nengajo
New Year's Day. In Japan the post office delivers all the New Year cards on the morning of the first, in one fat bundle with a rubber band, so the first thing everybody does in the year is stand at their post box.
Mine:
- my mother, a rat in a kimono, "come home in spring"
- the firm, printed, with the director's stamp
- Bea, a kangaroo in a Santa hat, which came before Christmas, but I kept it for the pile
- one addressed to 沢田清様, Sawada Kiyoshi, at this address
Under his name, in smaller writing, 現在お住まいの方へ. "And to the person living there now."
Year of the rat. Printed postage. From Sendai. Four lines, in careful handwriting, the same square shape as his:
Happy New Year. Are you well? I am well. This year I'll plant morning glories too.
I took it down to show Hoshino-san. She read it twice, standing in her genkan, then put her hands together.
Later we went to the Inari shrine for hatsumōde, the first visit of the year. Five-yen coin, two bows, two claps, one bow. I drew a fortune: shōkichi, small luck. Hoshino-san drew daikichi, great luck, and tied it to the rack anyway, which I'm fairly sure you only do with the bad ones.
The card is on my low table, by the window.