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San Francisco was (still is, according to some) a capital of
stand-up comedy, which in Japan involves seemingly endless
uses of one comedian slapping another comedian on the head
with a folded paper fan...slapstick fan humor, anyone.
I encountered double-reverse culture shock in a way. I felt
it difficult to relate to both the land of my birth and the
land where I've lived for the past 20 years. In spite of
my familiarity with both lands I could sort of relate to the
novel "Stranger In A Strange Land." But that's my problem.
What I could relate to was my neighborhood and its flower-
basket qualities. It seems everytime I turn around or turn
the corner while riding my trusty (getting rusty) bicycle, I
see flowers blooming. Every tree or shrub seems to take
turns presenting lovely displays of blossoms.
Now it's the "Crape-Myrtle" or "Sarusuberi" trees at festooning our locale with pink and white blossoms.
It's reassuring to know that no matter how alienated one may feel, blossoms tend to ease the angst. I don't remember who
first said it but I recall, "Is this the first blossoming
of love, or are we just blooming idiots?" I suspect Ogden
Nash or Noel Coward...but I'll take being a "blooming
idiot" anytime. Idiocy in such matters becomes me...and
eases transitions if properly applied. Now don't get me
started about Van Gough and his manic sunflowers.
Yurz, Martin
