A downpour of Japanese words I didn't understand burst out of the smiling mouth of a gnarly, bonsai-shaped grandpa. How he managed to balance on those Geta wooden sandals, just by pinching the thongs' silk with his toes defied my knowledge of physics and manifested a genuine smile on my face. The smile I receive in return matched my sincerity.

"Porzia, this is Nabe-san."

"Nabe-san?" I asked, puzzled. "Isn't that the word for stove or oven, or something?"

"Yes, ...