staff members from Nikoli Puzzles who kindly accepted my invitation to attend. Japanese travel in groups, and this group consisted of a young man, a young woman and their manager, G-san, all of whom stepped out for a smoke as soon as politely permissible.

What a surprise when G-san invited me to address the staff at Nikoli Puzzles! I learned that the staff dines together on a regular basis and often invite an inspirational speaker. On a balmy June evening I took the subway north to the old part of town. The folks of Nikoli fit into a neat little brownstone with everyone's shoes in cubbies at the entryway. The puzzle editors strangely resembled the ones I managed in my days as publisher at Official and Kappa Puzzles. Finally I met the wizard himself, Maki Kaji, a wiry man with a goatee and nicotine stained fingers.

The staff sweetly listened to me talk about how puzzles have introduced me to many interesting people during my crazy career and presented me with a stack of magazines, all reminiscent of those produced by Official and Kappa Puzzle Group. Then we went out for three hours of sushi, beer and cigarettes. Out of the smoky haze, the idea to bring Sudoku to TAC was born.

I have 15 days to work out the logistics and to fill the room.