#8 - A Day on Hadala Farm - July 24, 2010

Growing up in RI, I could see the corn fields and apple orchards from my bedroom window. We were separated by a river which was traversed by a bridge built by neighborhood kids. On the farms, we picked apples and corn, gathered stalks to decorate for Halloween, and helped ourselves to a pumpkin or two. Jaswell's farm was the one we hit first after crossing the bridge. Started in 1899, it is now being run by the 4th generation of Jaswell's. Apples, cider, corn, pumpkins, strawberries, pick-your-own, and now a bakery graces the acres. Next was Matteo's Farm which had most of the same. We would cut through Jaswell's Farm to get to Matteo's when we needed to 'bring' corn or apples home. We wouldn't 'borrow' from Jaswell's because we really liked them. But we did buy their cider. Our first paying jobs were picking apples for Mrs. Laney, the small orchard next to Matteo's, at 5 cents a bushel basket.

I grew up as a tough country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. At least that's what I thought until I spent a day with Sandy M. on Hadala's Farm. Sandy is a country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. I am definitely not. I first met Sandy when I worked at the Berkshire Music School. She is the friendly voice on the phone, the first smile you see when you walk in the door. After knowing her for only a few months, her husband died suddenly at age 48. This left Sandy on her own with several apartments and, as I soon discovered, various animals to take care of. I wasn't sure how this meek, dependent, music school registrar was going to handle these new responsibilities. And then, a few years later, her mother passed away leaving Sandy with the family farm.

Sandy has since moved to the farm and invited me to spend the day with her. I drove to Adams on a warm sunny day and drove up a long hill as instructed by my Google map. Hadala Farm was at the top with the most amazing view of Mt Greylock and most of the town of Adams. The view, the 150 year old farm house, the big red barn and the hay field took several minutes to drink in and comprehend. While Sandy was showing me around and describing the buildings, I heard a very strange and eerie repetitive sound – sort of a low muffled drumming. I shook it off as we continued on. Near the house was what looked like nearly a 1/2 acre of fenced in area where the drumming sound was coming from. The emu cage. It looked and sounded like something out of Jurassic Park. When Sandy said we would be going into the cage to feed them, my eyes grew three times their normal size and heart began to make a similar but rapid drumming.

Before the feeding, we took a ride to the Family Feed store. This was like a Toys'R'Us to Sandy. She lit up showing me the trough de-icers, baby bottles for calves, and various bags of feed. Everyone knows everyone and I even knew an old co-worker at the feed store. We picked up 5 - 50lb bags of feed for the emus for the week. Sandy had me unload them for the full 'experience.' We had to pour them into 55 gallon plastic storage drums to try and keep the raccoons (unsuccessfully) out of it. Now it was time to load up some buckets of feed and visit the emus.

Since Sandy had no good reason to want me dead, I decided to trust her completely. We wore boots to get through the muddy entrance as 13 emus came from all sorts of paths and tall grasses to great us. They were large and intimidating but not to Sandy who greeted several by name with a hug and pat on the head. The beak and feet were the most daunting and I decided not to take my eyes off of them for fear of losing those very eyes. They like shiny things and took to the yellow sheep on the back of my t-shirt. Peck, peck, peck. Stop that! Although their bodies were covered in feathers, the outer feathers are 18 inches long and felt much like straw.

Emu oil contains some of nature’s finest therapeutic aids. Emus also provide up to 50 pounds of meat and bone and their eggs are sought after both for cooking and carving. One emu egg is the equivalent of about one dozen chicken eggs. The egg is a beautiful deep speckled jade and can be carved through as many as 7 layers of shades of green. So you can see why Sandy and her husband had decided to give raising emus a try. However, they are now basically a pet as marketing and selling the emu products is something Sandy has found little time to do.

We were hoping to do some haying during my visit but you need 3 dry days in a row and we just weren't having it that weekend. Sandy’s dad spent many long days in the hay field and to spend time with him, she would ride along on the tractor. She described the smell of the hay as she beamed and took in deep breaths of air. You could see that the hay field woke all of her senses and brought back fond memories spent with her dad.

In the barn, I saw the bales from a prior haying. Sandy had me get up on the wagon to have the full experience of what it’s like to load the bales. I knew that no matter how hot the day was, you would definitely need boots, jeans, and a long sleeve shirt. And these suckers were not light! The farm hopes to produce hay 3 times per summer with most buyers more interested in the 2nd and 3rd haying. Good dry bales can fetch up to $3.50 each while wet or moldy bales get $1 and are seen typically on road construction sites. Sandy said the hay helps pay the taxes on the farm. In fact most money raised on a farm goes back into the farm. Barns to roof, animals to feed, taxes to pay. I asked her if she ever had sleepovers in the giant barn and she said yes but most of her girlfriends didn’t make it through the night.

The dairy barn has been dormant since 1984 when they sold the last of their 32 milking cows. I was shocked to learn that Sandy had never milked a cow. Her father wouldn’t allow it as it was too dangerous. The swift swing of that fierce tail could actually blind you! The neighbor cows (or heifers) were curious and decided to come up to the fence and greet us. Sandy said let’s go in! And once again, I put my trust in her. She is so comfortable with the animals – big and small. It didn’t faze her that every 60 seconds, one of them started to pee a bucket load or poop a pie. I was glad I wore my rubber boots.

I could write pages and pages about life on the farm or all that Sandy taught me that day but mostly, I felt overwhelmed by the expanse of the land, the decrepit barns, the taxes, and a summer of haying. Sandy said it could be overwhelming but mostly, it was soothing. She was brought up in it which makes it all part of her normal life. And no, it is not for the meek.


I asked Sandy if she felt resentful with being left with so much. In her own words, she replied:

“I'm not resentful at all. I am extremely grateful to my Grandparents, my Dad and my Mom for allowing me to be able to live on this beautiful place. My Grandparents and my Mom had opportunities to sell the farm at various stages of their lives; they did not. Yes, my sister and I have a lot of repairs to do, but I understand how the farm got to this place. The small family dairy farm is going by the way side. It's a crime that this is happening. Farmers are getting prices for their milk that they got in the 1950's - how could anyone survive today on a 1950's paycheck?! Never mind trying to make repairs to the property. Any extra money went back into improving the land or buying newer equipment. There have been government buyouts of cows, but the factory farms (out west) then buy more cows and produce more milk! That's a whole other chapter, but one for more research. I could go on and on about this. Do you think I'm a little bit bitter about the "milk industry"?

My life on the farm has made me who I am; and I often think that my experiences here have helped me to cope with the losses in my life. I gain strength from the land, and I take great pride in coming from a farming family. Without farms, there would be no food. I wish that the public could be more exposed to farm life so they would have more of an appreciation for the land and the people who care for it.”

I know I do.

Five week old baby emus hatched 

from eggs on Sandy's farm.

See what carved emu eggs look like here:

Emu Eggs

#7 - SHS Mini Band Reunion - July 10

High School can be a drag for lots of kids and the beginning of blossoming for others. For me, I think it would have been a daily torture if not for being in the band. The unique thing about band is that it spans all grades, it is mostly non-competitive, has students of all body types and scholastic levels, and meets almost every day as well as some nights and weekends. It is almost impossible to spend that much time with people over as many as 9 school years and not form some strong and lasting bonds.

Two of my older brothers started saxophone when they were in elementary school. By the time Dan got to high school, he was allowed to use a school instrument and I was able to pick up the old silver Buescher and became hooked from day one.

The truth is that band was (and is for the most part) really awful during elementary and junior high. Kids start and drop like crazy, you meet for a limited time, and you all just sound horrible. In junior high, we met before school twice a week. It took stamina and desire to keep playing. I think if I hadn't been motivated by seeing my brother Dan's high school band concert and understood the eventual outcome, I may not have been able to sustain. I loved going 'back stage' and meeting the 'musicians' and couldn't wait to be playing with some of them.

Our high school band director, Al Tinkham, was a pretty good guy unless we pushed his buttons to the point of making him throw his baton across the room. He had a good sense for picking music that the audience enjoyed and was the right mix of challenge for his students.

Somewhere between Jr and Sr high, I met Pam C (clarinet). We eventually became joined at the hip and were known around school as a set more so than as individuals. We began adding ‘players’ to our core ensemble: Tom (trumpet), Dave (trumpet), Julie (flute), Carolyn (flute), another Pam (sax), Phil (trumpet), Tony (sax), Maury (flute), and so on. When you have to play parades in crazy layered wool and leather outfits, ride busses packed with kids and large instruments, march behind horses, and sit in the freezing cold at football games to play “Star Spangled Banner,” you have no choice but to be silly, laugh at it all, and create stories for a lifetime.

When Pam invited me to a high school reunion of people connecting on Facebook, we simultaneously thought it would be great to see who we could get from our band to join us. We found Tom in Maine and Dave still in RI but Carolyn was on tour with the Pat Methany band! During the days leading up to the reunion, we all perused our past and scanned and sent pictures from the good old days to each other. It was lots of fun and allowed us to remember things we had all but forgotten.
In this picture: Marianne, Pam, Tom, Dave

On the morning of the reunion, I took an extra long shower since Truman had been sprayed by a skunk the night before and I was sure I smelled. I made my way to RI in a steady sheet of pelting rain and sluggish traffic wondering if this was actually going to happen. Two missed exits and several phone calls finally got me to Pam's house where we went directly to Friendly's to begin our reunion with Tom over a trio of patty melts. We caught up on family and looked through photo albums and yearbooks to study-up for the evening.

In this picture: Mike, Pam, Maury, Tom, Marianne, Dave

Walking into a school reunion after more than 30 years is a somewhat surreal experience. You look at the faces as you walk by but your brain can't process fast enough so you awkwardly scan to the chest where the name tag inevitably was placed and try to make out a name. Did that help? Not always. Do they recognize me and think I am a snob for continuing by? Finally someone yells “Marianne!!” And I know it is Tammy without checking her name – I even knew her husbands name: win-win. After hugs and chatter, we made our way to the back of the bar where our band of bandies had made camp. I hoped I didn't smell like skunk. That is where we found Dave – 30 years later.

He was definitely not that tall in high school. More hugs and memories to share. So many stories were forgotten but when you are with the people in them, they come back. About 10pm we ordered up some greasy snacks and laughed about Tom still being accident prone, Dave coming from a perfect family and raising a perfect family as we had all thought he would, how Pam attracted all the boys but swatted them away like flys, and how I always instigated trouble. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

In this picture: Pam, Tom, Marianne, Dave, Mike, Lusine

The next morning, Pam and I went back to the yearbooks to look up names and marvel at how there was no way that could be the same person! We dressed and drove to Dave's for a cookout and met his perfect wife and perfect kids. Tom and Dave's best pal from high school, Mike, and his beautiful little daughter Lusine also joined us. We got to tell the stories again to his family and each time, a few more details were remembered and added.

I knew these people so well yet I didn't know them at all. Strangers in a way that I felt completely at home with. I didn't want to leave because even though I had forgotten so many details of our past, I clearly remembered that we were all great friends and shared so many laughs, and sometimes tears, together. And it seemed enough just to know that.

I sure hope we don't wait 30 years to do this again!

#6 - Meeting a NASA Astronaut - June 5

Nestled in the heart of the Berkshires, for the last 70 years in a historic 1870 Victorian, is the melodious Berkshire Music School. It was there that I spent 2 years as the Marketing Director for special events, classes, and fund raisers. The music school teaches strings, winds, piano and voice to students of all ages. It is heartwarming to see a 4 year old girl playing a tiny violin or a 65 year old woman singing opera – all in the same recital.

One early summer morning, before the rest of the staff arrived, I took a self guided tour of the nooks and crannies of the old home. In one of the closets, I found a dusty collection of abandoned and forgotten violins. Several months later, these became priceless works of art and were sold at a very successful one-of-a-kind art auction. During the auction planning, I created a website used to promote the violins and the artists who created them. Through the site, I received an email from a women in California who loved the concept and was wondering if we had a poster to sell. I said “Yup!” and began working on one immediately. That poster is the muse for this Blog.

In the early 80's, Stephanie Wilson was a clarinet student at the music school and scholar at her high school with a great interest in astronomy. She went on to study engineering science at Harvard and aerospace engineering at the University of Texas. Diligence and persistence got her accepted to the NASA Space Program in 1996 and she is now a veteran of three space shuttle flights: STS-121 in 2006, STS-120 in 2007, and STS-131 in 2010.

In preparation for her 2007 flight, NASA called various places in the Berkshires on behalf of Wilson to request objects to be flown in space. The music school decided to send one of my violin posters (but not before I signed the back in big bold letters!).

STS-120 Discovery (October 23-November 7, 2007) launched from and returned to land at the Kennedy Space Center, Florida. Designated as flight 10A in the ISS assembly sequence, it was also a crew rotation flight, delivering an Expedition 16 crew member and returning with an Expedition-15 crew member. During the STS-120 mission, the Node 2 module named “Harmony” was delivered to the International Space Station. This element opened up the capability for future international laboratories to be added to the station. In addition, the P6 Solar Array was re-located from the Z1 Truss to the end of the port side of the Integrated Truss Structure. During the re-deploy of the array, the array panels snagged and were damaged. An unplanned spacewalk was successfully performed to repair the array. Wilson was responsible for robotic arm operations for vehicle inspection and EVA support, and she served as the Flight Engineer assisting the Commander and Pilot with space shuttle systems. The mission was accomplished in 238 orbits, traveling 6.2 million miles in 15 days, 2 hours, 23 minutes.

Source: http://www.jsc.nasa.gov/Bios/htmlbios/wilson.html

In May, 2010, Tracy Wilson (no relation) phoned me from the music school to say that NASA called and the poster was being returned home and she would like to invite me to a special ice cream social to commemorate the event. I thought the poster had been 'lost in space' after all this time! It was hot and sunny when Stephanie Wilson drove up to the music school on June 5 wearing her blue NASA jump suit and carrying a portfolio of goodies from outer space. During her last visit home, she signed a violin from our auction and we were able to display it in its new case with an official NASA patch. At the same time, she produced my little poster that had traveled well over 6 million miles to a place that will only be visited by the most minuscule percentage of Earthly inhabitants. She had signed the front and accompanied it with an official patch and mission collage. When she turned it over, I saw my big bold signature verifying that it really was mine. Wow – this is kind of cool!

Students and parents surrounded Wilson to get autographs and hear tales from space. I had a long list of questions but time was limited and I decided it was best to just listen. Someone asked how she felt about the shuttle program being phased out and she said it is time as the technology was outdated and would need to be redesigned and replaced but could not be upgraded. The shuttle has 5 computers each with 28k of memory! I asked what her hope was for the future of space – the ultimate desire. She said NASA's main concern is to continue trying to travel to other planets. Stephanie said from space you could see the deforestation of the Earth as well as the Gulf oil spill and miles and miles of highway and homes. We are depleting the Earth. I wasn't exactly sure what NASA wanted to do. Send humans to live on other planets once we over populate? Ship our garbage to Neptune? Or send the BP execs to Uranus? Whatever it was, we are now working with the Russians to maintain the space station and continue to explore space and beyond.

Stephanie Wilson is smart, gracious, personable, and interesting. She had many stops while home in the Berkshires as well as receiving an honorary degree from Williams College. Maybe if I have the opportunity to talk to her again, I will get to ask her about space hair care, eating, showering, and, of course, space diapers.

Seeing my friends from the music school, Kathy, Sandy, and Tracy, was also a treat. In some ways, it feels like I never left.

The Violin Auction Website  (note: Google Pages are not supported anymore)

#5 - First Golf Tournament - May 26

I am mostly right handed but sports oriented in my left hand which has always been my main excuse for never playing golf. I attempted it many years ago due to frustration of the men taking a golf day or playing with clients, etc., while the women held the office together. But no one ever had clubs for me to use and I couldn't manage to swing right, so my efforts ended without a fight. Then the child bearing and raising years extinguished any glimmer of a thought of golf and pushed it even further away into the way-back pile and teetering on the never-ever pile.

But, last year, after being laid off :( from a great job, I grabbed a set of women's lefty clubs at a tag sale and signed up for lessons with a friend. Even when I put my kids in lessons, they never seemed to get any further than the driving range, and here I was, week after week, trying to smash balls as far as I could – which wasn't very far – but never playing the actual game. However, once people hear that you are taking lessons, they all want to play with you.

In the fall, I was invited by pals Barry and John to play at the GEAA and then I invited Wayne to play at Cranwell with a gift certificate I had won. We played for fun and didn't really keep score of the 9 holes but I do know that in bowling, my score would be coveted. Dave asked me continuously but I refused repeatedly because golfing with him would be like playing basketball with Michael Jordan. It would make my inabilities seem like disabilities.

Now almost 7 months later, Dave asked me to play in a tournament to which I promptly said no. Then I said no to his text and no to his email. He even had Amy from his office call me and entice me with free stuff, good food, sunshine, and beer. Alright, already! But don't have any expectations of me!

May 26, 2010 – The Pittsfield Rotary Club Golf Tournament at the Pittsfield Country Club
Team CompuWorks: Dave, Joe, Amy, Marianne
Format: Scramble

I was excited to finally wear my pink/brown/white plaid shorts and pink top but sadly the thermometer forced me to rethink my choice and 3 outfits later, I had on a sleeveless collared top and loose quick-dry shorts. I dug my clubs out of the garage and tossed them into the car. I remembered that Wayne had done some club swapping so I wasn't even sure what I had in my bag but was excited to find a sweet hot red driver. Perfect.

When we got to the club, we collected bags of tees, raffle tickets, 2 cases of beer mugs (I have no place for these!) and Dave bought each of us a Mulligan. A Mulligan is a 'do-over' card. I was thinking that I would like at least 18 of these. Dave wanted to hit a few balls but I just wanted to go see what was for lunch. Yum – fajitas, homemade guacamole, assorted salads, fresh brewed ice tea, and cookies.

We loaded our cup holders with cold bevies and took off down the path to hole #14. Teeing off feels a little like being on stage. I don't mind being on stage when I know what I am doing but this is different. People who are much better than me looking at my stance, my grip, my swing, and all making comments that are going to have absolutely no effect at this point. We each hit our ball and, ironically, seemed to choose Amy's as the best ball more often than not. I don't think mine was ever used. I am usually pretty good at putting but Dave was in the putting zone (good thing because his driving was way off!) and I didn't even get a chance to putt on most holes. Luckily, I have no golf ego and if I had any at all, it was gone after 8 holes in 90 degree record heat and humidity. I much preferred sitting in the cart sipping ice tea. When we got to putting green #1, the sprinklers went off – Amy and I took the opportunity to run through the refreshing spray. Hole #8 was by the water as were the cottonwood trees. The fairway was filled with big fuzzy white seeds which made it impossible to find your ball. Joe and Dave both lost their balls, Amy's was dead center, mine was hot pink. #8 was also a turtle crossing so we had to watch where we were driving.

After many of my shots, I called “Mulligan!” but I soon realized that this Mulligan was not going to be played by me and that it actually had a street value. We made par on most of our holes and I ended up selling my Mully back to Dave as my contribution to the score. The very last hole was birdied thanks to a beautiful putt by Amy. I screamed for joy in solidarity for my female teammate but mostly because this torture was over and cold brew and hot buffet awaited.

It's now been a week since I played in that tournament and got this blog completed. If I had finished it last week I probably would have summated that golf is torture and I just don't get the appeal. But the pain and exhaustion have worn off and I suppose I am looking forward to playing again in a less pressured situation, fewer holes, and actually counting my strokes so that I can work to improve. I love being outside and the Berkshire scenery is amazing – that could just get me to come back again. But frankly, I still don't really get it. Maybe I should stick with the pole dancing....?

#4 - Mother's Day Race - May 9

I was the fastest girl in the 6th grade at Anna M. McCabe Elementary School. I was selected to represent the school in the 50 yard dash at Field Day competing against the other elementary schools in the area: Raymond LaPerch, William Windsor, and Old County. This meant way more than the end of year 5th grade Spelling B where I tied David Surprenant for the win. No one could catch me – years of running away from 5 brothers who wanted to pulverize me for any or no reason at all was about to pay off big.



I was in a fog of self-imposed pressure at the starting line in a ragged pair of hand-me-down Keds. Usually I ran barefoot at home because shoes never fit me right. I couldn’t even tell you who I was racing against. I could see the finish line – right there – just 50 yards away – not far at all – I can do this! Ready! Set! Go! As the adrenaline rushed from head to toe and I took a colossal breath and clenched my teeth, my foot slipped on the lousy gravel track and in a fraction of a second, my view was of several fannies getting away from me. I didn’t lose, but I didn’t win either. I was crushed. My racing career ended that day quicker than it began.

Fast forward 40 years and I am on the starting line again. The pressure is a little different this time. I am not going to win and have no chance of it but I risk becoming an even bigger dork because I am running with my kids - teens.

When I started this 50x50 blog a month ago, I thought my daughters would be the last to sign up – they didn't really get it and they don't make great efforts to spend lengthy amounts of time with me. But when people started signing up and coming up with cool ideas, Becca surprised me by asking me to run the Women's Running Race on Mother's Day with her. I was very surprised for several reasons:

1. I didn't think she wanted to do anything with me (after all she is nearly 18 which means you suddenly become independent, abundantly intelligent, and rich)

2. I don't run. I don't like to run. I don't run.

3. I had secretly hoped that Mother's Day would be spent at some kind of Belgian Waffle mimosa fruit cornucopia crispy bacon type of all you can eat palace.

I had no choice but to say 'yes' exuberantly. She only gave me a little more than a week’s notice which made getting ready for this arduous 2.1 miler a true challenge. Becca and Andrea have been running since they were little. Their daddy started signing them up for kid's races early on and he now runs a girls summer running club. Track Club

Becca made varsity XC for 4 years and ran track for 3. Andrea is the sprinter on her track team but she does not like distance (neither do I). I always feel like I could get there much faster on my bike. I made some efforts to go out for walks and jogs, hit the treadmill once, half hour on the lateral thigh trainer, but it was really hard with working, cooking, band, band parties, concerts, and socializing with Japanese Rotarians.

As luck may have it (?) Becca was out way too late the night before the race and didn't sleep well and Andrea decided to join us but only if we mix lots of walking with the running. Whew!! This just might work! On race morning, we woke to wind and flakes and I instantly regretted this decision. Andrea made me an English muffin, since time was short, and the three of us grabbed hoodies and gloves and headed to the start. Dave was already there with camera and stop watch in hand as he was the official race timer (don't you think he should have been home making me an omelet?). We got in line with 200 other women ranging in age from infant to 80. Bang! Run! We were off but immediately decided we should save our energy for the crowd of spectators up ahead. I thought the middle of the pack was a good place to be and had my eye on a few women I refuse to be beaten by but the stroller infants were way too fast. We ran past the on-lookers (mostly men) and smiled for our shots before moving into a quick stroll for the long hill.

This is Becca's last few months at home as she gets ready for college and life beyond. I should be proud of the daughter we raised and the job we've done but, actually, I feel cheated. I'm not ready to let go and be done. I am aching for the days when I could throw them in the car and head to the beach with a cooler lunch and make sand castles all day. My role now is handing out cash and rides and yelling “lock the door!” from my bed when the last one comes home. She is struggling to break free and I am latching on. However, that action creates friction and friction makes sparks and sparks ignite and “Holy crap! When the heck are you leaving?!?”

We crested the hill and felt a sigh of relief as the rest of the race would be much easier – mostly level and some gradual downhills. I hope that's how the next few months will go, but I know better. The last half mile was a smooth slope and we ran the whole rest of the way in - crossing the finish line together. Bittersweet.

As we waited for the results, knowing there would be no hardware for any of us, I noticed a young mother standing with her family. She looked to be in her 20's and was holding the hand of her 1 year old daughter while using all other available limbs to rock the 3 carriers on the floor holding her newborn triplet daughters. They were all perfect and beautiful and I overheard her telling someone that she never sleeps. I suddenly felt completely unworthy of exploiting this mother's day and wanted to offer my help to this overwhelmed young mother. If I had any advice to give her at all, it would be to cherish every moment, the good and the bad, because it all goes by in a flash.

xo

Mom

#3 - Meeting Japanese Rotarians - May 6

Konnichiwa!



“What happens at Gail's, stays at Gail's.” That was the story last time I had dinner at Gail's. I warned everyone that I would be blogging this event but that didn't stop them (and Gwen wasn't even there!)….

The Pittsfield Rotary Group Study Exchange received 5 guests from Japan for a few weeks in New England – this week was Pittsfield – and tonight was “ladies night” at Gail's. Gail hosted 3 women from Japan; Mika, Nana, and Tama; and 12 women from Pittsfield (the boys took their guests golfing).


I had so many questions for these ladies but the Americans far out numbered them which made it difficult to address my list. During appetizers of nuts, artichokes, spicy green beans, and mini quiche, Nana told us that she thinks American men are more gentlemen-like than Japanese men. She also thought that our generation had more male/female equality than her mother or her grandmother.

Nana 松岡 奈々 was recently married which gives her more 'power' in their culture than being a single woman. She has married a man about 22 years her senior and a very well to do auto parts manufacturer. Nana is a dentist. They take a trip (usually business related) every month and recent excursions have included Hawaii, Dubai, and Egypt.

The single women, Mika (landscaper) and Tama (massage therapist), told us that there are functions that they are not allowed to go to without a male escort. And the women in Japan must walk behind the men. They think that men holding doors for women in the US make them way more attractive and gentle and I suggested they stay a little longer before coming to conclusions.

These women felt that their generation was somewhat equal to men but definitely not their mother’s or grandmother’s generations.

The ladies were dressed very similar to us but can wear Kimonos out whenever they prefer in Japan. Nana loves kimonos but Mika would rather wear them only to special events like weddings and funerals and the like. Nana shared pictures from her wedding and Mika helped explain the costumes. Brides wear a traditional wedding kimono called shiromuku (white kimono robe), and grooms wear montsuki (black formal kimono). In a traditional Japanese wedding, the brides hair is also styled in the traditional hair style called bunkin-takashimada and adorned with beautiful gold combs and accessories called kanzashi. A white wedding hood called tsuno kakushi is meant to hide two front golden "tsuno", or horns, during the wedding ceremony to symbolize obedience. Ya lost me here. The horns symbolize jealousy and selfishness - attributes that should not be displayed at a wedding in front of the groom and his family. It symbolized her resolve to become a gentle, obedient wife. For the record, I clearly displayed my horns at my wedding so there would be no surprises in the years to follow.

All the ladies are staying at big homes with gorgeous acreage – very different from their small apartments in Tokyo. Mika is planning to ride a horse at the farm she is staying at and Nana was stunned to see a deer on the lawn of Gail’s house. This resulted in a lively discussion of Berkshire wildlife that has been recently spotted: bob cats, black bear, beaver, fox, wild turkey, and deer. The ladies began to giggle and speak to each other in Japanese. Finally they revealed that they thought the topic was hysterical as they never have such sightings in Japan – only cats and dogs and many of them are road kill. Tama was glad she hadn’t seen any “skanks” which we soon realized meant “skunks” – I told her there were plenty of skanks around if she wanted to see some.


Foreigners always make me feel stupid with their knowledge of many languages (and how we Americans struggle with just one). Nana said English is taught starting in middle school but it is not easy to retain since only Japanese is spoken in Japan. She took more English classes as an adult. Their lettering is the same as Chinese but Chinese is very different and they are not able to speak it. She also said that they are not very comfortable around foreigners because they grow up in such a pure Japanese environment.

After dinner, and a few glasses of wine, everyone was comfortable enough to get to the real questions. Nana stood up and announced that there are several American shows that they watch with great interest. One was “The L Word” which I have never seen but it revolves around west coast lesbians and the shenanigans of their daily lives. The women were very surprised that Massachusetts allows gays to marry as it is still kept somewhat hidden in Japan. The next was “Desperate Housewives” and finally, with great excitement, “Sex and the City” with “Carrie Bradshaw”! These shows allow them to learn English and American culture – good grief! What about “Little House on the Prairie”???

So…..one particular episode stuck out for these sophisticated ladies of the Orient. When Carrie and her posse spent a week in LA, Carrie scored an appointment with "the city's premier [bikini] waxer to the stars." Carrie later complained to her friends that she had been “mugged” and felt like a “hairless dog.” Samantha informed Carrie that this was known as a “Brazilian wax” and warned her that it is known to make her do crazy things. Miranda added that it is popular in LA because “the men are too lazy to go looking for anything.”


Now then, Nana, of course, wants to know if this really is popular amongst American women and while I rapidly shook my head side to side with a long low “NooooOooo!” some of the other ladies were up and down with “Uh huh.” WHAT?? While no one was forthcoming with any personal details, Courtney, our teen representative, said it was very popular with teenage girls. WHAT?? They barely got it – now they want to remove it? I don't understand.

Jen wanted to know if I had ever had anything waxed. No. Eyebrows? No. Legs? No. Bikini? No. Folks, I just had my first pedicure 2 years ago – let’s ease into this! Jen said “we must get yee to a waxer!” Guess what? I saw the wax scene in the “40 Year Old Virgin” - Kekkou Desu! (NO Thank You!!)


Steve Carell gets waxed: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w91ARapNx-c

The following evening was another party at Gail’s with all the delegates attending as well as several American Rotarian families. We were treated to Japanese specialties cooked by our new friends: miso soup, Japanese noodles, okonomiyaki (Japanese pancakes), onigiri (rice balls), and daikon (large radishes). In turn, we treated them to a camp fire and S’Mores.

My time with these visitors was way too short. I was just beginning to bond with Nana and friends and it was time to go. There is so much to learn about each other’s lives and cultures and I feel that I had just barely wet my appetite. But I am glad for the experience and another opportunity to complete a 50x50. Tomorrow is another day….


Domo Arigato!!