YEAR OF THE RAM CONTEST
Those were the days, my friend...
Year of the Ram Contest--100 words
Dad removes the fresh mochi from the mochi maker and slices it to near perfect squares for the ozoni that mom makes only at New Years. A memory breathes of a time when Japanese ceremonial tradition demanded pounding the mochi by hand--fathers lifting and dropping the heavy kine, resembling a giant mallet, into the sticky mound of undifferentiated rice; mothers risking a hand to shift and move the rice for evenness. The pounding finds a rythmn and a harmonic counterpart is perfected. In the back patio, the mochi maker sits with calm indifference to earlier whispers of rice spirits.