, smells of sea salt and suntan lotion on the beach; these images of summer dominate the mental landscape of Shonan, just as the umi-no-ie summer beach houses physically transform the shoreline from Chigasaki to Zushi, Kanagawa Prefecture.
For me, however, one image reigns supreme during the months of leisure. Like many living in this land of obligation and retribution, summer really boils down to one essential half-baked reality: omiyage, a word most inadequately translated as souvenir in English.
Souvenir sits docilely on the tongue, an unobtrusive three syllables, perfectly aware of its own limitations. A souvenir can be tacky, unwanted, even descending into cheapness; on the other hand, it can wonderfully evoke memories of a favored destination. Not routinely purchased in bulk, souvenir does not imply obligation nor a lifetime commitment of repeated purchase. A souvenir can be bought carelessly, on a whim of holiday cheer.
Omiyage, in my household, takes months to plan and prepare. Our computer boasts a specialized omiyage database, a spreadsheet containing such specifics as past awards; easy packing size; cost — both actual and implied; perishability (we travel home to Florida, leaving one humid sweatbox for its only inhabitable rival on the planet not a swamp or rainforest); plus a range of other factors. All components must be carefully calculated and calibrated for a variety of individuals, covering ages from 3 to 73.