The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

Very sorry for decelerated post rhythm. There appears to be a law of blogging, a bit like the first law of thermodynamics, the more you work the less you blog. Opposite and equal.

Big deal Open Campus Day

Thousands wait in line for the Thunder Mountain ride

Uncle Vanya

Anyway big success but very demanding.

Read all about it.

http://www.oist.jp/press-room/news/2013/3/5/thousands-visit-during-oist’s-open-campus

Great oaks from little acorns grow

Back in October, on the advice of my learned sister Rosie, I bought some Brugmansia plants. They grew very well until I re-potted them. I went to the I guess Garden Center but that term doesn’t really do justice to the Japaneseness of the place. I wanted to buy some earthy stuff to fill up the bigger pots into which I was to place my flourishing Brugmansia. Alack, the dangers of illiteracy for  I bought a very nice looking sack of stuff that turned out to be highly concentrated pig shit. Into this I placed my Brugmansia and went to California for Christmas.

On my return the poor plants were in  decline and the leaves in fall.  The power of the pig shit had burned their roots and I thought they would die. I re-potted again murmuring ancient flower apology prayers and ringing a little bell. It worked. After a few weeks they started to grow again. Look at them now.

Brugmansia, in my secret garden

Anyway, this morning as I drank my coffee, I had a good look at my plants and to  my surprise I find 3 Brugmansia flowers coyly hiding behind the foliage.

“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air”

This makes me unreasonably happy. It augurs a spring of flowers and scent. By the way it is still February.

“The earth laughs in flowers.”

I then looked at the sea.

Spring sea

Spring Has Sprung

“Though the bed has a spring sprung
Outside April has sprung spring. ”

I have waited for Spring to see if the trees outside my house will sprung. They were severely beaten up by the typhoons last year however I assumed they would spring into life once Spring sprung. I now have severe doubts. I think they have been killed.

Dead , dead and never called me Mother

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

 

I struggle through the snow and icy fingered wind to the graveyard where Samuel Adams and Paul Revere and other revolutionary heroes are buried. It is very cold and I am a sub-tropical softy. The position of the graveyard is indicated on a Google map on the ‘where to go in Boston’ section of the conference App. When I get there it turns out to be project housing where, when I ask, “Is Paul Revere’s grave around here?”, happy brothers say, ” Man, I sure don’t know ’bout that but he was one,one,one, bad motherf**ker!”  The pin somehow got placed on the wrong place on the map.  I stumble the miles back to the convention center -Oates-like.

Boston dawn

Eggs Benedict with sirloin tips hiding under the eggs. 7:30am

Seika is from Okinawa

I am going to Boston where they make Cod.

I check in at Naha. The ANA check-in-lady is, as always, demure and smiling.

“Passport please.”

“Do you have a Green Card?”

“Are you checking bags?”

“You have beautiful eyes.”

Sorry?

“You have beautiful eyes.”

This makes me feel very, very good as I cannot remember the last time anyone said that to me, if indeed anyone ever has.

Fly ANA.

Naha is a fun airport with fish floating around

Security fish

I have time for a quick soba before the flight, which goes Narita, O Hare, Logan. Discuss the Scots-Irish influence on American airports.

Happy Japan

Okinawa is a very tranquil place.

I am writing this in Narita.

I think this is the plane that will take me to Chicago. Thank you plane.

It has been a very good weekend. I go diving twice, fishing twice. The weather has been beautifully warm and sunny. My hibisci are doing well and all in all, all’s well.

February

“We all know interspecies romance is weird.”

I go for an evening stroll. It is an exceptionally  low tide, which makes my mind wander to Harry Lauder.

‘Tis when the sun it goes to rest,
that’s the time that I like best.
Oh  I’m chilling, roaming in the gloaming.”

Check it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7N4mxz02y-k

Old English glomung “twilight,” formed (probably on model of æfning “evening”) from glom “twilight,” related to glowan “to glow”

I wander around  my backyard and look at rock pools.

A sea cucumber’s bottom

WTF is that?

The tide is far-out dude, but the beach is cosmic. It is made from ground up coral and exotic shells.

The way to crush the bourgeoisie is to grind them between the millstones of taxation and inflation.

Intermediate egret fishing. What a terrible name for such a beautiful bird.

What a bitch

Yesterday, the Prime Minister of Japan came to the university. His name is Abe. Apparently this is pronounced like Downton rather than name of dead American president. I wish someone had told me.

Good old Abe with Jonathan

For many years I have not played the tin whistle much. I have concentrated on the flute, which is a stern mistress. Notwithstanding, in the right hands, the whistle is a tremendous instrument. Mary Bergin is legendary, here with Johnny McDonough,who is almost as good as she is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-jTlWGwWyg

The whistle, although using the same fingering as the flute, is a completely different animal. The flute is very physical, demanding abdomen and stomach. This is Patsy Hanley who makes it look very easy, but it is not. Notice blue tape wrapped around his flute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjLcfnY8-gY

I have not even owned a whistle for some years. However Gerard McKinley, an Ulsterman based in Okinawa and founder of Okinawa’s top irish traditional music band, the Islanders, orders a whistle for me. I get it last night at a performance in Naha.

Gerard plays the flute. I play with the new whistle

Anyway I am very pleased with my new whistle and intend to learn the subtleties of this instrument.

The only thing that I miss lately in all music is somebody that will put out a melody that you can whistle. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything happening like that.
Merle Haggard