I have been inspired recently by one friend’s short story and another friend’s photos; both capturing autumn in its glory. Autumn, by its very nature, is designed to give us pause, and coerce even the busiest among us to be reflective. And so I found myself reflecting on this autumn.
Ahhhhhhh, autumn in Tokyo: where the summer typhoons are replaced by the autumn typhoons; where the sweat of summer heat is replaced by the cold sweat of watching your house shake; and where the Clydesdales continue to tromp up and down metro stations staircases. (There really aren’t any Clydesdales in Tokyo, but bird-legged, mini skirt-wearing, poncho-clad twenty-somethings sound like Clydesdales as their cacophonous clippity-clopping reach thunderous levels in their three-inched heeled boots made from the hides of expensive dead French cows. – For more fashion police reports on the “autumn edition” of clothing, please e-mail Pam.)
There are the more subtle changes, but no less predetermined by nature. For example, there was the double set of yochien life papers. One announced that because it was now autumn, the bus schedule would change. The other announced that because it was now autumn, the children would start to wear their long sleeved smocks and their heavy uniform coats. For the record, there was no discernible difference between the weather on the day before these changes occurred than the day after the changes occurred. They were likely fooled by the sudden appearance of pretend yellow leaves behind and around the pretend waterfalls, which they still turn off at dusk.
But not everything marking the seasonal change is different here. There is the worldwide autumnal marking of this seasonal change: The changing of the vending machines. (Don’t they change the vending machines in the United States at the end of October? Doesn’t that happen the same weekend you turn the clocks back? Maybe I have been gone too long and just can’t remember.)
Anyway, Sachan and I were walking when I noticed the truck with the vending machines on the back. We stopped and looked, the way we used to look at the trees in the backyard:
“That is the vending machine truck…” I explained as if giving an annual science lesson that continues to marvel and amaze. “…the vending machines will soon have hot drinks in them. And then some of the signs under the machines will be red, instead of blue.”
“And then you will buy coffee from the machines?”
“Yes!” I said proudly; realizing that she is finally old enough to grasp the splendor of such a magical transformation of nature and all of its surroundings.
“We will have to tell mom tonight when she gets home.”
The anticipation grew throughout the day and evening. We greeted Pam at the door with hugs, kisses and a series of “Guess what’s?”
“What?” she asked, smiling and playing along.
“The vending machines changed,” announcing our seasonal discovery in unison.
“I know! The ones around work changed today also! Isn’t it exciting?!”
Ahhhhh, that heart warming moment when a family is overcome by the beauty of nature around them.
And just like where you live, we then planned the big trip on Saturday to walk around and look at the vending machines to see how they had changed. Some have already gone completely red, whereas others are only red at the bottom. And, of course, strategically picking out our favorites – a hot tea here, a hot coffee there; there was even a rare hot cocoa sighting.
On the following Saturday morning, Pam and Sachan went to a bakery for breakfast. On the way home, Pam suggested that they get me a can of hot coffee from a vending machine. Pam stopped at a machine that had my favorite from last winter. Sachan likes to help us buy our tickets at the subway stations, if the machines are low enough. She also likes to help buy the drinks from the vending machines. So Pam gave her the money. Sachan put the money in and started to push a button.
“Stop. Your dad likes the one in the brown can.”
Speaking with authority, Sachan replied, “Dad likes the one in the blue can with the grey writing on it better. That is the kind we drink when we wait for the bus in the mornings.”
“What?! You drink the coffee with dad?”
“Yea, Dad gets me my own can. And we drink it while we wait for the bus.”
“What?! OK, then lets get one of the coffees in the blue can with the grey writing and see what dad says.”
I was sitting at home in an autumnal haze. You know when the clocks haven’t turned back, and you keep thinking it should either be lighter outside than it is or you should still be in bed. Pam walked into the living room with a smile on her face. This is generally a sign of trouble, but given the haze, I didn’t think to jump up and run away.
“Good morning,” I grunted, still not totally functioning.
“Good morning Dad! We went to Anderson’s and saw the ducks. And I didn’t have any bread, but a man gave me some bread and I throwed the bread and the duck catched it, and then a sakana, fish, Mom, what kind of fish was it?”
“Koi.”
“Yea that kind. And there were some flying rats, but I didn’t give them any. And then this little boy, I didn’t know him, he doesn’t go to my school, but he was there and he was feeding the ducks and he handed me a piece of bread and I throwed it to the ducks. And we got you an apple pie. And the ducks were still there when we came back.”
It is physically impossible for an adult to read that as quickly as she said it. Not to mention that it’s just wrong, so very, very wrong that any child have that much energy, and at such an early hour.
“And we got dad some coffee, right?”
Sachan was busy flitting about the house and didn’t reply, but the oral presentation on ducks had burnt off the early morning fog, and I sensed a crisp, cold day was developing.
“I was going to get you the kind in the brown can. (Long pause). But, Sachan said (pause – could be one of those rare Autumnal thunder storms coming fast over the horizon) ‘Dad likes the kind in the blue can with the grey writing.’
“Samantha said, ‘the kind in the blue can is the kind the two of you drink…
Together…
While waiting for the bus…
And she gets her own can.’”
Nervous laughter is never a good way to start a defense regardless of the season. But I persevered because I had truth on my side; well, sorta…
On Wednesday, it was drizzling and Sachan was moving very slowly, and almost missed her school bus. On Thursday, I made sure we were moving faster. Knowing we were way ahead of schedule, and realizing it was a little nippy, I suggested that we turn right and walk up the block to the vending machine instead of turning left and walking to the bus stop. From our autumn tour of neighborhood vending machines, I knew that the machine near the art museum in our little neighborhood had the kind of coffee I liked best. The only problem was that the one in the brown can was still in the blue – cold – section. But the red – hot – section had the blue can with the grey writing. Given that it was a cool morning and that Sachan was complaining that her hands were cold, I got two of the blue cans with grey writing. Well, Sachan got two. She put the money in, she pushed the button. She decided to hold one to keep her hands warm, and I put the other one in one of her coat pocket. She complained that the one she was holding was too hot so we put that in her other coat pocket. She was thus able to keep her hands warm without burning them. This made her immensely happy and we strolled down to the bus stop.
While waiting for the bus Sachan asked, “Dad, can I smell the coffee?” She always asks me this question. And I always say, “Yes.” So she handed me a can and I opened it. And in one of those magical bonding moments between a daughter and father, we both took a deep breath and said, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Smells good!” And since the can was open, I of course had to have a sip.
Sachan, who was feeling lucky, asked, “Dad, can I have a sip?” The answer to this question is almost always, ‘no.’ But given it was nippy outside, and most importantly, given that a bus would be arriving in a matter of moments taking her away and someone else would have to deal with Sachan on caffeine, I said, “OK.”
There we stood, waiting for the bus, taking sips from our blue can of coffee with grey writing, and thinking how beautiful the autumnal red on the vending machine looked.
So, apparently Sachan and I do drink coffee at the bus stop. And my story did pacify Pam.
Of course, this means Sachan’s coffee connection has been cut off until further notice. At least until some miniskirt wearing clippity-clopping Clydesdale distracts Pam, and Sachan and I can dash off to the nearest vending machine, while Pam writes up her fashion faux-pas report. Given the ubiquity of both, I don’t think Sachan will have to wait long.
The writer and photographer I referred to in the first paragraph are Curt and Pat. Both have links on my homepage. Make sure to scroll down and check out Curt’s four posts on November 1st about a recent outing with his family (see what happens when you don’t have a vending machine every block!) http://www.austinacre.blogspot.com/
The picture used for today’s thumbnail is from Pat’s site http://blueridgeexpressions.com/index.php/home . Make sure to check out his photography and photoblog pages. Leave him a message if you enjoy the pictures. 
Written 11/08/2004