Furnishing up the house

Last week, we welcomed a new fridge to the house and sold the small one to a secondhand shop.

It had been our long-term wish to get a fridge of bigger capacity and higher efficiency. However, the moment of selling away the old one was full of struggles. This small kitchen helper was made in 2007 and had been with K since he started living alone. It had assisted me in carrying out housewiferies for more than 2 years. Although it was small, it fulfilled its duties.

We called a secondhand shop for an estimate and reached a deal. When the shop assistant was checking on the fridge and finally produced a number that showed its value, I was emotionally disturbed. It had nothing to do with the job of the lad, but more to do with the act of evaluation itself. My life in Japan had been connected to this little companion in many aspects, and it had been, in a very anti-feminist way, a marker of a new identity that I assumed in this country. And the evaluation itself felt like a judgment on my attachment to the fridge and an final examination of my performance as a wife.

When we were informed that it would be worth 2000 JPY, I felt slightly hurt and perhaps insulted. What did the number 2000 mean? If I had had been a better wife, would it be more valuable than this? Or, it did not matter at all. I am sure I was not greedy in terms of money. It was the pride as a 'housewife' that was hurt, I guess.

I remember the gas stove that we had to remove before we moved into this new place. At that time, the stove was too dated to be of any monetary value, and it was simply taken away by another recycle shop. The shop assistant said that he couldn't offer a price because it would be illegal to trade on an old machine like that, but he offered to take it away because it was still in a good condition. There was a moment of suspicion in me, but it was soon dismissed by a false sense of pride aggrandized by his flattery on my wifery work. It might not be the truth behind his offer and the deal at all, but his compliment (which was only clear to a housewife, I have to admit) had made it less unpleasant to let it go.

(image from todoebook.com)

A Pale View of Hills

by Kazuo Ishiguro

It is a story about several women of different ages in Nagazaki after the second world war and long after.

The narrative is unmistakably Ishiguro leaving a lot hidden and unsaid. However, these uncovered secrets do not spoil the story at all but only make it more intriguing.

I really want to know what have happened to Etsuko, Sachiko and Mariko after all of them left Nagazaki!

The Garden

It has been almost a year till now, a long process, since I started cultivating a garden.

A house should come with a garden, I believe, as it is a living sigh of how the house owners are connected to that piece of land. It also embodies the owners' views on their lives in relation to the environment.

I cannot recall since when I started to brew the desire for owning a garden, or, a simple green space. I am sure that I have hated cement since the early stages of my life: it is a sign of lifelessness and despair. Insects and worms have never been my thing either! During those years in York, a profound interest in greens and flowers has taken root in my mind, I guess. The city and the university campus are surrounded by great nature. A close friend of mine showed me how to enjoy herbs in every

aspect of life: she used lemon balm in sweets, basil in pasta, sage for tea, and lavender and rose to scent rooms.

Perhaps since then I have been dreaming of a garden of my own. Perhaps it is also a way in which I could stay tuned to those days in England.

Following the blueprint that I drew for the garden after we moved in, I started the garden project by creating a first brick patch on the ground, the second last winter, the thir

d and the fourth in the spring, 2011.

Since I was very ignorant about gardening at first, the selections of plants were pretty random, mainly based on choices available on the market in that season. This learning-by-doing process is full of anxiety, uncertainty, and surprise, and is overall smoothed by a sense of achievement. I am also keeping a

gardening diary in which the guidelines on nurturing each plant are noted, a calendar of watering and fertilizing is recorded, and pictures of first blooms and sprouts are kept.

When snow blanketed the ground last winter, I was worried about those young lives on the ground, but it was at the same time amazing to see the beauty of the greens against the snowy backdrop. Every single stem survived the winter, fortunately but unsurprisingly.

the garden in the winter

The earthquake in the spring 2011 hampered the flow of life in Japan, and the crisis of Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant and the fear of radioactive substances thereof shut everybody up indoors. I was anxious for several days, but the debate abo

ut renewable and safe energies and the concerns for the

environment pressed me to the garden. First, I was seeking for some distractions; second, when would be a better timing than this to create more green space in the world?

I completed the brick circles according to my am

ateurish plan in the midst of gloomy atmosphere among the public. But the colorfulness of printemps and the vigor that the garden showed provided irreplaceable consolation.

the garden in the spring (before completion)

At the early summer, K and I spent 2 or 3 weeks clearing the empty ground, preparing the soil, and planted turfs. The turfs brought K, who had never showed a singular interest in gardening, to the garden everyday to discern their progress and admire his own work.

the garden in May

When the summer settled in, the shade o

f green dominated the landscape. Sometimes too green, if we did not work hard enough to trim and mow.

the garden in the summer

Then in mid-summer, trees moved in in the front yard. I paved steps and small wooden fences to give it a girly appearance.

the front yard

peony in May

dahlia in July

I always think that the garden means a lot to me: both the creation and the maintenance of it. Creating the garden is to create a bound between the gardener and the land, between me and the house, between me and the person who lives with me on the land. Keeping a garden is similar to keeping a pet, or even having a child. While one may easily move away with the child or the pet to a new place, it is not possible to pack up an entire garden. Garden is the stamp that one makes on the land.

Maintaining the land is to tend a relationship to the land, to declare one's settlement in that place and one's attachment to those which have brought her to the land.