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my futon. Most Westerners, when they think of a futon, think of a heavy mattress on some sort of wooden or steel frame. As far as the Japanese are concerned, that's not a futon, that's a bed, and they're marketed as such in Japanese furniture stores. What you see above is a real Japanese futon.
There are two general categories of futon: shikibuton and kakebuton. The word "futon" is written with two characters meaning "cloth" and "lump." Add "shiki-" and you get "cloth lump for spreading;" add "kake-" and you get "cloth lump for putting on top." In other words, the former is the mattress, and the latter is basically a quilt or comforter.
One spreads the futon out right before going to bed, and puts it away in the morning. Leaving it out all day (hikippanashi) is the mark of a slob, and actually kind of a bad idea, as the futon absorbs moisture from the floor (especially if it's spread on top of tatami matting), and gets all damp and icky. Sticking it in a closet does seem to mitigate this--somewhat.
Otherwise, one combats the damp by draping the futon over one's balcony whenever there's a sunny day that doesn't happen to be too humid. Beating it with a bat or broom handle helps redistribute the cotton stuffing and get the dust and hairs out.
I bought the shikibuton in this picture at a local bedding mom and pop. It was run by a darling elderly couple named Nishikawa, who were quite terrified by my sudden appearance in their store and apparent determination to actually purchase something. It was cute but kind of sad the way they kept stumbling over each other to make sure the futon was actually large enough for a hulking foreigner like me to lie down on (it is but just barely), to make sure that I didn't want it in another color (I did waver between this one and the peach), and to bring it down from their second storey storeroom.
For my part, I couldn't figure out why so much fuss was warranted--I was speaking Japanese after all, and at the correct level of politeness. It wasn't till I left that I realised that a) foreigners really do not visit my neighborhood, b) the couple had probably formed their impression of Westerners during WWII, and c) I do have spikey hair and a lot of metal in my face.
Still, the transaction went quite well, despite all that.
That will be all.
my futon. Most Westerners, when they think of a futon, think of a heavy mattress on some sort of wooden or steel frame. As far as the Japanese are concerned, that's not a futon, that's a bed, and they're marketed as such in Japanese furniture stores. What you see above is a real Japanese futon.
There are two general categories of futon: shikibuton and kakebuton. The word "futon" is written with two characters meaning "cloth" and "lump." Add "shiki-" and you get "cloth lump for spreading;" add "kake-" and you get "cloth lump for putting on top." In other words, the former is the mattress, and the latter is basically a quilt or comforter.
One spreads the futon out right before going to bed, and puts it away in the morning. Leaving it out all day (hikippanashi) is the mark of a slob, and actually kind of a bad idea, as the futon absorbs moisture from the floor (especially if it's spread on top of tatami matting), and gets all damp and icky. Sticking it in a closet does seem to mitigate this--somewhat.
Otherwise, one combats the damp by draping the futon over one's balcony whenever there's a sunny day that doesn't happen to be too humid. Beating it with a bat or broom handle helps redistribute the cotton stuffing and get the dust and hairs out.
I bought the shikibuton in this picture at a local bedding mom and pop. It was run by a darling elderly couple named Nishikawa, who were quite terrified by my sudden appearance in their store and apparent determination to actually purchase something. It was cute but kind of sad the way they kept stumbling over each other to make sure the futon was actually large enough for a hulking foreigner like me to lie down on (it is but just barely), to make sure that I didn't want it in another color (I did waver between this one and the peach), and to bring it down from their second storey storeroom.
For my part, I couldn't figure out why so much fuss was warranted--I was speaking Japanese after all, and at the correct level of politeness. It wasn't till I left that I realised that a) foreigners really do not visit my neighborhood, b) the couple had probably formed their impression of Westerners during WWII, and c) I do have spikey hair and a lot of metal in my face.
Still, the transaction went quite well, despite all that.
That will be all.
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So you can know how to write someone's name and still have no idea how to pronounce it correctly.
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