Sunday, March 11, 2007
Sayonara Dragons!
It’s a cloudy Friday morning and with my body is sore from our hike to Hiji falls, I’m happy to have a day at home. Art dresses in a suit, takes one of our laptop computers and goes to the “One or Eight Internet Café” to work on http://www.okinawa.com. I spend the morning finishing my Soaring Dragon Ear Cuff wax.
John has never fully recovered from the cold we all had last month and this morning he complains that his throat is sore and he sniffles and coughs as he lazes in front of the television. I nag him to read his novel for school, but he resists and I get lost in the concentration of my work and let him be.
The cupboards are bare and I break to ride my bicycle up to the market in Shintoshin. I take John’s empty backpack so that I can carry home the groceries. I buy a large bottle of vitamin water for John and two tiny concentrated bottles of a vitamin C cocktail. These tiny vitamin drink bottles are a novelty to me and there are dozens of varieties to choose from. Deciphering the Kanji labels would be impossible for me but the “1350 mg C” stands out clearly from the kanji and I place them in my tiny shopping cart. The vitamin water is a great idea and I wish we had this at home. The large 2 liter bottle contains 4,000 mg of vitamin C. It’s a slightly sweet citrus flavored drink, but not as intensely sugared as soda. I buy all that I think I can fit into John’s backpack, including 6 eggs and peddle home. The eggs make it home unbroken.
It’s now late Friday afternoon and I have been agonizing over shipping my three original dragon waxes to my casters back in the U.S. I have considered carrying them home with me, but that will not allow time for casting and for the stones to be set before my summer shows begin. Scheduling aside I am equally worried about carrying home “all my dragon eggs in one basket” so to speak. (I think this journal entry has an egg theme to it.) I carefully remove the gemstones from the dragons and package each of the three dragon waxes in small zip lock bags and tuck the tiny bags gently into a soft nest of shredded plastic bags accumulated from marketing . I place the “nest box” inside a larger box, also padded with recycled plastic bags and carefully fill out the mailing label. I place my treasured dragons inside John’s backpack and bicycle off to the post office. It is misting lightly and as I peddle, I worry that the package will get lost, or that the waxes will break, or melt. This tape plays over and over in my head and I am anxious and emotional when I arrive at the post office. Unlike our post office at home on a Friday afternoon, there is no one in line. I was here two days ago gathering forms and asking questions and two women recognize me and motion me to the counter. They look my form over and frown in confusion when they come to the content declaration on my form. I have printed neatly, “4 original wax sculptures.” (John’s wax carving of his beetle Frack is also enclosed in the package.) Wisely, I have brought along my cell phone and I dial Art and ask him to explain what is inside the box. I also tell him I would like to insure it for $500; not that $500 would compensate me in any way for all the time invested, but I think the insurance might give the package some special care. I haven’t sealed the package and John’s wax is separate from my dragons and easily accessible. I show the women the beetle wax. She asks if it is a candle? Art speaks with the clerks for several minutes and then hangs up. They take my forms over to a supervisor and the three of them talk for some time, and then make copies of the forms. I watch this all anxiously. One of the women returns and points to my phone and I dial Art again. She looks very puzzled throughout this second conversation. I need to call Art a third time and he is exasperated with the whole situation and is short with me. The gist is that t is too complicated to insure the package and that it will take a week to 10 days to get there. Art suggests that I wait until Monday and ask Narumi to help me mail the package. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and struggle not to cry. I know that the addresses are correct, that the box is well packed. With hand signals I tell them to go ahead and mail the package without insurance. I am reasonably certain that the package will arrive safely, but to be unable to communicate and be completely dependent upon others to do things for me diminishes me to tears and I cry as I bicycle home.
Art is home when I unlock the door and it’s pretty obvious that I am upset. John is feeling worse and is reading his novel quietly. I sit down to my work table and try to focus on a new project. Art breaks the silence with light humor, suggesting that he take his “miserable” wife and son someplace bright and cheery for dinner. It’s drizzling lightly and we catch a taxi to the D.F.S. Mall and glide up the sleek escalator to the stylish Galleria Food Court. Our intent is to sit outside on the covered patio, but there is a private party going on and we are not on the guest list. John inhales his hamburger and is anxious to leave, but we ply him with dessert while Art and I eat leisurely and share a small flask of awamori. The 4 inch ceramic flask of awamori is presented on a tray beside two glass tumblers, bottled water and an ice bucket. Art clinks ice into our glasses, adds the awamori, mixes it with bottled water and stirs. A few sips into the icy cold drink and I feel much happier.