Uses for Rocks

When I was seven I was possessed by the devil. It’s the only explanation I can come up with, to explain the events which follow. August 25, 1993. “No Rain” by Blind Melon plays from the paint stained radio my dad was listening to while he barbequed. Inhale. The smell of sizzling pink hotdogs roasting, their long bodies impaled on my father’s fork which presses them against the charcoal blackened rod.

Seas of conversations wrestle through the blur of barbeque smoke to reach my ears. The black smoulder is heavy with the smell of chicken fat that has just kissed the grill in sacrifice.  I look up at my father. “Leanne, go in the house and get me some more barbeque sauce.” As I mentioned to you before, I am seven, so I listened. I reach up and open the patio door just as my cousin and brother come flying out. My brother Billy slams into my hip. “Get out of the way pig!” He laughs in unison with my cousin, Elliott. Today is Elliott’s birthday. His parents were getting a divorcing that same year and he took it pretty hard. At seven, all I knew about “divorce,” was that it was the evil demon that made Elliott poop in our pool that day. Yuck!

I came back out with the barbeque sauce. The gooey residue from its last pour job stuck to the skin between my fingers.  This sucks. As the eldest granddaughter I was the favourite amongst the adults and the most hated amongst the children. My grandfather (Pa) was my saviour at this age. A severe diabetic, he seemed to have an endless supply of candy in his pocket, which he fed to me like happy pills.

My father grabs the bottle out of my hand and brings me back to reality. I lick the sauce from between my fingers.  Pa pats me gently on the head and asks, “Would you like to go to town with your dad to pick up the cake, Lee-Lee?”  I look up at my dad, one hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun, “when are you going Dad?” “I’m leaving in 2 seconds - so if you’re coming go get your sandals on now!”

I race inside and glide my toes around the blue rubber grips. The door bangs against the house as I swing it open. My mother hollers from inside – probably warning me to, “Stop slamming that GD door!” Slowly, I jog my pear shaped body out to my grandmothers white mustang. It’s parked on the road, perfectly aligned with all the neighbour’s cars. The sun gleams. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Coloured balloons hang like wilted flower petals from the poplar tree at the end of the driveway.

My attention is averted back to my nanny’s white mustang. I walk to the left side and lean against the window to look in. Ouch, it’s hot! I back off and notice that it is locked. “Ughhh.” I look back towards the house but am too lazy to run and ask dad for the keys. I’ll wait. I kick at the gravel along the side of the road. My gaze is drawn to a big rock. I walk toward it and pick it up. A car is coming. I hear its engine exhale heavily as the driver accelerates, preparing to approach the hill. I am standing on the edge of the road. The heavy mud stained rock is now weighted between my two small hands. The car races closer. It passes.

I bend my knees and huff, springing up like a frog as I throw that big rock high, high, high up into the clear blue sky. It shatters the entire back window of the mustang. Glass clinks everywhere. My father’s voice booms from behind me. And that is the day I swear to you, I was possessed by the devil.

Tree Beard

When I was a child I had a secret place. It was literally only a ten minute walk from my house but as I ventured there, I felt important. Like a voyager heading into an exciting and undiscovered new world. Of course, voyages can be dangerous so I never went there without my best friend, Christina.

Although you could get there by road, the best way was to walk through the blueberry patch and over the hill. At seven years old, my knees were barely high enough to trample over the bristly bushes. They pulled and attached themselves to my thin pants just like a young toddler would cling to its mother in a crowd.  Insensitive to the efforts of Mother Nature, I flattened the bushes with my pink rubber boots. This was also insensitive to my own mother, who travelled there once a day in the dead heat of summer to pluck the ripened fruit.

Blueberries squished and spilt at their sides, spewing delicate brown seeds and green goo. However, their brutal death felt like a small sacrifice in order for me to reach my scared spot. Over the hill I would run.  A light breeze would push back the blond wisps of hair that had broken free from my ponytail. The pulsation of the sun’s heat felt like my mother’s hand pressing firmly on my head. She did that a lot when trying to keep me close by while talking to neighbors on the street. 

The sweat beads collected on my face and magnified the freckles I had hated so much as a child. At the top of the hill I would wait for Christina. Once reunited, we would take a running leap and hope to be the one that jumped the farthest over the chocolate river (also referred to as a dirt road by my parents). The putrid smell of the pig farm bullied its way into my nostrils and made me squeal in repugnance.  A screech pierced my ears once again but this time it came from Christina’s delight. We had finally reached our oasis.

The tree lot was glorious. The scent of sticky pine tickled as I inhaled and enticed me to enter . Greens of every hue cascaded as if Monet himself had painted this perfect mosaic landscape. My eyes scanned the sanctuary, my pink boots teetering over the tree line like I was on a tight rope. Before I knew it my boots were off, pulling me into the swell of trees. They stood silently and as unique as people, composed of all different shapes and sizes. I would imagine that the small spruces were children of the taller, bushy pines. A game of hide and seek would ensue and I would hide under the tallest tree as if it were my father, protecting me from the danger of being found. 

Christina and I would play for hours at this tree lot. Then dusk would come to pick us up and take us home. After all, even the best of voyages must come to an end at some point.

Life Lesson #1: Don't Take Yourself Too Seriously

Today my professor posed a question to our class that I have never stopped to ponder before, "Who am I?" Funny, that after a few minutes of contemplation all I could visualize was the chubby green caterpillar from Alice and Wonderland,  puffing away on his hookah and exhaling purple smoke all around me asking, "Whooooo arrrre you?"

Alice in Wonderland

So please bear with me as I try to see through the purple smoke of my life and share with you, who I really am. The conditioned response would be to tell you that I am 26, female, fourth year PR student, born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada. However, in an attempt to avoid sounding like a personal ad, I will pull from a life experience which should also provide some explanation about the title of my blog...­ Genki.

After I graduated from Mount Allison University, I decided to take a one year hiatus from the student world.  So I packed my life into two suitcases and moved to Hekinan, Japan to teach English. My preconceptions of Japan were immediately squashed when I landed in Hekinan. I pictured large city living, instead the town was small. I thought my apartment would be too tiny to even "throw elbows" but instead it was surprisingly spacious.  I pictured fast paced living yet I found myself (again) in a quiet, unassumingly small town.



Hekinan, Japan

There is one time of the year (as I found out in the summer of 2007) when Hekinan sheds this sleepy hollow image. It occurs during a festival called Genki-suu. The Japanese word, Genki written like so - 元気, means good health, good spirits and enthusiasm.

One definitely requires all 3 of the above to participate in Genki-suu. This festival is a dance EVENT like no other. See, every year the same annoyingly catchy tune booms throughout the town while teams of all ages, dress in all sorts of wild costumes and just dance... for 10 straight hours.

So in 2007 (after only being in Japan for 3 weeks), I headed downtown with my roommate to see what this racket was all about. I was instantly overwhelmed with the enthusiasm and energy radiating in the streets of this typically quiet town. Grandmothers in their 90's were fist pumping the air, business men danced in drag and the music drummed in my ears as I tried to push my way through the crowd and catch a glimpse. I felt drunk with excitement. As I made my way to the front, I watched everyone dancing with envy. I wanted to participate but I felt too shy to even venture onto the streets and have my picture taken.  At this point I feel that I should share with you that dancing was as foreign to me as eating with chopsticks.



Summer of 2007



Summer 2007 - More than 10,000 people flooded the streets for Genki-suu

The festival came and went and by the next morning the town was restored to its original sleepy state. The year that followed taught me more about myself than any class I have ever taken. I learned how to ride a bike all over again, speak another language, eat with chopsticks and even navigate a map. I fell in love and made friends with people from all over the world. Most importantly I learned how to be on my own. I didn't truly learn how much I had changed until the Genki-suu festival came around the following year, in August of 2008.

A friend had asked me to participate with a group of high school teachers and I accepted without hesitation. I had achieved something greater than I had ever intended - I was finally comfortable and confident in my own skin.  I'm sure that many of you reading are familiar with the quote, "live like there's no tomorrow, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one is watching." Well I did just that.  Just as the town had originally surprised me in August 2007, I had surprised myself. I danced as if nobody was watching and even took home a medal.

Life Lesson #1: Don't take yourself too seriously.



Summer of 2008 - preparing for a day of dancing!

  For those of you intested check out this YouTube clip I found of the festival:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNtVnJCxYik