I entered Noriko’s sauna, located in our master bathroom. Already hot and sweaty, Noriko was busily studying a book on investing, one of maybe four of them that were stacked up on the bench of her sauna. “I love dis. I love to study market!” Noriko declared, wiping sweat off her forehead as she turned the page of her book. I picked up another one her books. “Hmmm, looks pretty intense,” I said as I thumbed through a dauntingly analytical looking text book. “What are you learning about now?” I asked.

“Hedging,” Noriko said matter-of-factly. “Art of hedging vedy important,” she said, nodding her head with self-assurance.

“Isn’t that where you somehow bet against yourself?” I asked. “I could never make sense of that,” I admitted.

“It good. It good,” Noriko declared pedantically, waving her hand. “You bet dat market go up and dat fine. But what if market go down instead? You have hedge in place to protect yourself against dat, you see?”

“Yeah, but if you think the market is going to go up, and in fact it DOES go up, then all the hedge does is neutralize your effort, no?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, no – you don’t unduhstand,” Noriko said dismissively. “It don’t work like dat.”

“Okay, then you tell me how it does work,” I challenged her.

“Too hard to explain to amateur,” she said – end of subject. She turned back to her book. I shrugged and exited the sauna. Just as I was walking away, Noriko said “And dehr COUNTER-hedging, too. Don’t forget dat. It get vedy complicated.”

Too complicated for me, that’s for sure….

And I forgot about the subject until Noriko brought it up again after dinner. “Technically, I not ‘investuh. I ‘swing traduh’.” “Oh? And what exactly is the difference?” I asked, showing interest like a good husband. “Investuh just put money in for long run. Dey ignore short-tuhm up and down – duh ‘noise’ of market. Swing traduh opposite. I don’t care about long-tuhm. I ride duh noise like suhfer ride wave. I do resuch very diligent; I read chart every day. When chart tell me dat stock is low, den I jump in. But I not greedy; when I get profit, I take it and get the heck outa dehr!” I listened with interest, as Noriko was clearly quite taken by herself and her new hobby. “It ain’t ‘hobby’,” she said dismissively. “I PROFESSIONAL, so it ain’t hobby. I takeuh few year to learn. Some day you too old to work, so I will bring in duh income as swing traduh…”

“That’s music to my ears, honey,” I replied. “Nothing would make me happier than for you to advance as a trader to where you could provide income to us. With my investment capital, of course….”

“Well, of course!” Noriko dismissed my comment. You my numbuh one client. Now you get out of my executive suite and let me concentrate!” With that unceremonious dismissal, I left her room and went about my business.

Two days later, I walked into Noriko’s executive suite again to ask her a question. “Hey – don’t you see duh sign?” Noriko barked at me in an authoritative tone. “Look at sign outside door!” I retraced my steps, and discovered that outside her door there was a professional looking, customized sign that read: “Trading in Progress: Do NOT Enter!” I burst into laughter. “Honey, where did you get this thing?” I asked. Noriko shrugged and then pointed to a catalog of similar customized signs. “I got it online. I got it so you will know when not to interrupt me. When I working, I have no time for trivial mattuh….”

“‘Trvial matters?’ Hey, kiddo, ” I said, “Don’t get TOO self-important here. I support your hobby, even with capital, but let’s not get carried away with ourselves….”

“I not carried away,” Noriko countered, still staring at her TWO computer screens, both filled with multi-colored stock charts. “By duh way,” she said casually, “I makeuh eleven hundert dollah today….”

“Eleven hundred dollars?” I asked in genuine surprise. “You made eleven hundred dollars?”

“Yeah, I had good day,” Noriko shrugged nonchalantly. NOW you tink dis just hobby?” She glared at me and then waved me off. “Now I right in middle of hedge activity, so you please obey duh sign – ‘trading in progress: do not entuh’!” Noriko pointed toward the door as I meekly exited…. : )

“That’s interesting….” I replied, as I thought about what Noriko had said. “In a politically correct culture, we are prohibited from ever getting near such language; it is utterly taboo. But since you are Japanese, apparently you can get away with it. Since you aren’t white and you are speaking English as a second language, you are granted license to use such expressions.”

“I NOT racist,” Noriko replied. “If American liberal say I racist, well, dat wrong. I not racist.”

“I hear you, honey, but the word ‘chink’ has connotations that are less than loving.”

“Maybe so, but I not racist. You know why? You know why?” Noriko was clearly building to some major point here, so I humored her. “Please tell me why, Nori-chan.”

“Because I Asian and Chinese Asian too. We same race, so I ain’t racist. A nationalist, maybe, but not racist!” Noriko laughed with self-assurance at her explanation of the situation.

Noriko has often talked in detail about the cultural history between the Japanese and the Chinese, and the Japanese and the Koreans. “Dey don’t like us, because we kick dehr butt throughout history. All dem war, we win, again and again, so of course dey don’t like us. But we don’t like dem eiduh!”

Liberal consciousness may cringe at such a frank disclosure, given its desire to repress any thought or impulse that might vaguely be interpreted as racist, but like it or not, such history and national dynamics are real. Based on history, the Koreans will have certain feelings toward the Japanese and vice versa. Is wholesale repression of such cultural conditioning per today’s “political correctness” a good thing?

“And how about duh French and Brit – dey hate each udduh. Dey racist?” Noriko pressed on with her point. “When I traveled to Singapore 20 years ago, I rented a taxi for a day for sightseen. Drivuh very honestly told me that Singaporean did not like the Japanese but they DO like the Japanese yen vedy much. Ha! Considering what we did to Singaporean during WWII, I did not blame him. Actually, I found it cute. I found him very honest and he did not hurt my feelings at all. I hate when people PRETEND that they are not racist or nationalist but I can pick them up even they are vedy sattle about it. To me dey hippocrat and DAT worst den racist!” Noriko stared me down in apparent triumph.

(“Hippocrat”? Is that a blend of democrat and hypocrite? : ) )

What makes this even more intriguing is that even though Noriko will indulge in such nationalistic comments when she talks generally about the Chinese, I have noticed that she is never rude to any Chinese INDIVIDUALS when she encounters them in life. To the contrary, based on their mutual Asian origin, she seems if anything to feel a kinship with Chinese individuals she meets. For example, at the several Asian restaurants we frequent here in Santa Fe, Noriko is “buddies” with the various women who work there, to the point that she goes out of her way to perform various acts of friendship and kindness.

“No, as individual, I don’t dislike Chinese, not at all. I Asian, dey Asian, so we sistuh. But when Japanese people as WHOLE tink about Chinese people as whole, and viceuh versa – DAT when fiuhwork begin. As GROUP, we don’t likeuh each udduh. ‘Dem damn chink! Damn dem nip!’ But as individual, dat udduh mattuh. Den we likeuh each udduh vedy much!”

So to all the liberals who are intolerant of intolerant racists/nationalists: Sorry, friends, but maybe it isn’t as simple a matter as today’s political correctness makes it out to be…..

Readers’s comments, hostile, nationalistic, or otherwise are welcomed!

From our car we walked through the slushy accumulation of snow to the community center, and then entered a large room filled with people milling around. There were the usual boothes hawking Japanese pottery, trinkets, dis and dat. Most people were walking around with the obligatory “isn’t this lovely!” look on their faces. In contrast, I immediately went into a walking-coma state, my usual response to such events. I held Noriko’s hand as she snooped around the boothes.

Noriko picked up a piece of pottery, looked at it, and then said, “Hmmm, I prefuh REAL Japanese pottuhry, not local who emulate Japanese….” That was the end of that. I noted to myself that we were off to a dubious start as we were pushed on from behind by the crowd. Then, to our right was a booth with a sign that said “energy healing”. There were several “healing practioners” performing some sort of “energy work” on people – “healing” them by putting their hands near (not on) them and waving them around.

“Dat ain’t Japanese,” muttered Noriko as we looked on. “Dey can put up Japanese sign but we don’t do dat.. Dat more NEW AGE den Japanese!” As Noriko complained, a few observers looked over with mild disapproval, then became disoriented when they realized the comments were coming from a Japanese woman. I deftly shuffled Noriko further down the aisle to avoid any commotion.

“Where food? Where food venduh?” Noriko asked impatiently. For some reason the festival seemed curiously devoid of food vendors. As we searched about the large room I gradually became aware of a voice which spoke from a stage at the front of the room. The young woman speaking into the mic had Japanese features but spoke with an English that suggested she was at least second generation.

“…….and then the people of the village get together, and they perform rituals, spiritual rituals. They will play music, and they dance and sing….”

“Dat bullshit!” commented Noriko. “‘Village?’” Maybe 70 years ago, honey. Ever been to Tokyo? Dat ain’t no village, and we don’t dance and sing in duh street like 1935. Dat guhl don’t know what she talking about!”

“Uh, there is a little sushi place over here, ” I said, steering Noriko from the speaker back to her main concern – food. We walked past kimono fabric, chop sticks, Japanese jewelry, and other such stuff to get to the sushi joint.

The speaker on stage continued to drone on in the background. “It is proper to wait, ” she said, “as long as you have to, until the water becomes the proper temperature….”

“Until the water becomes the proper temperature?” I asked, puzzled as to what she was talking about.

“TEA ceremony….” said Noriko, wrinkling her nose. “Now dat Japanese, but dat bullshit, too. I nevuh do dat as little guhl. I always refuse such silly tradition. I vedy bad guhl!”"

“Uh, honey, it sounds like you have had enough Japanese culture for one day,” I said. We had been at the festival for about 15 minutes. “Maybe so,” said Noriko, as she eyeballed the sushi served in little plastic containers. I saw that she critically noted that the avocado in the California roll looked rather aged. “Hmmm, maybe we don’t eat sushi here…?” she said.

“Okay, you have had enough Japanse culture and you don’t want the sushi, so what’s next?” Noriko’s eyes sparkled for the first time since we had arrived at the festival. “INDIAN food!” she said. “Indian joint right around cornuh from here. We go dere!”

Fifteen minutes later we were sitting at a table at the Indian buffet in the restaurant near the plaza in downtown Santa Fe. Through the window we could watch the wet snow continue to fall. It felt good to be inside and the room smelled wonderful. “Waituh always a bit snotty here,” Noriko said under her breath. “I leave lousy tip if dey do dat….” She eagerly scooped up the Indian dishes with the naan that the server had finally brought to us.

“Honey, maybe next year you should have your own booth at the Japanese festival,” I suggested.

“Huh?”

“Well, we could have a sign that says “Noriko’s Anti-Japanese Culture Cultural Center”. You could stand behind your table and just monologue to the audience, offering your anti-cultural perspective. That would be tremendously valuable for all the Americans who want to blindly worship Japanese culture, don’t you think?

“Maybe so, “Noriko said, without much enthusiasm. “I tink about it.” But rather than think about it, she concentrated her full attention on her Indian food – a cultural experience she was perfectly happy to let in.

“Ah, dis naan vedy good!” : )

Afterward we stopped at Whole Foods to look at some amino acid product Zach had recommended. Suddenly, just a child or a puppy, Noriko disappeared. Where the heck is she? We looked all over for her. Gotta put that girl on a leash! And just like that, as we were searching for her, Noriko nonchalantly reappeared. She was happily chewing on something.

“Honey? Where were you? We are ready to go!”

“I enjoying chocolate thumple.”

“Chocolate samples? Sounds good. Where are they?” A little free desert – what the heck? I follow Noriko over a couple isles, imagining that there will be some set-up where they are giving away samples to promote a product. Instead, Noriko goes to the bulk area. “Let’s see…. dis one good. Dis one vedy good!” She simply reaches into the bin and digs out a handful, matter-of-factly, and starts eating them….

“Nori-chan! Those aren’t SAMPLES! You are just stealing the shit. And at least have the decency to use duh scoopuh instead of sticking your dirty hand in there.”

“Hand not duhty. Beside, bacteria good for immune system.” Chomp, chomp. “Ah, dis one good too. I likeuh dis.” Into the next bin she goes.

“HONEY! Stop it – they have cameras in a joint like this. They will put you in jail!”

“Nah, I good customuh. Dey know dat if camera catch me. Everyone do dis; you just naive. Look around.” Noriko gestured around herself, still holding chocolate in her hand, at the Whole Food customers. “The trick is to watch mouth. You not see dem sticking hand in bin, but watch mouth. If you do, you see dat maybe 25% MOVING. Why mouth moving like dat?” She asked rhetorically while her own mouth moved. Chomp chomp!

“Well, I don’t do it and I don’t think everyone else does either, so stop it,” I said, attempting to manage the situation. Peripherally I notice that, from the inside or the outside, Zach was observing this Tale-in-the-making. “Hey, dey rip me off all duh time at dis joint, so I retuhn favuh. One day when I get home I discovuh dey charge me seven dollah for one zuchini. SEVEN DOLLAH!” Noriko said indignantly. “So dese thumple – dey simply cost of doing business. Dat all. Ah, I like dis one bettuh!” Having now found her favorite product, Noriko was ready to settle in at that bin. “Honey, that’s ENOUGH!” I said. And then, having gotten Zach’s attention, I took my wife’s chocolate-stained hand and steered her toward the door….

A few moments later, our usual server, a young Chinese woman, approached us. She and Noriko exchanged their standard niceties, and then Noriko was all business. “We takeuh calmari appetizuh, and our usual rice dish.” She threw the menus aside, totally unnecessary in her favorite joint. “Ah, fiuhwork rice, brown rice, with tofu and chile paste on the side….!” said the Chinese waitress, clearly pleased that she knew our order. “Dat right. You vedy good!” said Noriko as the two Asian girls beamed at each other with mutual respect and affection.

I took a peek at the newspaper I had brought along. “What new?” Noriko asked. “Same old, same old,” I replied. “Now the media is hysterical about North Korea, as if the security of the American people were most threatened by a little third world nation,” I said with my usual cynicism for politics and the American media.

“Hold it right dehr, buddy!” commanded Noriko as she sipped her Merlot. “Dat president of North Korea – little Kim, or whatever he call himself – I don’t trust dat guy one bit. Obama SHOULD slap dat dude around good!” I was surprised by Noriko’s forcefulness regarding what I had held as a throw-away subject.

“Sounds like you feel strongly about that, honey….” I said, providing the bait.

“Of course! We Japanese feel strongly about nuke, and for good reason – we only nation dat evuh get nuked, right? So forgive me if we a bit sensitive regarding dis mattuh.” Noriko fired me a dirty look as she continued sipping her wine. Given she had had some at home before we left, her flushed cheeks revealed she was already tipsy. “After war, deal was we have no army and US protect us from any attackuh. We got no army so US HAS to protect us. Dat dat!” She was interrupted by the arrival of the calamari which she attacked immediately. “Calamari vedy good!” she declared.

“You don’t trust the North Korean government?” I asked, with my usual relentlessness. “Of course not! Obama must set day boy straight. Dat duh deal!” Noriko said, between mouthfuls of calamari. I ain’t no warmonguh but Korean government vedy sneaky. If dey mess with Japan, Obama must blow ‘em up!”

The chatter died down now that both dishes had arrived, and Noriko’s cheeks filled up with food. “You are more interested in eating than talking politics?” I asked. “Fuhst ting fuhst!” Noriko managed to say between mouthfuls. I had to eat quickly to keep up with her, as I contemplated the conversation so far.

Later, with most of both dishes nearly gone, Noriko said, “I full. I REALLY full.” Just then the waitress came by and threw down two fortune cookies. Noriko pounced on the first one, tossing the fortune aside. “I thought you were so full, honey…?” I inquired. “We Japanese – we have second stomach for dessuht,” Noriko dismissed me with her standard Japanese cliche.

“What about your fortune?” I asked. “You read,” said Noriko as she eyed the second cookie. “Hmmm, this one sounds like yours, honey,” I said as I pretended to study the fortune. “Really?” she said, mildly interested, her attention now focused on chomping down the second cookie. “Yes. It says ‘You are a very intelligent person with a keen grasp of world history and its current implications….’”

“It say dat?” Noriko responded now with great interest. “Oh, yes, dat one my fortune,” she said beaming. “Dat one definitely mine!”

ADDENDUM – When Noriko read this dated Tale, which had sat for a number of months unpublished, she said “Dis one already obsolete. Japanese people now dump old government dat incahoot with US government. Maybe new government no longer incahoot with US; maybe it kick US military base out of Japan. If so, den who protect Japan from North Korea? I just don’t know.”

Hopefully these comments bring this post reasonably up to date…. : )

“Well, I realize something about myself recently. I discuss with terapist. In Japan, dehr huge social repression. If you Japanese, you know exactly what you can say, what you musn’t say. It all just built into your brain over dehr, and dat’s why I left. Too much censuhship.” Noriko paused as Lulu, her little poodle, suddenly jumped onto her lap from the backseat. “When I come here, I say ‘here in US, I free to speak my mind, not like Japan. It wonduhful. I free to speak!’ But I start to realize it not black-and-white. Maybe I speak mind TOO freely hehr….?”

“Uh, I think you are on to something there, honey…” I said, pleased at the arising insight, but stepping on sensitive ground. Just because you are in the U.S. doesn’t relieve you of monitoring what you are saying to people. Do they want to hear what you have to say? Will it hurt their feelings? Just because you are free of the excess social censorship in Japan doesn’t mean that you can now say anything that is on your mind….”

“Yes, you right about dat,” Noriko replied. “I will now make bigguh effort. I will be self-obsuhving, self-restraining, self-centuhed…”

“Self-centered?” I asked, sensing that Noriko didn’t yet grasp what she had said. “Is that a Freudian slip, honey?” I couldn’t help laughing.

Noriko looked disoriented at first, then grasping what had happened, deeply amused. “I say ‘self-centuhed’? Haha! I not mean dat, but maybe old Freud right. ‘Self-centuhed’? No, but yes! Hahaha! No, I meant to say ‘self-CENSUHING’. Dat I now be vedy self-CENSUHING, not self-centuhed!” Together we fully enjoyed the humor that had manifested in this moment.

Finally I said “Yeah, being committed to being more self-observing – that sounds like a good practice. A practice like that will help you evolve, and…”

Noriko cut me off. “No, I not ‘evolve’. You evolve if you want to. I not ‘evolve’; I REvolve.” She repeated this line for effect. “I not Evolve; I REvolve.”

“Uh, ‘revolve’ as in going in circles? I think you are right on that one!”

“Yes, I REvolve around you radduh den Evolve. Like moon around sun. You evolve, and I come along for ride!”

Certainly a funny line. But before I could fully appreciate it, Noriko continued. “But viceuh versuh too,” She pronounced.

“Vice versa? How so?”

“We say in Japanese, ‘Bad wife makeuh husband philosophuh. Bad wife makeuh husband saint.’ In Japan, we recognize wonderful value of bad wife, you see? So if bad wife makeuh husband saint, den who revolve around who? Who duh sun and who duh moon?”

I will leave this philosphical question to the readers to ponder!

(By the way, Noriko has an extraordinarily fancy, customized, stainless steel kitchen, but that would be an entire Tale in itself….)

I used to be a pretty good cook myself, if I may say so. But once Noriko and I started to shack up, she pretty much bulled me out of the kitchen. “I like it dis way, and it must be dat way…..” She took over all the food shopping and the cooking, and before I knew it I had regressed right back to the standard infantile-minded male in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner, honey?” Noriko complains about having to cook all the time but at the same time clearly likes it that way. “My food good. It tastey, look good, quick, and cheap. And it good for you too. Vedy healthy. What more can you ask for?” My sole reply is to dig in!

With this introduction, one day recently I came up from my studio where I was working, catching Noriko off-guard as she was making my lunch. I came into the kitchen and casually looked around while she fussed over a pot of noodles. There on the counter I couldn’t help but see the package of the sauce she was using, and it looked like super-junky, cheap Chinese….. “Health food, honey? Hmmm, this packaging looks interesting…..” I said as I tried to look further at it. Noriko stiffened slightly, but tried to act casual, continuing to stir the noodles. “You don’t need to look at dat,” she said. “It don’t really say nothing…” Indeed, all I could see so far was a bunch of Chinese characters and a photo of some super-junky looking pork dish.

“No?” I replied as I picked up the plastic wrapping and turned it over. “Hmmm, what are the ingredients in this stuff…?”" I asked.

Suddenly, Bruce Lee-like, Noriko’s arm shot out from where she was managing the noodles, a deft move to take back the damaging evidence. But I was too quick and dodged her attack, holding the paper just out of her reach. “Hmmmm, articifical soy sauce flavor, yellow dye #5….” I started. “Honey, THIS is the ‘health food’ you provide for your loving husband?” I was rolling now. Again, more forcefully, Noriko made a bold move to apprehend the evidence; again, I was too quick and retained it. “….artificial flavor, monosodium GLUTAMATE…!! HONEY!!” The last ingredient was too ironic, since Noriko always makes a speech about MSG in Chinse restaurants. “Dey say dey don’t add, but IT IN DUH SAUCE DEY BUY!” Now I could see how she knew that!

Noriko broke into laughter, as her little secret had been revealed, and there was no use fighting it. “No wonder this stuff tastes so good!” I said. “Yes, don’t forget dat; it taste good, right? And I use dat stuff vedy seldom, just for noodle once in awhile. No big deal….” But I wasn’t done yet. “JUNK Chinese dear – how could you do this to me? I thought all that you served was Noriko’s ORIGINAL?” Noriko howled at my last line, but I continued. “JUNK Chinese?” I repeated for effect.

“No,” Noriko replied, her tone of self-assurance regained. “It NOT junk Chinese. It junk JAPANESE! Ha!” She started to shriek with laughter. “Junk chinese even WORSE! You be glad it junk Japanese! HaHaHa!” What more could I say?

“Dehr,” she said matter-of-factly, as she dumped the steaming noodles in a bowl and put the sauce on. “Smells good,” I said tentatively. “It IS good,” Noriko declared, “and it CHEAP so don’t worry about it. It do WONDUH for our budget!” Noriko exited the kitchen in triumph, while I happily began to eat my Japanese noodle dish. Japanese health food vedy good! : )

Finally, one fool spoke up. “Well, Sodini was clearly mentally ill, Nancy….” his tone nearly pleaded for mercy. “I DON’T CARE if he was mentally ill, BOB!” Nancy spat out the name with a percussive fury. “Lots of people are mentally ill, but they don’t go around KILLING PEOPLE!” This last comment was thrown like a dagger into Bob’s professional heart. “I mean, that is BEYOND ridiculous!”

Nancy was on a roll, about a guy we had not yet heard of. Apparently this dude Sodini had shot three people and then himself – in today’s deranged society, an act hardly warranting much attention. But then the real “charm” of the story was revealed: Prior to his anti-social act, Sodini had had several blog sites, and upon review, it became clear that he had embedded some “hints” as to his intended destructive act. Beyond that, he had placed a few videos at youtube. Readership at his blogs was now through the roof, and THIS was something Nancy could sink her killer teeth into. It occurred to me that maybe I could as well….

“Tuhn udduh channel!” Noriko barked again, with a tone that suggested little room for compromise. Obligingly I hit the button and we traveled to another news channel, which was STILL fussing about Michael Jackson…..( see Tale from the previous month regarding this subject.) “But honey, check this out. I don’t think you are hearing the brilliance of what this guy did,” I said.

“Huh? What you talking about?” Noriko took the bait. “Well, killing a few people these days is small change; hardly warrants a few minutes of coverage. But this Sodini guy was clever enough to write some stuff at his blog sites and to create some promotional videos. Now THAT is innovative, that’s something you know the media is going to grab and hold onto. If you are going to go down in a hail of bullets, then at least have some journalistic payback for it, don’t you think?”

Noriko looked at me and said “Don’t be so silly! We watchuh about Michael.”

“But honey, I don’t think you are getting my point. You know how hard it is these days to gain readers at a blog site. Just think of what such an act would do for your “Noriko’s Tales.” Readership would go through the roof!” Noriko responded with silence, but clearly she had heard me. “Tuhn back to Nancy,” she said quietly. I flicked the channel and there was Nancy, her daily dose of righteous loathing being directed at Sodini, as several of his photos rotated on the screen. “That’s right!” shouted Nancy. “This DIRTBAG might have been crazy, but he was sane enough to get that his act would guarantee him his 15 minutes of fame. Or I should say ‘infamy!’” Then she and her panel – role models for society – all shouted at each other nonstop, an incoherent symphony of rage. I turned the volume down to cope with the moment.

After several minutes of free-for-all, Nancy caught her breath and her attention back to the viewers. “Don’t go away!”, she commanded, “after the break, you will get to peek at Sodini’s blog sites AND his videos! What a LOW-LIFE!” Nancy was still yelling when the camera cut to the commercial.

“Honey, I could take this one step further,” I suggested, talking on my feet. I could write a number of Tales for you which you could put up at the site, one at a time, AFTER the act. You would become an instant internet celebrity!”

“Hmmm….” This last point had gotten Noriko’s attention. “Maybe so,” she said, hesitating. “But you would have to die…?”

“Well, yeah, but this would be my last gift of true love to you – think of it that way!”

And she did; Noriko gave it a few seconds of consideration. Finally, she said “Nah, forget it. You say in English, ‘buhd in hand bettuh den two in bush’, right? I don’t wanna lose your income for fantasy of what ‘might be’. Too risky, and I too shy to be celebrity. Forget it,” she said and then in perfect rhythym, she ordered “And tuhn channel! No more dat Nancy Grace! We go back to Michael” : )

What a sight – there was Noriko, looking up triumphantly, her eyes beaming. Where is the camera when you need it! “You see? It no problem. You American worry too much about small ting…” What could I say? I dutifully supervised the dogs while Noriko completed her business, unruffled by her crime of public urination. Then the five of us proceeded to the plaza as if nothing had happened. As we approached we could hear the usual mediocre music that goes on nightly for the tourists, followed by the smell of the fahitas which are served by the local street vendor. “Ah, dose fahita smell good. I get one!” Though we had just had dinner, Noriko pounced on a fahita – beef, of course – and sat down on the grass at the plaza. So taken by her Mexican food was she that it took awhile until she realized that “Oh no! Grass wet! My butt wet!”

Indeed, when Noriko stood, her little butt was now conspicuously soaked from the watered grass. “Oh no!” she said as she twisted to look at her own behind, surveying the damage. Then she shrugged it off and continued to eat her fahita, while the dogs eagerly supervised every move. After that we walked over to a little park next to the lovely cathedral of Santa Fe. As we walked through the park, as teenage boy said slyly “Want some weed tonight?” “No thanks, not tonight,” I said stupidly. “Hey, who dat punk tink we are?” Noriko said with a bit of indignation as we walked away. “I’m not sure what he thinks, honey,” I said, looking down at her comically wet butt, as the boy and his friends chuckled at us from behind……

A moment later Noriko said “We go home now.” “Huh? We just got here, honey. The dogs want more than just a 10 minute walk,” I replied. “I know, I know,” Noriko said with some aggravation, “but my butt COLD. My butt wet and cold!” How do you argue with that? We turned around and took the shortest distance back to the car.

Once we were all in the car, Noriko said again “Ah, my butt COLD! My JEAN cold.” With that she nonchalantly pulled her jeans down to relieve herself. “My panty cold too…” she began. “So honey, are you going to remove your panties here downtown as well?” I asked, my comic tone a cover-up for a bit of apprehension. “No, I leave panty on; dat fine,” she said, sitting there half-naked in the car.

With that we drove directly home, just another summer evening at the plaza!

Later we drove home, through the heart of the Santa Fe commercial district. We passed a “Dunkin’ Doughtnuts”, which I normally don’t even notice. “Wow,” I said, “That’s a place that has been around for a long time. I can vaguely remember Dunkin’ Doughnuts starting up back in Pennsylvania when I was just in high school.”

Noriko replied that “I little school guhl when it open in Japan.” Suddenly, she broke into a jingle with great enthusiasm. “Hallo, Mistuh Doughnuts!” She pronounced the word “hello” “HAL-lo”, like the Germans do when they want to get your attention. “Huh?” I said, puzzled by Noriko’s response to my mentioning the American Doughnut chain. “Ah, hehr it called ‘Dunkin’ Doughnuts’, but in Japan it called ‘Mr Doughnuts’. “When I little guhl, I LOVED going to Mr. Doughnuts….”

“You used to go to Mr. Doughnuts when you were a girl?” I asked, smelling a Tale in the brewing.”Oh, yes,” Noriko replied, nostalgically recalling her childhood. Suddenly she beamed with joy. “I go to swimming practice and then I ride my bike happily to Mr. Doughnuts. I get what called a twist and milkshake. I SO happy.” Again, she broke into song, “HAL-lo, Mr. Doughnuts!” Her singing style was indeed childlike, sweet, and at the same time there was an undertone of intestinal lust, the joy of longing, on the verge of fulfillment.

“And you would sing ‘Hallo, Mistuh Doughnuts?’” I asked, singing the commercial melody back to her.

“Oh yes. I can’t remembuh entiuh jingle, but it made me vedy happy as little guhl.” Immediately Noriko broke back into the punchline with great enthusiasm. “HAL-lo, Mr. Doughnuts!” She looked upward, as if she were perhaps singing to the heavens….. And then she paused, momentarily exiting the character of a doughnut-fulfilled school girl and said matter-of-factly, “Of course, dehr udduh version too. “Conichiwa, Mr. Doughnuts!” (For the uninitiated, “conichiwa” means “hello” in Japanese.) “So you could sing either ‘hello’ or ‘conichiwa’ to your doughnut joint? Very multi-cultural,” I jested.

Noriko ignored my humor, too caught up in her memories. “Yes, but even as little guhl, I prefuh ‘hello’. Duh doughnut joint play dat little jingle vedy loud, too loud, actually. Obnoxious, but as little guhl, I didn’t care.” Yet again, with no prompting from me, she belted out the musical greeting “HAL-lo, Mr. Doughnuts!” as if she were in communion with the jingle coming from within the store. Her joy seemed to build with each new round of the song.

“Honey, the interesting thing is that I notice that you are very meticulous about pronouncing the plural,” I said.

“What plural?” Noriko asked.

“What do you mean, ‘what plural’? ‘DoughnutS.’”

“Ah, dat not plural. Dat just how we say it.”

“Huh?” The Noriko Pause – that moment where the listener strives to comprehend….

“We don’t have a sound ‘nuT’ in Japanese. Don’t exist. Only ‘nutS’, you see? Soundwise, we only have ‘nutS’, but it don’t mean plural, because – how MANY TIMES I have to tell you – we don’t HAVE concept of singuluh and plural so how could it be plural? We say ‘give me one doughnutS’, or give me two doughnutS’. It ain’t plural; it just duh wohd!”

“No wonder you are so attentive to the plural,” I said, astonished at my wife’s “reasoning”. It doesn’t exist. You only pronounce plural when it doesn’t exist!”

“Well of course! ” Noriko said, as if I were a fool. You should understand dat by now! How long it been – 14 year? You slow luhner!”