I have a long “to do” list and I don’t want to do any of it. What I really want to do is talk to my sister Linda, who died in February. I am lucky that I can still hear her. I have been listening to some audio tapes she made in 1989 when she and her family lived in Osaka, Japan for 9 months while her husband did research at the University of Osaka. That’s how we communicated, mailing cassette tapes back and forth. It was the easiest and most personal way we could stay connected. There was no internet or FaceTiming in 1989. ![]() In the tapes she described her daily life. It was challenging just to do simple every day tasks. Laundry was one of them. The apartment had a mini washer but no dryer. She hung out the laundry on the balcony of their student apartment. Despite all the modern conveniences in Japan, for some reason clothes dryers were not considered a high priority. Everyone hung their clothes outside, rain or shine, even when it was snowing. Getting clothes to dry was like climbing Mount Fuji. Grocery shopping for a family of five that didn’t eat fish was another hurdle. She walked to a super market in her neighborhood where there was an entire aisle of seaweed but no peanut butter. Strawberries cost $1.00 each and a single cantaloupe was $45. Hamburger, a staple for her family in the US, was $10 a pound. She would buy a chicken breast and turn it into curry to feed the whole family. Their apartment was tiny, with five people squeezed into two small bedrooms. The kitchen/living room/dining area was only a little bigger than the size of their bathrooms at home. She had a two burner stove and a mini oven where she could bake 6 cookies at a time. The toilet was by itself in a little closet, with the bathtub in a separate room. It was one of the few places for some privacy. The tub was a Japanese soaking tub, short and deep. You showered outside the tub before you got in. Lin liked to take baths as a stress reliever. What surprised me was that despite the hardships she loved her life there. For the first time in her adult life she wasn’t working and she could just focus on taking care of her family. She talked about actually having time for herself. Even though the demands of being a Mom in a completely foreign culture were incredible, every day was a new adventure. She enjoyed exploring when she could, taking a train to Kobe where there were American goods available, including that elusive peanut butter. The apartment complex they lived in was for foreign students and there were lots of activities for the family. They met people from all over the world and would often get together with other families in the apartment building. The kids went to Japanese schools and had friends from the apartment and from school. They each learned varying degrees of Japanese and when they walked in the door, they all yelled “Tadaima!” (basically “I’m home!”) a traditional Japanese greeting. On one of the tapes she described a trip to the store as if she was on a travel channel, walking past the Budist cemetary with it’s tightly packed grave stones, seeing the women gather on the corner for a chat, and watching an old farmer in his garden. She noticed that many of the older women wore simple traditional kimonos while everyone else was dressed in modern clothes. On a rare occasion she would see someone wearing an elaborate expensive kimono headed to some special occasion. She had many opportunities to meet new people and got to know quite a few women during her time in Japan. And she was invited into their homes, a very special honor. She talked about a high school boy who came by regularly to speak English with her. His father wanted Lin to tutor him but she didn’t want to do that and instead spent time just talking with him. She learned a lot about the pressure put on Japanese kids to do well on tests that determined their future education and job opportunities. He went to school day and night and rarely saw his father, a “salary man” whose job included drinking with his fellow workers every night and golfing with them on weekends. It all seemed to be an accepted part of life in Japan. She was looking forward to the future and going home too, hopeful that she could get a job in the new school where she had helped develop their curriculum. As I listened to her tapes I wanted to warn her that the future was not going to be what she hoped. She didn’t know that 1990 was going to be one of the hardest years of her life, that our sister Sue would die, her family would be torn apart, and her life would be turned upside down. But you can’t talk to a cassette tape. You can only listen.
What I wouldn’t give for a chance to tell her how much I miss her and how much I admire her willingness to embrace and enjoy the challenges of living in a completely different culture. The tapes are a treasure. She is IN them, her triumphs and her disappointments, her strengths and her weaknesses, her humor and her anger are all preserved. Because of the tapes she still has a voice even though she isn’t here.
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Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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