Season
Koshu Kaido heading east from Takao Station
A guy in a thing I saw said something about how February is not glamorous, but it’s an honest month. It shows you how life really is. He seemed unhappy. I am enjoying February.
The old shobodan coat is the top mundane joy of February. The stitching on it, which announced that the wearer was on-duty Shobodan, needed to be removed. It was high quality stitching. It hung onto the coat with each and every robust thread. I removed one character (団) with considerable effort. Then my wife kindly sat down with the coat and binge-watched something on Netflix for six hours while doggedly removing each stitch. It does not dilute my gratitude to her to emphasize here that the Netflix was the point. Now the coat is wearable without the tape over the stitching. It is so warm. It has four large pockets right on its front—these hold my AirPods, keys, phone, and electronic car key, respectively—and a nice big inner pocket that holds my wallet. The coat is a bit big for me, because a coat for Shobodan activities is best when roomy, so one can move freely. Maybe I appear a bit puffed up while walking around town. I’m not sure. Maybe my pride in the coat puffs me up even more.
Coziness is the overall mundane joy of February. At 7:00 or so I arrive at the office. In the tiny kitchen I pour water into the electric kettle to boil. I go in the office and press the button that lights the kerosene stove from two D batteries. I pick up the cold aluminum kettle from the flat grill-top of the stove. I pour its remaining cold water into the air purifier-humidifier. I refill this kettle and set it back on the kerosene stove, whose element is now glowing red. I grind coffee beans. I put them in the steel filter on the carafe. I take the electric kettle lid off to bring the water down from boiling. I drip 400mL over the ground coffee. The steam dances in the cold air and morning light from the south-facing window. I swish the coffee around in the carafe and pour it into a mug. I set the grinds and carafe in the sink. I bring the coffee into the office and place it on the desk. I doff my hat and coat. I put on a record. In neat block letters I list or check the day’s tasks in my notebook. Around 8:00 the kettle on the stove startles with sounds of boiling but not boiling over. I work until hunger around 11:00. Every 20 minutes I stand up to flip or change the record. I dance a bit. Might make oatmeal. Might break down and get lunch. Meal is the end of Golden Productive Time. A wee nap might bring back high productivity in the afternoon. Every couple hours I open the big window over the street. I survey my town. I let the breeze in and the carbon monoxide out. Routine is heaven.
I hired a new full-time employee: A consultant who I had been working with on different projects for over 10 years. Right away, he is creating excellent results. He is skilled at making proposals for large projects to potential clients. He has the vital experience of being in a firm and needing to go out and drum up new business. These two skills are weaknesses of mine; I have been content to let word of mouth and other passive methods bring us new work. It has, thankfully. We already have a lot of consultants and interpreters who do great work as subcontractors, but bringing my guy in house is taking us to a new level. One piece of passively-gotten business is going to occupy a lot of our next several weeks. It involves a US consulting firm and a Japanese manufacturer. We all have the same noble goals, and the usual cultural and linguistic issues arise in the pursuit of the goals. I love to help achieve the goals, while helping folks understand each other. I like everyone on both sides.
In pursuing new or more business, my company is getting positive responses and acceptance of our proposals from existing and new clients. My new guy creates the proposal and pitch deck (I just died a little using that admittedly convenient term) and then I present it to the client, who might be in the department with which we work directly, or to the company’s top management, if the budget approval resides there. The projects are important for our clients to do their work the right way, and they entail a lot more work and money than we’d been doing with them previously. Company revenue should double from last year to this year.
The leadership of our company with the Mayor (5th from right in the back) and Speaker of the City Assembly (fifth from left in the back), who is also a firefighter in our company
I have to attend a few more meetings now than I did as a rank-and-file Shobodan member. The busiest time is January, when there is a city-wide banquet for every leader in the corps. Drinking has decreased sharply in the fire corps since Covid, but this banquet and a few other functions remain. I don’t drink at them, but they are fun. Camaraderie is important, although it gets trotted out too often as an excuse for heavy drinking. After the city-wide banquet, we combined a nijikai with our company dinner. I got to know fellow squad leaders for the first time. The purpose was accomplished.
Singing “Amagi-goe” at the award celebration, not to my standard
Another function I attended the next week was a celebration dinner for a leader in the Shobodan company who received the Tokyo Governor’s Award for his many years of service. What a nice thing, to celebrate someone. While exhibiting humility, he also embraced the honor, donning a sash he bought at the Don Quixote discount store that read “本日の主役” (loosely, “The Man of The Hour”). We ate a succulent Chinese meal and karaoke was broken out. I sang “Amagi-goe” at the suggestion of someone who had heard me sing it before. I was and am dissatisfied with the performance. I should have reduced the key. I also could have selected something more fitting. Karaoke regrets are lifelong. It was well received, though. Here is my favorite version of “Amagi-goe.”
Setting the manual typewriter on my coffee table with a piece of B5-size washi loaded has been a good move. I sit down on the love seat and the next action is to simply press a key. Next thing I know, I have written someone a letter. The envelopes and stamps sit next to the typewriter. The letter is addressed, stamped, sealed, and posted with minimal friction. Get ready, those of you who I owe a letter (so sorry for being Derelict Derek), and some who I don’t. And if you take rightful umbrage that I seem to have forgotten your letter or that I owe you one, do let me know. See the About section for my current preferred mailing address—I changed it from TMH. to my office, where I spend vastly more time—if you should fancy writing me a letter.
A recurring thought I have in middle age is that if you and your nearest loved ones are not suffering greatly and you have your basic needs met, it is probably a golden era of life to be deeply savored.