Wandering Substack, I found another writer producing a series of note entries—almost diary like. She is endeavoring to write about five things for each of the 365 days of the year and calling it her “1,825 Things Project.” Then she publishes to readers some that are maybe of value.
The ideas can be single sentences or more fleshed out. It’s an exercise that pushes the mind.
I really want to give this a whirl. Every once in a while, I’d like to share some thoughts from my own ongoing “five pieces” notebook. Editing will be minimal (beware). Many of the things I will write about in this “Notebook Project” may not have anything to do with Frog’s Glen or life in the country—rather they are practice at coherently evoking images from wherever they occurred.
Feel free to skip! Hahah.
My stories from Frog’s Glen of course continue. Hopefully they will ultimately benefit from the practice I’m putting into “Notebook”.
So here goes, a few from the past few days.
Notebook #1
Each evening in Tokyo from precisely 3PM to 5:59PM airliners descend across the city skyline into Haneda Airport. This is the only time slot permitted under Japanese law—during all other times the jets judiciously avoid crossing the city. Many Japanese hate the airliners—they say they are noisy or are dangerous, flying over thousands of homes on their landing path. Tokyo streets are filled with protest posters saying, “No More New Haneda Landing Route!” I love the airplanes though. I can’t wait for 3PM each day—the jet sounds, the whirs and grind of the engines—and marvel at the heavy machinery flying right over our heads.
There is an amazing amout of activity on residential Japanese streets at 6PM. Mamas schlepping children back from cram schools on foot, or on bicycle, and often while carrying younger babies on their backs. People shopping for dinner—Japanese often do same-day meal purchases rather than shop for the week. Last-minute home deliveries from the guys in small trucks or on motorbikes. Residents walking dogs. And then at 7PM the streets are magically and mercifully empty—everyone is home, settled, and I presume sitting down to eat. The empty streets smell like soy sauce, sesame oil, curry, steak, frying oil, and grilled fish. I can smell rice too.
Terashima-kun whimpers when he sleeps. I’m sure it is a happy sound—he is yipping gleefully as he dreams of smells, animals, and people. We used to giggle when he does the wimper thing. Now we almost don’t hear it.