Pink Cheeks and Ripped Up Jeans

Every few days, I'll have a moment that reminds me just how little of what's going on I understand. On one of my first days here, I could hear someone broadcasting something on a microphone outside and saw a ton of helicopters overhead. I assumed the most dramatic: missing person, axe murderer on the loose, major earthquake. Later, I found out that the outdoor broadcast is a drive-by advertising strategy and the helicopters were just a coincidence.

The other day, I was on a walk and two very sweet-seeming older women stopped me. They pointed to my cheeks-- which were probably pink from the cold-- and discussed them at length, and then commented on the bottoms of my jeans, which are pretty ripped up. I stuck to my canon of polite incomprehension phrases for about five minutes, and then we said good bye. The conversation could have gone something like this:
"You have such lovely rosy cheeks! Are you cold?"
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"We're worried you're going to trip over your jeans. They look ripped up. You should be careful."
"I request your kindness."

Or it could have looked more like this:
"Your cheeks are a very unnatural color! You must either have roscea or wear too much blush."
"Thank you."
"It is very disgraceful to go out in such tattered jeans. Look how elegantly and respectfully Japanese people dress!"
"I would like to speak Japanese."

Given the 'if you don't have something nice to say...' mindset of most Japanese people and the kindness I have recieved, I think the first is much more likely, but they could have been talking about something else entirely unrelated and I could have misunderstood their gestures. I should just stick to pointing to my nose.

Rachel and I went on a turkey search today ("ho-luh tuh-keh" if you ever need to get one in Japan) and were surprised that people knew what we meant. Apparently, turkey's caught on as a Christmas food, but Thanksgiving has yet to follow Halloween in jumping the Pacific (the lack of blue laws is a testament the pilgrims never made it this far) so no turkeys are available yet. We decided roast chicken would be an adequate substitute, but the oven in the apartment is too small for roasting a bird, so we had to order one. While we were consulting with a man at the grocery store, a young women who spoke excellent English offered to help us, and explained the seasonal turkey dilemma. She directed us to another store, where the butcher on the first floor led us up several floors to where we finally ordered chicken. People are so helpful! Tomorrow's goal is finding cornmeal.