エドワード・モレノ

It was the middle of the night, literally; I was sound asleep recovering from the hassles of the New Year. My shoulder began to shake strongly, and I woke up fearing an earthquake. I saw two enormous sticks holding something dark at the end, and pointing at my mouth, and wondered whether I was experiencing a vivid dream. Then I heard the wife’s command: “Open your mouth! It is Oshogatsu, and we forgot to eat this. We want to stick together…always.” I muttered: “Oh, darn! Does it really matter?” In came a piece of roast mochi wrapped in ...

Everybody has a favorite Japanese doll, but the luxurious kimekomi seem the most popular, with the Hakata not far behind. My passion is kokeshi, substantiated by a hoard of over four-hundred pieces. Oh, that’s nothing! In Dallas, Texas, two wonderful friends have already exceeded the TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED count, and they just keep acquiring. One of their latest finds is a doll, tall as a seven-year old child, and twice as heavy. As if that weren’t enough, my friends are now also starting to collect gosho, those ‘cute’ baby dolls that have become real treasures of antiquity.

This is ...

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Three years after it happened, I am still grieving about the demise of Ningyo Journal, an ambitious periodical that J.A.D.E. (Japanese Asian Doll Enthusiasts) published from 1993 to 2004. It cost only eighteen dollars per year, but it always packed a wallop as an instrument for learning about Japanese dolls. Its earlier issues were valiant attempts at desk-top publishing, which the editors kept constantly improving. By the time it disappeared, it was being printed on first-rate coated paper, and enriched with excellent black-and-white photos; outstanding line drawings and gorgeous color illustrations. Yet, it was ...

At Centenary Church’s annual bazaar¹, I stopped at a table full of discards, and asked the saleslady how much for “THAT?”…a pair of old paper dolls inside a flimsy cardboard box. She dawdled; her eyes swept me from top to bottom, and she left to confer with her associates. While their chat was inaudible, their raised eyebrows, nods, and shoulder-shrugging were raucous. The woman came back, and trying to hide a smirk, she hinted: “A…dollar?” Quickly, I handed her the money, praying for no sudden change of her mind. “Thanks, Jiichan,” she said, which really meant ...

Sushi and I made our acquaintance nearly sixty years ago on a train ride from Iwanuma to Sendai. In those days, the government wasn’t as particular as now about “sanitation,” and food vendors were allowed to course the railroad cars offering their wares without anyone batting an eye. As we left Iwanuma, a soft call filled the car:

“Sun-bun, suzubentooo…Ocha…ochaaa….” A food vendor was promoting her wares. Muffled giggles followed her call.

“Hi, banchan,” a customer called and, with a smirk on his face, he added, “suzu-ben!” Because of the traditional Japanese politeness that typically infused every ...