Obon is like christmas or thanksgiving, when families get together. Those who are lucky enough to have relatives living in the countryside go there to experience a Norman Rockwell Obon and the population of our area more than doubles, while places like Tokyo are a relative ghost-town.

We have no family to "come home" to visit us, of course, so some of the neighbors think we must be a bit sad. I tend to think that we are lucky because we get to borrow other people's families to enjoy the good parts without all the work involved with being hosts.

Yesterday, aside from Mona going house to house to play with the sudden influx of young children in our hamlet, and preparing for the festival, we stumbled upon and joined some neighbors doing "nagashi somen" - a traditional activity to beat the summer heat where thin noodles are chilled by running down a long bamboo pipe and the goal is to catch them directly from the chute with your chopsticks. Although we had already eaten (several times) there is always plenty of room in Mona's stomach for fun food. She hasn't stopped talking about it since.

On our walk back from the bath we came across another family that happened to be playing with fireworks so we borrowed that family for a bit before rushing off so Mona can change into her yukata robe, a task for which she has to run over to a neighbor that always plays the role of her grandmother/aunt, inviting her over for treats and cartoons who gladly fusses over how the robe is tied, making it feel extra special to Mona.

As part of the festival everyone parades through the hamlet with the younger men playing flutes and drums. My job is to stand in the back of the parade and watch out for fire, but Mona blends seamlessly, bouncing between any of the families who also have young children, whose job it is to carry lanterns at the front of the procession.

Its really nice to be able to be in such a big crowd, many strangers, and not know or have to worry where your four-year-old daughter is for an hour or two, and to run into people that night who talk about what Mona said or did when she visited their house earlier that day without my knowledge.

The only time the "borrowing" of family model breaks down is the lottery drawing at the end of the festival where each attendant gets a number. Amongst families, one might give ones winning ticket to a young child so that they can have the joy of going up to the front of the stage and claiming a prize, but when it comes to "stuff" family lines are very clear and you can't pry those tickets from their hands even with the crow-bar they would gladly lend you to try.

No one offered Mona their ticket, even if the prize is a box of tissues. The festival ended with Mona standing alone crying at the front of the stage, seemingly the only one who did not win anything. I bent down to comfort her and by the time I stood up the festival ground was empty and everyone had gone home.

The rain started pouring down the minute we arrived at our front door, and Mona enjoyed the last "special" happening of Obon - getting to stay up past midnight, and go to bed without brushing or changing into pyjamas.