Earth

I smelt of earth earlier today. It was time to cut the grass, and not simply by pushing a large mechanical object over the lawn. Rather, this cutting was intimate, a true "kasu o kiru," utilizing handheld clippers and a sweaty determination.

I started with the front corner of the lawn, cutting grass as needed, pulling roots as desired. Gladly, the mozzies joined in on the activity, catching me at awkward moments, though their demise was typically iminent; foolish that they fail to realize each day grants me more immunity to their venom. And I labored on, clearing a good half of the lawn, the yard, the patch of earth that is my own, rented for the time being.

So it was that I smelled of earth and sweat and my own blood, swiftly extracted from the flying leeches that failed to move out of my swat. I smelt of earth.

After filling one bag full of clipped grass and weeds, I realized I was out of the convenient containers, so I sauntered off to the local store to purchase some more of the village-approved bags for burnable rubbish. On the way home, I noticed the clouds had taken a slight golden tinge, so I went in for my camera, the white balance set to auto this time, no longer snapping away at flourescence unexisting. I took some mediocre shots. Happily, a neighbor and future student of mine came by, and intrigued, took up the camera and started shooting wildly. Is it vain to say I was glad he turned the camera on me for a bit? I've been needing some good candid photos; I feel like he did a good job, especially with the flash and mild catch-light from the setting sun.

Anyway, during this process of pose and shoot, a kindly old man, Nakamura-san, called me over to share some of his time. He led me to his nephew's home, the previously known Mibo-san, where ikukan and tako were laid before me, with awamori and biiru. Luckily, I knew enough to jaunt the 10 metres home and pick up my Chicago White Sox peanut omiyage, scoring points with Mibo-san, the baseball fan of the century. (did you know the Boston Red Sox are much like the Sanshin Tigers, while the despised Yankees much like the despised Giants?) Amidst the early flowings of alcohol, we conversed and learned a little more about each other. Each word perceived by me was like a small badge of progress, insignificant in and of itself, though layered with the others, a formidable mark of fluency yet to be obtained.

Nakamura-san took his leave slightly early - such is the life of one 80 years old and still genki! Mibo-san and I continued to drink, to eat, to learn. Of notice to me was the strength of the liquor provided: 12 oz. of beer, 16 oz. of beer, finally 8 oz. of awamori...clearly, I was climbing the ladder. Having received the OK from my supervisor for a hima na hi this Friday, I indulged and enjoyed my time with Mibo-san and family. Kaori-san, Mibo-san's wife, invited me to lunch tomorrow amidst the departing phrases. I look forward to meeting some of the teachers at Arume school, my middle-sized combined elementary/junior high school.

Just when I thought all the other ALTs had standing invitations to neighbors houses, I find that standing around with a camera in hand - much like a lost tourist - evokes quite friendly reactions. And if Mibo-san is correct, in two years time, I'll be nihongo pera pera, and if three years is in the cards, hougen pera pera. I can't wait! Waisu desu.

PS - errors in attempts at Japanese are probably existent; suck it up.