Abstract Arrangement

I've always loved flower arranging in Japan because it goes so far beyond a vase. This arrangement, which I made in a recent class, was created by pushing wire enforced (so they bend easier and stay standing longer) flowers and leaves into green water-retaining foam. The entire arrangement symbolizes a climb towards heaven as well as the relationship between heaven, earth and humans (the Sunflowers). It also hints at the Japanese ideal of subtlety as you have to look closely to observe the yellow roses at the bottom. After taking my arrangement home and staring at it for a few hours, however, the abstract nature of the summer grass started grating on me and I had to take it all out.

I am much happier with this version of my arrangement, although I can't help feeling that it looks very western compared to the first one. My favorite aspect of either version, and this particular experience with flower arranging, came at the very end of the class when our teacher told us to take all the flower scraps on the table, including stems and leaves, cut them up/apart, and use them. We weren't allowed to leave any scraps on the table and I absolutely loved it! I have a veritable forest at the base of my arrangement from perfectly good leaves and stems that I would have thrown away otherwise.

Another fun thing about this class was seeing how differently everyone's arrangements turned out despite following the same directions. The roses especially seemed to bring out personalities as some people displayed their roses prominently above all other foliage, while others buried them as deep as possible. Regardless of how the flowers were placed, however, the arrangement wilted within about 24 hours. Overall, it was a neat lesson in spiritual symbolism, subtle beauty, conservation, individuality and impermanence - oh, and flower arranging.

Pass the Sugar, Please

The other evening we had the opportunity to have dinner with friends, hosted by a Japanese family. After a first-rate dinner of pork cutlets and gyoza, a light pudding was served for dessert. As I ate my pudding I couldn't help savoring the subtle hint of sweetness coming from the cream used to make the pudding. I thought to myself how well it was that I could enjoy a pudding that had such subtle flavors, especially for an American palate. I was just about to congratulate myself on finally adjusting to the non-sweet and often bland nature of Japanese cooking when the daughter of the family suddenly pushed her pudding away in disgust exclaiming, "I can't eat this! It's too sweet!" I was shocked and infinitely grateful that I'd kept my mouth shut. Her mother apologized to her daughter, saying, "I'm sorry, but because I knew foreigners were coming to dinner, I added more sugar than usual." I couldn't believe it. I ate the rest of my pudding slowly, trying with all my might to think it was too sweet. Needless to say, I failed miserably and spent the rest of the evening quietly pondering my inability to recognize sweetness when it was presented in such large quantities. What other flavors might I be no longer capable of tasting due to my years of overindulgence in Western society? Just some food for thought . . .

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Look closely at this picture and you'll find that if it had been taken in America, there would be two serious problems; those being the omission of the numbers 4 and 9. Because this picture was taken in Japan, however, the mishap of omitting these numbers would be nothing compared to the disaster of including them.

The Japanese consider 4 and 9 to be very unlucky numbers due to their similarity to the Japanese words for death and agony when pronounced. Many hospitals and other buildings in Japan do not use these numbers on rooms or for floor numbers. Instead, they have opted to use words or letters to represent these floors, such as the letter 'F' for the fourth floor. In other cases, such as the one seen above, apartment managers or airlines may choose to simply exclude these numbers altogether.