View to a Thrill: Ghosts in Japan

Photo by Penguin Scott

NRT March 13, 2004

I’m in Narita, Japan and turned on the radio. I found a station playing band music. The music is sort of jazzy- sort of big band; trumpets, pianos, violins, harps and bass, old people music, as I call it. I'd already been downtown, walked to the Naritasan temple, dined at the local noodle house and shopped in the hundred Yen store. Now I was back in my room, trying to find some activity to occupy myself with before boredom took control. I'm not sure why I chose to investigate the radio and its limited variety of stations, but there you have it; big band music to boot.

It took me back to the days when I was a young boy and I’d go to Corpus to visit my grandparents, Memaw and Pa. They listened to this type of music at night as they slept. I recall it so well; After staying up past my bedtime, I’d go to bed in the bedroom, which adjoined theirs. Still being awake when they would eventually turn out the lights, I could hear them pray together, the one that talks about walking down the valley of the shadow of death. From my bed, listening to them recite together, and then turn on the radio, I could feel the love they shared for one another. And I always wondered what that valley looked like, obviously all dark with those death shadows blocking out the sun.

Oh how I used to love going to Corpus. I would go to the grocery store with Pappy, holding his hand while crossing the street to go to that funny grocery store with a big arched roof. On the walls were large, colorful 3-D fruit and veggies. I seem to recall a mural you’d expect to see in West Texas with cowboys and covered wagons. Not sure how it wound up being on the Gulf Coast instead, but it left one of those wonderful, lasting impressions on a young boy.

My grandparents were such good cooks, and everything was made from scratch and with fresh ingredients, many grown in their very back yard. I'd eat things in Corpus I never ate at home in Houston; collard greens, fried okra, rice swimming in sweet milk. And it was here where I learned that some people put salt on their watermelon and didn't use sugar in grits. I'll never have hotcakes or cornbread the way my grandfather used to make them, and the world my never recover from this.

I loved their house, with its musty smell, the sound of the window air conditioner and the dim light created from keeping the curtains drawn to keep out the Texas heat. I recall the traffic noise from the busy street out front, the cicadas screeching in the hot and humid afternoons. They always made the heat seem so much more than maybe it was, as their screams permeated the living room where we hid in the relative cool. Memaw and Pa…together again, now that she passed away nearly six months ago.

And here I am in Japan listening to their music and thinking of them; missing them and reliving the past. I was so young then. And I feel so young now – not like I’m 36 at all; hardly even like late 20s. Sometimes I still feel so very young. And although I’ve been on my own for so long, and I’ve been an adult for as long as I was a child, I don’t feel all that old. That’s a good thing, I guess.

An Acquired Taste by Penguin Scott

Photo by Penguin Scott

There goes an old man shuffling down the street. You've seen them a hundred times. If you live in certain parts of the country, maybe more. I've often wondered about that old man shuffle. How long have you had it? How did it come about? Did it start slowly or was there some traumatic event involved. One day you walk with majesty, the next- after some terrible accident, or finding out your hero is gay- the shuffle.

I recently had a bad bout and was taken to the hospital where I was told I had some unknown viral infection. With a fever of 107, sore, red spots all over my body, fatigue and achyness, I've been starting to feel my age, whereas, before getting sick, I felt about 7 years younger than I really am. But the latest thing is, I can drive for as short a distance as 10 miles, and when I get out of my car, I shuffle into my house; just like an old man.

So recently, I asked a friend of mine if this was going to be the start of how I look old to others. Will I have this shuffle from now on? Will I no longer be able to run up a flight of stairs? Will I now be taking the phone of the hook between 2-3 for my daily and quite necessary nap? Oh, wait, that last one, I've been doing it for years now.

When I was in high school, I remember a neighbor of mine in the condominium complex in which I lived. I didn't really know the guy well. I would run into him as I picked up bags of trash . I had a job with the complex office and twice a week they would let me drive around in their electric golf cart and collect the trash people put out by their back door. By the time I would get around to servicing the buildings in my part of the complex, it was usually getting to be dinner time, and I would see Mr. Napier leaving for his car. He was a classic looking man, meaning he always wore slacks and a button down shirt with a tie and a hat and all very well coordinated. I knew so little of him but that he lived alone. One day I came to find out from him that his daily excursions were to go to various local restaurants for dinner. I got the impression that this man has never dirtied a pan in his life. Why, his countertops must be free from any scratch marks, burn marks or stains.

There have been times when I've been in eateries and I'll see a man eating by himself and wonder if he was not similar to Mr. Napier, heading out each night for sustenance. What a life, I think, to always have the luxury of eating out, to always be waited on and to be able to afford it. It's never like Mr. Napier was always going for the dollar menu, to be sure. He was going to nice sit down places, please wait to be seated, why, Mr. Napier, so good to see you again, would you like your regular table?

With my recent illness, I've not been much in the mood to do any cooking. Not to mention that where I currently live, decent cooking is made difficult by the fact that I only have a kitchenette; a small fridge, a sink, a few cabinets, a microwave and a toaster oven. These are hardly the tools with which to make a roast chicken or a succulent casserole. I eat a lot of frozen meals, stuffed in my small freezer. I also make a lot of sandwiches or little concoctions in my nifty omelet maker that I found in the aisle of the store that shelves the, "as seen on TV" items. It's not usually too bad, what with my travels all over the world. I eat a few meals on the plane, or I eat out; in the airport, in the hotel restaurant, in the downtown mall food court. I don't see that as luxurious, as it's the only thing I can do, really.

But being home and unable to work for the last six weeks, I'm eating out more at home than normal. And what with my feeling my age, or older, and my newly acquired, and hopefully temporary old man shuffle, I've been feeling more like Mr. Napier than ever. Is this what I have to look forward to? Forever the bachelor who can't cook for himself, for whatever reason, and eats out for his dinners. Why, Mr. Scott, so good of you to join us this evening. Would you like a menu or will you have the special, as usual?

A few nights ago I was trying out a local restaurant for the first time. It was fairly crowded, which was a good sign. It always seemed empty to me, so I never entered, thinking, well, if no else will eat there, I surely won't. But I'd heard good things about it so I found myself there with a table for one and with quite a few others but all in groups of 2's or 4's. As I sat there, I had nothing to do but watch the other people. A young couple came in and occupied a booth to my right. They were in their mid thirties and once they took their seat, they both took out their portable communication devices and starting thumbing at them like they were covered in ants. They remained silent, a mirrored image of one another; head down at the same angle, same postures, holding their devices identically. Their only interruption was to give their dinner order, and then they returned to the silence and to the invisible ants.

They must have known one another for a long time to be so comfortable with that silence, I thought. I felt badly for our society when this is acceptable behavior for two people in a restaurant. Was there nothing they had to say to one another? What was so important out in the world that they couldn't tear themselves away from it for 40 minutes while they enjoyed a meal, each other's company and remembering what the other's face looked like, or how they each laughed. From where had they just come that they seemed to now be so out of touch? The woman finished with her project and I even heard her ask a few questions, each one answered by moans and grunts, while the guy continued. The only time he put that phone down was to shove a sandwich in his mouth. Then the phone came back up to his face, the bill was paid, and the two left- in silence.

Today I went to a fast food place for a burrito. Next to me a guy sat down. For a moment I thought it was one of the Baldwin brothers, the more famous of them. He hadn't shaved in a few days and he wore baggy blue sweat pants and a baggy orange shirt. His hair was mussed and I thought had I been close enough, he probably smelled as if he hadn't showered in a few days, either. On his tray were 8 food items, wrapped in various colors of the restaurants food wrappers, indicating that not only was he hungry enough to order so many items, but that he enjoyed variety.

I looked away for only a minute. When I looked back, there were now 7 items and one balled up piece of paper. I thought little of it, looking out the window to the surfers visible in the ocean just beyond. Now the man had 6 items and 2 balled up pieces of paper. Another glance around my environment and there were 3 items left. Amazed at how quickly his food was vanishing, I found that I simply had to watch. He opened the next item and I saw a taco emerge. It was gone in only 4 bites! His first included a good third of the crunchy treat. I thought, well, he could buy smaller clothes or try to fill out into what he already had. I also imagined that a few years prior, this was a good looking young man, busy in college with an active social life, an active sex life and a healthy interest in a sport or two. But now, here he was, looking like he was on a fast track to becoming the local town hobo and shoving food in his mouth like it was 2012 and the world was about to end.

As I got up to depart, I saw that he was again at the counter and was being handed a plastic bag quite full of more food which he followed me with out the door. Now I thought maybe he was one upping on me. He'd go out for dinner like the rest of us going down hill, but he'd at least take some home as well! Bon appetite, sir.