My Family |
In this instalment, I'm going to write about
a private topic, my family life. 'Family' means three households: my husband
and I, my mother-in-law's family, and my sister-in-law's family. From the outside, our dwelling looks like a single house, but inside it's divided into three households, each with its own kitchen, bathroom and toilet. Each has a separate entrance. The design of the house is interesting. Incidentally, our finances are also separate. I like living with an extended family, perhaps because I spent such a long time as a live-in disciple; I don't like living by myself. I really like my family environment here: while living together, our lives each have an individual rhythm, and we interfere with each other as little as possible. In Italy, it's a custom for families to get together for a meal at the weekend, either on Saturday or Sunday. Unless they live really far away, sons and daughters will bring along the grandchildren for a visit to the parents' home. Since it happens every week, surely it's a lot of trouble for the visitors and for the hosts . . . That's what Japanese might think. In Italy, where family ties are so strong, it's taken for granted. Lunch time every Saturday is set as the time we gather at Grandma's and enjoy delicious Italian home dishes -- while also learning how to make them. Naturally, everyone there is Italian and, apart from my husband, no one speaks much English. There days I know enough Italian to get by in daily conversation, but at first I was hopeless, so I'd communicate with a mixture of English and Japanese and gestures and by drawing pictures. When you really have to, you make do somehow, but even so we needed a lot of sympathetic effort and imagination to understand each other. I'm full of gratitude to everyone in the family. My husband's father died more than 30 years ago, so his mother had to work really hard to raise two kids. Now she can take it easy and enjoy life on her pension. Anyway, she really likes working and keeping active, so she never takes a vacation. Perhaps she was Japanese in a previous life. She's the teacher for everything: cooking, laundry, cleaning. She also shows real understanding of my go activity: I really look up to her. It's no exaggeration to say that observing her as a mother is what made me decide to get married (don't tell my husband!). My sister-in-law paints, teaches: her job is connected with painting. She's the type of person who enjoys life and values her freedom. Our home is about 15 kilometres north of Milan, inside Groane [?] Park. We live surrounded by a thickly-wooded natural forest. It's the sort of place that makes people ask without thinking: 'Eh? Why do you live in a place like this?' Not without reason. Nowadays, of course, it's forbidden to cut down trees or pick flowers in the park, let along build something. Our house was build long ago, before there were any such rules, and my husband's family bought it about 15 years ago. One of my friends commented that our home was like Karuizawa [a Japanese mountain resort area]. Living in this magnificent environment, I felt that I wanted to, that I had to, do something. By coincidence, I got an opportunity to give private lessons. Once a week, early in the morning, my pupil, an Italian, comes to my house by motorcycle. For over 20 years he has been studying Aikido and 'ki' (vital breath). He's now a seitai (system of exercises) teacher in Milan. You can see from this that he's quite an expert in Japanese culture; on top of this, he's also studied a bit of Zen and No. I'm ashamed to say that he often teaches me about these fields. It spurs me on. He's still a beginner, but the other day he made an interesting comment. 'When I play you, Sensei, I think of good moves, and I can play a more pleasing game than usual. That's because the 'ki' you emanate leads me into playing good moves.' I kind of half understand what he means. Putting aside the truth or otherwise of his claim, I felt as if I am experiencing here in Italy a different aspect of the mystical side of go. |
|
My garden is like a scene from a fairy tale, with flowers of all colours blooming in profusion. |
|