O Christmas Tree.

This December, my husband and I have a mantra.
We didn't make it up.
We stole it.
From the beloved seasonal jingle:

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".

Our purpose behind quoting the title of this nostalgic little tune to one another
is simply to serve as a reminder.
It has been our way to filter out unnecessary busy-ness.
In the past we have struggled with this month being quite the hectic holiday.

Because of this new rubric, a few of our conversations lately have gone like this:

Extra decorations?
Does it fall under "merry little Christmas?"
Not really no.
Then we can put those extra lights back.

Should we host some parties and put Pinterest to good use?
Does it fall under "merry little Christmas?"
Definitely not.
Great, you can make that life-size gingerbread house some other time...

Should I go buy some extra last minute gifts for the nieces and nephews?
"merry little Christmas?"
I suppose that does not fall in that category.
See? And don't worry, they will have plenty of presents from the grandparents.

I guess to some this discipline might seem silly. People I suppose could argue that
being Christmas minimalists could rob us of the overall spectacular-ness of Christmas.

And they might be right.
We might be missing out on some crazy light shows,banquets, or shopping sprees...

but I'll tell you what we are not missing out on.
Joy.

For example,this past Sunday,
for no extra money, and without going out on the town or piling up our schedules,
we decorated our tree and stopped in the middle of all the broken pine needles and
mis-matched ornaments-for a slow dance in our sweatpants.

Heart. Full. Of Joy.

And you know what Christmas song had come on our scratchy radio
to spur on that picture perfect moment?

That's right.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

So here's to you and yours', and wishing you the same,

Love,
The Urans

Pep Talks.

This morning I stumbled across my dog-eared copy of Dante's Inferno. The one from my junior year of college.

I wasn't studying it for a particular assignment during that time. It was just some of the "light reading" I carried around in my beat up Jansport backpack in case I ever found myself with a free moment during the day. I'm sure it had something to do with wanting to impress my at the time philosopher peers...(fine,it was a guy). But as I thumbed through it's worn pages over this morning's coffee it was clear to me that at that specific juncture in my scholastic career,it was much more than just an accessory. I really loved that book. I loved the writing of it. The prose was inspiring.(I said so on at least 20 different pages in purple ink and with underlines and hearts!). The spastic scribbles in the margins of that literary masterpiece showed me something remarkable. I didn't just carry that thing around to look deep and detached from the physical world. I really dug it. And when there was time between classes or time between loads of laundry or time during Biology labs, that ratty old book was the first thing I reached for. NOT my phone. And certainly not Instagram, with it's countless uploads of friends and families around the world.

But now...after entering the supposed decade of maturity and really knowing oneself,that is exactly what I reach for when I have a second to spare. No more buying time with great books and great words. Just pictures for this gal please! Any free time is devoured with a trained muscle reaction to grab my cellular device and scroll through a strange amalgam of cute babies,fall leaves,hipster lattes,and a crap ton of selfies.

Now I know what you are thinking. That I must be on the brink of going all 1900's and making sweeping proclamations about social media and how nobody really connects anymore. But I promise you. That is not what is about to go down. Besides, of the seven family members/friends that actually read this little Blorg, know that I myself am just as guilty of posting at least one (if not all) of the above mentioned examples and have therefore lost any credibility to even stand near that soap box. No. The following list is rather an electronic "message in a bottle" to myself. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be able to break the cycle and stop looking at pictures long enough to actually read it.

"Top Five Reasons-Why Instagram has made you (yes you,Jessi) a More Dumber Writer."


1. It makes you think you are pretty dope and famous without ever breaking a sweat. You are able to zoom in on a character, mood, and story, and then self publish...Instantly... all by only ever using your thumb. No red ink. No editors. No blinking cursor. Just you, putting your own wonderful perspective on the world. And you begin to give yourself unearned pep talks. "You are welcome world. That was a great little picture-story of my dog at the park. Don't worry. I will publish the sequel tomorrow." This becomes quite a predicament. By the time you plop down at a desk to do even the start of the work involved putting ink on paper, you're ridiculous self-talk has already convinced you that the process will be easy and void of any actual effort. When faced with the slightest opposition to this fairy tale mantra, say for example the door bell rings or the oven timer goes off, you throw in the towel, exhausted, and instead opt to upload a photo of you at your desk with #thewritinglife #didHarryPottertakethislong?

2. You are an apiring writer. NOT a photographer. Just because you know how to use a filter on a smart phone, or increase the contrast to 1,000 percent on a black and white photo of a brick wall does NOT mean that you are the next Ansel Adams. Get a hold of yourself, woman.


3. No book will ever be written in hash tag form. So stop trying to perfect this skill. Let's be real here, you spend wayyyyy too much time trying to be funny and creative with your number sign narratives and you are wasting actual, good brain material on things that nobody else can read.
#doesthisdressmakemelookfat?icannevertellonmyown
or
#makingchocolatechipcookieswhowantssomecomeonoveriwilltextyoumyaddresswhenigetacall
is just flat out embarrassing. Stop it. Besides. The few times that you do actually sit down to write a word document you are starting to forget to hit the space bar. And that is basic stuff there is scary to think you are losing. #getalife


4. Odds are you aren't going to even read this fourth reason here because your mental timer to stay focused on one thing for more than 2 minutes at a time has already gone off. One can only assume you are on your phone right now at this very moment checking Instagram. So I won't waste any wisdom on number four while you are tied up on another screen.


5. Lastly, constantly looking at pictures has all but ruined your ability to imagine vivid images on your own OR to artfully communicate those images to anyone else by just using words. Which, let's be honest, if you can't do either or those two things...then writing probably isn't your gonna be your bread and butter. In addition to this, if you only ever focus or think about other people's pictures of the real and present, you won't ever be able to create something entirely new or creative. Good thing the existence of unicorns didn't depend on someone capturing it on Instagram. They just are because someone was able to see this glorious, mystical creature and describe it in brilliant detail to someone else. And then BAM. Unicorns were created. Enough said.


So there you have it. My blunt and painfully honest sermon to myself.
The irony of it all is that these things are not at all a new revelation.
Oh no. As a writer, you are well aware when you have found a vice-an escape from the duties of the desk.
I think that this is just the first time I have actually ever vocalized it to myself in written form.
Hopeless much?
Perhaps.
But what's that thing they always say? Something about admitting something...first steps...
Oh I can't remember.
Anywho...speaking of Instagram...

Loving Life. Living Love.

Salutations to all, whether friends or kin I am just tickled that you stopped by to read my electronic diary....Actually, I'm not sure my audience will consist of either of those two addressee's. Most of you actually may not know me. I've spent the majority of my life living a very low profile. Mainly in attics and basements. The occasional car trunk. The past several years wouldn't be quite what I would call glamorous, but I've always had a roof over my head and a place to call my own.

The thing is, I used to be content with my simple little homes. Darkness was often my only constant companion. I became quite accustomed to being not seen...or heard for that matter- part of the background's background so to speak.

But one day something happened. I don't quite know how to explain it, but it was as if a well that I thought was forever dry and without life, bubbled up inside me. I found myself bursting forth with a renewed vigor and excitement to see the world! I had always heard of colors and sights and sounds outside attic windows, but suddenly I had this unspeakable urge to wake up and find my own story. I was tired of imagining. Tired of dreaming.

So I took action. It's like this. I figure that even if I shoot for the moon and miss...at least I will land in the stars... even if I fail! I want to dance like no one is watching and seize the day, because You Only Live Once. These are just some of pieces of profound gold that I am just waiting to unleash to whomever will listen. Keeping quiet and secluded for long periods of time allows one to really ponder the mysteries of the universe. And boy have I got some real mind blowing knowledge bombs. So stay tuned for more of those free bees. In the mean time, enjoy these fantastic images from the amazing city of Rockford in November!!

Classic landmark!! I think this was just built in fact! There must not be a lot of people around because word hasn't gotten out that this beut of a sculpture is open for photographic business. Check out that color red! I could just eat it up! It's a fantastic reminder to each of us to stand up for what we believe in isn't it?

Ah yes! And look! Just a day into my new life and I am already finding friends! This young gal and her pup were just too for cute. She is a real firecracker of a gal though I tell you-wouldn't even scoot over to let us take a picture together. She has such a passion for life at such a young age. Children, you are the light of the future. We could all learn a lesson or two from beauties like you. Keep on reading girlfriend and shine bright like a diamond!

After a full day of excitement I have found that there is nothing I enjoy better than sitting down at the kitchen table with a mug piled high with honey milk and whip cream. Life is sweet but there's always room for it to be sweeter in my opinion!

With that said I will leave you all with a few of my new found favorite things!! Keep on going for those dreams! They are golden just like you friends!!

Favorite new artist: ENYA. She is fantastic and sounds like a heavenly angel! She also has a real variety to her musical skills and I find her to be TRES inspirational. (TRES is French for Very in case you guys didn't know).

Favorite new drink recipe: Honey Milk with Whip Cream:

Take one cup of milk and put it on the stove.
Then take 4 scoops of honey and mix it in.
Then heat it up until it's frothy.
Then put it in a festively fun mug and load it up to your hearts content with whipped cream.
Mmmmmm. Yummers.

Enjoy!
Can't wait to share next week's adventures with you all!

Peace and Love and Your New Friend Forever Forever,
Feth Bontana

Day Seven.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But I don't always agree.

You could have a really great photo, with textbook composition and lighting and just the right shutter speed, but something might be missing. Words on the other hand can tell of a time in history that is worth revisiting. And if it's done correctly, the words themselves can become an image.

Take for example this snapshot that was captured on our last traveling day in Japan. To most browsers they may just see it as a girl in a river, enjoying the beauty of the scenery around her. No extra words needed.

But what you would walk away not knowing, was this...

A small town just outside of Hanno, nestled between mountains and covered in towering pines was where my Dad spent his high school years. To my sisters and I, the only thing we really knew about his time there with my grandparents was how they lived next to a river that occasionally flooded with heavy rains. We grew up knowing about this house and how he spent a summer gathering rocks from the riverbed and building a retaining wall with the companionship of his golden retriever Boss.

Which is why I was so surprised when we arrived. The town was not at all what I had pictured. The very first thing I noticed as we stepped out of the taxi was how quiet it was. You could hear our footsteps on the gravel as we walked down the small street, winding back towards their old home. At first I could only catch glimpses of the water through the overgrown brush, but then suddenly there it was. It took my breath away for a moment and we stood silent beneath the trees.

In that instant I could hear the sounds of their summers. Grammy calling out "Steve, time for lunch!" from the kitchen window. Grandad whistling over a project in the yard, and Boss bounding into the water as my Dad called him to come get one more rock.

Standing there was like being in church witnessing something that you know is sacred and you feel blessed just to be an onlooker. But something tugged at my heart that afternoon to go beyond the beauty of simply looking back on a memory, and to instead, make a new one.

So we took off our shoes and went further in.

The water was ice cold and the rocks were grey and smooth.

I stopped for a moment to look down and catch my balance, and what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks and brought tears to my eyes.

There they were. My feet. My bare feet, in the same riverbed that my Dad stood in as a teenager with his bare feet. Long before he ever knew what his career would be, who he would marry, how many kids he would have, or that he would even be able to take those kids back to this same spot, he stood where I stood and felt the same mountain water run swiftly between his toes.

It was a sincere and profound moment for me. It was as though I got to hear the very voice of God say to me, "You see? I am bigger than time. I know what your father did not know when he stood here, and I know what you do not even know as you stand in this same place. I am bigger than all of this."

He is so much bigger. But the other thing that struck me about that day is that regardless of how big our God is, He is still so loving and specifically good to each one of us in exactly the way we need it.

I say this because as we waded down to the swimming hole, I urged my Dad to make a new memory and swim again. And he did. And as I sat on the bank with grateful tears streaming down my face I could swear I was watching a 16 year old boy, arms flailing and wohooing into the crystal blue waters. Sitting there taking video and listening to him laugh was one of the best gifts that I have ever been given as a daughter.

It was a day so extraordinarily rare.

As we rolled our pant legs back down and put on our socks over cold, damp feet, I took one of the stones from the riverbed and slipped it into my pocket. It sits on my desk even now as I write this. At any given moment when I look at its smooth lines weathered over time, I am taken back to that perfect afternoon.

The one where I had the opportunity to get a glimpse of the depth and love of my God, and witness the richness and spirit of my dad.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But I don't always agree.

Day 6

Oh Tokyo. Where to even begin with you. For anyone who knows me well, one of my many weakness and irrational fears is being cramped into small spaces and pressed into mass crowds against my will. And yet early yesterday morning, after a morning snack of Mr. Donuts and coffee, we boarded the Shinkansen train and headed straight for the heart of exactly this kind of insanity.

My dad, having witnessed just a small spectacle of what a two person elevator can do to my psyche, told me that regardless of my qualms about space that I needed to go and experience it just to see it all. Since we wouldn't be staying there but more than a few hours on our trek to Hono, I was able to shakily prep myself for what was to come.Or so I thought.

The minute I stepped off the train I quickly realized that nothing could have prepared me for what those few hours would hold

Immediately we were swept into the moving swarm. The station seemed to me the equivalent of a large hive. It had its own electric buzz. The only difference between this scene and the one in nature, was that none of the metaphorical "bees" looked anything alike. The train station lobby was really the first time I had seen an array of nationalities on the trip other than the Japanese. In addition to the various ethnicities represented there were number of outrageous and beautiful styles represented as well. Such strange sights I have never seen, not even during my few years residency in Chicago.

Just as the heat and the merging masses were about to overtake my senses and I began to border on shut down mode, we turned the corner and went underneath a massive archway that ushered us to a road sequestered by towering oaks. The further away we trekked from the city, the closer we came to one of the most well known Shinto shrines and its surrounding gardens.

There was sap on tree bark the size of large, amber marbles and the birds above sang their tunes in such volume that it would seem you had stumbled back into some prehistoric time. There were of course still numbers of people, but the grey, pebbled road leading towards the temple gates was the size of a highway. I walked in awe that just moments ago we were in the bustling chaos of one of the most populated cities in the world and then suddenly I was here, breathing the scent of forest and flowers and watching people walk around the temple courts, writing down prayers and hanging them at the base of one of two towering trees. My dad told me to always look at the placement of trees in places like this. That unlike most architectural feats, the Japanese incorporated nature into their designs as key elements of structure. So for example, while it is easy to walk into the courtyard and see only the large tiered roofs and intricate tiles, the two towering tree pillars that had been there for hundreds of years were perhaps the true glory of that place.

As we headed to leave we noticed a traditional wedding taking place further off in the distance. The timing of being able to see something like this is just not something you can ever plan. To see the image of a young woman, shrouded in ceremonial garb and mystery, glance adoringly at her husband for just a split second before proceeding on to the other more serious aspects of tradition was an image that will forever be engrained in my mind.

I felt refreshed and at peace and ready to face my fear yet again...

From now on, Michigan Avenue will forever seem like a barren wasteland to me. The city boasted of so many shiny stores, flashing lights, high fashion advertisements, and loud music that it was no wonder that it attracted so many people to join in this spectacle. For a while we took ourselves out of the moving current and sat on a guardrail watching all the different styles pour through this street funnel. We saw bright colors and outrageous hair styles, tights, spikes, pony tails, fur, lace, leather, jewels, red lipstick, red blush, pumps, flats, boots and bows.

Since the humidity continued to rise we made our way to an indoor coffee shop and remained there until our next train. I had come to Tokyo, I had jumped in its race and felt its rush, and I was ready to leave.

But there was one last hurdle before I could get to Hono for the night and that was boarding the outgoing shuttle. Here I thought I had gone below the city streets and could happily wave to the chaos behind me...but as our car pulled up on the track and I saw through the windows what awaited me inside it was clear that this was not the case.

Sweet mother of all. "You have got to be kidding me." I told my Dad. He of course just laughed and told me to go to my happy place. I can assure you that "happy places" are not easily accessed when you are pressed up against a strange old man's chest and are close enough to count each individual hair on his greying beard.

But somehow I survived, and even managed to laugh and take a picture in the midst of it all to send to my husband with the caption, "...this is my NIGHTMARE!"

Once in Hono and headed towards rest for the evening, I made sure to check Tokyo off my list of life experiences. I may always shake my head and raise my eyebrows whenever anyone asks me my take on it all, but I will always do so with a fond smile and say of that colorful place that it is inhabited by exactly the kind of people that can truly appreciate it. The crazy ones.

Day Five.

After such a good night of rest we went downstairs for breakfast and ate our meal above the port, watching the ships come and go and the city come alive. From our vantage point in the sky while sipping our green tea and eating our morning rice, everything looked like little toys. There were little toy bikes, little toy cars, and little toy cranes hovering above the water. The only reminder that they were in fact the real thing, was that they were all moving.

Since our hotel was at the very top of a steep hill, the descent into town was through a winding walkway that took us past bamboo groves, residential areas, and the local school, all with the foreground of the morning sun glistening off the water. It felt as though we were descending into a painting.

Onomichi is known for their 6 main islands, all connected by biking archways. So we rented the transportation of choice and boarded the ferry to cross to the first island. To get across, it cost one dollar each and then an extra whopping ten cents for the bike.

As soon as we were off the boat and began our trek, I was so thankful that we opted to view the land in this way. Up until this point I had really only seen Japan's countryside and farming houses from the viewpoint of a plane, a train, or a taxi. But on a bike again and in this type of environment it was so different from my first bike ride full of moss and forests. Now I was towns and plains, a part of the landscape itself. And what smells! Such a rich variety of things to take in-the scent of the fruit trees, the smell of the sea, the incense burning by the wayside for the ancestors...It all seemed to come together and form some kind of special incense all it's own. It was intoxicating. So much so that I didn't realize how far we had ridden already when we came to our first stop.

We sat for a while to take a break on a dock overlooking some old fishing boats. The sound of the waves lapped steadily onto eroding, stone steps into the water. We looked at the map and drank our peach juice. It was cold and sweet. My dad pointed out that from this point on out it was going to get quite steep and hilly, and we had a long route to travel to get up to the connecting bridge to the next island. But the guide map had written in English next to the route, "You can do it!". So we pressed on.

And as we rounded the bay we saw what could truly be comparable to something like the Golden Gate bridge. We pedaled for what seemed like an eternity, but all along I kept thinking of the Japanese word I had learned while watching one of my many documentaries on the plane. The term Gahmen, which means "to persevere in adversity" and the verse in Hebrews that tells us to "stand firm and run the good race" were what called me further towards our goal. And we made it!

The bike path continued by being suspended under the main road. The inland sea was beneath us and we could hear the sound of cars rumbling above. As I road my bike over boats and fishermen and the churning currents below, I had the sensation that after all these years of dreaming,I had finally learned to fly.

Once we crossed the bridge we immediately began our descent back down into town. We soared, turning and winding with the path along the way. Once we reached the bottom we cycled along the shoreline. There was water on our right and fields on our left, full of rice and fig trees and Japanese cabbage. Women were pouring over their gardens, men in hats trimming trees, and individuals on mopeds zipping wildly through the streets.

We somehow found ourselves in the middle of an organized 3-day walk that was taking place along the same bike route we were on. As we rode along for the next hour or so,the pedestrians would see us and immediately smile and wave. My dad would tell them in Japanese to hang in there, and they would in turn say thank you and wish us well on our way.

As the morning went on it continued to get progressively muggy. So we decided to stop for a moment before pushing any further up. We were talking about nothing in particular and catching our breath when an older gentleman on the walking tour crossed over from the other side of the street. Without a word or any further formalities he held out a bright green Mikan and placed it in my hand. Then he bowed and went on his way.

Completely taken off guard, I couldn't shake the image of this gesture and contemplated its simplicity the whole way back. Through harvested rice fields with its' crop standing upright like tepees, while cooling our hot feet in the sea and watching the fisherman, and further still on the ferry ride return this moment continued to stick with me.

Hunger soon took over though and I quickly forgot about the piece of fruit in my purse. We found a place to sit right after we ate where there was shade and a cool breeze funneling in off the water. As an added perk there was free wireless! (The traveler's haven! Any spot with fresh air and internet! We have even decided we are going to write a traveler's guide simply based off where to go on any given trip to pick up free wireless signals. We are going to entitle the book "Four Bars, Four Stars", so be looking for that;) We sat there for a good hour or so, working on our writing and people watching.

For dinner we decided on Ramen again since Onamichi is famous for its Ramen dishes. Our 25 mile day meant that dinner was inhaled, and to be honest, I don't quite remember the atmosphere of that place. Only that they food was fantastic and the soup even came with potstickers. Sweet bliss.

Since we were leaving early the next morning we strolled to the train station to buy our tickets in advance. Then we just sat by the docks and watched the lights of the boats on the water and listened to the steady back and forth of the ferry boat as it traveled from bank to bank.

Back at the room we were barely able to stay awake to call home. But as I cleaned out the remnants of the day from my backpack, my hands stumbled upon the gift that had been given to me earlier that morning. I placed the Mikan on the table and stared at its' simple beauty-the beauty that this small, green sphere represented a currency of kindness around a much larger sphere. And so I went to bed, thankful that gestures like this are not at all void from the world and that the sweet offering does not have to disappear when it is eaten. I can still carry it with me and pass it on to someone else.

Day Four

"But as the outward strangeness of Japan appears to be full of beauty, so the inward strangeness appears to have its charm-an ethical charm reflected in the common life of the people." Lafcadio Hearn

Yesterday could not have turned out any better. As I sit and reflect on all of the special gifts we received, I cannot help but laugh. So much of me wants to skip ahead to the main event and spill the beans of what took place that makes these weary travelers so out-of-their-mind giddy. But emotion with restraint is one of the overarching ways of doing just about everything out here, so I suppose I can give it a go and carry on with my four day tradtion of doing things in chronological order.

The ryokan (traditional Japanese Inn) that we woke up in is my favorite thus far. It had the same simple ammenities (beds, table, and tea cups) but with the most delightfully odd, young host. His sporadic movements and broken English were quite endearing, a sort of mad professor mentality with a deep mix of kindness. Sleep stood me up yet again that night but after a good warm shower and another filling breakfast (complete with new additions of whale meat and entire fish staring at me staight in the eye) I didn't seem to mind. *I should also note here that another reason I enjoyed this place so much was because we had our own private toilet and I didn't need to worry about sharing a bathroom with both sexes in the middle of the night, hah!) I am sure my mother is reading this and saying "Whhaaat?"

The atmosphere we woke up to outside of our window that morning was indeed perfect in keeping with our writing/literary tour. It was quite overcast and cloudy with intermitent bouts of soft rain. (I think any good writer would admit that a little meloncholy rain here and there is always necessary for gaining perspective.) I was also pleased with the weather because as both Grammy and Dad have told me, there is just something about Japan in the rain that you have to experience to get the full effect. So I got to put that in my memory picture box. I also got to use my new polka dot umbrella. Which, lets be honest, was also a highlight.

The pace that morning was great. We walked leisurely to the train station and got a very traditional cup of a long-standing historical coffee brought over from their great, great ancestors named after what the natives call...Starbucks. (Yes, we caved.)

Then we poured over the map and sipped our iced drinks like true American tourists. We casually discussed how we would instead go to author Lafcadio Hearn's museum and residence first and then the Matsue castle after that just in case the rain picked up.

Then we hailed a taxi and he brought us through the city of Matsue. It was a bustling town built around an island where the castle sets atop a hill. We crossed the bridge and he dropped us outside the doors of the museum. We thanked him and went to the front desk where we payed 3 dollars each to get inside. It was not a large museum by any means. An american author of Irish descendent, Lafcadio started out as a journalist at 24 and eventually became a correspondent for Harpers to Japan. In 1890 he procured a position as an Enlgish teacher in Matsue and his writings say that he "became fascinated with the beauty of Matsue and the kindness of its people." He remained in Japan for many years and became dearly loved by the Japanese people for representing them to the rest of the western world in such true and thoughtful ways. In 1904 Hearn passed away leaving his Japanese wife and 3 children behind. But his 15 months in Matsue left such an impression that his residence and works are still admired and remembered today.

The exhibit had two main rooms. The first told of his writings and earlier years in New Orleans and the second showed wonderfully unique items such as the luggage he took with him when he left New York for Japan, a pair of his spectacles, and the pipes he used to smoke.

We walked around the exhibit as most do, quietly and subtly observing specific details. Both my dad and I thought it odd at the sheer number of Americans that were in this small, little museum on an early Saturday morning, but didn't dwell too much on it it until he overheard a conversation between two gentlemen and saw a picture in the display case. That's when he leaned over to me and whispered. That's Lafcadio's great grandson standing there."

It absolutely was. The next 15 minutes were a blur as my dad spoke with him and his wife and also with the museum curator of New Orleans who as it turns out JUST brought over the New Orleans exhibit and had a ribbon cutting ceremony moments before we had arrived. How wild! To think that the two of us, on this week, on this day, at this time, would just happen to wander aimlessly into this little museum and meet the great, great grandson of the author we had been reading and enjoying while on the very trains of Japan's countryside! The photograph above you will notice a look of shock and kid-like excitement in both of our faces as we stand next to Bon and his lovely wife who reside in Tokyo-5 hours away!

We left those doors and attempted as best as possible to remain composed, but quickly dropped those defenses away from the gate and kept repeating to one another "oh my gosh that was so cool, so cool, so so cool". (Writers don't always have a profound way of describing everything, particularly when they are excited). After this small victory dance we walked next door and walked beneath the threshold to Lafcadio's old home. We could so easily picture a life lived there. A writing life. One of quiet dedication but also of every day annoyances. You could just as easily hear the sound of the pen on the page as you could one of his children crying in the other room over a dispute between a sibling. It was all quite lovely to think that one can write quite well and not have to be a slave to coffee shops, cigarettes, and the drunken life in order to make something of ones work. (No offense, Hemingway).

The rest of the afternoon all seemed to come together in one glorious, misty dream.

We took a boat along the channels of the town and sat on our knees as we went under bridges. We listened to the soft drops of the rain on the tarp roof and to the hauntingly beautiful songs of the tour guide as she sang. Her voice echoed off the cement structures above us and we would often sit without saying a word. It seemed to me a church service amidst a cathedral of trees and water. After we got out of the boat we climbed up the hill to visit the castle. What a giant. A fortress of power and design that looked across the whole city of Matsue.

On our way back we walked to the local super store and got a few items needed: two persimmons, a knife to cut them, chapstick, and 2 peach juices to take with us for the next days' bike ride. We then hunted for a restaurant to eat Yakisoba, which after countless dead ends, we thought we would never find. Just as we were about to give up, we entered into a small "restaurant" underneath the train tracks. It was a kitchen and a shelf. But they said "yes" they served it there and we sat down to rest our weary feet. Best lunch yet. It was the kind of food that leaves you warm on the inside for hours after.

It was this same warmth that stayed with me on the train ride all the way to Onimichi. I awoke from a small nap to see lines of mist hovering in the mountains as we followed the winding river bed. It was the same mist one of the tour guides back at the Ninjadora told us Japan was famous for. I had awakened in just enough time to see it.

Yesterday was a day filled with all sorts of these magical "happenstance" moments, like the simple smile of a young girl that told my Dad with no words at all that we were about to miss our connecting train. Or even that sleep crept in that night for me like the mountain mist, making its decent from above and hovering there until morning.

My view now is of the early sun, cascading over the hills and Onomichi's fishing port. My father is listening to Handel's Messiah "The Glory of Lord" and I can't wait to see the ways in which He will continue to reveal that same unending Glory to us today.