East Vancouver

It’s pouring rain and the 20 up Commercial Drive is stinking. Denizens of the neighbourhood get on an off, hauling garbage bags of cans, faded backpacks, God only knows.. Today the bus is a temporary refuge from the downpour. I’m at the front, where two women speak loudly across the aisle. One is rocking a baby stroller where a little bond girl is bundled up. The woman’s red hair is limp, she’s a little too skinny and, surely, younger than her wizened face. 

“I want to move out of there,” she tells the other woman. “I’m expecting again. And I’m the only one in the place who’s not using.” She explains that she keeps finding drugs and works lying around the building. It’s not a good place for her daughter. But her social worker won’t let her move out, she says.  “It’s like she’s just waiting for me to fuck up.”  

I got off the bus feeling helpless, pulled up my hood against the rain and shivered. The day suddenly felt a whole lot colder. 

Welcome to East Van.

 

This is a new public art piece in Vancouver, designed by Ken Lum. I cycle past on my way home from downtown. I’m new to the city, but still think it’s fabulous. My art school friend gave me a little primer on Lum and the significance of the sign. The image goes back to the days when East Vancouver was an Italian neighbourhood. It was immortalized in graffiti tags, and maybe used by a gang or two, and is now revived in the form of public art. At night it lights up.

 

Staying warm in Japan

Like many Japanese homes, ours has no central heating, and little to no insulation. Houses here are designed to be aired. Large doors and windows slide open to let the wind blow in. Great in summer, but downright chilly in the winter.

In some ways the lack of central heating makes ecological sense. First of all, put on a sweater and some slippers. Why heat up a whole house when you’re only in one room at a time? For that there are space heaters — electric and kerosene.

image stolen from the internetz

There’s also the kotatsu. Modern kotatsu are tables with built-in electric heaters. A thick duvet covers the table and traps heat inside. A wooden slab goes on top of the stack. Tuck yourself in, flick the switch and your legs stay nice and cozy.

 

 

Another brilliant invention is the Japanese bath. These are shorter and deeper than your average North American tub. When you sit down in the tub, the water comes right up to your neck. Your own personal hot tub. Ours is on a timer so the water is hot just before bed. It does the body good, helping me wind down after a long day, easing my sore muscles and warming me up, before jumping into the futon in the unheated bedroom.

my own personal hot tub

a japanese bath is a beautiful thing.

 

whee! pattern published

for cheerful dish washing.

When I started knitting I swore I would never ever knit a dishcloth. I disguised the first one as a handkerchief. But there’s no excuse this time…

This is my Japanese-inspired Candy Cane dish scrubby. You can download it for free from the Knit Circus website. Yes folks, the lowly dishrag is my first for-real published pattern.

The scrubbies pictured here are knit with a tough jute/acrylic blend.

 

Entre deux saisons – knitting instructions

The pattern is finally ready. I’ve decided to keep it free because I’m still getting the hang of this pattern writing thing. I’d love any feedback. You can also download the PDF from Ravelry.  

cozy wrist warmers

 

 

 

 

 

Click here to read on.

 

knitting gets political

Thanks to the small-world of internerd knitters, I just read good news and some bad news from the Octopus and the Rose blog. The bad news is there are still hateful people in this world who abuse others based on sexuality. The good news is there continues to be encouraging and positive responses to such violence. Cheeky name and all, the Pansy Project is one such response.

(image from The Pansy Project)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(the reward for reading to the end of my rant is a free knitting pattern!)

 

Entre deux saisons

It’s getting on fall in Japan. There’s a chill in the air and it’s time to rake the leaves and harvest the last of the veggies from the garden. Plant bulbs. When we think of fall, it’s often the bold colours. Vermillion, Orange, Gold. But here in Japan it’s the muted colours I see most often: A rice harvest curing in a paddy, fallen chestnuts, distant smokey mountains finally visible as the summer haze lifts.

Back home it’s getting on winter. There are flurries in the forecast, my mum wrote to tell me. “A cute sounding word for something kinda cold and really unwanted just yet…”

The changing seasons were the inspiration for my latest knitting project. Knit with a cozy wool, silk, mohair blend. I’m in the process of writing up the pattern, but here’s a sneak peak.  

entre deux saisons

 

Waxing poetic on litter

Can anyone remember back in 2007 when the City of Montreal handed out 100,000 pocket ashtrays? Yeah… didn’t think so. The goal was to help solve the litter problem. But after the press conference, I never saw another pocket ashtray until… I moved to Japan. 

People here actually use them sometimes. The little ashtrays are also at the heart of an anti-littering campaign lead by Japan Tobacco, with ads appearing on public transit and ashtrays all over the country. Complete with haikus in hilarious English translation, I just had to share a few of my favourites.

 

Inhaled. Burned. Thrown away. If it were anything but a cigarette it would surely be crying. (Seen on Mt. Fuji).

 

Mount Fuji – part one

I’m not one of those early risers you often meet at backpacker’s hostels. You know the kind. Keeners. Alarm set for daybreak. Chipper because they turned in early the night before. Their efficient yet loud movements through the dorm elicit grumps and groans from those less-enthusiastic. The keeners pour over detailed itineraries while drinking coffee from high-tech mugs. They stride out the door while I stumble zombie-like into the shared kitchen, fumble with the kettle, and pick sleep out of my eyes. I’m not denying my own keener status, it just takes me a while to get going in the mornings. That’s why, on my first morning at the hostel in Kawaguchiko, I was surprised to be the first one up in the dorm.

Conveniently located near the base of Mount Fuji, Kawaguchiko is a good base-camp to tackle Mr. Fuji himself, or the many day trips in the Fuji Five Lakes area. I contemplated the empty lounge as I ate my toast. In some ways it made sense. It was almost October. The tourist season is over. Mt. Fuji is technically closed. We’re the stragglers; the ones who put it off.. slept in.. missed the bus.. missed the season..

For my first day, I had a long but easy hike planned up Mount Mitsu-Toge. Figured I’d work up to Fuji, and hopefully find some hiking buddies in the meantime. But, about to head out, I met some guys from New York who were going for it. 

You’re welcome to come, one said. The first bus up leaves in 20 minutes.
Sure. Let me grab another water bottle.

When I came back, the first guy looked at my daypack and runners doubtfully. I’ll be fine, I told him. He finished lacing his hikers and swung his own expedition-sized pack onto his back. Only then did we get around to introductions.

Piotr and Adam arrived late the night before, straight off their flight from New York. They were jetlagged, running on adrenaline. We stopped at the seven-eleven so they could grab a konbini breakfast of champions to eat on the hour-long ride to the 5th station. I grabbed some onigiri for the road. We caught the bus from Kawaguchiko station. The summit was shrouded in cloud, but the ride up was clear and bright. The trees started showing their fall colours as we climbed in elevation.

We arrived at the 5th station just in time for the rain.

 

chestnuts

chestnut reveals it's hidden treasure

For several weeks now a big tree near the house has been throwing spiny pods as me whenever I pass. They litter the path and sting my toes through my sandals on early morning garbage detail. Except annoying, I didn’t know what they were. I grew up near the ocean, so to me they looked like a sort of land-urchin. This week the green pods started turning brown and splitting open to reveal the treasures contained within: chestnuts.

 

Shell of life

The cicada’s wings and exoskeleton are all that remain.

The insects in Japan are large, but most of them aren’t so dangerous. One quickly learns to co-exist. For months the incessent meee-mee-meeee of the cicadas rang in my ears. Someone told me that they make more noise after they mate, which seems counter-intuitive to the usual cycles of nature. The cicada’s season is ending, but their ghosts remain; hard exoskeletons, and wing fragments litter the garden like fallen leaves.

The larger spider presumably ate the cicada. He spun his web outside my bedroom window several weeks ago. The elaborate lacework is almost invisible in the flat daylight, except for the corpses of insects, wound tight with silk.

web of life and death