The Gotoh Museum in Setagaya

     "Would you like to visit the Gotoh Museum?" invited tomodachi san, referring to the family-owned gallery in the southwest corner of Tokyo known as Setagaya ku. "There is a calligraphy exhibit and afterwards we can stroll through the garden." Hai, the automatic answer to every question, meant a thirty minute ride via two trains to Kaminoge eki on a summery morning. Tomodachi san brought two parasols since Tokyoites never allow the sun to touch their skin. A short walk through tree lined roads led to the Gotoh, formerly the private home of a railroad magnate. In another part of town visitors flock to the Nezu Museum, once home to another railroad family. With train lines privately owned in Japan, railroad families collect items that the government deems National Treasures and Cultural Properties that train travelers may enjoy for a price not much more than a train ticket.

     Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.

    En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.

Kanji Crunch

     Five terms of Thursday shodo (Japanese calligraphy) classes closed successfully with a project blessed by a  hanko (red seal) imprinted on the piece by Nakamura-sensei. Only Sensei can apply the seal of approval, always with fanfare. Hanko time starts with a lipstick smile and outstretched bejeweled hand. Using scrap paper Sensei stamps out a sample and moves it around the page for position. Unlike Western signatures, hanko do not always sink to the bottom of the work. If kanji (Chinese characters) spell kaze kaoru (fragrant breeze), for example, why not place the stamp floating upwards? For a shikishi (board) hanko is the size of a postage stamp, for wall hanging shodo nearly Post-It size. When Sensei finds the right spot she tamps the hanko with red ink and aims it above the sample, moves it aside then dives down. Pressing for more than a few minutes she finally lifted it up: "Kireii! (Pretty)!"

    "I hardly slept last night," confided Sensei, resplendent in Marina Rinaldi purple checked jacket, South Sea pearl on a chain by her throat. Three of the seven students are leaving Tokyo and our lessons. A youthful 75 Sensei does not want to take on new students. "You have improved so much this term," she generously said (mada, mada--not so).  Every week she interpreted our moods through our work: New Yorkers have shrinks, Tokyoites have shodo Sensei.  Knowing of Sensei's sweet tooth, I ordered a Japanese strawberry shortcake (heavy on the whipped cream). "Now I am the happiest Sensei in Tokyo," she clapped after many photos of the students, the work and the cake. We all agreed to meet in two weeks time for a farewell luncheon, since all key occasions in Japan are marked by ceremonial meals.

   After class, tomodachi-san kindly offered a ride to the local art supply shop to find a frame for the final kanji ("frosty lake").  Ten minutes down the road to Gotanda the shop clerk made suggestions. "This frame mixes Japanese and Chinese parts, which is why it's half the price of a 100% Nihon frame. Is that OK?" tomodachi-san  inquired. "I'm from the US where everything says Made in China-- no problem!" I replied. Disguising her personal reservations at my choice, she dropped me off in front of the Manor. What a surprise to stumble into a going-away party in the lobby for one concierge who is moving across town to Hiro-o. "I shall miss this building with its attractive ladies," he charmingly said. June is almost here: Only two weeks until Musume-chan (daughter) graduates from Yokohama International School!

The Burden of Praise

    Most Thursday afternoons at the Tokyo American Club Nakamura-sensei shares the secrets of shodo (calligraphy) with six to eight disciples. In orange ink she produces a sample for each student to reproduce in black sumie. Not exactly handwriting practice, shodo is a meditation. Rumor has it that Sensei is nana-go-sai (75ish), despite her dark curly tresses and smooth complexion. Thanks to Mr. Nakamura, a novelist who spent his early career as an executive with JAL (Japan Air), Sensei spent much of her early marriage in Germany. As a result she shops at Marina Rinaldi and favors Ferragamo flats.

   "What do you say when a nihonjin gives you a compliment?" I posed to the gaijin (foreign) classmates as we were grinding sumie on inkstones. "Such as when someone says you speak Japanese well?" (Our francejin, Mme G, out of town this week, was sorely missed.) "I always say Arigatou gozaimasu (thank you very much)!" replied one amerikajin. "Sumimassen, the better answer is mada mada (not yet) or tondemonai desu (don't be silly)," I said, repeating what  I found in a book about colloquial nihongo. Accepting praise is presumptuous in a country that knows that there is always room for improvement.  Every classmate jotted down these two phrases.

    By the end of the class each student replied mada-mada or tondemonai when Nakamura-sensei praised her work. "Tee-hee," holding her hand in front of her face, Nakamura-sensei scolded me and asked that I bring different words to class next time. "If all the students were nihonjin this is exactly how they would react," whispered tomodachi. After the class a quick stop at the TAC Library to check on how many members signed up for our upcoming Meet the Author lecture on Sumo revealed shocking news. Two years ago our visitor Alice and I savored an afternoon at crowded Sumo central in Ryogoku, seated uncomfortably on the tatami mat at Y 10,000 apiece (about $120). Only five people have signed up! With just two weeks until our guest speaker arrives, time to get into high gear to fill  the other 40 seats.