For the past two months, my children have been running in from playing outside to report that the landlady was at it again — fan dancing, that is.
“How do you know?” I asked one day.
“Oh, we were watching her through her window!” said Aiden, with matter–of–factness.
“Eek! Yeah, um, how about you not look through other people’s windows!” I scolded, knowing they probably couldn’t help themselves. My children wouldn’t have had to crane much, while they rode their bikes down our shared driveway, to see inside the ground-level windows, often open to let in the breeze.
Secretly, though, I wished to see her, too.
Athough she’s a farmer’s wife, and occasionally helps in the fields, Sasaki-san, my landlady, has a certain poise about her. Her hair is always neatly coiffed, and she daintily walks her white fluffy Coton de Tuléar, Lamb (pron. “Ra-mu” here), down the driveway to visit with her husband while he works in the fields or under his blue tarp-covered gardening tent.
One sunny day after days of rain, while I was pinning my laundry to the line, she brought me a small poster about a neighborhood rice-harvest festival on October 4th.
She was speaking in Japanese, and kept pointing to herself and then to a time on the event schedule. I had understood the word “matsuri”, but not much else.
She paused for a moment to think. Then, she started air-fan dancing in front of me! (I am so thankful for her patience and mercy towards me!) “Hai, wakarimashita!” She was going to perform a fan dance at the festival and was inviting us to attend.
The festival took place at a hidden little community park less than a mile from our house. Even though it was practically in our back yard, I’d never noticed it before. In the flat openness of the rice fields, unless you’re up close, the garden looks like a mere rogue clump of Japanese Maple and bamboo from the outside. Yet, nestled inside is a secret garden, boasting a quaint tea house and many stone statues of frogs… and it’s other-world beautiful.
As we walked down the pebble paved path from the narrow road toward the garden park, our landlady shuffled in her geta over to us – clothed in a floral-accented emerald green kimono.
She was lovely, and seeing her made me hope that I age as beautifully as she.
Sasaki-san directed us to a tent-covered picnic area, with a great view of the stage. Then, she excused herself and went back stage – she was next to perform.
