This was a joy to build, for many different reasons, from beginning to end. First there was the way it came into existence: Mika’s desire to bring the altar and the attendant care out into our lives. It’s right and good. The design process was nothing special (“make her about yay high, and yay wide and yay deep…“), but retrofitting the stretchers was a satisfying challenge and when the unit snapped into place, I had a moment of deep relief. And finally, most importantly from my perspective, was the confidence I felt in doing most of the work with hand tools. I was able to cut things quickly and by eye mostly, or maybe by feel is the better word. I made a few mistakes, but they were brain-os that were small and easily repairable. At any rate, it’s done and it looks very nice, I think.
And finally finally… okay, this is a bit weird to admit… there was an element of revenge involved in this project. Grandpa was not all that into his granddaughter marrying a stinking butter-eating barbarian. He was, in truth, downright rude to me and all my barbarian ancestors. Now, all these years later, I have his ihai sitting on a stand I made out of wood he left behind. Oh yeah, old man? I got your barbarian right here! Enjoy the Shaker furniture!
& after awhile, you mostly get fed up
Accommodating surprise!
Why should you? Why should I?
Sandpaper, take note, young man,
Is The Lord’s very answer to sharp corners
And what that won’t cure? Out!
Once you’ve understood & made clear
Your intentions / instructions
Where everything definitely goes,
Which jar, which shelf, which cabinet,
Fitted every wrench & screwdriver A, B, & C
To its exact right spot on your pegboard…
There’s no need, no need!
Just leave it!
Christ!
Now you’ve hammered and caulked
& checked twice on twice every seam
So nothing’s getting in or out,
Then you get to sit back & nod
With approval because, rule of thumb?
Old people do not travel.
I been rocking Mr. Dave ever since my man C clued me in way back in the way back when. Never seen him live, though I was strolling through Kobe one afternoon and came across Chicken George’s with a poster informing me that, sadly yes, Himself had played there the week before. Drat!
This is our fist winter in the old house. And yes, it is cold. We’ve had several sub-zero (just barely, but sub) nights and days where the hottest part of the day didn’t get above 5°C. The logic of having shrinkable rooms (rooms that can be subdivided with sliding doors) has suddenly become obvious. It’s quite remarkable how good an insulator paper can be. I wouldn’t have guessed that a paper-covered door can actually hold the heat.
But, Lord, it is cold. Nights are the worst, of course, and I sleep in my sub-zero sleeping bag. It’s toasty warm, if a bit eccentric for most Japanese folks. In the old days, the only heating in the house–other than passive solar–was a single metal hibatchi burning charcoal. (Folks were clearly tougher back when.) We have several (five) of the ubiquitous “air-cons” stationed throughout the house, but they are relatively expensive to run, and because they are mounted at the top of the wall, don’t do the best job heating a room.
Mika has long wanted to fire up the old hibatchi, so over New Year’s, she kept it burning all day, burying a live coal in the ash when we went to bed, then reviving it first thing in the morning. It sort of works, but what a creosote-y stench! Plus, it looks like a major fire waiting to happen.
Finally broke down last week and bought a fancy new kerosene heater that really does the trick, but, man, does it drink the kerosene! These houses are definitely more comfortable in the heat than the cold.
I’m stymied with my kotatsu table because I haven’t bitten the bullet and tried to negotiate my way through a wood deal at the hard wood mill. That’s going to take some doing since the old guy, cool as he is, speaks a very thick version of local dialect, which means I have to rely on Mika, who’s never keen to haggle over anything. Also, he’s got the idea that I’m going to show up with several trucks and buy — I don’t know — thousands and thousands of dollars worth of wood.
