9 today, well, the other day.

Cian is now 9. This is the cause for much rejoicing, as he can now legally work at the local Eneos petrol station and his parents don't have to pay for his upkeep anymore.
Not true.
But if you are reading this Prime Minister Abe, it is an idea worth considering. Think of the boost it would give to the Japanese economy.
Anyway, Cian turned 9 last Saturday and there were the usual celebrations:


A flyover.


 Big parade.


 Spectacular fireworks.

 
 And the traditional Japanese tanjoubi sacrifice to the Wicker Man.

No, not really.
Even by our own low key standards we didn't do much to mark the occasion. Sanae had to go to school (they are slowly and insidiously reintroducing Saturday classes. At the moment they are 'voluntary' in the particularly Japanese meaning of the word: the local Board of Education issues an edict commanding the teachers to 'volunteer' to teach classes on a Saturday. Should they be feeling less than charitable about 'volunteering' their free time at the weekend, they will be forced to enroll in some 'retraining course' over the summer holidays. That's how the system works here). Cian went to his swimming classes in the morning and then spent pretty much the rest of the day constructing a giant Lego civil works project involving trains, freight yards, oil storage facilities and what, at one stage, I took to be the Death Star but actually turned out to be a grain silo. We did go for kaiten sushi in the evening so the day wasn't without some merit, but there was no party, no cake, no candles, and no singing happy birthday.
Just the way Cian liked it.

Surfing

"Yeah, I think the left looks rideable".

Back in the summer, Cian went surfing.
Alright, that sentence needs some qualifying.
Back in what passed for a summer this year in Ireland (this was our fourth year home in a row and weather-wise, by far the worst), Cian stood up, rather shakily, on a foam board as it was pushed ever so gently in shore by the crumbling wash of a gentle wave.
We were down in Clonakilty, the beating heart of West Cork, for a few days and let me begin stating straight off that An Sugan serves the best pint of Murphys anywhere. That glorious glass of velvet smooth goodness is reason enough to visit the town.
And then there is the surfing down at Inchydoney beach where we enrolled Cian in a beginners surfing class for 2 days. Motivating us was a chance to meet my cousin Kay and her two boys who were over from England at the same time we were home. And why did we want to meet with the boys (besides to commiserate with them for having a Cork woman for a mother)? Well, I had managed to convince Kay and her family to come over and visit us all here in Japan later on in the autumn (a long post for another day), and we thought it would be a good idea to meet up beforehand so the second cousins could get acquainted.
And get acquainted they did. Along with getting very wet. Kay had enrolled her boys in the surf school the year before, by all accounts they had loved it, and they were back for another session this summer. Cian, in awe of his father's exploits all along the Pacific side of Hokkaido, wanted to experience some of that gnarly big wave magic for himself, so he readily agreed to take part. Unfortunately the weather didn't agree to take part.
God, but it was bitter those two days. I have surfed in February here in Hokkaido when its been so cold that ice forms on your wetsuit as you are walking back from the shore to the car. But it still wasn't as bitter as the weather in Inchydoney last August. If it wasn't for the fact that Cian was (a) born in the depths of a Hokkaido winter and from a very young age (i.e. 2 days old) was exposed to freezing temperatures; and (b) he has inherited some of his Mammy's ahem, 'roly-poly' subcutaneous fat genes, especially around the midriff section; he would surely have succumbed to hypothermia. But the boy put on his game face (along with his 5 mm wetsuit, hood, gloves and booties), and caught himself some waves.
And so it begins...dudes.

Summer 2015 in Ireland.

The Hiroo Santa Land Marathon Taikai

Well, well, only 37 posts for the the year and only a month to go until we say sayonara to 2015. I am determined to beat last year's paltry total of 49, which, yes maths fans, requires that I write something new every 3.333 recurring days. And unfortunately those days don't recur.
But where to begin? It's not like I have nothing to write about. Quite the opposite in fact. We had a busy summer and an even busier autumn and it is only now, as the first snowflakes fall (as they did today. On my bare head. Whilst sitting atop a surfboard down at Itanki this chilly afternoon. I really should have worn my 5mm booties. And at my age and scant hair coverage, I should definitely have worn a hood), that we have time to pause, take a breath, and catch up with the past couple of months.
So, indeed, where to begin. The prompt came from my good friend Master down in Hiroo (another good surfing spot), who rang during the week to inquire if everything was alright in the Gaynor-Takahashi household. Having not added anything to this blog since my fey, the-elvenfolk-go-to-Lake-Toya post, he was concerned that I might have succumbed to a prolonged illness or something.
Nope, I reassured him, just lack of time and eh, commitment.
But he did make me think that for my 'comeback' post I should really write about one of the highlights of the sporting year, the Hiroo marathon. Or rather, the 2015 Ougon-Douro Hiroo Santaland Marathon, to give event its full, majestic title. As Sanae and myself met, married and ahem, 'made' Cian in Hiroo, our ties to the town are many so it was only natural that we participate. Especially as this was the inaugural event and when history is being written you want to be holding the pen, or something. I have no idea - that metaphor came and went before I could fully grasp it.
So on Saturday, October 3rd, we hopped in to my trusty little Mazda and drove the four and half hours to Hiroo. And by the end of the journey my stiff body knew exactly how little my trusty Mazda is.
However, the aches and pains were eased by the marvelous dinner the Master of Goody and his wife gave us, followed by a mountain of ice cream for Cian who claimed he was 'calorie loading' before the big day.


Their generosity also extended to hosting us for the night so that we were fresh and ready for the race. Or rather, races, as Cian, Sanae, and myself were running different distances. Cian was up for the 3km, Sanae was going for gold in the 5km, and Daddy was aiming to be the first foreigner home in the 21km. We were blessed with the weather, a cool, crisp, blue sky day, with only a gentle breeze to contend with. I was off first and the route took us through Hiroo town before going out and back along the Ougon Dooro (Gold Road - so named for the exorbitant amount of money it cost to build it). The road runs along side the sea and this part of Hokkaido is renowned for its great waves (something I was happily oblivious to when I actually lived there. Love will do that to you). As I jogged along I couldn't help but notice the nice swell rolling through and then just beyond Funbe, a group of surfers lined the road cheering us on while out on the sea on a stand-up paddle board, Santa himself waved to us. Man, I nearly quit the race right there, but I kept going, to finish in 1:48, my best time in over two years. That's Hiroo for you. Cian finished 6th in his age group while Sanae stunned the world of athletics by being the 8th women home in the highly competitive 5km race. (Though there was subsequent talk of 'Russian methods' being used to achieve this.)
Then it was back in my little Mazda for the still-no-shorter four and a half hour drive back home. And if I thought my body was stiff after the drive on Saturday...

Lake Toya

 We have been going here quite a bit of late. It seems to be our default destination whenever we decide upon an impromptu day out from Muroran. We were there yesterday amid some very blustery, changeable autumn weather. Almost Irish it was. The Lake is graced with some relaxing, simple cafes (menus are limited, service is slow, views are contemplated) which get by on atmosphere rather than he definitive Italian short espresso. We were out for a stroll by the lake in the falling light, distant showers drifting across the still water when we were treated to this.

Whooohooo....oh, shite....

This is heading our way.

The surfer in me is going "Whoooohooo!!", the home owner in me is looking anxiously at the roof and the tall trees around the house and going "Oh shite".

Andrew Fox, "Good Money"

I subscribe to the Dublin Review, a quarterly periodical that successfully embraces the long form essay and contemporary Irish fiction. At times it tends a tad too much towards a prevalent 'grim brutalism' in its depictions of modern Ireland, but this is balanced by the sheer quality of the contributors' writing. I particularly like the work of a young Dublin novelist Andrew Fox, whose work has appeared in the Review over the past couple of years. He published his first collection of short stories 'Over our heads' earlier this year, and while I have yet to read it (it's on the bedside stack along with the other 300 plus books I haven't read. It's a big stack.), I have just read his most recent story, 'Good money', in the latest issue of the Dublin Review. For what it is worth, in my opinion both Fox and the Review are worth your time (and yes, money).

Up and running

It is Autumn and with it comes a spate of 'Marason Taikai', literally Marathon (running) events. None of them actually involve a full 42.142km marathon, but in Japan anything over a thousand meters qualifies as a marason. Inspired by Daddy's example (as opposed to being shamed by the steady uptick in the weighing scales), both Sanae and Cian have embraced long distance running. Last weekend saw us all up at Forest Kozan for the annual Green Race. Cian ran 3km, Sanae successfully completed her inaugural 5km, and Daddy avoided the bears on his slow 20km through the woods.
This weekend sees the debut of the Santa Land Hiroo marathon, sorry, marason. Cian has his 'Saturday Morning Variety Show at the Mizumoto Palladium' tomorrow morning straight after which  we jump in the Mazda for the four hour drive to Hiroo.
Long distance driving before the long distance running.
The race is on Sunday, and again the Gaynor-Takahashi family plans to dominate the 3km, 5km and 21km events. Then we all pile back into the Mazda and drive another 4 hours home and wonder if we have enough energy left to watch any of the weekend's rugby.