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☆マサコのプロフィール
13才のときにグレン・グールドのピアノに 出会う。以来抱き続けたグールドに会うという夢を追って28才でカナダへ。後追い日記はその記録である。
属性はシャーマン。


☆ミクシに習って、ぬさんからの紹介状
不在の幻影から愛するひとを救い出し、グーグルキャッシュの中に愛のエクリチュールを刻印しつづける、GGの恋人。二人はもう触れあうことができないが故に永遠に惹き付けあうことができる、まるで恒星と惑星の関係のような、あらゆる恋人が夢見るユートピアに住むひとです。


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Diary Entry 1981-25 : This and That of Toronto

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_12454348.jpg



#This and That of Toronto

There was only one school class in the program of Hansa Language Centre.
I miss my classmate Marseille, who was then a live-in babysitter in North York.
I yearned for marriage, but her words would discourage me. “The kid who always sleeps with me is very cute. But, being a mother is a really terrible job,” she’d say.

In a beautiful building close to Hansa was the Metropolitan Library designed by Raymond Moriyama.
On the 2nd floor of the library I could find and listen to some good old records.

b0071688_12442024.jpg
I could go anywhere by myself in Toronto, to the zoo, the Science Centre, Ontario Place.

Once, I was looking in fascination at a horse in the Horse Palace when I heard a gentle voice, “It’s all right,” coming from above. I raised my head and saw that, of course, there was someone on the horse. I was so completely absorbed by the horse that I never noticed there was a human sitting up there.

b0071688_12444855.jpg

I could drink tap water in Toronto. It was cool and tasty.
I would boil two bundles of somen noodles and when I would rinse them in water they would look like a white kimono being washed in the river.
Vegetables in Toronto had a bit strong alkaline taste, but both vegetables and fruits were available in abundance.

When we live alone we spend time taking care of our own needs. On the other hand, it’s a lot of work to make proper meals three times a day.

The kitchen of the house I lived in was on the north side, facing west. The back garden was wide, and on the other side there was a shed that looked like a tiny house. I often used the stairs by the kitchen that led outside because they were close to my room.
There was a storage pocket under the stairs, but mice appeared and ate away the precious Japanese food I stored there. At another lodging, mice destroyed some of my clothes.
It seems that mouse infestation was a common occurrence in old houses. Although I was living in an urban area, I was able to experience and enjoy in those houses a lifestyle similar to that in the countryside.

In September, in order to deal with my allergies, I reduced the piano practicing time and tried to focus my attention to other things. As a result, I practiced only nine days, with the average practice time of 21 minutes per day. One of my allergy symptoms was what you call “rash” in English. This was one of medical terms I had no chance to learn through my radio language course.

This quite life of mine unfortunately went topsy-turvy when the kitchen remodelling started. I couldn’t make any food there for days, and the house got dirty with all the ancient dust and grime.



b0071688_12460140.jpg
↑A photo of the current Metropolitan Toronto Library.


Translated by Saiko





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by mhara21 | 2017-11-30 00:00 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-24 : My Diary

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

#My Diary August 30th

Gould’s father’s name was written in one book I borrowed from Francis – Russell Herbert. I looked up his address in the phone book, and went in search of his house.

I was surprised when I realised that the view of the bus terminal for city and intercity buses that linked directly to Eglinton Subway Station looked exactly like a photo from a book my father bought for me when I was a child.

b0071688_12412390.jpg
(“Cultural Map of the World”, from Canada, Mexico and Cuba, June 1966, Kōdansha Ltd.)

There was a whole book collection, and it introduced lifestyles and histories of people from different countries. Through these books I travelled the world. I learned that lily bulbs were exported from Okinoerabujima, a Japanese island famous for its lilies, as “Easter Lilies”. There was also a photo of a dining room with a young couple. With their heads pressed together they were looking intently at the dinner menu. Under the photo was an explanation, “In restaurants with paper napkins, even these two young people can eat without worrying about their bill.”

An Oriental country bumpkin like me believed that a blond beauty in a reddish-brown suit would of course be wealthy. From this explanation I could sense for the first time the reality of people’s lives in foreign countries.

It was a “Cultural Map of the World” that never even mentioned Gould and that left me unsatisfied. This was also why I pushed myself all the way to Canada.

I took a bus towards east from Eglinton station and went down a slope with marvellous scenery. The bus made a turn in front of a hotel where Gould had his studio and then it continued straight. I got off the bus holding a map in one hand, and immediately found 61 Norden Crescent.

It takes Glen’s father ten minutes by car from here to his son’s workplace. I guess even when apart from his son Gould’s father wants to keep an eye on his son’s work. That may be the reason why he got a house close to his son’s workplace even after remarrying.

I didn’t have courage to ring the bell. I stood there staring at the entrance of the house until a neighbour came asking, “Do you need something?”
I wanted to tell her, “I envy you for living so close to Gould’s father.”

Feeling that was not the place for the incompetents like me, I returned to my lodgings with a bitter taste of failure in my mouth.




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by mhara21 | 2017-11-29 11:58 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-23 : LanguageTraining Programs for Immigrants

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_12401995.jpg
#LanguageTraining Programs for Immigrants

August passes with me drinking medicines and going tothe doctor.

Since I can’t play the piano, I adjust my schedule so Ican attend evening English languageclasses for immigrants that are taking place in a highschool building.
“Please come on time and enter the class.”

I went there as I was told and entered the firstclassroom where a lesson was starting. The teacher was an Indian, and she asked me to be thefacilitator for the class.

After the lesson two persons from Yugoslavia approachme, a brother with his younger sister. “There is a person in my country who isthe spitting image of you,” the sister remarks. “It is really true what they say,that each of us has two other people around the world who look just alike. Theirhairstyle, the chin, the teeth, everything is exactly the same. Even theirvoice and the way of speaking are similar.”
Her brother eagerly nodded his head.

Toronto is simplymarvelous. Since there are more Japanese tourists traveling in Vancouver thanin Toronto, they take strict measures to prevent the travelers from usingprograms for immigrants.
However, when I reached advancedcourse in English program for immigrants in Toronto my teacher just asked me,“Welcome to Toronto. How long have you been living here?”

The brother and sister from Yugoslavia were also justtraveling in Toronto during summer. I later followed the news about theYugoslav civil war with hopes that both of them were safe.
 
During the day I go to the doctor or I sleep. When I canpractice a little I play the piano, and then I have dinner at home.
Around 7 o’clock I am in astreetcar, gazingat the bright Lake Ontario until I reachDundas West station. I transfer to the subway and when I reach Christie stationI walk towards the high school building. Even this simple life isfilled with happiness in Toronto.

There is a type of people – type A – who feels shock upon arriving to a newcountry and starting living there. If possible, they seek to return to theirhome country. Another type – type B – adjusts comfortably to their newsurrounding, but after several years they experience another kind of culturalshock from the type A people. The confusion that the type B faces is severeindeed. I belong to the type B.

Between July 28th and August 28th Iwas able to play the piano 19 out of 32 days. I played in average 43 minutes perpractice. The days I could play the piano had always been precious to me.
However, due to my health problems there were days whenI couldn’t play for more than 15 minutes. When I’d put together 30 minutes ofpractice, I would mark it as a circle in a chart I’d prepared. When I managed onlya 15-minute practice, I would mark it as a half-filled circle in the chart.
I loved making these charts, hanging them on the wall,and then filling it outwith circles as I played.

Translated by Saiko


Previous page : 1981-22 : Allergies



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by mhara21 | 2017-11-21 18:40 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-22 : Allergies

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_12332881.jpg
#Allergies

The room where I practiced the piano was in a wide chapel decorated with stained glass. The room was a bit scary because the light there was dim and I felt as if ghosts were looming in shadows.
On third day of my piano practice I got an allergy attack. When I’d turn my face just a bit down I would start feeling painful tingles. Whenever I decide to do something, immediately problems like this begin.

When I was in elementary school, for each day at school, I would have to rest one day at home. On rare occasions when I’d go to school for two days in a row, I would have to rest for three days. My physical strength today is the same as then.
In junior high, when I would go to school for three days in a row, I would end up with different hives during the day and during the night, and I couldn’t sleep even at night.
One spiritualist interpreted my symptoms saying, “This is happening because your ancestors’ graves are covered with weeds,” but our ancestors graves should be clean now.

Now this, in spite of all the efforts to make my practicing possible…
When I went to sleep in my room alone I remembered a seat cushion my mum made for me. She’d unsewn a grey serge skirt, and made it into a big square piece of cloth and eight small rectangular pieces. At the corners of the seat cushion she’d embroidered dandelions, violets and a tulip She’d made the tulip in two colours and she used a deep yellow for the central part of the violet flowers. The dandelions had a lovely design, and they looked like fluffy woollen clouds about to float away. At the remaining corner my mum embroidered her own imaginary flower.
Incorporating colours and talent, courage and sweetness in the design, she portrayed my life with a road of flowers in a vivid and deeply emotional way.

She stitched the pieces of cloth together using the lace she crocheted out of a thick red embroidery thread. This was a seat cushion for school use, and it attended many classes in school instead of me.
Sometimes my classmates would complain, “Ms Hara, your seat cushion is always falling down when we move your chair or desk during cleaning. And then somebody always has to pick it up and put it on your chair.”
The classmate living closest to me would wrap in a piece of straw paper the bread and margarine from our school lunch and bring it to me at home.
My seat cushion was like a children’s storybook. The value it represented was “self-respect and dignity”.
As if it spoke to me, “Your body may be weak but you will survive, so be proud of yourself.”

The smell of my mother had reminded me of a heliotrope. She had been very mischievous. She would call Gould by pet names like “Gureguru-chan” or “Guruchichi”, saying it was “cute” and that she was “getting proficient” in giving him nicknames, as if he were her schoolmate.

Nobody could consider my mother vulgar or common. She had had such grace, like the fragrance of wintersweet flower that carried through a paper sliding door of a convent. She’d loved flowers. She’d grown all kinds of flowering plants, from small tulip bulbs that wouldn’t normally bloom to plants with flowers as small as the tip of the pinkie finger. Even after her death, tulips would bloom in our garden all on their own and in the most unexpected places.
They were tulips in their original, small size. Her voice had resembled a duet of a skylark and a nightingale in the early spring. Compare to a fruit, she had been like a creamy, skin pink “peach”, gentle and soft, yet firm of core.

Our mother’s dream had been to raise her children into persons as independent as frankincense. When we, her daughters, learned half a year before her death that our mother was going to die of cancer, we joked gloomily, “She’s just bought her glasses and had her teeth fixed, and now we won’t be able to recover the cost.”

Saying that, “We can make other people happy when we are able to do work around the house,” she taught me how to cook.
On the days when I was not able to go to school due to hypotension of 50-60 mm Hg, she would send me out to do something for her in the evenings when I would finally become able to move. “You have to go out once during the day,” she would say.

My mother had wanted me to go out of the house at least once a day. She’d thought it was important for my mood to keep in touch with the outside world. She hadn’t wanted me to isolate myself in the narrow world of our household.
However, this would put me in uncomfortable situations with my classmates. I could feel their disapproval, “You didn’t come to school today because you were ill, and yet you are not home resting…” The teachers would also frown at me as if saying, “You look well enough…”

“You just don’t feel well enough to go to school during the day. However, when you feel even a bit better, it is good to do some work.”
These were my mother’s words of encouragement when I would get annoyed at the surprised reactions of my classmates and on some occasions my teachers when I would bump into them.


Two bags my mum made for me to carry to the church.
[two photos]

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b0071688_12363195.jpg


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by mhara21 | 2017-11-13 20:18 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-21:The Church

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_12321848.png

#The Church

One day my landlady Mrs. Liang said, “Considering your love of the piano, you don’t really play often?”
“I haven’t been able to play properly since I was a child. Practicing the piano is not good for my body.”

“You do want to play, though, right? We have a piano teacher living in our street. She lives in a house across from the church. Go and ask her if she would land you her piano to practice.

When I looked for the house of the piano teacher my landlady told me about, I found there was a signboard hanging in front of it. When the teacher realised I hadn’t come to learn the piano but to borrow it for my practice she said, “I don’t lend my piano, but maybe people from the church across the street will lend it to you. I will give you their phone number.”

When I contacted the priest from that church he told me, “You should talk to the Bordons about that,” and he gave me the phone number of some other church members.
“I will tell them you called, but please come to our church service next Sunday.”

I found it magnificent that he didn’t say, “Come to the service to hear my own preaching/”

When I went to the church on Sunday a beautiful woman approached me as soon as she saw me, “Mako? I am Martha. This is the key to the church entrance. You can come and practice the piano any weekday during the daytime. I live in a street on the east side of Cowan Avenue. If you want we can walk together on our way back.”

Martha too had a big belly.
Since I came to Toronto I’d met 3 women who’d later become mothers of boy babies.

“My baby is due in August. What are you doing in Toronto?”
“Have you heard about Gould?”
“Of course.”
There I went into my usual talk.

I managed to find the piano, now I needed musical scores.
I started going through a phonebook, but with my pathetic office skills I always found it difficult to mange lists and indexes. Thinking I was probably calling a wrong department, I dialled some phone number of Toronto University. The woman who answered the phone was ultimately kind. While saying, “This is not a sheet music store…” she gave me the information about a specialist supplier of sheet music.

I can broadly divide people in two types – the kind and the bad-tempered ones. I can compare the lady from Toronto University with another experience I had. When I was going to Montreal I needed a contact number of the YMCA, but I couldn’t find it so I dialled the YWCA number I found on a pamphlet.

The woman who answered the phone got angry saying, “We are not information desk for YMCA.” She then continued bad-temperedly, “Imagine, calling the YWCA to ask the phone number of the YMCA!”

I went to buy the scores of Debussy’s “Suite bergamasque” I had repeatedly listened on Kiyoko Tanaka’s record. Tall narrow shops on Yonge Street reminded me of Kadoya sheet music shop in Japan.

So, on a very stormy day I went to that somewhat gloomy church. I started my piano practice on July 28th, precisely one year after my mum’s death.
 
The following day, July 29th, I watched live coverage of the royal wedding in London.
Translated by Saiko



Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年21・教 会




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by mhara21 | 2017-11-10 14:40 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)