Heckle and Jeckle

     City dwellers in most urban areas are accustomed to sharing their space with unlovely pigeons floating about the streets in search of scraps. In Tokyo pigeons are the rare sighting. Instead, the sky is populated by packs of super-crows that would make Hitchcock proud. From the tops of buildings they boldly caw and swoop, and seem to have memorized the garbage pick up schedule. To outwit the karasu (crows) attractive blue netting is thrown over the plastic bags to keep the powerful beaks from breaking into the delicious refuse. Crows are resourceful, however, and what better way to spend their time than breaking into the net?

    A daunting pair of crows by our window evoked the Terrytoon characters Heckle and Jeckle.  One Brit and the other a Brooklyn crow, Heckle and Jeckle were always faced with unlikely scrapes. Tokyo crows seem equally well equipped to survive as the TV pair. Suki-chan admires the karasu from the comfort of the indoor window sill, as do the other pets in the Manor. Certainly, the native crows stand taller than the average cat-chan. The ravens prowl freely, only challenged by a flock of buzzards that nest by Shinagawa Station.

    Last week a pair of spot-billed ducks took up residence below Nino Hashi (Second Bridge) in the Furukawa. Shujin (husband) said: "They seem to like this neighborhood as much as we do." The occasional heron or egret show up at high tide beneath a road as busy as Broadway, and seem pleased with the quality of fish. Soon the gray bulbuls will leave town and we will be relieved of their infernal squeaking, which reminds me of the sound of a dog toy.

     San kan, shi on, the saying goes (three cold days, four warm ones). The weekend falls into the cold cycle, which is mixed news for the marathoners. By the time we meet John Wood and hear about Room to Read, it should have warmed up a bit.    

        

Five O'Clock Chimes

     London relies on Big Ben, Tokyo on its 5 o'clock chimes. To insure that the public announcement system is operating (in the event of earthquake), every afternoon at five a melody wafts through the ku (borough). In Minato-ku ("Harbor" borough) the tune begins with a tinkling sound. If information has to be broadcast, we locals are tuned in to how the system works. "What a charming touch for the government to alert the public that it's cocktail hour," a Brit once remarked. How Pavlovian I am: The first little ringy-dingy reminds me to lift a glass of wine. Campai!

     All day the nation has been riveted by the rivalry between Olympic skaters Yuna Kim (Korea) and the hometown girl, Mao-chan. Extra forces across the street have been guarding the Korean Embassy, which is normally under assault by the right-wing faction. Demonstrations are not the unruly affairs typical of the West but organized and contained. Protesters drive "sound trucks" to the Embassy and, from the privacy of the van, use loudspeakers to vent their spleen, to use Baudelaire's term. Since the police are always informed to expect the protest, they are out in force with batons and riot gear. Meanwhile, the "sound truck" parks at the appointed site and shouts away. A decibel measuring machine insures that the protesters do not exceed the maximum allowable. The demonstration lasts no more than five minutes, and as the truck drives away, it blasts militaristic tunes.

      On the other side of the Manor stands the quiet, unloved Australian Embassy. Surrounded by a tall gate, it has the look of a high security prison. One lone guard sits at the front office below a frieze of a kangaroo. Down the hill lies the overgrown Italian Embassy, into which I was once invited by the Ambassador's wife. The interior is a bit worn and the large garden is home to a family of feral cats. "We shop at Costco when we have state dinners," Signora Ambassador confided. Supermarkets sell tiny portions, just a single stalk of celery or three spears of asparagus. What a contrast to Roma!

     Tonight's email includes a link from Nikoli Puzzles of the Sudoku Fun Day. I read that a pianist took top honors at the crossword contest in Brooklyn last weekend. John Wood will be coming to town for the marathon on Sunday and for a fundraising marathon. But the expat community is not as hearty as it was even one year ago. The Manor is half empty and continuing to empty out.        

  

Restaurant Aquavit

     When New Yorkers tire of sushi, we can find a taste of home in Tokyo's backyard. Grand Central Station has exported a landmark: Pan roasts are on offer at the Oyster Bar in Shinagawa Station where it's yen for dollars. Red-checked table cloths, vaulted ceilings, solid tableware, every detail except the decibel level and rude waiters. No need to bellow across the table since diners in this Oyster Bar speak in low tones. On sunny days request a table on the patio. Like Metro North commuters Tokyoites can grab a bite and catch the JR (Japan Rail) home to Yokohama, for example, only 18 minutes by Express.

     On this spring-like Thursday, Eating Out Group took our monthly luncheon at Restaurant Aquavit. The three course prix fixe (Y 2,500) includes a bottomless glass of iced tea. Not exactly a prewar mansion in the East 50s with a wall of water but a 21st century mansion with a glistening fountain outside the front door, the double height ceilings open to a room that would be at home on the Upper East Side. Conversation settled on the Olympic skaters. "They don't have the desire to win," observed I-san about the three young women representing Japan. "Not like Yu-na," she added, referring to the South Korean rival. Nods all around about today's spoiled younger generation.

   Next subject was the public apology aired on TV this morning by Toyoda-san for his company's defective cars. "He was not supposed to be president of the company yet, " I-san declared. "He was not ready." More nods.  This is followed by a discussion about Ono Yoko-san (Japanese names are said in reverse order from gaijin). "Yoko-san and I are both born in 1933," piped up the oldest member of the group. Then I-san recounted a magazine article about the affluent Ono family that included family photos. "Yoko-san's mother was a beauty, " she said. "Yoko-san takes after the father." Continued heads bobbing around the table.

     Before the Room to Read event next Wednesday, my inbox reminds me that I have promised to hold a Crossword Coffee at the Franciscan Chapel next Monday. That leaves me only three days to prepare. Time to dust off the notes from the last solving seminar I held five months ago.

Adventures in English, continued

     Eleven on the dot on Wednesday morning means a parade of elegant English speakers ring the doorbell. The Manor's attentive building manager reserves guest parking for the Mercedes driver who lives down the road in Shirokane (white gold).  Suki-chan greets the ladies, sniffs their shoes as they step out of them in the genkan (entry hall) then retreats to a bedroom for a 90 minute nap. Coffee and cookies are on the table since speaking English requires fuel.

     Predictably, we discuss Algeria's neighbor, Tunisia: One member just returned from a visit to that offbeat destination. Pharmacist by training she is an archaeologist at heart. In a nutshell: thumbs up for Carthage, thumbs down on food and nothing worthwhile in the souk despite masses of sheep. "You have to tip the ladies who work in the toilets!" she remarks, eyes wide open. Living in a world without tipping, this is hard to digest. Next topic: the Olympics. Poor Akiko-san, the skater who suffers from anorexia. Does she have a chance against her two team mates, not to mention South Korean star Yu-na? Sad faces all around. Thirdly, we touch on the Tokyo Marathon, next Sunday. "Abe-san will run," mentioned the Shirokane resident (referring to the wife of the prime minister before Hatoyama, Aso and Fukuda, going back to 2007).

     Returning to Mr. Milne's magnum opus, the chapter on Kanga and Roo features a series of exciting adjectives (namely, fierce, splendid  and husky). Naughty Pooh is trying to abduct Roo, which is a treacherous subject for a group of mothers. How often Milne uses the verb "fidgeting"!  Today I notice that rather than illustrator Ernest H. Shephard's original drawings are called "Decorations" on the title page. Dare I reveal that this is news to me?

     My inbox has photos from Sudoku Fun Day to be included in the Tokyo American Club magazine. Shock, horror, not all the winners are pictured so there is some discussion about the layout. Secondly, there is an update about E-books, which are still not available in Japan but for purchase at the US Army Base. Next Wednesday John Wood will tell us why he left Microsoft. Rather than dream up original opening remarks, it's time for a visit to the hairdresser.

Charming Sale

     What a scrum in the Motomachi part of Yokohama as the Charming Sale opened for business tonight. Loads of tempting handbag shops, the aroma of leather poured down the avenue. Twice a year the Charming Sale is unleashed upon bargain hunters. Last time I scored a Kitamura purse, the local label. Not sure why the sale is dubbed "charming," but shoppers behave as if mesmerized. Each store sets up shop outside along the pedestrianized main street. Could the sudden onset of mild spring weather trigger this fever?  

     How lucky that L-san was free to meet for a glass of wine and nibbles at one of the many chi-chi Italian places in an alley off Motomachi. She orders the fastest item on the menu and the waiter delivers an array of appetizers displayed on the plate like pieces of a delicious jig saw.The trattoria had  "Breakfast at Tiffany's" from 1961 projecting upon the wall, with Japanese subtitles. Audrey Hepburn rules, with her photos plastered all over Tokyo. "The Children's Hour" and "Sabrina" are on cable TV at least once a month. No one can argue with Hepburn.

     Up the hill we rushed for the opening night of the concert series at Yokohama International School. The seniors who are studying Higher Music for the IB (International Baccalaureate) are set to perform. What a nice way to spend the evening listening to two attractive young gentlemen, one of whom has been courting our Astrid-chan for two years. His rendition of a Japanese song was heartbreaking in its delivery. Both boys showed great composure as they sing and strum their guitars into the uncertain future.

     Tonight's inbox has multiple emails from the Tokyo American Club Library about all sorts of business, nothing about our Room to Read event. Very possibly only 30 members care about literacy in the Club.

Navigating

     Keep the Emperor safe, promised the samurai. This promise resulted in zigzag streets from Tokyo Bay to the Imperial Palace designed to confuse gaijin (foreigners). In fact, these city planners did such a thorough job that in the 21st century even nihonjin get lost in this maze of 13 million souls. Every household stocks a Tokyo City Atlas or two. Mine has a post-it note with the scribbled phrase: Ma yo i mashita (I am lost).

      When punctuality is the rule the dress rehearsal counts. The day before the JLPT (Japanese Language Proficiency Test) in December, for example,  I made the journey to the testing site. Via Shinjuku, one of the busiest train stations on earth, I traveled via Keio Line to Chofu Eki then trotted eight minutes to the University of Electro Communications as sketched on the map provided on the registration form. On exam day, we test takers marched like lemmings to campus in 12 minutes. Thanks to the prior visit, let's believe,  I managed a passing grade on the three hour ordeal.

     My morning challenge today was to find a remote residence in Nakameguro, a fashionable part of town, after a long hiatus. (Three years ago our first guest, Alice, coerced me to venture to this area for a memorable lunch at a sushi place wedged beneath the railroad tracks.) Map in pocket, I followed the Meguro River, turning uphill at a restaurant called "Snobbish Babies" without a false step. Afternoon challenge was a little trickier as I had to find W-san at Nishi-Magome, South Exit, my first visit to this station. Subways run on a schedule, accessible online at Jorudan Route Finder; each platform posts a chart that advises as to the optimal car to board depending upon destination. No excuses!

     As the sun broke through the clouds W-san led me along the busy road to Ikegami Baien where the plum trees are on display. For Y100 we admired the blossoms, preferring the darker purple variety, following the throng of other admirers. Tokyoites like to capture photos of flowers with their cell phones, focusing on the most elegant one.  Above the plum tree grove perched a cemetery, the final resting place of many well-known Tokyoites, according to W-san. Pale green warblers with white eye liner (mejiro) flitted into the plum flowers, and one gnarled tree would have inspired Van Gogh. After a cup of macha (green tea), it was time to return to my part of town.

     My inbox includes an email promotion for Mr. John Wood's talk about Room to Read. Fingers crossed that a week from Wednesday the room will be full.

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Muji Magic

          For years the Kensington High Street Muji was our go-to shop for gel pens and notebooks. In Tokyo the familiar kanji (Chinese character) on shopping bags gave the fleeting impression I could read the language. "You mean Muji Ryushi," corrected acquaintance-san: "No label items." In Ginza the selection is much more than stationery. Over time it's been a source of lamps, toiletries, cardigans and yet another lunch set (prix fixe) in a city preoccupied by the next meal. On a Saturday afternoon young families and ponytailed older couples stop for a bite before browsing the spring line (gingham and light blue). Tokyoites follow the calendar rather than the temperature in how they dress, which  means boots in nigatasu (February).

           "Muji shampoo? Chotto...." observed my hairdresser. Rather than offer a negative opinion, which would not be polite, general custom is to shrug shoulders and utter this word. When offered seconds on slimy or greasy foods, for example, the combination of action plus word come in handy. I quickly switched to the other familiar brand (Shiseido) with better results.

         Tokyo winter, typically a series of blue skies and mild days, ends on a windy note that harbingers spring. During this wet week my feet have been grateful to my daughter for introducing "hot packs" to our family.  Sold five pairs to a bag (four is taboo) give them a shake, insert in shoes and enjoy warm feet for five hours. Hot packs come in other shapes for various uses attached into jackets or gloves. After the dusting of snow the other day, they helped with negotiating the zaka (hill) by the Manor.

           While outdoors remains frosty, things are hotting up at the ladies social club. After a long telephone conversation with the nominating committee I declined the position of president, preferring to continue in the Joe Biden role. In the case of Japanese candidates, as with the late Queen Mum and her gin and tonic, the initial request is often turned down but accepted upon second request. How surprising for this American to receive a second call in which it was revealed that the Japanese ladies are happy in supporting roles but do not want to lead. With our stay in  Japan very possibly coming to an end, I could only answer, "Chotto...."

         Meanwhile our Room to Read event is only half-full. Participants in next Sunday's marathon will have three days to rest before an evening of John Wood, which could be a good thing.

Sumimassen

     Twice a month a gaggle of gaijin gather for nihongo conversation at the Tokyo Women's Plaza, a public building reserved for this purpose. In the shadow of the U.N. university, the gleaming TWP offers women  access to classrooms, lockers and a library, all gratis. Also tempting is the fact that it is around the corner from Omotesando ("Tokyo's Champs Elysees"). A volunteer sensei from the academically oriented club encourages the five of us to use our Japanese words.

    "Go-shujin wa yasashi, desu ka?" is the question of the day, following a Valentine's Day theme. (In essence: "Is your husband a nice guy?") Nods all around with a few words about receiving roses from the youngest member, a recent college grad. "So desu ka?" observed sensei, reminding us that only men receive chocolate on Valentine's Day with women on the receiving end on so-called "White Day" one month later. Holding her palm over her mouth as Japanese women do, she giggled about the system of chocolate exchange between the sexes.

     In some ways Japanese seems simpler (fewer tenses and no definite articles) until you find that men and women use different words, and then you encounter the many strata of politeness and deference. When in doubt the word is sumimassen  (excuse me, sorry, thank you), which expresses appropriate humility. Everyone is amused by the flash cards that I made to study kanji (Chinese characters) as I prepare for the next exam. In the late afternoon my nihongo lesson covers 90 minutes of  new kanji and more grammar. Now that she expects this weekly visitor, resident tabby Suki-chan no longer comes in for a sniff but remains curled up on the bed. Sumimassen!

    No word about the John Wood Room to Read event since the Japanese Librarian is off for a long weekend. Since shujin (my husband) flies to India on Sunday, tonight he has invited us to a family dinner at our favorite tonkatsu (pork cutlet) place.  Yasashi, desu ne?

Scribbles in Ink

    Most Thursdays I unpack inkstone, sumi ink, a brush and washi (mulberry) paper on a school desk to prepare for shodo (Japanese calligraphy). Two Februarys ago la belle Mme G convinced me to join her in this frustrating and enlightening art. Unlike its Western counterpart, which evokes fountain pens and wedding invitations, this effort is a practice comparable to piano playing: The student learns the notes and attempts to put them together properly.

   "Chotto mijikai, be brave!" urged N-sensei, who has trained shodo artists for more than 30  years. An imposing woman with a German demeanor who favors yofuku (Western clothing), she lived abroad for many years as the wife of a JAL executive. She corrects my current project, the phrase momo no hana (peach blossom) to honor my daughter for Hina Matsuri (Girls Day). "How did you do that?" she pointed at a squiggly line that my brush produced. "That is pretty. The unplanned line is artistic."

    Mme G, impressively courageous, has been beavering away at a wall-sized series of kanji (Chinese characters) with a message about springtime. For two hours per session six students struggle to produce even one correct character in sumi (black ink) while N-sensei makes corrections in red ink. Four of us are mothers of  high school seniors. The challenge is to complete the one character with only one brushful of ink. "This is ichiban (your best)-- keep it," she sometimes says. Or she giggles: "Kawaii (cute) -- don't make such a round circle." Shodo is about a state of mind or hitsuzendo,  the Zen way of the brush. Yet it is a required course for elementary school children. N-sensei reads our moods or mu-shin by our results. "You are so free here,  you are thinking too much there," she says.

     Before class N-sensei joined us for lunch (a hamburger on half a bun). In her Marina Rinaldi suit, dark hair freshly permed by the Imperial Hotel beautician, she told us how her husband wrote his award winning novel. "He sat down at the desk every night after dinner and wrote," she recounted, calling him the Frederick Forsyth of Japan. "He wouldn't let me go to sleep until I read every word." She told us how she fell in love with a young male character and threatened divorce if anything happened to him. (Nothing did.)  A breakfast of pressed apple juice and homemade  yogurt has insured a healthy retirement.

     How surprising to find via email that The Library is facing competition from the Tokyo American Club's Women's Group: The week after John Wood's talk they have invited the author of Tokyo Vice, who will speak on organized crime. Will we draw the bigger crowd?

  

 

Tokyo "It" Bag

       Shoulder bags are out, handbags are in judging by the pedestrians in Azabu Juban. From delicate elbows dangle a variety of Western labels with Coach leading the pack. "It isn't a luxury brand," sniffed the only  Japanese member of the Tokyo American Library Committee. Ubiquitous brown bags with accent stripes and patterned capital C's sit on the lap of every lady riding the Namoboku line. Subtext: This is just a replacement for  my luxury bag, which carries the interlocked double C. Those quilted bags ride the train occasionally.

        In Ginza, Tokyo's equivalent of Fifth Avenue, the Hermes shop was so crowded it drew me inside. Sadly it was not a half-price sale but rather a throng of Chinese tourists asking to see everything in the showcase. Boxes were open on every flat surface as the shoppers studied handbags in every color. The loud, engaged visitors contrasted sharply with the demure shopgirls. When one quietly addressed me, I used my schoolgirl Japanese to ask if she could repeat the question more slowly. "Is there something particular you are looking for?" she then asked me in college girl English.

       On weekends it's backpacks all around. They appear to belong to the Saturday uniform, especially for couples out for an urban hike with sturdy walking shoes and caps. With vending machines and convenience stores (even 711) on every corner, I am hard pressed to imagine what they need to pack. The other weekend trend is wheelie bags, which young women roll around town. The impression that these rolling suitcases convey is "I am a jet setter en route to exotic locales."

        Most coveted label in town is Louis Vuitton even for Japanese men who favor man bags. Mr. Vuitton would feel at home in a city where the average person's initials appear to be LV. At the gym a member of my step class wheels in her change of clothes in her LV bag. But for those of us on a budget the alternative initials are D & D:  Dean & De Luca. Tokyoites  have embraced this New York label and for a fraction of the LV price I am carrying the de rigueur black canvas D & D tote in to the locker room.

       Stop press: The Tokyo American Club management has granted a banquet room to the Library for our John Wood Room to Read event. The pressure is on: We need double our current sign-ups and only two weeks to go.  

Points-so card-do

     "Points-so card-do?" Experienced Whole Food or M & S members quickly recognize the request for a loyalty card with payment. Respectfully, the cashier pauses. In a country where the shopper packs her own groceries, the cashier next places plastic store bags upon the purchases or even helpfully fiddles with the bags. (Management leaves a damp washcloth at the packing area to wet fingers to help with pulling open the new bag.) When no card is offered, the shopper places cash on the awaiting tray; credit cards are the exception. No matter how large the bill, the cashier accepts it politely and produces change. Holding a note to the light to check for counterfeiting is not done.

    Milk comes in quarts and pints, rice in grain bags, and the fish section is three times as large as the meat counter. Sushi is available for take away, as is tonkatsu (fried pork chop) and onegiri (triangular sandwich of rice with tuna or other filling). Celery is sold by the single stalk, carrots are bagged in threes (four is unlucky).

    What is the advantage to a grocery store Points-so Card-do? Don't ask me since the application is as undecipherable as the Rosetta Stone, even for someone who has passed JLPT Level 4. How clever for the local drugstore and cleaners to simply give out the Points-so Card-do with receipt, which insures complete monogamy. A bow of recognition at the drugstore for the gaijin lady who comes in for a weekly supply of cat litter and laundry detergent, followed by stamp-stamp-stamp on the card-do. Some brands of cat litter are made of tofu scraps, which stick to neko no ke (cat fur). With a drugstore full of exotic items (collagen drinks, skin whitening lotions, Can Make cosmetics, heated insoles, face masks in different strengths, etc) the shopper must put a time limit on browsing.

       Fastest route to the dry cleaners from the Manor includes the shortcut through a back alley and down a steep flight of stone stairs, past a statue of the guardian of children, Ojizo-sama. In his red bib, one-yen coins piled beside him, Jizo protects the mizuko or "water babies" in the afterworld. Next door to the neighborhood tofu maker, the dry cleaners expects customers to bring an "eco bag" in which to carry away their neatly wrapped items. With minimal street crime, the dimly lit alleys are busy and litter free.  
 
      T minus 16 days until the Room to Read event. At today's monthly Library Committee meeting the Japanese Librarian reported that copies of Leaving Microsoft to Change the World are selling briskly. Is it too early to consider my opening remarks? More importantly, must arrange for an appointment with the hairdresser.  

Valentine no Hi

       Not a day for lovers as much as a sales opportunity for chocolate makers, Valentine's Day has become a fixture on the Japanese calendar. Women present boxes of chockies to all the men in their world on or about February 14th, while men reciprocate on so-called "White Day" a month later. For male co-workers there is giri choco ("obligatory chocolate") available for about $10. Beribboned boxes are sold in supermarkets, department stores and temporary  markets that pop up around town.  Shujin (my husband) came home from work with an armload of tempting boxes full of gorgeous shapes.

       Brands are uniquely named as in Sutton East: Traditional and dignified old streets.Just like the good old time, we make it simple but strong.  I presented Nestle's Crunch to the guys at the exercise desk of the Tokyo American Club, and received a bow as acknowledgement. My nihongo sensei (Japanese teacher) bought her husband an assortment of crackers, a lower cal option. This afternoon at Conran's, Terence's place in the Marunouchi part of town, shoppers examined imported sweets from Cadbury's.

       After a soggy Saturday we celebrated the day at a plum tree festival (Ume Matsuri) in Umegaoka, a 25 minute train ride away. Photographers zoomed in on the early blossoms while food stalls did a roaring trade. We shared a tasty yakisoba (fried noodle dish) in the sunshine and admired the first blooms. "This is like a dress rehearsal for ohanami," I told Shujin (referring to the April cherry blossom festival). Ubiquitous long-haired dachshunds in winter woolies posed in the arms of owners, and toddlers perched on their fathers' shoulders.

        My email inbox reports that The Room to Read event for March 3rd is half full: More than 20 people have signed up to meet this former Microsoft VIP. A $15 ticket  buys a glass of wine and the chance to hear the story of a man who retired at 40. Curiously, Mr. Wood seems to have greater appeal than the Father of Sudoku.      

A Visit to Yokohama International School

American parents compulsively volunteer wherever we land, and I am no exception. Last fall I agreed to participate in a Yokohama International School career day questionably called"Work and Life Outside the Box." This explains why I spent Foundation Day, February 11th, a national holiday for the rest of Japan, doing my best to retain the attention of a teenage audience. My session, Puzzles: from Hobby to Career, wedged between Kayak Mapping Business and Wooden Boat Building. No question that the coed classroom I addressed in Yamate-cho epitomized the opposite of the all-girl high school I attended in Manhattan eons ago.

"Look at your classmates: Five years from now you will be networking with each other," I said. Skeptical looks all around the classroom. I then explained how while engaged in graduate work at Columbia University my soon-to-be-husband dared me to write a crossword. That dare led me to construct a crossword for publication that in turn grew into bigger and bigger positions etcetera blah-blah fishcakes. What piqued the boys interest was that the inventor of sudoku did not patent the word. "Is the patent still available?" inquired one Icelandic lad, a future entrepreneur.

A German student council rep accompanied me to the guest lunchroom. The Freelance Dance Designer, a Brit with brilliantly blue eyes, declared: "My parents, who were doctors, did their best to dissuade me from dance but I told them: You made me what I am!" The Indian educator retorted: "That wouldn't work in my country!" The Bahamian martial arts instructor recounted how losing a leg to cancer did not stop him from pursuing his athletic goals. "Please, I'm trying to eat," I nearly uttered.

At my final session the students came to life when I asked their opinion about the new Facebook layout ("no bookmarks!"). Then one Chinese boy put me on the spot: "Did your education help your career?" The research, the writing and communication skills, the deep talks and exchanges, the connections with people from different walks of life, led to my answer: "Yes, but not directly."

How nice to find in my inbox tonight a message from the office of John Wood, author of Leaving Microsoft to Change the World, the founder of a charity called Room to Read. He has agreed to speak to the members of the Tokyo American Club on March 3rd. In my capacity as library chair, my challenge is to fill the room again. Are there as many charitable souls as sudoku fans among our membership? To be determined.

Adventures in English, part 2

Charcoal gray is the color of the season judging by today's five elegant English conversationalists. Only the Composer, always the latecomer, broke the mold with her signature look: Headband and matching blouse (sea green). From conversations past we know that she has been making obento for her grown daughters and husband since 5 AM. Her youngest daughter, the same age as mine, is applying to university this year as well.

A newspaper clipping provided an easy subject: Hina Matsuri (Girls' Day), March 3rd. This month Japanese families and shops set out elaborate displays of dolls to represent the Emperor, Empress and their retinue. Not that their Imperial Highnesses are the happiest of families. (Emperor Akihito has been poorly, and his daughter-in-law's nervous condition is well-known although a recent bulletin reported that Princess Masako will return to her public duties soon.) On March4th hina dolls are promptly packed away to insure the appearance of Mr. Right; wait another day and you jinx your girl's chance to walk down the aisle. What of women without daughters? The clipping suggested that there might be a market for unused dolls among gaijin. Sacrilege! "They represent our spirit and that of our mothers,"explained S-san, who has two grown sons, "so we bring our dolls to a temple for a memorial service." Vigorous nods from the others.

Mr. A. A. Milne might be tickled to know that during the reading aloud of Winnie-the-Pooh the group spent a full 20 minutes on the three-letter exclamation: Aha. In Tokyo the sound of recognition is aaaah followed by sososo. Then Pooh frowned. To explain the results of frowning I referred to crow's feet.

"We say the same thing!" S-san said, pointing to a smooth, footprint free complexion.

In discussing the word accompany, Composer revealed that tonight she has a concert: The premiere of her husband's piece. She will pluck piano strings like a koto rather than strike the keys in the traditional way. Mr. Milne uses pluck as an adjective a few minutes later, provoking much discussion. Everyone admired Composer's pluck at her ability to pluck the inside of a piano in public.

Mention of Kanga and Roo reminded everyone that S-san flies to Australia next week with her son. "Can everyone attend next week?" I asked. The response is automatic: Hai. But, as it turned out, everyone is going out of town. At the door I presented each one with a small box of Valentine's Day chocolates, which is now a national holiday. Prettily packaged Giri Choco (obligation candy) is sold all over Tokyo just for this purpose. No luck in my search for conversation hearts candy, however.

Clean Plate Club

Show me a size zero woman in Tokyo and she will be a good eater. Just 1 % of the population measures size 2 and over. Drugstores sell glue to keep knee socks from sliding down slender shins. Unlike our revered Jackie O, who nibbled half of everything, local custom is to scrape the plate clean. Not finishing a meal would insult the cook, no matter how "healthy" (code for 'slimy') the dish. As a rule, the first bite inspires the reaction: Oishii (tasty)! It's all about portion control: Americans devour twice as many calories per day as Tokyoites.

Kindly H-san guided me from Kudanshita station, Exit 5, to a hole-in-the-wall reported as serving the most "balanced bowl of ramen" (Japanese style Chinese noodles) in town. Ramen shops are to Tokyo as pizza shops are to Manhattan. Our 11 AM rendezvous insured quick seating as the four tables in Ikaruga fill up quickly. With the entire nation sitting down to lunch at noon, everyone rushes to get there first. By 11:15, Yen 770 tickets purchased, we scored two of the 15 bowls on offer for the daily special. At 11:20 hot salty broth with noodles, sea weed and a slice of pork steamed in front of me. Outside a dozen people formed a queue. Oishi! we agreed.

Men on both sides of us slurped their bowls down, apparently winning the race. (Eating noisily is recommended.) "We're the only women here!" H-san whispered, not to mention that I was the lone gaijin. All the other diners were "salarymen" in jackets and ties. "She's from New York," H-san informed the wait staff, who realized that I read about this place in the Saturday IHT. At noon, we were on the sun-drenched street as the day turned unseasonably warm. We passed Hotel Grand Palace, the site of a notorious political kidnapping. Next stop: Takashimaya in Nihonbashi, a 7 minute subway ride on the Tozai sen.

Art galleries on the top floors of the better department stores lure people up although shoppers are hanging on to their yen these days. Thanks to the Tokyo American Club I had two tickets for the Shizuka Kusano show, a maze displaying intricate embroidery on kimono, obi and smaller items. Kusano-sensei herself, in elegant kimono, strolled the gallery, greeting her many followers. We examined everything until we felt dizzy from the patterns, and then strolled to Ginza. Foregoing the ubiquitous Starbucks and Tullys cafes, we settled on a place off the main drag for an iced drink to complete our visit.

How pleasant to receive a post mortem email from G-san this evening about the success of Sudoku Fun Day. It was a good opportunity for the staff to practice English, he observed. "Looking forward to our next one at NEW TAC," he wrote, referring to 2011. Could it be the lure of those pastrami sandwiches with sauerkraut drawing them back?

Interlude for good works

Another day, another volunteer opportunity: Months ago I agreed to assist the academically oriented women's association in its effort to grant scholarships to young women. Our panel has selected 12 finalists and invited them for an interview today. Only three scholarships are on offer for the category known as "NJG" (non-Japanese graduate students). My role in the enterprise was to welcome the candidates with typical American warmth.

For many decades this group has raised funds mainly through the proceeds of an annual Print Show. My role in the 2009 Print Show involved setting up a one-woman show for 96-year-old Shinoda-sensei. "My body may be getting older, but my work is always getting better," she told us while serving tea in her atelier. Museums around the world display her mural-sized shodo (Japanese calligraphy). "I love New York!" she told me, recounting how the Rockefellers sponsored her visit in the 1950s. "Great fish!"

The panel gathered at the Hachiko exit of Shibuya station one nippy weekend morning before the shops opened. (The dog Hachiko, now memorialized forever by Richard Gere, famously frequented this station long after his master's demise.) Only Dean & De Luca was open and serving. Perhaps their shop on 85th and Madison Avenue is a rip off, but here it's a familiar friend; even I proudly carry the canvas D & D "eco" bag. A 10 minute trudge uphill ended at a government building, which residents can arrange to use free of charge. Already the first candidate has arrived.

The first two candidates, both from Mongolia, spoke English better than me. "I am working on a Master's in International Relations and hope to study in the USA, " the first one shared. She spoke of her studies in St Petersburg and we exchanged pleasantries in Russian, which surprisingly emerged from some ancient chamber of my memory. Eventually, I led her into the lion's den. The second one was a neuroscientist. When the third candidate explained her field (comparative cultures, Korea and Japan), I secretly hoped that she had other irons in the fire. Next, an illustrator from the United Kingdom, followed by another scientist from Mongolia. Listening to the dreams of these determined young women, the morning vanished.

I feel guilty killing an hour with the Sunday Times crossword.

Sudoku Fun Day

Like secret agents seven Nikoli puzzle staff arrived at the Tokyo American Club at the appointed time, briefcases in hand. Only 45 minutes to set up the room for the 40-odd contestants! The Club set a ceiling on attendees, which meant disappointing latecomers. The Nikoli folks swiftly arranged tables to display treasures such as the Ur sudoku magazine; they plugged in laptops in silence. No one was eager to practice their English.

Sudden frisson of anxiety: Where was the guest of honor, Maki Kaji? G-san rushed off to the Smoking Room, well remembered from his last visit. At 1:30 the first contestants arrived: Two brothers, S-kun and Y-kun, whose parents remained as spectators. Front row seats for the family! Next, a white-haired Norwegian couple made themselves comfortable in the other front row seats. The Librarian had created place cards for each contestant. When one couple didn't find their names, the oversight was quickly rectified. Within 10 minutes the room buzzed with couples, families and tables of tweens. Popcorn and pop on offer quickly disappeared.

At 1:50 the self-declared "Father of Sudoku" appeared, a pack of American Spirit in the pocket of his rumpled trenchcoat. Paparazzi parents asked permission to snap his photo with their young mathematicians. Although it was early in the day for him, Kaji-san was agreeable and draped his arms around each fan. A staff member led him away for a quick run-through of his speech. The flurry of excitement threw the event five minutes off schedule. "We're in America," I assured the Nikoli people.

In my opening remarks, I mentioned that sudoku transcends language, wondering if there was an easier verb to explain the universal appeal. Then Kaji-san took the stage. "This is the first time for me to give a speech in English in Japan," he said. He recounted the apocryphal tale of how the word sudoku came to be. During the typesetting of number place puzzle in 1984 his staff asked him what to call it in Japanese? "It means single, unmarried, numbers," he explained, adding "but I am happily married!" Kaji-san said he had no regrets about not taking a copyright on the word since his reward is the pleasure he has given to people around the world. He ended in true showman style: "Let's play sudoku!"

For 30 minutes K-san valiantly used his English to explain the rules of the game. Practice papers were handed out, which everyone madly scribbled in. The clock showed that we were now 15 minutes ahead of schedule! "Time for a break!" announced another staff member. As the contestants stretched their legs, the president of the Club arrived for more photos and whisked away our VIP, introducing him to Club members along the way.

At last the moment of truth: Contestants identified themselves as Expert or Beginner (adults and Juniors). Papers distributed, pencils poised. "Start!" K-san announced. Within 10 minutes the Expert group completed their puzzle; the Beginner group needed another 10. Expert winners included a young American father and a pregnant Japanese woman. Eleven-year-old S-kun took first prize for the Juniors and the Norwegian man second prize in Beginners! All received an official certificate signed by Kaji-san who embraced each one as flashbulbs went off around the room. Other prizes included items with the Nikoli logo, as well as Club vouchers.

A visibly more relaxed Nikoli staff spent the next hour at the bar, puffing and polishing off pitchers of Ebisu. The post mortem (nijikai) is key to any local event. "Oishii (delicious)!" they exclaimed over the American delicacies, especially the exotic Reuben. Kaji-san took a magic trick out of his other pocket and demonstrated his amazing abilities. On the wall-size TV screen CNN was broadcasting the Blizzard of 2010 as it fell over Washington, DC.

"Aren't you glad we're sitting here at this moment?" asked the Club president. No question.

Sweet surrender

Imagine a world in which nodding off on a train or bus, briefcase on the overhead rack, is relaxing. Welcome to the big sleepover of Tokyo: No beggars, no buskers, no street crime. Even a native New Yorker like me has been known to doze off on public transport or even at the dental hygienist. Today I caught some zees at the hair salon: Chair tipped back, eye mask in place, splish splash and power nap. Tomorrow when I introduce our esteemed Sudoku guests who cares what gibberish comes out of my mouth as long as I have a good haircut?

My first haircut experience in Tokyo at the local Tony & Guy ended with a group bow that I found strangely moving. I have since observed hairdressers hold the door for a client and bow to the ground, all without a tip, which would be considered an insult. At another gaijin salon (dubiously named Sinden) the first question was: "May I take your purse?" In New York, this would provoke a call to 911. Here it was meant to put me at ease. Why clutch your purse during a haircut? Thanks to my former neighbor, wonderful Wanda, I found the happy medium: A three seat shop with a Johnny Depp wannabe owner who serves green tea and keeps bowing to a minimum.

Emails have piled up about tomorrow's event: At last count there are 40 contestants (half under 16 and one aged 77) plus six Nikoli staff supervising and scoring. G-san is worried that his English will fail him. The Tokyo American Club staff are concerned about unaccompanied visitors on the premises. I have promised to shepherd my puzzle guests and invite them for beer in the Club bar following the event. The big worry is: What if more people show up than we expect?

The first hour of the proceedings will be devoted to explaining the rules of the game and the competition. After the race, one puzzle which is estimated to take 20 minutes, lots of prizes will be awarded. Time permitting, perhaps the grand prize winner will demonstrate his (or her) abilities. Awards, generously donated by Nikoli, include merchandise with their logo. Everyone will receive a certificate signed by Maki Kaji, aka Mr. Sudoku. He is taking the day off from the track to meet his fans. My family, however, appears to be otherwise engaged.

Adventures in English

What would A. A. Milne make of the vocabulary lessons gleaned from Winnie-the-Pooh? In two months I have led the five ladies of English conversation group halfway through the book. At each session the group goes around the table reading a page or two aloud, and admiring the original illustrations. Made up words like Heffalump slow the progress.

Like clockwork the doorbell rings at the appointed minute every Wednesday. As the Filippina housekeeper says goodbye in stride four elegant ladies primed for English conversation. Coffee is brewing; sweets are plated. Our American cat, Suki-chan, greets the guests as they remove their shoes by the front door per local custom. Suki-chan knows the drill and retires to the bedroom. We begin with a review of new words from the prior week's reading. The list includes a three letter word from the text: G-A-Y.

"Is this like the word in 'gay bar' ?" asks N-san. Everyone is scribbling in her notebook. I explain that when Mr. Milne wrote the book, it simply meant happy or carefree, as in the title of the film "The Gay Divorcee."

"Do you use the word to mean happy or carefree?" N-san challenged. It is embarrassing to admit that, no, the word is not often used in its original sense. More scribbling in notebooks.

The difference between bored and boring then leads to a discussion of childhood past. How easily for 20th century children to become bored without iPods, cell phones and the Internet. Students get bored when a teacher is boring, I observe, which sparks the musician in the group to recount a lecture she gave yesterday. In Japanese she relates a joke she made. The group laughs and kindly explains the joke to me, a pun that doesn't work as well in English.

"'Over the hill' has such a pretty sound,' " one lady remarks. How disappointed they are to learn it is not what they imagined. Same with 'full moon,' which is revered in Japan. "We love to admire the full moon," they say, without any reference to lunatics. They are pleased to hear about the notion of white lies. "You use them, too? " they ask.

Since sudoku is mainly a masculine pastime, these good women are not big fans. My e-mail now reports we are at capacity for February 6th! The only unknown now is how many staff from Nikoli will attend? The puzzle people are all eager to set foot in the Tokyo American Club. I hope they don't outnumber the contestants.

T minus 4 days

White out: One inch of snow dusted Tokyo today, icing the roofs of single family homes below our fourth floor windows. Not that the wintry blast prevented the neighbors from hanging the daily wash on the lines along their terraces as usual. Since our building (the "Manor") is at the crest of the zaka (hill) we seem at a higher perch. Bulbuls and sparrows visit our terrace, as well as the occasional karasu (crow). Alfred Hitchcock would delight in the yakuza-like crows that patrol Minato-ku's streets.

Time for a brief meeting with the (Japanese) Librarian and the (Chinese) Event Planner at the Tokyo American Club to discuss February 6th. Our chat sheds light on the challenges at the United Nations: One cautious, the other bold, while the American bumbles along. Prizes are modest, with a signed certificate from Maki Kaji for each contestant. Already the event is three-quarters full, which is a vote of confidence. At last count ages of our guests range from 7 to 77.

Shades of the Stamford (CT) Crossword Tournament where the average age was retirement! Last time I organized that nerd-fest eons ago I invited E.J. Kahn who rewarded me by writing about it for The New Yorker. Nowadays the film "Word Play" has glamorized the Tournament, with high-profile ink solvers like Bill Clinton and Jon Stewart. ("Mom, you mean you actually know these people?" asked our resident critic about the blue haired set.) If only we could invite a politician on February 6th! Certainly ex Prime Minister Aso has the look of a sudoku man, more than the current leader (nicknamed the "Alien").

Meeting adjourned, off to the Yoshimichi Fujimoto exhibit at the Musee Tomo. Three underground rooms carefully appointed with ceramics by this top sensei who was named a "Living National Treasure" in his lifetime. (LNT is an honor bestowed upon performers, although no idea what it means or who bestows it.) The masterpieces are not behind glass but temptingly within reach, and I am tempted by the covered box with kingfisher. The hawk-eyed security lady keeps me in her line of vision.

My good behavior is rewarded by a small envelope in my mail box: I have passed the Level 4 Japanese Proficiency Exam.

Masaharu Fukuyama

For me February 6th may be Sudoku Fun Day: For the rest of my world it is the birthday of the heartthrob, Fukuyama Masaharu. Pop star at 20, professional photographer at 30, now turning 41 he plays Sakamoto Ryoma in an NHK series about the samurai and founder of the Imperial Navy. When Commodore Perry arrived in Yokohama 150 years ago, Ryoma was impressed when he heard the American credo: "All men are created equal." From now through November please refrain from calling between 8 PM and 8:45 PM on Sunday night. I may not understand what he's saying, but who cares?

A kindhearted Fukuyama fan introduced me to the hero at the Fuji Film Square Gallery. Thanks to the efforts of an early photo journalist, there are mezzotints of the samurai and his family circa 1860. Ryoma stares into space rather than into the soul-stealing lens, while our modern hero gazes right into our eyes. How can you compare Edo era to the current Heisei? Slowly but surely E-D-O has become more than a crossword puzzle filler for me.

After the gallery we stopped for a cup of matcha (green tea) and sat on a tatami mat. It's been years since I sat on my heels for more than 2 minutes, so I shift my feet to the side when faced with sitting on the ground. Matcha is the color and consistency of pea soup and comes with a pretty wafer that tastes like styrofoam. Tea ceremony (chanoyu), a Buddhist practice, takes decades to master. It's all about wabi (simple tastes) with the focus on awareness. In the 16th century the tea master Sen no Rikyu popularized the saying ichi-go ichi-e (treasure this moment as it will never return). Although samurai started the tea culture, women dominate the field at the moment. Tea bowls cost hundreds of dollars, not to mention the rest of the gear. Sipping from an everyday bowl with my friend worked for me.

It suddenly occurred to me: Does Fuku-chan ever work sudoku in between takes for Ryomaden?