New Years: the complete haul

As I mentioned the other week, it’s taken me a bit to get to all these New Years pictures.

But finally, they have marched one by one through Photoshop and out the other side.

Into the light of day.

My favorite shots are the cuddly ones. Our good friend Tyler has found the love of his life, Liz, and we just met her for the first time the day before the party. You have no idea what a perfect match they are.

My husband and I have known Tyler ever since our freshman year of college, when we were all babes blinking in the brand new sun of a world of independence. A world in which every day for breakfast I had a mocha, a yoghurt, and a piece of string cheese. A world in which I never washed my sheets. Or wore a coat . . . and then proceeded to catch the whooping cough.

But never went to the doctor or started wearing a coat. Yep, life was good.

But I’m getting off track!

Tyler and Liz! That’s what we’re talking about.

Tyler is smart. Academic. Politically driven. Idealistic, but pro-active. Well-read. Involved.

There is so much to this guy, and I wondered for a long time if he could ever find a woman who matched his political passion, his smarts, his debating skills.

And if such a woman existed, what were the chances that she could be a beautiful ballet dancer as well? (Tyler has always had a thing for ballet dancers)

Well, that woman is clearly Liz.

Ballet, beauty, brains and all.

“Are you real?” I asked her, poking her ribs.

“Hard to say,” quoth she.

Seriously, I was in wonderment that this women existed, and that Tyler has found her!

The only rationalization of this is that God planned it all out from before the beginning of time. Yaaayy for love!

Dave and Katie hosted the party again this year, and bless their hearts–it was pitch perfect.

It’s no small feat to feed a dozen or so people, organize a group game, provide beds for everyone, and cook breakfast the next morning. And then watch as everyone else prances out the door fancy-free around noon the next day, leaving all the mess behind.

But Dave and Katie did it, and did it with grace and foresight and lots of hard work.

Thanks guys!

“No, thank YOU,” Dave is saying. Or appears to be saying.

You’re welcome, Dave. I’ll show up at the New Years party, eat, drink, laugh, talk, sleep, and then go home the next day with no responsibility any year you want.

Though thinking of responsibility, I have become the default photographer–so maybe that’s enough to get me off the hook of other duties for all eternity, amen and amen.

Dees camera . . . eet ees soooo heeefffy.

We played Chinese Telegraph again (because it was such a huge hit last year), and it was hilarious.

As we have all come to expect.

And Joe and Steph–I’m so glad these guys got married.

I just wish they lived closer to us!

Joe is studying for his PhD in Economics, and if they weren’t so far away, he could engage with my husband in academically satisfying discussions on a more regular basis.

Why don’t I engage him on a regular basis, you ask?

Let’s just say that while my husband looks at and studies maps, I look at and study cookbooks. While he reads obscure books with lengthy titles about obscure historical facts, I read Kate Atkinson or The Hunger Games.

Then we gaze across the room at each other in complete bewilderment as to why the other person seems to be enjoying him or herself so dang much.

I love my husband, and we have so much in common–but he needs to have academic discussions with people who won’t change the subject to this great recipe on braised chicken thighs at the first opportunity.

What do you think, sweetie?

Oh, you think it’s hilarious that I like looking at cookbooks and reading fiction?

You find these leanings completely incomprehensible?

Great. Just checking.

So maybe I need to make more of an effort to climb into his world of thought–but anyway!

I’m not generally a party-person. I tend to feel awkward, my small-talk skills start waning after about 5 minutes, and I quickly start wishing I were snuggling at home, PJ-clad, popcorn bowl in hand. But this party . . .

. . . it’s different. I love it.

‘Til next year, everyone!

The Street of a Thousand Blossoms

This beautiful novel by Gail Tsukiyama chronicles the life of two brotheres, Kenji and Hiroshi, who become teenagers in Tokyo during the 1940s. Orphaned and raised by their grandparents, they live through the war, the occupation, and the years of Westernization that follow.

While more and more Japanese women start wearing Western dress and many old customs are put aside by the younger generations, both brothers end up choosing careers steeped in tradition: Kenji becomes a maker of masks for the Noh theater and Hiroshi becomes one of the nation’s top sumo wrestlers.

Though this book is definitely a historical novel, the historical facts aren’t the meat of the text–they simply comprise the cocoon in which her characters develop, struggle and grow. The portraits Tsukiyama paints are many: the boys’ grandmother Fumiko, who silently endures the grief of the occupation, losing her closest friend and trying to stretch their meager supplies of food; the boys’ grandfather who is slowly becoming blind; the owner of the sumo stable where Hiroshi trains, who loses his wife during the fire bombhing of Tokyo; the master mask-maker Akira who becomes Kenji’s sensei and teaches him the art of carving the wood and bringing the faces of the Noh theater to life, a man who is tempted by the comforts of marriage to a young widow he cares for, knowing all the while that his true love lies elsewhere.

(Side note: “Bow to you sensei!“)

(Sorry guys–Napoleon Dynamite moment. Don’t mean to ruin the mood, but it had to come out.)

As Kenji and Hiroshi’s careers bloom, their lives become a balancing act between tradition and change. They both lose women they love–through accident and through neglect–they both struggle to find happiness and meaning–in short, they both live.

Gail Tsukiyama’s writing style is clear and direct, making her novels almost effortless to read. And yet no richness is lost because of this–through her straightforward narration, all the subtleties of each character emerge nonetheless. Midway through the novel, Hiroshi’s grandmother says “Don’t you think every face tells its own story?” Hiroshi answers “Like a book?” His grandmother responds “More like a poem. If you study it long enough, you’ll soon find its meaning.” That’s exactly what Gail Tsukiyama does–she paints simple portraits of people, brushing traits here and there like a painter on a canvas–and as the book progresses and you gaze at these characters as they move through the story, the meaning behind the painting emerges in all its layers and complexity.

Pick up this book at your library, on your e-reader, or whatever your method may be–I think you guys will really enjoy this one. And if you like it, Gail Tsukiyama has written a ton of other great novels as well–“Women of the Silk” and “The Language of Threads” (both of which I loved), “The Samurai’s Garden” (awesome), etc. She’s worth checking out!