Show Me A Wedding

Several months ago, a friend asked me to take pictures of her wedding here in Japan. This was remarkable for several reasons (not the least of which are my piss-poor photography skills):

• The wedding was a traditional shinto ceremony
• No one in the wedding was of Japanese heritage or nationality
• No one in the wedding spoke Japanese
• The groom had to recite a very old, very traditional reading in Japanese (see above point)

True to EPB form, we arrived just in the nick of time, so I didn't have much chance to take pictures of the setting. Also, the lighting was super funny - a combination of natural light, fluorescent, and light filtering though the walls - and that combined with my superawesomeamzing photag skilz (see above) lead to some shoddy pictures. 

Nevertheless, I thought I'd share them for this weeks Show Me Japan, as hosted by Budget Trouble. You are welcome.

Although I did not understand much of what happened during the wedding ritual itself, the feeling and tone was really beautiful: reverent, quiet, reflective, zen, if you will. Only having experience with Western and Chinese weddings, I found the silence and the sedate pace of the proceedings remarkable. And beautiful. 

The wedding took place inside a beautiful Shinto Shrine; a little gem nestled in the heart of an industrial part of the city, near the port. It was officiated by a priest who was assisted by two girls. 

we arrived, there was a set of benches prepared for the guests to sit prepared with a beautiful sake cup and a wooden tray. The couple sat in font of the alter, with the priest off to the side. There was much standing, sitting, and occasional kneeling. 

 
 

The priest recited blessings, and used what looked like a gigantic feather duster to purify the couple (I presume). After, his assistants served sake.

Both the bride and groom dressed in traditional costumes, which are simply wonderful. Much more beautiful and joyous than Western white. But the hair. I tell you! I did not realize, but to get the kind of height and volume required, you have to stuff the hair with something that looks like black cotton batting.

After, we all drank champagne and celebrated. And then I went home, had a piece of cheese, and spent the whole night barfing. True story. 

Now, for some pictures of Japan that are actually good, check out Budget Trouble's great photo meme.

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Small Style, Birthday Style

Stella's birthday was last Friday, and in true EPB fashion, it was a superdramatic-tear-soaked-sentimental-wah-wah event. BUT everyone DID look cute, and that's all that really matters, right? Thus, for Small Style, hosted as ever by the great Morgan at Mama Loves Papa, we are featuring NOT one BUT three! birthday! outfits! Hurrah!

The birthday started bright and early with present opening, and in a feat of parenting genius that we will very likely live to rue and regret, we bought Stella a kinder drum set. She loves it. But then, we knew she would.

OMG percussion HEAVEN! 

(PJs - Thrifted; bow - Gifted, [wut, you don't put your kid to bed with her hair done???])

The morning continued with, believe it or not, more drumming!

(Dress + leggings- gifted by the world's best cousins)

And then the two of us trundled off in the rain to Mr. Chef's work for a birthday lunch en famille where we learned that Stella does not like sorbet. Our tip-off was the disgusted-accusatory-how-could-you-do-this-to-me look that I received after gently offering a teaspoon of sorbet. Whatever, kid. MORE FOR MEEEEEE! 

Baby's own birthday chocolate. So cute I cried. AGAIN.

I, however, learned that I very much enjoy surprise baby chocolate birthday plaque. Tears.

<3

The big birthday party was the next day, but the rain nixed our park plans. Too bad. The rain also made our apartment WAY too dark to take decent photos, so here are some blurry, crappy, terrible pictures of what is an adorably cute dress, let me assure you. 

All in all, the day went off swimmingly, despite the rain. We had an apartment full of children (ahem...four...ahem), bellies full of food, and faces full of smiles. The kids amused themselves with a rousing game of "attack of the baby" and some good-natured jumping on the couch along with a spot of let's-lock-ourselves-in-the-closet-and-terrorize-the-cats. That was the best game. 

Nom nom nom, plastic fridge farm, nom. 

We topped off the revelry with gluten-free, dairy-free cupcakes that are way more delicious than that description suggests. Stellabella, the non-eater-of-food approved!

(Dress - Zaza Couture, gifted by Nanny; bow also gifted by Nanny; bib Mally Bibs gifted by those rad cousins again)

All in all, it was perfect.  

Now, I promise I'll shut up about my kid's birthday. This time for realz. And you, you head on over to Mama Loves Papa and see some other cutie babies, big and small.

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The Spores Go Marching Million By Million

It's rainy season in Japan, and for the next four? six? eight???? weeks there will be rain, humidity, and general jungle-like conditions. It's impossible to escape the wet; food goes off the second you bring it home; paper becomes clammy and damp; condensation builds up on the windows; and there is a constant looming diaper crisis as I wait days and days and days for laundry to dry. And in the back of my mind there is a sustained disquiet as I fret about harbouring a secret mushroom farm in the closet.

Over the past several days (weeks?) I had been smelling a distinct earthy oder emanating from Stella's bedroom. I dealt with this as I do most problems: if I ignore it long enough it will go away! Unfortunately this failsafe problem solving method did not work this time, as I finally bit into the sour apple (as Mr. Chef says) and emptied the storage closet in her room.

I discovered this:

This was only one of the affected items. There were too many to catalogue and I was beside myself with frustration, not thinking how hilarious it would be to take millions of mouldy pictures. Too bad, internet, too bad. 

An empty closet. An entire package of garbage bags. A full dumpster. A wasted day spent dealing with mould, spores, swears, wet, frustration, waste and bleach. 

Eff.

***

When things like this happen, as an expat, it is tempting to blame the country you live in: "Eff you, Japan, you stupid jerk. If I lived in Canada I wouldn't have mushrooms growing in my closet and I wouldn't be poisoning my baby with thousands of little mould paratroopers invading her respiratory system. I hate you. You are a meanie.  I miss my parents. I miss my friends. I miss grocery stores. I miss barbecues. And lakes. And fresh snow. And understanding what strangers say. And understanding what to do and how to exist in society. And it's all your fault, Japan. Wah." Or so goes my normal line of reasoning. 

I did this a lot when we lived in China. I did it when we lived in India. I do it here in Japan. And I'm sure that wherever we are next, I'll do it there, too. 

The thing is, it's not really Japan's fault. Mould is part of the package. Along with distance from loved ones, and strange food, and unexpected closet invaders come benefits - the cultural experience, the adventure, the quality of life, the chance to know distant corners of our world. We've chosen this life, and we are lucky to live it.

It’s just that part of being an expat is knowing how things are elsewhere. Wherever we are that happens to be our home, there are wonders and irritations: beauty and groping in India; great social life and public urination in China; cleanliness and mold in Japan. And thus, wherever I am temporarily putting down roots (?!?), I know that I will whine about certain aspects of life, and appreciate others. We live in our present home with memories of our past homes, and hopes for our future homes. 

So, I'll try to look on the bright side, and remember the privileges that come our way. But I won't promise to abandon self-indulgent pity-fests the next time I have to throw out an entire closet worth of goods, or the next time I get felt up by a strange man in a public market, or get spit upon by a careless passer by, because moaning is part of the package, too. 

(Thanks internet, for listening to me whine. You're a real pal.)

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Baby Essentials + Pinterest

In an attempt to boost my interent cred, and maintain my webular ninja status, I've just signed up for Pinterest. Crazy, I know, I'm trying to be an early adopter for once. (When Facebook started, I was all, "internet? What is 'internet' anyway?" And I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming to Twitter. My last job forced me to sign up, against my will. Those bastards. And now I'm addicted.) But Pinterest! I'm joining! Early(ish)! 

So far, I'm in love.

(Now, imagine a wonderfully elegant transition to my next line of thinking here.)

I've gotten a few emails from readers* asking for hints, tips, and tricks for surviving as a new parent. And I thought to myself, "MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN! I'll just create a little pinboard of baby essentials, and learn about Pinterest that way." So, without further adoo, here is my wonderful fabulous list of things that are essential for the all essential baby. 

Okay, so now that you've had a look, I'd like to say a few things about Pinterest. 

1. It is awesome and beautiful (true)
2. You should join (also true)
3. I worry that I've degraded the aesthetic value and strayed from the philosophy of Pinteret by posting a shitload of plastic crap on my pinboard, but wheves (probable)
4. Is it, perhaps a gigantic feedback loop wherein everyone ends up liking the same stuff? (maybe)
5. Will it make me feel bad about myself for not having enough beautiful things in my life? (yes)
6. WIll it keep me blissfully unfazed by my screaming child as I sit by her crib as she shouts about the injustice of having to go to sleep (certainly, yes)

Therefore, in conclusion, I'm digging Pinterest. You guys should join. Hit me up for an invite, will ya? And then follow me, cuz it's more fun that way.

Also, as an aside, if you want a superhelpful beginers guide, visit Megan at Sorta Crunchy. 

*No I haven't; I just said that to sound important, like a bloggy authority. Whatever, all the cool kids are doing it.

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ONE!

My baby is one. (I can't believe it.) We had a great (two) days. 

Ha, nice picture, batman. Focus is sloppy, the cake stand isn't in the frame, and the one is backwards. Oh, and the Japanese candles that spell out "congratulations"? They're in the wrong order. Gratconionlats. Idiot. 

And this concludes my soppy, tear-soaked sentimental, self-absorbed, mah baybee snowflake is so cute, wah wah wah posts. Regularly scheduled snark returns tomorrow. Or whenever the hellz I feel like posting again.

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Show Me Rainy Season

Rainy Season. It's back. Officially. Which, for the most part, is super crappy, especially since I planned a picnic birthday party for a CERTAIN BABY GIRL this weekend. All is not lost, however, as the rain does give me the opportunity to get out and take a few rain-droppy pictures. Thus, in honour of  the plum rains, I've taken some snaps and am linking up at Budget Trouble for Show Me Japan. 

I wanted to try to capture a superwellfocused raindrop on a leaf, but this is much more difficult to accomplish than it appears to be in all those fancy photography websites. So, here is my halfassed, thoroughly mediocre-to-poor effort.

So, yeah. Rainy season in Japan. Tsuyu, or plum rains, they're called (coincidentally, in China the season is also called plum rains, which I think sounds beautiful: full, ripe with rain.) For the uninitiated, the season 'round these parts opens at the end of May and last until mid-July. Frigid Siberian air masses collide and do battle with the hot, moist air of South-East Asia and the fallout is four weeks of rain. 

Damp lobby.

Rainy season brings rain. Clearly. But also intense humidity. The foyer of our building becomes a steam room, the marble floor slick, and glass heavy with condensation.  Mould marches in and seizes any available territory. Like, for example, my girl's laundry bin. (There were many causalities; a tragic culling of fabrics various and sundry.) Apparently incidences of food poisoning rise during this time of year. And I know from experience that you can't leave fruit out on the counter more than a day or two. It even seems to rot in the fridge at a freakishly alarming pace.  

Look it's me. In the mirror of my building's foyer. Très humid, I tell you. 

Rain pours, but we still must go about our business. Subways and buses are thick with dripping umbrellas. Large stores have umbrella bag dispensers at their entrances; you stuff your sopping umbrella into a plastic bag in an attempt to contain the wet. Umbrella thieves prowl, capturing their unattended prizes left in doorway stands. People arm themselves with little towels, draped around their necks or hidden away in pockets to combat the humidity. You tuck folding fans into your purse, or having forgotten one, accept a fan printed with an advertisement in the train station.

But it is not all bad. There are days of intense downpours. And days of soft, warm drizzle. And then a break. The Japanese say three days rain, four days sun. The air smells fresh, the greens so intense. And rainy season is when irises bloom. So. 

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Happy Birthday, Stellabella

Stella turns one today.

When she was still a fresh baby, everyone said, "it goes so fast. You'll blink your eyes and she'll have grown up." 

I didn't believe it then. But I do now. For I have no idea how we got from here:

  

To here:

I blinked my eyes, and she is big.

What I do know is that on this day last year, I fell in love for the second time. 

And I told our girl, "I'm so happy you've come."

Since then, my heart has grown three sizes.

 

And I'm still so happy she has come.

Happy birthday, baby.

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