Erina is a Senior at Marugame High School and is currently in the throws of craming for her college entrance exams. She had do quit all of her club activities at the end of summer so she could have more time to study. When I asked her what she had planned for the week she said, “I’m going to study for my semester finals all this week. Then I’m going to memorize English vocabulary and archaic Japanese for my entrance exams.’
Madoka is a junior at a prestigious arts and communications high school in Takamatsu. She has a gift for drawing and a desire to study fine arts, particularly sculpture, in college. She has a fairly regular homework load and is involved in a few clubs at school, including the photography club. Her English is impressive for a sixteen year old, though she suffers from the same hesitancy that cripples most Japanese English speakers. Today I asked her what she had planned for the week. ‘I’m going to see two movies this weekend,’ she said, ‘and tonight I am going to study for a test.’
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
TALK FOR FREE ONLINE PHONE!
Hello,
You can now talk to us FOR FREE online. We just signed up for FREE on SKYPE which is a free internet phone. All you need is a headset, or just computer speakers and some kind of microphone that can pick up your voice. Go to skype.com and download the beta version. It will download a little window that is very similar to msn messenger. Follow the instructions on the tutorial and in a matter of seconds you can call anywhere in the world for free, as long as the person you are talking to is also a skype user. AMAZING isn’t it.
You can add us to your contacts by searching for us. My user name is joeybyu and you can search for me by my name, Joey Franklin. Email us if you get signed up so we can add you to our contacts. We still need to buy a microphone but they’re cheap, so we’ll be up an running soon.
You can now talk to us FOR FREE online. We just signed up for FREE on SKYPE which is a free internet phone. All you need is a headset, or just computer speakers and some kind of microphone that can pick up your voice. Go to skype.com and download the beta version. It will download a little window that is very similar to msn messenger. Follow the instructions on the tutorial and in a matter of seconds you can call anywhere in the world for free, as long as the person you are talking to is also a skype user. AMAZING isn’t it.
You can add us to your contacts by searching for us. My user name is joeybyu and you can search for me by my name, Joey Franklin. Email us if you get signed up so we can add you to our contacts. We still need to buy a microphone but they’re cheap, so we’ll be up an running soon.
Curse the Narrow Roads, continued.
8:24 AM. Somehow I managed to back the little car fifteen feet and into someone’s empty driveway, throw it into drive and turn back out on to the narrow road. As I maneuvered the turn, the car lurched forward and I heard a loud metallic thunk. It took a half second to realize that I had just driven my front passenger side wheel off the side of the road and that the car was now stuck, dangling ever so slightly over the edge of a fully ripened rice patty. Thoughts of the accident I had caused just two weeks earlier filled my head and I imagined having to call my boss and tell her I needed a tow truck to pull me out of this rice patty. Not only would I be late for work, but I would have to pay for the tow truck and possibly for repairs to the car. On top of that it was raining.
Getting out and walking around to the front of the car near the ledge, I saw that though the car was stuck, it appeared to be undamaged. Relieved as I was that the car wasn’t about to teeter into the rice patty, I was still perplexed at how to get the car out. It was a small car, about the size of a mini cooper, but because it was the front axel pinned down it meant the weight of the engine was also pressing down on the concrete. I looked around to see if there was anyone who could help, but the road was empty. I looked at my watch—8:26 AM.
As I stood on the concrete gutter at the bottom of the rice patty with my chest braced against the wet front fender of the car, ready to lift, I thought of getting dressed that morning, putting on a favorite white T-shirt and musing to myself that I ought not wear it because I always end up staining it so bad that Melissa has to soak it for two days in Oxyclean. I weighed that thought against having to call a tow truck and settled on coming home with a dirty shirt.
A few attempts at lifting the car proved futile, and my hopes of getting out of there without calling a tow truck were teetering more than the car. As I stood in the rice patty, staring at the car and scratching my chin, a door opened to the house across the street and an elderly man stepped out into the rain. He wore black oversized slacks synched tight with a belt, and it appeared he had just slipped on a white button up shirt over the top of a white tank top that I guessed he’d probably slept in. Because his shirt was not buttoned I could see the aged state of his arms and chest. “Can I help?” he asked, rolling up one sleeve.
Why couldn’t I have dropped my car into a ditch in front of a sumo wrestlers apartment, or boys college dormitory, or just about anywhere except this skeleton’s house, ‘I thought as the old man approached slowly, obviously favoring joints that had seen a lot of use. Still I didn’t have a lot of other options, so, saying a silent prayer, I motioned him over and invited him to climb down into the rice patty next to me. We counted to three, and there, at 8:30 in the morning, standing in the rain at the edge of waste high rice shoots, that old man and I lifted the car off the edge of the road, sort of.
The car moved a little, until the inside of the tire was touching the edge of the road, but we didn’t have the leverage to lift the car completely. Bracing my body against the car, I asked the old man to get in the driver seat, put the car in reverse, and back it up as I lifted. He tried to say something about not being able to drive, or not wanting to drive, but I think he could see that I didn’t want to have him down there lifting the car while I was in it, so he opened the door and got in. I lifted as he pressed the gas and the car rolled up onto the asphalt as easily as if it had been on a ramp.
I thanked the man profusely, using every polite phrase I could think of, and bowed repeatedly as I climbed out of the rice patty and back into the car. It was 8:35. I was late. There was nothing I could do. I reached for my cell phone, but it was not in my bag. I couldn’t even call my boss and tell her I’d be late. My nerves were shot, my shirt was wet and embarrassingly dirty, and all I could think of was the look of irritation that was sure to be on my bosses face as she told me in English, “You are late!”
Sure enough, as I pulled into work, My Boss was hanging her head out the second story window, apparently waiting for me to show up. She waved politely to me, but I could see in her eyes that she was already going over how she would tell me in English not to be late anymore. I was, however, curious to see would react to my story. It was her car that I was driving after all, and driving off the road into the ditch was a stupid, but perfectly reasonable excuse for being late.
When I told her what happened, her reaction was less than relieving. She seemed concerned at first, but that was only because she thought I had gotten a flat tire. She listened to my story with only passing interest and then said, “I want you here at 8:20 from now on, okay?” I couldn’t believe it. I was standing in front of her in a terribly soiled wet shirt, and had explained that Methuselah and I had just lifted a car out of a rice patty, and she didn’t even blink. I was shocked, and a bit disappointed. I figured a story like the one I just told her deserved a little bit more than she was offering, even if I was late. But no, she didn’t show even the slightest apparent interest in what I thought was an amazing story. I walked away a little dejected, but relieved and resolved: Relieved that the car was okay, and resolved that I would take no more shortcuts.
Getting out and walking around to the front of the car near the ledge, I saw that though the car was stuck, it appeared to be undamaged. Relieved as I was that the car wasn’t about to teeter into the rice patty, I was still perplexed at how to get the car out. It was a small car, about the size of a mini cooper, but because it was the front axel pinned down it meant the weight of the engine was also pressing down on the concrete. I looked around to see if there was anyone who could help, but the road was empty. I looked at my watch—8:26 AM.
As I stood on the concrete gutter at the bottom of the rice patty with my chest braced against the wet front fender of the car, ready to lift, I thought of getting dressed that morning, putting on a favorite white T-shirt and musing to myself that I ought not wear it because I always end up staining it so bad that Melissa has to soak it for two days in Oxyclean. I weighed that thought against having to call a tow truck and settled on coming home with a dirty shirt.
A few attempts at lifting the car proved futile, and my hopes of getting out of there without calling a tow truck were teetering more than the car. As I stood in the rice patty, staring at the car and scratching my chin, a door opened to the house across the street and an elderly man stepped out into the rain. He wore black oversized slacks synched tight with a belt, and it appeared he had just slipped on a white button up shirt over the top of a white tank top that I guessed he’d probably slept in. Because his shirt was not buttoned I could see the aged state of his arms and chest. “Can I help?” he asked, rolling up one sleeve.
Why couldn’t I have dropped my car into a ditch in front of a sumo wrestlers apartment, or boys college dormitory, or just about anywhere except this skeleton’s house, ‘I thought as the old man approached slowly, obviously favoring joints that had seen a lot of use. Still I didn’t have a lot of other options, so, saying a silent prayer, I motioned him over and invited him to climb down into the rice patty next to me. We counted to three, and there, at 8:30 in the morning, standing in the rain at the edge of waste high rice shoots, that old man and I lifted the car off the edge of the road, sort of.
The car moved a little, until the inside of the tire was touching the edge of the road, but we didn’t have the leverage to lift the car completely. Bracing my body against the car, I asked the old man to get in the driver seat, put the car in reverse, and back it up as I lifted. He tried to say something about not being able to drive, or not wanting to drive, but I think he could see that I didn’t want to have him down there lifting the car while I was in it, so he opened the door and got in. I lifted as he pressed the gas and the car rolled up onto the asphalt as easily as if it had been on a ramp.
I thanked the man profusely, using every polite phrase I could think of, and bowed repeatedly as I climbed out of the rice patty and back into the car. It was 8:35. I was late. There was nothing I could do. I reached for my cell phone, but it was not in my bag. I couldn’t even call my boss and tell her I’d be late. My nerves were shot, my shirt was wet and embarrassingly dirty, and all I could think of was the look of irritation that was sure to be on my bosses face as she told me in English, “You are late!”
Sure enough, as I pulled into work, My Boss was hanging her head out the second story window, apparently waiting for me to show up. She waved politely to me, but I could see in her eyes that she was already going over how she would tell me in English not to be late anymore. I was, however, curious to see would react to my story. It was her car that I was driving after all, and driving off the road into the ditch was a stupid, but perfectly reasonable excuse for being late.
When I told her what happened, her reaction was less than relieving. She seemed concerned at first, but that was only because she thought I had gotten a flat tire. She listened to my story with only passing interest and then said, “I want you here at 8:20 from now on, okay?” I couldn’t believe it. I was standing in front of her in a terribly soiled wet shirt, and had explained that Methuselah and I had just lifted a car out of a rice patty, and she didn’t even blink. I was shocked, and a bit disappointed. I figured a story like the one I just told her deserved a little bit more than she was offering, even if I was late. But no, she didn’t show even the slightest apparent interest in what I thought was an amazing story. I walked away a little dejected, but relieved and resolved: Relieved that the car was okay, and resolved that I would take no more shortcuts.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Curse the narrow roads!
Curse the narrow roads, bless the tiny cars!
Heading down the main road into central Marugame on my way to work Monday morning I ran into a line of cars backed up for what looked like a quarter mile. I checked my watch. 8:20 AM. I had to be at work in ten minutes, and even without the traffic I would be cutting it pretty close. I had already been late to work twice this month, and wasn’t interested in explaining again to my boss why I was couldn’t seem to arrive at 8:30am. Not that I felt terribly bad about being late. I didn’t really understand why she wants me there so early in the first place. Every time I go it seems I hurry up to wait. Even at 8:40am which is when I usually end up arriving, there are only two or three kids at the kindergarten, and the other teachers are already there. Still, somehow I knew that this morning was not a good morning to be late. My previous truancy had used up any leniency I may have merited, and this time by boss would say something for sure.
Sitting at the end of that long line of cars, slowly inching forward as the merciless traffic light somewhere ahead changed from red to green to red in a blink, I weighed my options. I could sit here waiting my turn with the other conformist drivers, stoically submitting to the tyranny of the traffic signal, and risk being incredibly late to work, or I could take action, find a shortcut, bend a traffic law, do something other than just sit there and watch my clock tick away. To my left was a road (i.e. a narrow strip of asphalt barely wider than my car) that cut a dark line to the west through several waving rice patties before disappearing into a cluster of houses about two hundred yards away.
‘Surely there’s a short cut through that neighborhood,’ I thought to my self, and before giving it another thought, I flipped on my signal, turned onto the asphalt balance beam, and headed off to find my shortcut.
8: 21 AM. Simply moving relieved some of my anxiety about being late for work, though once I got on the road something told me I wasn’t on a short cut. The glorified footpath was narrow, but empty, and on either side of it stood mature rice stocks, heavy with this year’s crop, billowed in the wind, waving me onward. It occurred to me after I turned that if there was a good shortcut in this neighborhood, at least a few of the thirty other cars in line with me would have known about it, but I was the only one who had turned.
8:22 AM. I took the first right I came to and headed down an even more narrow street, hoping I was making my way towards the main road that would take me to work. However the road I was on only went a few blocks and then dead ended in someone’s driveway. The road was too narrow to maneuver a three point turn, so I had no choice but to back up until I came to a driveway that I could turn around in.
Driving on the left side of the road presents many difficulties, but none are quite as frustrating to me as the neural traffic jam that occurs when I attempt to steer in reverse. Not only do I continually attempt to look over my right shoulder (which gives me a wonderful view of my seatbelt, but not the road), but I also seem to lose any sense of direction. I try to turn right, and end up going left, and vise versa. It’s like trying to use chopsticks in my left hand.
8:24 AM. Somehow I managed to back the little car fifteen feet and into someone’s empty driveway, throw it into drive and turn back out on to the narrow road. As I maneuvered the turn, I heard a loud metallic thunk as I felt the road disappear from beneath my front driver’s side wheel.
To be continued
Heading down the main road into central Marugame on my way to work Monday morning I ran into a line of cars backed up for what looked like a quarter mile. I checked my watch. 8:20 AM. I had to be at work in ten minutes, and even without the traffic I would be cutting it pretty close. I had already been late to work twice this month, and wasn’t interested in explaining again to my boss why I was couldn’t seem to arrive at 8:30am. Not that I felt terribly bad about being late. I didn’t really understand why she wants me there so early in the first place. Every time I go it seems I hurry up to wait. Even at 8:40am which is when I usually end up arriving, there are only two or three kids at the kindergarten, and the other teachers are already there. Still, somehow I knew that this morning was not a good morning to be late. My previous truancy had used up any leniency I may have merited, and this time by boss would say something for sure.
Sitting at the end of that long line of cars, slowly inching forward as the merciless traffic light somewhere ahead changed from red to green to red in a blink, I weighed my options. I could sit here waiting my turn with the other conformist drivers, stoically submitting to the tyranny of the traffic signal, and risk being incredibly late to work, or I could take action, find a shortcut, bend a traffic law, do something other than just sit there and watch my clock tick away. To my left was a road (i.e. a narrow strip of asphalt barely wider than my car) that cut a dark line to the west through several waving rice patties before disappearing into a cluster of houses about two hundred yards away.
‘Surely there’s a short cut through that neighborhood,’ I thought to my self, and before giving it another thought, I flipped on my signal, turned onto the asphalt balance beam, and headed off to find my shortcut.
8: 21 AM. Simply moving relieved some of my anxiety about being late for work, though once I got on the road something told me I wasn’t on a short cut. The glorified footpath was narrow, but empty, and on either side of it stood mature rice stocks, heavy with this year’s crop, billowed in the wind, waving me onward. It occurred to me after I turned that if there was a good shortcut in this neighborhood, at least a few of the thirty other cars in line with me would have known about it, but I was the only one who had turned.
8:22 AM. I took the first right I came to and headed down an even more narrow street, hoping I was making my way towards the main road that would take me to work. However the road I was on only went a few blocks and then dead ended in someone’s driveway. The road was too narrow to maneuver a three point turn, so I had no choice but to back up until I came to a driveway that I could turn around in.
Driving on the left side of the road presents many difficulties, but none are quite as frustrating to me as the neural traffic jam that occurs when I attempt to steer in reverse. Not only do I continually attempt to look over my right shoulder (which gives me a wonderful view of my seatbelt, but not the road), but I also seem to lose any sense of direction. I try to turn right, and end up going left, and vise versa. It’s like trying to use chopsticks in my left hand.
8:24 AM. Somehow I managed to back the little car fifteen feet and into someone’s empty driveway, throw it into drive and turn back out on to the narrow road. As I maneuvered the turn, I heard a loud metallic thunk as I felt the road disappear from beneath my front driver’s side wheel.
To be continued
Friday, September 02, 2005
Culture Shock #1
Culture Shock #1
While preparing flashcards for a morning lesson at the bilingual kindergarten early last week, my boss Fumiyo approached me and said. ‘Sumire’s mother called yesterday. She has requested that we no longer give Sumire hugs, or pick her up and carry her when she comes to the kindergarten.’ I stopped filing through flashcards.
‘She asked us to stop holding her?’ I said as an image of the three year old Sumire pulling on my hand and saying ‘hold me’ flashed across my mind. Sumire is not the youngest child at the school, but she is most definitely the smallest. She can’t weigh more than 22 or 23 pounds and her clothes often hang on her like sheets. She constantly wants to be held by one of the teachers and occasionally resorts to hitting to get her way.
‘Sumire’s mother is very busy,’ continued Fumiyo. ‘She is a single mother with three kids and she runs a very large drug store. She told me she doesn’t have time to hold Sumire, and doesn’t want her to get used to it here.’
We looked at each other for a moment without saying anything. When Fumiyo speaks to me in English it is difficult to read her tone, and though I assumed she must feel as shocked and dumbfounded as I did about what she had just said, I thought for a moment that she might be prepared to defend this mother. Then she said, “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
While preparing flashcards for a morning lesson at the bilingual kindergarten early last week, my boss Fumiyo approached me and said. ‘Sumire’s mother called yesterday. She has requested that we no longer give Sumire hugs, or pick her up and carry her when she comes to the kindergarten.’ I stopped filing through flashcards.
‘She asked us to stop holding her?’ I said as an image of the three year old Sumire pulling on my hand and saying ‘hold me’ flashed across my mind. Sumire is not the youngest child at the school, but she is most definitely the smallest. She can’t weigh more than 22 or 23 pounds and her clothes often hang on her like sheets. She constantly wants to be held by one of the teachers and occasionally resorts to hitting to get her way.
‘Sumire’s mother is very busy,’ continued Fumiyo. ‘She is a single mother with three kids and she runs a very large drug store. She told me she doesn’t have time to hold Sumire, and doesn’t want her to get used to it here.’
We looked at each other for a moment without saying anything. When Fumiyo speaks to me in English it is difficult to read her tone, and though I assumed she must feel as shocked and dumbfounded as I did about what she had just said, I thought for a moment that she might be prepared to defend this mother. Then she said, “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
a brief introduction and summary: for new comers!
For those of you who may be reading this for the first time, let me welcome you to our vast readership. If we were taking subscriptions, I am sure the income would be enough to invite all of you over to share a stick of gum when we get back to the United States, and we’re grateful for the interest. By way of introduction and explanation, I am a 24-year-old Oregonian married to a 24-year-old Oregonian (Melissa), and our tree hugging arms are still sore from being ripped away from their rainy home. Together we have a two year old little boy (Callan) whose hankering for sushi is only bested by his love for everything baseball, which makes him a great fit here in Japan.
I work 28 hours a week at Marugame International Academy (MIA), a small private cram school in downtown Marugame that offers classes in all major academic subjects covered on Japan’s annual proficiency tests, the most important of which is English.
Thanks to an overemphasis on grammar in public school English curricula, Japanese English language students get little or no in-class speaking opportunities. This unfortunate reality is bad for education, but great for people like me who actually get paid to speak their native language. Thus my primary job function is to provide exposure, direction, and correction to potential English speakers of all ages. In addition to the several children’s classes I teach, I visit a half dozen preschools, and meet with a few adult students as well.
Though there are many teachers at MIA, there is only a handful that I work with closely. Besides myself there is one other full time American teacher named Pat, and my wife Melissa teaches just four hours a week on Monday afternoons. My boss is a native Japanese speaker with a love for English that borders on unstable (she once told me she used to approach foreigners on the street and ask them to teach her how to cook their country’s food, just so she could get some English practice). Her son and daughter-in-law help out at the bilingual kindergarten, and her husband, in addition to his regular job as an engineer, takes care of the paperwork and accounting.
Now that I am here working, it seems difficult to pinpoint exactly why I wanted to come to Japan. I certainly harbor no deep desires to teach English conversation classes for life, nor do I find the study of language particularly enthralling. However, having served a mission for the LDS church in Japan four years ago, in precisely the same region as my current placement, and having studied the Japanese language both in high school and in college, the opportunity to come back as a ‘civilian’ was certainly inviting. More than that though, I think my wife and I were looking for a change of scenery, an opportunity to branch out from our Provo home before our family gets any bigger. And of course, the money making opportunity was also a large motivator, as was the potential for real work experience.
To prepare for this little excursion, my wife and I checked out every travel book on Japan in every library from Point of the Mountain to Spanish Fork Canyon, frequented every major Japanese informational website, blasted the teachers we were replacing with email after email full of questions about what to expect in the country, and spent thirty bucks on all-you-can-eat sushi at Asuka Japanese restaurant on University Parkway in Provo.
I work 28 hours a week at Marugame International Academy (MIA), a small private cram school in downtown Marugame that offers classes in all major academic subjects covered on Japan’s annual proficiency tests, the most important of which is English.
Thanks to an overemphasis on grammar in public school English curricula, Japanese English language students get little or no in-class speaking opportunities. This unfortunate reality is bad for education, but great for people like me who actually get paid to speak their native language. Thus my primary job function is to provide exposure, direction, and correction to potential English speakers of all ages. In addition to the several children’s classes I teach, I visit a half dozen preschools, and meet with a few adult students as well.
Though there are many teachers at MIA, there is only a handful that I work with closely. Besides myself there is one other full time American teacher named Pat, and my wife Melissa teaches just four hours a week on Monday afternoons. My boss is a native Japanese speaker with a love for English that borders on unstable (she once told me she used to approach foreigners on the street and ask them to teach her how to cook their country’s food, just so she could get some English practice). Her son and daughter-in-law help out at the bilingual kindergarten, and her husband, in addition to his regular job as an engineer, takes care of the paperwork and accounting.
Now that I am here working, it seems difficult to pinpoint exactly why I wanted to come to Japan. I certainly harbor no deep desires to teach English conversation classes for life, nor do I find the study of language particularly enthralling. However, having served a mission for the LDS church in Japan four years ago, in precisely the same region as my current placement, and having studied the Japanese language both in high school and in college, the opportunity to come back as a ‘civilian’ was certainly inviting. More than that though, I think my wife and I were looking for a change of scenery, an opportunity to branch out from our Provo home before our family gets any bigger. And of course, the money making opportunity was also a large motivator, as was the potential for real work experience.
To prepare for this little excursion, my wife and I checked out every travel book on Japan in every library from Point of the Mountain to Spanish Fork Canyon, frequented every major Japanese informational website, blasted the teachers we were replacing with email after email full of questions about what to expect in the country, and spent thirty bucks on all-you-can-eat sushi at Asuka Japanese restaurant on University Parkway in Provo.
Guido and Ginko
Melissa is outside our kitchen window right now with a flashlight, checking the ground for one of the two geckos who currently live in our side yard and regularly frequent our window ledges at night to eat the bugs that gather there. A few minutes ago, while attempting to close the window, she noticed a pair of small suction cupped feet sticking out near the top of the window frame between the glass and the screen. Apparently, either Guido or Ginko (We can’t really tell them apart) had gotten himself stuck. Whether we tried to move the window, or the screen (both of which slide back and forth along their own tracks) we inevitably would cause quite a bit of discomfort to our little amphibious friend, but we had to close the window, so I very carefully tried to push the screen along its track until the gecko could escape. However, right as the gecko was nearing freedom, the screen slipped off its track and it and the gecko attached to it, fell to the ground.
Melissa just returned from the side yard with nothing to report. “Maybe he crawled off to die in peace.” She said. We’ll keep our eye out for him.
Melissa just returned from the side yard with nothing to report. “Maybe he crawled off to die in peace.” She said. We’ll keep our eye out for him.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Toilets
It is sunday and we are at the office after church. Melissa is talking with her parents on the cell phone, and Callan is quietly enjoying a tube of frozen sugary green stuff (japanese equiv. to an otter pop) so I will take a minute to finish my toilet story.
As I was saying, there are few technological marvels in Japan that rival the automatic toilet. Imagine for a moment, if you will, Captain Kirks chair inwhich he sat for seasons on end, exploring the far reaches of outerspace, going where no man has gone before. Now imagine that chair with a flip top seat, and a flush handle and you begin to get a picture of what its like to `go like no american has gone before.`
Of course, the first half of using a japanese electronic toilet is the same as the first half of using an american toilet. Nature has dictated that much, and I dont think even the japanese would mess with that. On a japanese electronic toilet it is the clean up that the Japanese have `improved` on. There is of course the `western option` hanging in a role on the wall, but for the more adventurous, next to the role of toilet paper is a remote control with buttons labeled in perfectly legible japanese, which is of course not a problem as long as you read japanese. Heres a guide for those who need one.
The top button is stop. Its bright pink and is the most important button. If anything goes wrong, hit this button.
The second button is oshiri, or `bottom` this controls a spray of water that hits you in the bottom.
The next button is bidet (I think that is how you spell it.) And it is not for men to use.
The next button controls the pressure of the water,
the button below that controls temperature.
On our toilet there is also a button for `massage,` and finally a button for a blow dryer.
There is also a button for heating the toilet seat in the winter, and an option for large or small flushes depending on your need.
I imagine that with a little practice one might get good enough that one would not feel it necessary to finish up with the `western method` but I am not to that point yet. In fact, I dont even mess with the buttons.
But, just in case you are ever stuck in a jam in a japanese electronic toilet, if you push a button and cant get things to stop, just remember to hit the top button.
Mata ne.
As I was saying, there are few technological marvels in Japan that rival the automatic toilet. Imagine for a moment, if you will, Captain Kirks chair inwhich he sat for seasons on end, exploring the far reaches of outerspace, going where no man has gone before. Now imagine that chair with a flip top seat, and a flush handle and you begin to get a picture of what its like to `go like no american has gone before.`
Of course, the first half of using a japanese electronic toilet is the same as the first half of using an american toilet. Nature has dictated that much, and I dont think even the japanese would mess with that. On a japanese electronic toilet it is the clean up that the Japanese have `improved` on. There is of course the `western option` hanging in a role on the wall, but for the more adventurous, next to the role of toilet paper is a remote control with buttons labeled in perfectly legible japanese, which is of course not a problem as long as you read japanese. Heres a guide for those who need one.
The top button is stop. Its bright pink and is the most important button. If anything goes wrong, hit this button.
The second button is oshiri, or `bottom` this controls a spray of water that hits you in the bottom.
The next button is bidet (I think that is how you spell it.) And it is not for men to use.
The next button controls the pressure of the water,
the button below that controls temperature.
On our toilet there is also a button for `massage,` and finally a button for a blow dryer.
There is also a button for heating the toilet seat in the winter, and an option for large or small flushes depending on your need.
I imagine that with a little practice one might get good enough that one would not feel it necessary to finish up with the `western method` but I am not to that point yet. In fact, I dont even mess with the buttons.
But, just in case you are ever stuck in a jam in a japanese electronic toilet, if you push a button and cant get things to stop, just remember to hit the top button.
Mata ne.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Day 24
Who ever designed houses in Japan did not have the average american in mind. Take the kitchens for example: the counter (or actually the sink, their is no counter) only comes up to about the height of the bottom seam on my pants pocket. When one stands at the sink to do dishes, one must be careful at what angle one hold the plate, or one could soak oneself in the crotch repeatedly during a round of dishwashing.
Of course, while short counters are expected in a country where the average height for women in Japan is about 5 feet two inches, the kitchen cabinets are an enigma. The cabinets in our kitchen, and in most kitchens (all of the kitchens I have been in, or seen on television) start at the ceiling and come down to just about six feet from the ground ( I can just stand under the cabinets in our kitchen). Even Melissa and I have to get a stool in order to reach the back of the cabinets. If a 5 foot 2 inch woman in japan tried to get into the back of the cabinet they would need a two foot step latter.
Another hazard of living in a traditional japanese home is that the doorways are all very low ( in the case of our house just under 6 feet tall). I know this measurement with precision because I am just under six feet tall and if I stand up in the door way, or if I am walking through a doorway without paying attention, my head makes contact with the door frame (the latter is of course more painful, and has happened a half dozen times since we moved in). As a missionary these low door frames were notorious for flooring particularly tall missionaries who werent cautious enough walking through their apartments.
I mentioned earlier that the kitchen has no counter space. There is a little , but it is more of a drying rack for dishes, and is actually part of the sink ( which incidentally is almost large enough for Callan to lie down in, and would be an olympic size pool for a new born). I wish we had a little less sink and a little more kitchen. Our stove is a two burner gas counter top stove that looks like a residental version of a coleman camp stove. The fridge, as I have mentioned before I think, holds about two days worth of produce, and is about four feet tall. We have a toaster oven, and a microwave that we think doubles as a mini conventional oven as well, but we havent tried anything out yet.
I should also mention the toilet. There is perhaps nothing that demonstrates better Japans dual preoccupation with being ultra clean and ultra hightech than the hands free automatic toilets that are very common in new and remodeled homes (including ours) and come complete with heated toilet seats, your choice of large or small flushes, and a remote control to boot. I will need more time than I have now to talk about that, so for now....Ja mata.
Of course, while short counters are expected in a country where the average height for women in Japan is about 5 feet two inches, the kitchen cabinets are an enigma. The cabinets in our kitchen, and in most kitchens (all of the kitchens I have been in, or seen on television) start at the ceiling and come down to just about six feet from the ground ( I can just stand under the cabinets in our kitchen). Even Melissa and I have to get a stool in order to reach the back of the cabinets. If a 5 foot 2 inch woman in japan tried to get into the back of the cabinet they would need a two foot step latter.
Another hazard of living in a traditional japanese home is that the doorways are all very low ( in the case of our house just under 6 feet tall). I know this measurement with precision because I am just under six feet tall and if I stand up in the door way, or if I am walking through a doorway without paying attention, my head makes contact with the door frame (the latter is of course more painful, and has happened a half dozen times since we moved in). As a missionary these low door frames were notorious for flooring particularly tall missionaries who werent cautious enough walking through their apartments.
I mentioned earlier that the kitchen has no counter space. There is a little , but it is more of a drying rack for dishes, and is actually part of the sink ( which incidentally is almost large enough for Callan to lie down in, and would be an olympic size pool for a new born). I wish we had a little less sink and a little more kitchen. Our stove is a two burner gas counter top stove that looks like a residental version of a coleman camp stove. The fridge, as I have mentioned before I think, holds about two days worth of produce, and is about four feet tall. We have a toaster oven, and a microwave that we think doubles as a mini conventional oven as well, but we havent tried anything out yet.
I should also mention the toilet. There is perhaps nothing that demonstrates better Japans dual preoccupation with being ultra clean and ultra hightech than the hands free automatic toilets that are very common in new and remodeled homes (including ours) and come complete with heated toilet seats, your choice of large or small flushes, and a remote control to boot. I will need more time than I have now to talk about that, so for now....Ja mata.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
obon continued
Well, trying to type with Callan on my lap is a chore...
We arrived in Tokushima in time to relax a bit before church. The Church just got carpet installed last week and it looks great. Before the carpet their was just tan lanolium and it made sacrament meeting very loud. All the members were just as I remember them: friendly, hard working, and a little tired. Almost all the young single adults that I was aquainted with are now married, one with a child, and sadly none of the people I taught as a missionary are currently attending the branch. Two of them, brother Tsumitomo and Brother Shimizu have apparently lost interest, while a third, Brother Watanabe, moved away, and a fourth,Brother Asamine is currently living in a halfway home for poor individuals.
Melissa and I actually went to visit him after church with Callan. He was poor when I met him five years ago, but I guess things have gotten worse. He was very surprised to see us, and seemed happy for the visit. Brother Nakano from the branch apparently home teaches him regularly and he is doing as well as he can. He told me he had lost 40 kilos and said he was currently looking for work. We only had about twenty minutes to talk, but it was good to see him.
Sunday night we went to the Kunimi familys house to stay. The Kunimi family has been involved in the local dance festival for thirty plus years and said they would give us an inside tour of the whole event. At six pm we went down town where they had blocked off 35 square blocks of the city to make way for the several hundred thousand visitors and dancers that filled the streets.
The dance troupes make their way around the city, followed closely by their musicians who play a collection of drums, chimes, and guitar looking instruments, the name of which I should know, but have forgotten.
The festival started several hundred years ago to celebrate the completion of Tokushima castle and has since grown into the largest dance festival in Japan. We were lucky to be here during the festival and to have so much time off.
Callan was at first a little surprised by the noise, but by the end of the night was really in to it. While we took a break to eat our picnic dinner in a public square outside of city hall, just next to a main parade route, Callan spent the entire time running around in large circles with a japanese fan in his hand saying hello to the people has they ran by. He was given several fans in the process and caught just about everyones eye.
By 8:30 pm the crowds were getting thicker and Callan was getting more tired, so we bagged it and went home. We got home at 9:30pm and were in bed by 10.
The next morning the Kunimis treated us to a real japanese breakfast of Miso soup, rice, little tiny dried fish, pounded fish patties that taste a bit like fishy spam, scrambled eggs, and grapes, and we were on the road again by 8:30 am.
We spent the morning at the castle ruins park by the train station, did some window shopping at a department store, and then met up with some other english teachers from Marugame for lunch at a sandwhich shop in town owned by an american. We payed 950 yen (about 8 bucks) for a foot long sub and another 350 yen (2.90) for some chilli spice fries.
On the way home from Tokushima we stopped in Takamatsu, my second area as a missionary to see if there was anyone at the Church. We met brother Tabakodani who is in charge of the building, and he gave us a tour. The downstairs had been remodeled because it had flooded really bad last year. Brother Tabakodani told us that an american family had just moved out of the branch and left all their childrens toys and some food storage and if that if we wanted some we could have it. We were greatful to take with us a five gallon bucket of white wheat (now all we need to do is find a grinder and we will have whole wheat flour, which is impossible to find at a regular grocery store) some beans, and a four wheeled kids bike for Callan.
Now we are home and we are done playing for a while until our first paycheck in september.
Oh yeah, also, we just got the internet figured out at our house and it should be all ready to go in about two weeks. We have IP phone service with calls to America only costing about 2 cents a minute. We will keep everyone up on the details as we get more aquainted with how it all works.
mata ne
We arrived in Tokushima in time to relax a bit before church. The Church just got carpet installed last week and it looks great. Before the carpet their was just tan lanolium and it made sacrament meeting very loud. All the members were just as I remember them: friendly, hard working, and a little tired. Almost all the young single adults that I was aquainted with are now married, one with a child, and sadly none of the people I taught as a missionary are currently attending the branch. Two of them, brother Tsumitomo and Brother Shimizu have apparently lost interest, while a third, Brother Watanabe, moved away, and a fourth,Brother Asamine is currently living in a halfway home for poor individuals.
Melissa and I actually went to visit him after church with Callan. He was poor when I met him five years ago, but I guess things have gotten worse. He was very surprised to see us, and seemed happy for the visit. Brother Nakano from the branch apparently home teaches him regularly and he is doing as well as he can. He told me he had lost 40 kilos and said he was currently looking for work. We only had about twenty minutes to talk, but it was good to see him.
Sunday night we went to the Kunimi familys house to stay. The Kunimi family has been involved in the local dance festival for thirty plus years and said they would give us an inside tour of the whole event. At six pm we went down town where they had blocked off 35 square blocks of the city to make way for the several hundred thousand visitors and dancers that filled the streets.
The dance troupes make their way around the city, followed closely by their musicians who play a collection of drums, chimes, and guitar looking instruments, the name of which I should know, but have forgotten.
The festival started several hundred years ago to celebrate the completion of Tokushima castle and has since grown into the largest dance festival in Japan. We were lucky to be here during the festival and to have so much time off.
Callan was at first a little surprised by the noise, but by the end of the night was really in to it. While we took a break to eat our picnic dinner in a public square outside of city hall, just next to a main parade route, Callan spent the entire time running around in large circles with a japanese fan in his hand saying hello to the people has they ran by. He was given several fans in the process and caught just about everyones eye.
By 8:30 pm the crowds were getting thicker and Callan was getting more tired, so we bagged it and went home. We got home at 9:30pm and were in bed by 10.
The next morning the Kunimis treated us to a real japanese breakfast of Miso soup, rice, little tiny dried fish, pounded fish patties that taste a bit like fishy spam, scrambled eggs, and grapes, and we were on the road again by 8:30 am.
We spent the morning at the castle ruins park by the train station, did some window shopping at a department store, and then met up with some other english teachers from Marugame for lunch at a sandwhich shop in town owned by an american. We payed 950 yen (about 8 bucks) for a foot long sub and another 350 yen (2.90) for some chilli spice fries.
On the way home from Tokushima we stopped in Takamatsu, my second area as a missionary to see if there was anyone at the Church. We met brother Tabakodani who is in charge of the building, and he gave us a tour. The downstairs had been remodeled because it had flooded really bad last year. Brother Tabakodani told us that an american family had just moved out of the branch and left all their childrens toys and some food storage and if that if we wanted some we could have it. We were greatful to take with us a five gallon bucket of white wheat (now all we need to do is find a grinder and we will have whole wheat flour, which is impossible to find at a regular grocery store) some beans, and a four wheeled kids bike for Callan.
Now we are home and we are done playing for a while until our first paycheck in september.
Oh yeah, also, we just got the internet figured out at our house and it should be all ready to go in about two weeks. We have IP phone service with calls to America only costing about 2 cents a minute. We will keep everyone up on the details as we get more aquainted with how it all works.
mata ne
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
OBON (Pronounced Owe bone)
I owe this opportunity to write at length to the wonderful people at the ministry of japanese holidays who decided that August 12-16th would be a great weekend to give most of the country some time off. My 6pm class which is usually held on location at a large industrial electricty factory was canceled today because of the Obon holiday and that has left me quite a bit of time to write. And as we still dont have the internet at home, I can only write when Im in the office with nothing to do. Even then, I have to type on a japanese computer with a keyboard designed for typing japanese, which means, as you have probably noticed, that I still cant figure out how to type an apostrophe.
So Obon is the second most important holiday in Japan, next to New Years. During Obon, the tradition is that dead ancestors return to their graves to be with their living progeny. Thus everyone (okay well not everyone, but a lot of people) goes back to their hometown and visits their local shrine or Ginga to clean the grave sites, offer food and flowers, pray, and ponder. The graves are actually miniature sepulcures of sorts that hold not bodies but urns. Families are burried for centuries in the same place.
Besides all the worship, Obon is a big excuse to party. Just about every major city has some kind of festival on or around Obon weekend, and that is what we were interested in. None of my japanese friends are buddhist so there was not opportunity to go visit a grave to see how its done, but a family I know in Tokushima has been invovled in that towns dance festival for thirty years, so we headed south to Tokushima.
From Marugame, Tokushima is about 125 kilometers south east on the local highway. It takes three hours to drive their unless you want to take the expressway, which only takes about an hour and a half, but you have to pay a 2000 yen (about 18 dollars american ) toll. We left marugame Sunday morning at 7 AM on the local highway with every intention of avoiding the 18 dllar tole, but about an hour into our trip the local highway appeared to end at an onramp to the expressway. Their were two smaller roads that went to the left right of us, but we werent sure where they went and since we were trying to make it to Tokushima by 10 AM for Church we decided to take the express way. From where we were it ended up costing 1300 yen (about 11 dollars american).
The legal speed on the `express` way is 70 kilometers per hour,(about 50 mph) but even driving at 85 kpr we were being past on the left and right by surely looking Japanese people who couldnt believe how slow we were going. After holding up traffic for quite a while along a particularly long stretch of single lane expressway, I decided to drive a bit faster.
The expressway snakes through the mountainous country side, sometimes bending around hillsides, and sometimes plowing through them via tunnels as long as 2000 meters (about a mile and a quarter). Passing through large cities the expressway skims over the tops of small buildings on large cement pilons which disappear into nothing as the road touches down in the country side, only to reappear as massive concrete stilts hundreds of feet tall that support the expressway as it leaps off one cliff and spans an entire valley until it reaches the the side of another green hill. About thirty minutes from our home in Marugame the expressway performs one of its most spactacular feats, perhaps bested only by the underwater tunnel that connects Honshu to Hokkaido in northern Japan. From Sakaide City, the expressway makes a dramatic turn north and heads out over the green choppy waters of the Japan inland sea. Just as you think its about as far out as it can get it touches down on an island several thousand feet from shore. From their it wriggles and weaves its way accross the inland sea, bouncing from island to island until finally after nearly 15 miles the expressway again touches ground in Okayama.
The bridge itself is actually six bridges that carry on their backs four lanes of traffic and two regular train lines. There is even room for a bullet train line to be added sometime in the future. The entire bridge chain was completed 1988 and took ten years to build.
The expressway got us to Tokushima an hour ahead of shedule and we were glad for it. Callan needed to get a good run in before sitting through three hours of church. He took laps around the small church building while I follewed closely behind and melissa rested in the car.
The sensation of being in Tokushima again, a place I had served for almost half a year as a missionary, was almost more than I could take. But my 8pm class is about to start, so for now,
matta ne.
ps forgive the typos- no editing whatsoever this round.
So Obon is the second most important holiday in Japan, next to New Years. During Obon, the tradition is that dead ancestors return to their graves to be with their living progeny. Thus everyone (okay well not everyone, but a lot of people) goes back to their hometown and visits their local shrine or Ginga to clean the grave sites, offer food and flowers, pray, and ponder. The graves are actually miniature sepulcures of sorts that hold not bodies but urns. Families are burried for centuries in the same place.
Besides all the worship, Obon is a big excuse to party. Just about every major city has some kind of festival on or around Obon weekend, and that is what we were interested in. None of my japanese friends are buddhist so there was not opportunity to go visit a grave to see how its done, but a family I know in Tokushima has been invovled in that towns dance festival for thirty years, so we headed south to Tokushima.
From Marugame, Tokushima is about 125 kilometers south east on the local highway. It takes three hours to drive their unless you want to take the expressway, which only takes about an hour and a half, but you have to pay a 2000 yen (about 18 dollars american ) toll. We left marugame Sunday morning at 7 AM on the local highway with every intention of avoiding the 18 dllar tole, but about an hour into our trip the local highway appeared to end at an onramp to the expressway. Their were two smaller roads that went to the left right of us, but we werent sure where they went and since we were trying to make it to Tokushima by 10 AM for Church we decided to take the express way. From where we were it ended up costing 1300 yen (about 11 dollars american).
The legal speed on the `express` way is 70 kilometers per hour,(about 50 mph) but even driving at 85 kpr we were being past on the left and right by surely looking Japanese people who couldnt believe how slow we were going. After holding up traffic for quite a while along a particularly long stretch of single lane expressway, I decided to drive a bit faster.
The expressway snakes through the mountainous country side, sometimes bending around hillsides, and sometimes plowing through them via tunnels as long as 2000 meters (about a mile and a quarter). Passing through large cities the expressway skims over the tops of small buildings on large cement pilons which disappear into nothing as the road touches down in the country side, only to reappear as massive concrete stilts hundreds of feet tall that support the expressway as it leaps off one cliff and spans an entire valley until it reaches the the side of another green hill. About thirty minutes from our home in Marugame the expressway performs one of its most spactacular feats, perhaps bested only by the underwater tunnel that connects Honshu to Hokkaido in northern Japan. From Sakaide City, the expressway makes a dramatic turn north and heads out over the green choppy waters of the Japan inland sea. Just as you think its about as far out as it can get it touches down on an island several thousand feet from shore. From their it wriggles and weaves its way accross the inland sea, bouncing from island to island until finally after nearly 15 miles the expressway again touches ground in Okayama.
The bridge itself is actually six bridges that carry on their backs four lanes of traffic and two regular train lines. There is even room for a bullet train line to be added sometime in the future. The entire bridge chain was completed 1988 and took ten years to build.
The expressway got us to Tokushima an hour ahead of shedule and we were glad for it. Callan needed to get a good run in before sitting through three hours of church. He took laps around the small church building while I follewed closely behind and melissa rested in the car.
The sensation of being in Tokushima again, a place I had served for almost half a year as a missionary, was almost more than I could take. But my 8pm class is about to start, so for now,
matta ne.
ps forgive the typos- no editing whatsoever this round.
A note to our vast readership
To the millions of people out their with enough interest in the minutia of our lives to read this blog I have an idea that will make this miracle of modern communication even more miraculous. We love to read your comments and here what is going on in your life and we love to reply to you. However when you send a comment via the blog we dont get your email address. If you are sure we have your email address then don:t worry about it, but, if by chance you think we may not have it, then please include it in the -from- line or somewhere in your comment so we can email you back. Thanks to all, and again, sorry things have been so sparse, we STILL dont have the internet.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Quick update
I start work in just a few minutes, so here is a quick update. We still dont have the internet at our house (or a computer monitor for that matter) so we are not able to post much. We pick up our foreign registration cards today, we are going to Tokushima this weekend for a big dance festival, and we are adjusting to the heat well. Talk to you later!
Sunday, July 31, 2005
First Sunday in Marugame
It's Sunday afternoon and the crowded house we're staying at is peacefully empty. I just got back from driving for the first time in Japan. Except for hitting the window wipers at least 4 times (instead) of the turn signal it went very well. The streets are more like extend-a-sidewalks in most places so learning how to swerve around cars, bikes and pedestrians without landing in the rice patty is quite the feat! I'll post a picture of our little boxy black car when we get one. It's cute! And I can't really blame it for not having AC. It gets us around.
Church
Joey tells me that church starts at 10 or 10:30 everywhere in Japan. We arrived before 10 and climbed 3 flights of steep stairs to the "church" or 4 spare green cement floored rooms. The folding chairs were set up with a small podium at the front. I didn't see any kids but the Bishop got up and starting giving announcements (I assume that's what he was doing, Joey wasn't translating at that point.) We soon realized that church was backward here. But because it was a 5th Sunday men and women were combined. Ah ha! There are quite a few Americans in the branch. Almost half of the people attending today were English speakers. One just had a baby, and two others are pregnant. All their first child. My they're brave!
For Sunday school a few dividers were brought out and they split the room. The nursery leader was sick today so Callan came with us. He got pretty restless part way through Sunday school and the rest of the meeting was a challenge. For Sacrament meeting they removed the dividers and handed out little earpieces to the english speakers. I guess all the return missionaries in the bunch take turns translating for the rest of of the non japanese-understanders. Luckily today Jamie and Mike (the teachers we're replacing) spoke and had Fumiyo (our boss) translate for the Japanese speakers. It was quite enjoyable but a little confusing. After church the "candy man" in the ward gave Callan about 5 cookies and a whole package of crackers. He ran around witht he other kids and seemed quite at home! I think we'll make some good friends, English and Japanese, in the coming months. And Callan will get more attention than he'll ever need! They all love his blonde hair!
Church
Joey tells me that church starts at 10 or 10:30 everywhere in Japan. We arrived before 10 and climbed 3 flights of steep stairs to the "church" or 4 spare green cement floored rooms. The folding chairs were set up with a small podium at the front. I didn't see any kids but the Bishop got up and starting giving announcements (I assume that's what he was doing, Joey wasn't translating at that point.) We soon realized that church was backward here. But because it was a 5th Sunday men and women were combined. Ah ha! There are quite a few Americans in the branch. Almost half of the people attending today were English speakers. One just had a baby, and two others are pregnant. All their first child. My they're brave!
For Sunday school a few dividers were brought out and they split the room. The nursery leader was sick today so Callan came with us. He got pretty restless part way through Sunday school and the rest of the meeting was a challenge. For Sacrament meeting they removed the dividers and handed out little earpieces to the english speakers. I guess all the return missionaries in the bunch take turns translating for the rest of of the non japanese-understanders. Luckily today Jamie and Mike (the teachers we're replacing) spoke and had Fumiyo (our boss) translate for the Japanese speakers. It was quite enjoyable but a little confusing. After church the "candy man" in the ward gave Callan about 5 cookies and a whole package of crackers. He ran around witht he other kids and seemed quite at home! I think we'll make some good friends, English and Japanese, in the coming months. And Callan will get more attention than he'll ever need! They all love his blonde hair!
Squatter Toilets
I'd heard about these so called "toilets" but I didn't know how widespread they would be! I sucessfully avoided them in the airport and the rest stop when we got off the bus. But at the train station there was no other choice! Ahh! The "noise mask" of running water was very funny but the task was not so funny. But I just bit my lip and tried it out. What else do you do when you have to go so bad! Then I had to figure our which "flush" to use. I learned later from Joey that one is for "big" and one for "little". Oh well. It was over and I thought I'd avoid them in the future. No luck. The school, the laundromat, they're everywhere. But really, they're not that bad. If we look at the positive side it's sure a lot cleaner than most US public restrooms you don't have to "touch" anything. But, if you want to stand up again you do have to grab the bar and pull yourself up!
I know this was WAY more than you all wanted to know. But thanks for listening.
I know this was WAY more than you all wanted to know. But thanks for listening.
Address and Phone
Here's our address everybody
763-0093
Kagawa-ken
Marugame-shi
Gunge-cho
188-7
JAPAN
Joey has his cell phone already but I don't have mine yet. Here's his number: 001 (country code) 09028949435
It's 16 hours ahead of Mountain time, 15 hours ahead of Pacific Time. Yes, it is Sunday morning already!
And to answer a few questions we got: we plan to get a digital camera when we can afford it it (cheaper in Japan) and we'll post pictures to our website marugamefranklins.blogspot.com
Callan is adjusting pretty well, he has been waking up at 5 am but he goes to bed at 8! Today he went back to sleep at 7 am though, which is nice. Callan really likes Japanese food! Yea! He has eaten everything we've fed him so far. We hope to get more adventurous when we have our own kitchen!
Love you all!
763-0093
Kagawa-ken
Marugame-shi
Gunge-cho
188-7
JAPAN
Joey has his cell phone already but I don't have mine yet. Here's his number: 001 (country code) 09028949435
It's 16 hours ahead of Mountain time, 15 hours ahead of Pacific Time. Yes, it is Sunday morning already!
And to answer a few questions we got: we plan to get a digital camera when we can afford it it (cheaper in Japan) and we'll post pictures to our website marugamefranklins.blogspot.com
Callan is adjusting pretty well, he has been waking up at 5 am but he goes to bed at 8! Today he went back to sleep at 7 am though, which is nice. Callan really likes Japanese food! Yea! He has eaten everything we've fed him so far. We hope to get more adventurous when we have our own kitchen!
Love you all!
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Day -1 and Day 0 and Day 1
Day -1: Monday, July 25 Provo. Our Last full day in Provo was spent in the company of family (Mom Franklin, and the Fitzgeralds) running last minute errands, cleaning, packing, and taking care of last minute business items like changing out locks and cleaning carpets. At 11pm we had everything out of the house and all 370+ pounds of check luggage in the garage. Mom Franklin dropped Melissa and I off at the Fitzgeralds where Callan had gone with Mom Fitzgerald earlier to go to bed. Mom Franklin then drove back to the house and loaded all the luggage into the car and drove home to Jason`s house to sleep for A few hours before getting up to take Jason to work in Salt Lake and meet us at the airport at 7am.
Meanwhile, at the Fitzgeralds, we all got to bed about 1:30 AM before waking up at 5:45 to get ready. Mike and Joey loaded the car, Melissa got Callan ready, and Cristi made breakfast (a really yummy multi grain oatmeal type hot cereal with raisins and other good stuff in it which we all ate in the car on the way to the airport.)
Day 0: Tuesday, July 27th.
We said good bye at the security gate and made it to the gate just as passengers were boarding and everything went smoothly until we taxied out onto the tarmac. After sitting there for fifteen minutes the pilot announced a minor technical problem and explained that we would have to wait until it got fixed before we could take off. TWO HOURS LATER, we finally took off from Salt Lake City.
Thanks to the minor technical problem in SLC our two hour lay over in San Francisco turned into a twenty minute dash from the arrival gate to the international terminal where we arrived at our gate just as they were calling our names over the loud speakers. It wouldn`t`t have been so bad if we didnt`t have three carry on bags, two backpacks, one computer bag, one stroller, one baby backpack, and one 30 pound two year old to carry with us down the stairs, onto the crowded shuttle bus, down the hall , across the moving walkway, down another flight of stairs, through the terminal and down the narrow plane isle (I distinctly remember overhearing someone passing us on the stair case saying `why didnt`t they check some of that luggage). We were the last people on the plane, did not get to eat lunch, go to the bathroom, or stretch our legs, and we were not able to let Callan run around a bit.
Day 1: July 27th, 2005.
Day 1 of our year in Japan officially started about 5pm Utah time somewhere over the pacific ocean as we crossed the international dateline and went from Tuesday evening to Wednesday Afternoon in Japan. All of Japan is in the same time zone and is about 16 hours ahead of Utah give or take an hour or so.
As we sped along at 530 mph. In our Boeing 777, complete with first class, business class, economy plus, and regular coach seats, all of which included their own television screen, Melissa and I noted the things we had learned about international travel with a two year old. First we came to the unanimous conclusion that we brought too many bags, or to few arms, or both. Second we learned that benadryll probably works more quickly and more effectively than a quarter piece of Dramamine, and trying to rock the poor child to sleep at the bulkhead and then place him in his car seat doesnt`t work. Third, no toy can hold a candle to the buttons above our seats , especially the large orange button that calls the flight attendant. And fourth, bring your own snacks (even fresh fruit, because if this flight is any indication,)no one asks you about it.
We watched three movies, I read 100 pages out of the most recent of J.K. Rowling`s Wizarding bricks, ate two airline meals, and only went to the bathroom once. We arrived five minutes early to Kansai International airport, and thanks to the immensity pile of carry on luggage, we were the last off the plane.
Once you get past customs, Kansai International airport is a colorful, well air conditioned, inviting architectural testimony to the Japanese tendency toward serene airiness and technological ingenuity. However, from the gate to immigration and customs the ambiance is more a cross between alcatraz and Ellis Island. The ceilings are as impossibly tall as the immigration lines into which we cued up are long, and the air is stagnant, the only breeze coming from the rustling passports and other travel documents being handed over tall counters to short, tired looking Japanese officials. The atmosphere was dull if not unfriendly, and we would have been there a long time had it not been for a kind gentleman who escorted us ahead of the line because we were a family (and probably because he noticed the ridiculous load of carry on luggage we were dragging behind us.)
Customs went smoothly except that one of our bags of luggage decided to give out on us and the entire zipper split. Thankfully when we packed it Mike and I secured the bag with luggage straps that held it all together except for a Japanese hymn book that slipped out at baggage claim.
leaving the immigration/customs area and entering the real airport was something akin to walking from the drab concrete and steel gates of Willy Wonka`s chocolate factory into the exciting oompa loompafied ambiance of the factory itself. We were instantly barraged with colorful Japanese art and advertising, music that sounded like it came from a video game, and a din of people making phone calls, exchanging money, and scratching their chins at maps and information boards. Enveloping all this was a great vaulted hall that extended probably 100 feet in the air and was painted in a pink that was somewhere between pepto-bismol and Good and Plenty Candy. It was fantastic.
Waiting for us amidst the hullabaloo was Nozomi Caruthers-the wife of an old mission buddy and current resident of Osaka. She helped us send our 360 pounds of checked baggage to our new home in Marugame and drove us to her parents house in Osaka where we were given an air conditioned room, two wonderful meals, and the relief of seeing familiar faces in what was for my wife a very unfamiliar place.
Meanwhile, at the Fitzgeralds, we all got to bed about 1:30 AM before waking up at 5:45 to get ready. Mike and Joey loaded the car, Melissa got Callan ready, and Cristi made breakfast (a really yummy multi grain oatmeal type hot cereal with raisins and other good stuff in it which we all ate in the car on the way to the airport.)
Day 0: Tuesday, July 27th.
We said good bye at the security gate and made it to the gate just as passengers were boarding and everything went smoothly until we taxied out onto the tarmac. After sitting there for fifteen minutes the pilot announced a minor technical problem and explained that we would have to wait until it got fixed before we could take off. TWO HOURS LATER, we finally took off from Salt Lake City.
Thanks to the minor technical problem in SLC our two hour lay over in San Francisco turned into a twenty minute dash from the arrival gate to the international terminal where we arrived at our gate just as they were calling our names over the loud speakers. It wouldn`t`t have been so bad if we didnt`t have three carry on bags, two backpacks, one computer bag, one stroller, one baby backpack, and one 30 pound two year old to carry with us down the stairs, onto the crowded shuttle bus, down the hall , across the moving walkway, down another flight of stairs, through the terminal and down the narrow plane isle (I distinctly remember overhearing someone passing us on the stair case saying `why didnt`t they check some of that luggage). We were the last people on the plane, did not get to eat lunch, go to the bathroom, or stretch our legs, and we were not able to let Callan run around a bit.
Day 1: July 27th, 2005.
Day 1 of our year in Japan officially started about 5pm Utah time somewhere over the pacific ocean as we crossed the international dateline and went from Tuesday evening to Wednesday Afternoon in Japan. All of Japan is in the same time zone and is about 16 hours ahead of Utah give or take an hour or so.
As we sped along at 530 mph. In our Boeing 777, complete with first class, business class, economy plus, and regular coach seats, all of which included their own television screen, Melissa and I noted the things we had learned about international travel with a two year old. First we came to the unanimous conclusion that we brought too many bags, or to few arms, or both. Second we learned that benadryll probably works more quickly and more effectively than a quarter piece of Dramamine, and trying to rock the poor child to sleep at the bulkhead and then place him in his car seat doesnt`t work. Third, no toy can hold a candle to the buttons above our seats , especially the large orange button that calls the flight attendant. And fourth, bring your own snacks (even fresh fruit, because if this flight is any indication,)no one asks you about it.
We watched three movies, I read 100 pages out of the most recent of J.K. Rowling`s Wizarding bricks, ate two airline meals, and only went to the bathroom once. We arrived five minutes early to Kansai International airport, and thanks to the immensity pile of carry on luggage, we were the last off the plane.
Once you get past customs, Kansai International airport is a colorful, well air conditioned, inviting architectural testimony to the Japanese tendency toward serene airiness and technological ingenuity. However, from the gate to immigration and customs the ambiance is more a cross between alcatraz and Ellis Island. The ceilings are as impossibly tall as the immigration lines into which we cued up are long, and the air is stagnant, the only breeze coming from the rustling passports and other travel documents being handed over tall counters to short, tired looking Japanese officials. The atmosphere was dull if not unfriendly, and we would have been there a long time had it not been for a kind gentleman who escorted us ahead of the line because we were a family (and probably because he noticed the ridiculous load of carry on luggage we were dragging behind us.)
Customs went smoothly except that one of our bags of luggage decided to give out on us and the entire zipper split. Thankfully when we packed it Mike and I secured the bag with luggage straps that held it all together except for a Japanese hymn book that slipped out at baggage claim.
leaving the immigration/customs area and entering the real airport was something akin to walking from the drab concrete and steel gates of Willy Wonka`s chocolate factory into the exciting oompa loompafied ambiance of the factory itself. We were instantly barraged with colorful Japanese art and advertising, music that sounded like it came from a video game, and a din of people making phone calls, exchanging money, and scratching their chins at maps and information boards. Enveloping all this was a great vaulted hall that extended probably 100 feet in the air and was painted in a pink that was somewhere between pepto-bismol and Good and Plenty Candy. It was fantastic.
Waiting for us amidst the hullabaloo was Nozomi Caruthers-the wife of an old mission buddy and current resident of Osaka. She helped us send our 360 pounds of checked baggage to our new home in Marugame and drove us to her parents house in Osaka where we were given an air conditioned room, two wonderful meals, and the relief of seeing familiar faces in what was for my wife a very unfamiliar place.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Our Last Sunday
Yesterday was our last Sunday attending the Lakeside 8th ward in Provo, UT. My parents, my in-laws, and my brother with his two kids attended sacrament meeting where Melissa and I spoke on Forgiveness and Repentance respectively. Then we went to Brother Cooks Sunday school and talked about the organization of the priesthood. The third hour of Church was by far my favorite hour of the day and perhaps my favorite hour of Church since moving in to this ward two+ years ago.
I have been the Teachers quorum advisor for two years this August and in a Mormon congregation that means I work with the 14-15 year old young men who are learning the ins and outs of being a lay priesthood holder. We study the gospel in depth by topic and on the weekdays we function as a varsity scout troop. The dual nature of the quorum brings us together in a variety of activities from hiking and biking expeditions, to service projects, to classroom discussions about the nature of God and Christian discipleship. I wouldn’t have asked for another calling in the Church. There is a power and vitality that comes from working with these incredible young men that is not available anywhere else. I was reminded of that this Sunday.
Instead of a typical lesson, we decided to have a group question and answer session about the Gospel, about life, about anything. At first I wasn’t sure if the four young men in the room would be interested, but I wasn’t disappointed. Each of them came up with relevant, interesting, thoughtful questions that were important to them in their stage of discipleship.
These are few samples of the questions they asked what is a date? How do you know when you’ve been forgiven, how do you answer questions using the scriptures, How should you respond to spiritual impressions, and How do you choose a spouse?
With Brother Joe Memmetts, Francisco Alverez, and me, we took turns answering questions, and allowed the boys to answer some of them themselves. I was impressed with their insightfulness and their genuine desire to know about the gospel. I don’t know if they’ll read this but I’d like to take a second a thank each of the boys I’ve worked with over the past two years.
Taylor: When I met you two years ago Taylor, I could tell right away that beneath the rough exterior was a strong leader and a man full of genuine concern for others. Never stop learning patience, keep up the hard work on the football field, and do what you told me you were going to do on Sunday: read the scriptures more. Thanks for being a friend.
Benson: I know that I always call you Baylen. Sorry. I have always appreciated your quiet kindness and your willingness to help. I know it’s not always easy, but you do a fantastic job of being kind to others and asking thoughtful questions. Never stop being thoughtful, never stop asking questions. I know you will do amazing things with your life. Your testimony will be your guide as you prepare to serve a mission in another two years.
Baylen: I am amazed at the adult you are becoming. Thank you for talking to me like a friend and for always offering to help. It’s hard as an adult leader to feel accepted, and you always made me feel like I was doing okay. I wish the best for you in Golf and what ever your life has in store for you. I think I’ll be around when you get your mission call, so I’ll look forward to that.
Sergio. I’ll never forget the morning you knocked on my door and asked for a ride to School. Thank you for feeling comfortable enough with me that you could call. I hope you always turn to your youth leaders and your family for help when you need it. Thanks for being a friend, and letting me talk with you. Good Luck with school, with Football, and with everything. Don’t spend too much time with the Ladies; there’ll be time for that after the mission. Take care.
Logan: Thanks for being the anchor of the quorum. Your presence at planning and presidency meetings, at camping trips, and church was inspiring. I can’t think of an activity that you could have been at that you weren’t. “Being there” is a large part of success. Keep it up and your example with rub off on others. Thanks.
Luke: No one else has stopped by my house to talk more than you. I know that life is not always easy and I know that it is sometimes difficult to do everything you’re supposed to do, but I thank you doing what you’ve done. Thanks for helping, thanks for mowing my lawn occasionally, and for walking my dog, and for being interested in my family. You will go far as long as you continue to show kindness to those around you and continue to work hard. Take care.
Sebastian: Well, you’ve been Missing In Action for the past two months, but I just wanted you to know that I have appreciated your interest and enthusiasm for activities. I’m sorry we never did the study night at mutual that you wanted to do. Don’t forget to bring that up to Brother Memmetts when school starts again. Take care of yourself, and make sure you help out your mother. She’s a busy woman with a lot on her hands. She needs her sons to be her anchor.
Colton: Colton I will always remember hearing your testimony in sacrament meeting. I can tell that you think about a lot of the same things I thought about when I was a teenager. You will do great because you have a real concern for others, and your heart is pure. You have great parents who love you and are doing a great job raising a future missionary. Thanks for being a friend. I will really miss you.
Jake: We only worked together for two months, but I was so glad to have you in the quorum. I don’t want you to get a big head, but there is a scarcity of people like you in the world. Your combination of stoic work ethic, serene presence, emotional stability and genuine interest in others will take you wherever you want to go. I hope you use your abilities to build the church wherever you are. Good luck in Soccer, good luck in school, and God bless you in everything.
You guys are all great. Please keep in touch. I want to here about your sports victories and losses, about your school work, about camping trips, about your first dates, about anything. I’ll see you all in a year.
I have been the Teachers quorum advisor for two years this August and in a Mormon congregation that means I work with the 14-15 year old young men who are learning the ins and outs of being a lay priesthood holder. We study the gospel in depth by topic and on the weekdays we function as a varsity scout troop. The dual nature of the quorum brings us together in a variety of activities from hiking and biking expeditions, to service projects, to classroom discussions about the nature of God and Christian discipleship. I wouldn’t have asked for another calling in the Church. There is a power and vitality that comes from working with these incredible young men that is not available anywhere else. I was reminded of that this Sunday.
Instead of a typical lesson, we decided to have a group question and answer session about the Gospel, about life, about anything. At first I wasn’t sure if the four young men in the room would be interested, but I wasn’t disappointed. Each of them came up with relevant, interesting, thoughtful questions that were important to them in their stage of discipleship.
These are few samples of the questions they asked what is a date? How do you know when you’ve been forgiven, how do you answer questions using the scriptures, How should you respond to spiritual impressions, and How do you choose a spouse?
With Brother Joe Memmetts, Francisco Alverez, and me, we took turns answering questions, and allowed the boys to answer some of them themselves. I was impressed with their insightfulness and their genuine desire to know about the gospel. I don’t know if they’ll read this but I’d like to take a second a thank each of the boys I’ve worked with over the past two years.
Taylor: When I met you two years ago Taylor, I could tell right away that beneath the rough exterior was a strong leader and a man full of genuine concern for others. Never stop learning patience, keep up the hard work on the football field, and do what you told me you were going to do on Sunday: read the scriptures more. Thanks for being a friend.
Benson: I know that I always call you Baylen. Sorry. I have always appreciated your quiet kindness and your willingness to help. I know it’s not always easy, but you do a fantastic job of being kind to others and asking thoughtful questions. Never stop being thoughtful, never stop asking questions. I know you will do amazing things with your life. Your testimony will be your guide as you prepare to serve a mission in another two years.
Baylen: I am amazed at the adult you are becoming. Thank you for talking to me like a friend and for always offering to help. It’s hard as an adult leader to feel accepted, and you always made me feel like I was doing okay. I wish the best for you in Golf and what ever your life has in store for you. I think I’ll be around when you get your mission call, so I’ll look forward to that.
Sergio. I’ll never forget the morning you knocked on my door and asked for a ride to School. Thank you for feeling comfortable enough with me that you could call. I hope you always turn to your youth leaders and your family for help when you need it. Thanks for being a friend, and letting me talk with you. Good Luck with school, with Football, and with everything. Don’t spend too much time with the Ladies; there’ll be time for that after the mission. Take care.
Logan: Thanks for being the anchor of the quorum. Your presence at planning and presidency meetings, at camping trips, and church was inspiring. I can’t think of an activity that you could have been at that you weren’t. “Being there” is a large part of success. Keep it up and your example with rub off on others. Thanks.
Luke: No one else has stopped by my house to talk more than you. I know that life is not always easy and I know that it is sometimes difficult to do everything you’re supposed to do, but I thank you doing what you’ve done. Thanks for helping, thanks for mowing my lawn occasionally, and for walking my dog, and for being interested in my family. You will go far as long as you continue to show kindness to those around you and continue to work hard. Take care.
Sebastian: Well, you’ve been Missing In Action for the past two months, but I just wanted you to know that I have appreciated your interest and enthusiasm for activities. I’m sorry we never did the study night at mutual that you wanted to do. Don’t forget to bring that up to Brother Memmetts when school starts again. Take care of yourself, and make sure you help out your mother. She’s a busy woman with a lot on her hands. She needs her sons to be her anchor.
Colton: Colton I will always remember hearing your testimony in sacrament meeting. I can tell that you think about a lot of the same things I thought about when I was a teenager. You will do great because you have a real concern for others, and your heart is pure. You have great parents who love you and are doing a great job raising a future missionary. Thanks for being a friend. I will really miss you.
Jake: We only worked together for two months, but I was so glad to have you in the quorum. I don’t want you to get a big head, but there is a scarcity of people like you in the world. Your combination of stoic work ethic, serene presence, emotional stability and genuine interest in others will take you wherever you want to go. I hope you use your abilities to build the church wherever you are. Good luck in Soccer, good luck in school, and God bless you in everything.
You guys are all great. Please keep in touch. I want to here about your sports victories and losses, about your school work, about camping trips, about your first dates, about anything. I’ll see you all in a year.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
VISA APPLICATIONS ARE IN!!!
Tuesday afternoon Melissa came home to find a note from the post office saying we'd received a registered letter from Japan. We were sure it was our certificates of eligibility for our Visa applications. We were sure our weeks of waiting were over. So when the letter turned out to be nothing more than Melissa's passport, which we'd sent to Japan so our boss could get the certs, we were more than a bit disappointed.
However, the next day there was another letter in the mail from Japan, and it was the certs! (This is really amazing because we found out that our paperwork had been turned in to the immigration office in Japan on June 17, and had been returned to our boss in Japan only ten days later. We were initially told that the process may take as long as long as two months).
Melissa mailed the certs. Along with our visa applications, passports, photos, etc. this morning and we should get them back late next week or early the following week, which will still be about a week before our plane leaves. SO--close, but not too close if you ask me.
However, the next day there was another letter in the mail from Japan, and it was the certs! (This is really amazing because we found out that our paperwork had been turned in to the immigration office in Japan on June 17, and had been returned to our boss in Japan only ten days later. We were initially told that the process may take as long as long as two months).
Melissa mailed the certs. Along with our visa applications, passports, photos, etc. this morning and we should get them back late next week or early the following week, which will still be about a week before our plane leaves. SO--close, but not too close if you ask me.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Finding Money in the strangests places
Deciding to move to Japan for year meant giving up financial aid money that we have been using for a large chunk of our living expenses while in school. My 10 hour/week PR job at BYU covers food costs, and my handy man job covers a few bills, but the mortgage, and health care and other big ticket items were all covered by scholarship, student loans, and grants. Not going to school during summer term has meant that money has to be found elsewhere. What has been surprising is the number of different ways we have come into money over the past month, and what is even more surprising is how closely the emergence of those money making opportunities has coincided with paying tithing.
First let me preface that the law of tithing is the Lords law of finance, which allows members of His church to learn unselfishness while funding the physical needs of the Church. Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints pay 10 percent of their gross increase into a general tithing fund that is used by the church to handle everything from building construction to educational material. In fact a large portion of my education at BYU is subsidized through tithing funds. After each pay check I pay tithing to the bishop of my local ward and he in turn sends the money on to Salt Lake. A month ago, shortly after finalizing the decision to go to Japan, I found my self writing out a tithing check and wondering what I was going to do to cover the many expenses that we would incur between then and leaving for Japan. Besides the normal bills, groceries, gas, etc that we needed, we had to pay upfront for our plain tickets, pay passport fees, visa fees, international drivers license fees, and get the house ready for renters.
As I turned in the tithing check, I said a little prayer that went something like this. "Okay Heavenly Father, I'm paying my tithing. What ever you can do would be great." This is where the miracles started happening. That night Melissa and I went to Dinner at Beau and Shilea's house. They are friends from an old ward who attend BYU and have two darling daughters (Savannah, 2, and Mirian, 3 mo.). Beau occasionally does handyman work for a woman in Provo and that night he told me her sister had called him wanting some work done. He told me he was too busy and that he had given her my name. She called me two days later, and I have since done about twenty hours of work for her at a very good wage. That was just the beginning.
Two days later Melissa was in a car accident on the way home from the doctor’s office. She told me when I came home from school and she seemed fairly frustrated/irritated/ upset. However the car was only superficially damaged (a scratch, and a small dent, nothing structural), and it wasn't her fault. "You got in an accident?!" I said. "That's wonderful!" She looked confused, but I explained to her that since the accident was superficial and she wasn't hurt, that we could cash out the claim and use the money to pay bills, etc. We ended up getting quite a bit of money for the repairs, and I did them myself, which allowed us to put the money to more important things (groceries, mortgage, bills).
That same week a relative called us and told us they were sending Melissa a check as a graduation present. Still that week Melissa got a letter in the mail from her credit card company saying that her credit limit had been increases (which allowed us to purchase our plane tickets upfront on credit, so we can be reimbursed for them when we get to Japan). A week after that we put 'For Rent' signs out in front of our house.
That same day we received a dozen phone calls and had a wonderful young couple with a few children signed up to rent the house starting the day we leave for Japan. The money that came and will come from these blessings has helped us pay bills and get ready for Japan. However the blessings are still coming.
This Sunday a wrote another check for tithing and Monday night I got an email from an old boss telling me he had about four weeks worth of writing work for me if I wanted it. Of course I did. I now have full time work plus extra through the day we leave for Japan while a month ago I had a 10 hour/ a week job and no idea what I was going to do. I know that simply paying ones tithing is not a ticket to getting rich. I also know that the promises of the Lord are true.
Malachi 3:10 says: Bring ye all the tithes• into the storehouse, that there may be meat in my house; and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.
This past month I have felt the windows of heaven open above me and we have received blessings to the point that I'm not sure I have room to receive it. The lord did not give us all the money we needed. Instead he provided ways for me to earn it.
First let me preface that the law of tithing is the Lords law of finance, which allows members of His church to learn unselfishness while funding the physical needs of the Church. Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints pay 10 percent of their gross increase into a general tithing fund that is used by the church to handle everything from building construction to educational material. In fact a large portion of my education at BYU is subsidized through tithing funds. After each pay check I pay tithing to the bishop of my local ward and he in turn sends the money on to Salt Lake. A month ago, shortly after finalizing the decision to go to Japan, I found my self writing out a tithing check and wondering what I was going to do to cover the many expenses that we would incur between then and leaving for Japan. Besides the normal bills, groceries, gas, etc that we needed, we had to pay upfront for our plain tickets, pay passport fees, visa fees, international drivers license fees, and get the house ready for renters.
As I turned in the tithing check, I said a little prayer that went something like this. "Okay Heavenly Father, I'm paying my tithing. What ever you can do would be great." This is where the miracles started happening. That night Melissa and I went to Dinner at Beau and Shilea's house. They are friends from an old ward who attend BYU and have two darling daughters (Savannah, 2, and Mirian, 3 mo.). Beau occasionally does handyman work for a woman in Provo and that night he told me her sister had called him wanting some work done. He told me he was too busy and that he had given her my name. She called me two days later, and I have since done about twenty hours of work for her at a very good wage. That was just the beginning.
Two days later Melissa was in a car accident on the way home from the doctor’s office. She told me when I came home from school and she seemed fairly frustrated/irritated/ upset. However the car was only superficially damaged (a scratch, and a small dent, nothing structural), and it wasn't her fault. "You got in an accident?!" I said. "That's wonderful!" She looked confused, but I explained to her that since the accident was superficial and she wasn't hurt, that we could cash out the claim and use the money to pay bills, etc. We ended up getting quite a bit of money for the repairs, and I did them myself, which allowed us to put the money to more important things (groceries, mortgage, bills).
That same week a relative called us and told us they were sending Melissa a check as a graduation present. Still that week Melissa got a letter in the mail from her credit card company saying that her credit limit had been increases (which allowed us to purchase our plane tickets upfront on credit, so we can be reimbursed for them when we get to Japan). A week after that we put 'For Rent' signs out in front of our house.
That same day we received a dozen phone calls and had a wonderful young couple with a few children signed up to rent the house starting the day we leave for Japan. The money that came and will come from these blessings has helped us pay bills and get ready for Japan. However the blessings are still coming.
This Sunday a wrote another check for tithing and Monday night I got an email from an old boss telling me he had about four weeks worth of writing work for me if I wanted it. Of course I did. I now have full time work plus extra through the day we leave for Japan while a month ago I had a 10 hour/ a week job and no idea what I was going to do. I know that simply paying ones tithing is not a ticket to getting rich. I also know that the promises of the Lord are true.
Malachi 3:10 says: Bring ye all the tithes• into the storehouse, that there may be meat in my house; and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.
This past month I have felt the windows of heaven open above me and we have received blessings to the point that I'm not sure I have room to receive it. The lord did not give us all the money we needed. Instead he provided ways for me to earn it.
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