Movin' on

Season's end

The noisy cicadas are quieting down. I heard my first cricket already. Scotch tape granny is safely in her new apartment, and thanks Jesus for it. The gentle one has her new place too, with enough room for her whole family to live together again. Kids are back in school, and the pool is scrubbed and folded up in its box. The two quiet kids actually played and laughed and talked. Quiet Guy is considering taking his chef exam next May, and told me all about how wonderful blue cheese tastes on crackers. And I'm heading out of Iwaki this afternoon. The season is changing. 

New stories are crossing my path too. A woman whose family is now scattered in four places after this disaster. The teenager working at the convenience store next door, who looks unaffected by the disaster, but lost an entire family of friends in the tsunami. Their bodies were found three days later. 

I will not be here to witness the rest of the story. 

Everyone is saying the same thing: Remember me. Don't forget. 

No problem there. 

How do I even begin to process what I've seen this summer? Have I actually done anything? The privilege of watching Papa God work has made it an amazing journey. Is that the extent of it?

I went "backstage" into the relief goods area and told my friend that I can't see whether I really did anything this summer.

She summarized it in four words. 

"Rachel, you were here." 

Yes, I was. 

Thank You, Papa, for bringing me here. 

24 hours

Pastor Mori warned me that the destruction in Iwate (ee-wah-tay) would make the destruction in Iwaki look mild. 

He was right. The devastation zone was far larger. Buildings with bodies were marked with a circle, and an X was drawn through it when the bodies were successfully removed. I saw more circles with Xs than I ever want to see again. The destruction didn't stop at the first floor either. I saw buildings with the third floor busted out. And cars. Mangled cars dotting river valleys. 

And this is after five intensely busy months of cleanup. 

I talked to some survivors here in Iwaki about what I saw up North. They asked whether it was worse up there. I almost said yes. But something in their eyes stopped me. 

"I can't say it was worse, because each person has their own devastating loss. A home, a town, a job, loved ones. What I can say is that there are a lot more people up North who have those losses than there are here. The loss for each person is the same." 

In Iwate, we stopped in Miyako and talked to a preacher there. They're at the same transition that Iwaki is facing: temporary housing. The government thinks they're finished. That the people are fine now, since they're out of the shelters and into slapped-together housing. But hearts are raw and the sense of community is gone. The major concerns now are depression and loneliness. There is a high risk of suicide. "Visit us. Don't forget us." That's the main request he's hearing from the evacuees. He does what he can. More volunteers are needed. 

On to nearby Otsuchi. We went to the temporary housing and found out that it was election day. They lost their mayor in the tsunami. The town government buildings are gone, and so are five out of their seven schools. By 10 PM the town would have a new mayor and a new town council. The gentleman we spoke to was running for a Councilman position. He's been one for many years, but he's never faced an election quite like this. If elected, he and twelve other men will work with the mayor to shape the future of Otsuchi. He lives in temporary housing too, like so many others. They'll meet in a room in a community center that still stands. 

One man in the temporary housing lost his son's entire family. Someone in this team of volunteers has come to see him twice a month for a while now, and went to visit him again. He used to say he's fine. This time, he was finally grieving and telling stories about his son. Healing is on its way. 

In Miyako, a Christian organization has been routinely playing with kids and have seen their behavior change for the better. In Otsuchi, a secular organization was there for the kids with crafts and toys and movies and snow cones. There are opportunities out there for working with the kids. 

Efficiency experts, plug your ears. Financial conservatives, skip this part. The guy who heads up this trip to Iwate has only Sundays off. We use it to the max. It's an eight-hour drive there, and we stayed in Iwate for eight hours, and drove back for eight hours. Wise? Not by usual standards. But those eight hours in Iwate were totally worth the long drive. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. 

Dare you to have a better day. You have 24 hours. Go. 

Lovely curve ball

I barely got back to Iwaki, and got the chance to take a trip up to Iwate. It's waaay up North, past Sendai. It'll be a whirlwind trip, just 24 hours, but it'll be a chance to see what conditions are like up there. No pictures this time, since my iPhone is still en route from where I left it--under my friends' stairs in my hometown, charging.

Heading out tonight at 11:30PM, driving up all night, and returning tomorrow evening.

Please pray for clarity. I need to see this, and listen well.

The group going up can't take just one woman along with several guys. Has to be at least two women. Policy. I couldn't go last time because of it, but it's a policy that makes me feel safe. This time, there was another woman who really wanted to go, and they were praying for a second woman to show up. Uh, that would be me. I like precise timing like that. Bit of a nail-biter to wait for, but beautiful when it finally happens.

Here's to another adventure. Talk to you soon.

Words again

Sorry y’all. Words just wouldn’t fit for a while.

On the one hand, the hometown and the homefood were absolutely wonderful. The town looked a whole lot smaller than I remembered it, and the food tasted better than ever. I was pampered beyond any reasonable level, even being treated to a several-course meal at a fancy restaurant, with the excuse that I had grown up with the owner’s wife. How fancy? Three forks, a gigantic soup spoon, and a steak knife fancy. Thank God there were chopsticks too. I got lost after the first fork and switched to the comfort of two wooden sticks. Don’t know what I would have done without them.

Best seafood ever at Myojinmaru in downtown Kochi City. Almost everything was seared over a straw fire. You haven’t eaten seafood until you’ve eaten there.

Food is easy to cloak with words. The rest of the week, not so much.

Coming back into the joys and pains of what used to be home. Spending time with precious people who shaped my life from the get-go. Gaping holes where others used to be. Seeing some old situations remain unresolved. Having great fun seeing others mended. Being re-fattened with plenty of home-cooked meals. Never having enough time to say what needs to be said, and only barely getting started on the list of people I so want to meet. Promising to be back again soon to meet whoever else I can and sit down for tea and long conversations.

And Dad. He’s not here. Not that he should be, in the shape he was in. But there I was at his grave, for the first time. He wasn’t there to give me instructions on what to do next. I’ve never weeded a Japanese grave site, nor arranged the flowers, nor read Daddy’s name engraved in the list of names beside the gravestone. Could have used his advice on how to navigate this unknown territory. I bumbled my way through.

I know all four people buried here in the Christian grave. The baby lost at birth, my friend’s grandma, another friend’s mom, and my Dad. It’s that new. Mother will be buried here too. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.” The same verse that my sister quoted when Dad died is engraved here on the tombstone. It’s a rare grave, designed entirely as a memorial and not as a place to placate the dead. The load is much lighter for the mourner here. I'm glad. I can't handle a heavier load. 

Bye, Dad. Glad you’re Home. Miss you being here.

I’ll write more later, as the words form. It was a full week, and my heart will need to spill. I got lost in the swirl for a while.

But now, I need to get ready to head back to Iwaki for the last few days of my time there. Can’t believe it’s ending already. I’m standing too close to be able to see what these three months meant. Doubt I’ll ever stand back far enough to understand.

Maybe the freshness of saying another goodbye to my own Dad will keep me tender enough to listen up North where hearts are still aching. If there’s one thing I know about Papa God, it’s that He doesn’t waste anything and He brings something good.

The job of leveraging all the grief and turmoil of the North will take tremendous creativity that none of us have. But Life will keep winning. That’s His specialty. 

Happy sigh

Ahhhhh... Shikoku. The right island,where people talk normally. I worried that I wouldn't switch back to the old accent after a couple of months in the North, but yet again, worrying was a waste of time. It's there.

No gifts but Iwaki stories this time.It's highly unconventional to do this, but with the fear level about radiation, bringing food from Iwaki just wasn't worth it.

Some would say I've bought into vicious lies about local produce and products. Others would say I'm being prudent. Am I aggravating the "reputation damage" or am I allowing some time for the nuclear plant situation to calm down? Only time will tell.

Another movie-worthy train station reunion scene. Nice. The old station is still old. I like it that way.

The hometown seems even smaller than the last time I was here. Who shrunk it?

I have a whole summer's worth of stories. Kinda talked way too much this evening. But it was wonderful to see familiar faces and hear friends add their perspectives.

Bed. In a very familiar room. Perfect end to a wonderful day. G'nite.

Southward

Today, the volunteers at Global Mission Center are putting on a barbecue for residents of an hard-hit area by the Onahama Port. 

Meanwhile, I am heading south to Kochi, where I was raised. First time in ten years. 

I'm not who I was ten years ago. I'm not even who I was two months ago. I wonder how the old hometown will look...

Danger?

A high school teacher was here for three days. He teaches earth science. We were talking about the quake and the plates that meet at Japan. It's practically a plate convention here. He said that the fault that let go on March 11 may trigger the other plates as well. There are a couple more earthquakes that are due any day now. 

Areas hit by earthquake damage alone are being ignored by the media. He reminded me of earthquake liquefaction, which is the odd and scary occurrence of solid ground being shaken into a liquid. And showed me pictures of damage further south in a town where the ground liquefied enough to topple structures and get vehicles stuck. The water, electricity, and gas have been restored, but not sewage. The sewer had been sloped from the town to the plant, and that slope is gone. Surveyors need a reference point to measure from, and they have no starting point. People are moving away. 

So. The devastation from the current disaster is bigger than any of us know. And this is a country on the Ring of Fire, where volcanos and earthquakes are frequent. Which means at least two more major quakes, plus the possibility of Mt. Fuji blowing that beautiful top. 

Do we fear? Prepare? How?

Having time to wonder is a luxury. 

Minutes ago, with the assistance center full, we had an earthquake, intensity 5. The lady next to me lost her house and town to the tsunami. Her terrified cries for help snap me back to reality. Don't borrow from tomorrow. Love her today. Keep her safe as long as possible. Reassure her. Make sure she knows that the tsunami warning is for a 50cm (one and a half feet) wave.  

A little one is enjoying balloons. Her fear is receding. And she'll be able to replace her broken rice cooker. She smiles. 

Life. Today.

Her apartment is by the ocean, behind one of the ancient pine groves. They took the brunt of the March 11 wave, far better than the modern breakwaters. Some pine groves are gone. This one held. 

Pray for her. Life must win. 

Normal things

A second hotel has been working on cleaning up. For five months. With a crew of three. Volunteers came alongside and it's going a lot faster. 

The first hotel is close to finishing up the dishes. It's taken three months to get everything washed. 

Granny loved her special-order meal. She wants Kin-chan to visit her in her new apartment and cook an egg omelet roll now and then. She even gave me instructions on how to come find her place, come September. Maybe I will. 

What do you do when you're a small church with a big building, and a disaster hits the city? Sure. You help with the disaster. Gather volunteers. So many that the church members are outnumbered. And the volunteers hardly know that there are church members that call this place home. How do we volunteers keep from overrunning their space? Respect runs too thin sometimes. 

We volunteers had a prayer time last night for the church members here. Five months is a long time to be right in the middle of this, all the time. May healing flow, and strength. 

It was a delight to see an evacuee, who lost her community to the tsunami, having a compassionate conversation in the cafe with an evacuee from the nuclear zone. 

Sometimes it gets touchy between those two groups. Too much comparison. Too much grumbling about which one is whining. Who does and who doesn't get compensation money from the government. 

A triple-disaster story I hadn't heard before. Earthquake, tsunami, and then fire. An eerie glow seen looking down from the middle school on the hill that night after the tsunami, from the burning town on the shoreline and the glow out at sea from the lights of fishing boats that were sailed far out to sea, successfully saved from the tsunami. Many of the vessels left along the shoreline were destroyed. Risky move, sailing those vessels. But a fisherman's vessel is that precious. 

Sinus problems and mild fevers among the exhausted long-term volunteers. 

Talk of needing to start preparing for winter. Heater tables (kotatsu) and space heaters will be needed fairly soon. And clothing. Does anybody have winter clothes ready? 

There are new issues to face every day. This crisis mode is starting to seem normal. Keep praying. Normalcy is still a long way off. 

But a 15-year-old girl brought some to the cafe today, in the form of four bottles of nail polish. Tired faces of women of all ages turned into giggly cuties. A hard-working fishery woman who lost both her home and her factory got shimmering pink nails for the first time in 35 years. 

No. Nail polish doesn't really solve anything. But those smiles will help them keep going a little while longer.

That's a win. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

Every single evening meeting, someone says how horrible the tsunami was. How it busted a house. How they don't have words to describe it. I was getting a severe case of yeah-yeah-itis. I mean, every single night. About the same places. After a couple of months here, even the tragedy was getting old. 

So when I was invited along to go see some of the damage, I decided to go. High time I saw it again for myself. 

Foundations. Lots and lots of foundations. Every one of them with lots of stories, gone. 

Entire areas that the government has deemed unsafe to live. Homes being cleaned out in preparation for destruction. 

Drums and the sharp smell of incense from nearby Buddhist festivals to placate the dead. 

Quiet singing of "Not by might, not by power, but by My Spirit, says the Lord."

A bright pink kindergarten, shredded. There are only a few bouquets of flowers in front of the building. I can only hope that only a few little ones were lost. 

A green kindergarten in another part of town, gutted. No flowers or incense that I could see. What a harrowing evacuation that must have been. Thanks, teachers. 

Over the years I've seen many photos from war-ravaged areas, showing building damage. They were taken months, even years after the damage was done. I thought the people just didn't bother with repairs, and didn't care. 

I'm sorry. I was wrong. 

They do care. Five months after the tsunami, the several-foot layer of debris is gone, and so are half of the ravaged buildings. The giant ships are removed. The piles of fishing boats are much smaller, and so are the piles of fire-torched cars. The gutted houses still standing are the ones with milder damage, or the ones harder to clear out. There's just so much to do. It'll take a year just to tear things down. Longer to reconstruct. It's far from over. 

The rice merchant family we visited is doing well, and was delighted with the diapers we dropped off for grandma. 

The pharmacist looks sharp in his white coat, and his new shop is very inviting. The old awning is up again, and he's back in business. Seeing him back in shopkeeper mode did my heart good. 

The softball park has been repurposed to hold the mounds and mounds of debris from the area. There's no telling how many homes those mounds used to be. 

Three closed swimming beaches. Do you understand how much tourist money has been lost this summer, just by closing those beaches?? Neither do I. But with a lot of the breakwater blocks gone, even I could tell that one of those beaches was no longer safe. Not with those waves. 

A breakwater block was in a river, two blocks from the ocean. 

A totally gutted 7-11 convenience store, no windows or doors or even walls to speak of, is in business. Looks kinda war-zone-like, but they're back. Gotta love their spunk. We stopped for ice cream. 

Two well-kept parks. Hardly a local person around. Nobody but out-of-towners are on the lawns. Locals are afraid of radiation in the soil and in the grass. 

But one of the families enjoying the playground at the second park was from Fukushima City. Their kids hadn't played outside in months, and definitely not on playground equipment. They were here visiting Grandma. The radiation contamination is so much lower here, and the kids had been cooped up for so long... 

Never have you seen happier, sweatier kids. 

That was quite a tour of the ravaged part of town, and quite a contrast with the beautiful nearly-empty parks. My yeah-yeah-itis is cured. I'll be able to check on the new arrivals after evening meetings now. 

So what if the stories repeat? God help us, it's shocking out there. 

Naps

The assistance center has drawn new people over the last couple of weeks. We're seeing severe situations again. People with nothing, and needing food and household goods. 

Many were sleepy. They didn't get back to sleep after the 3AM quake. One was grumpy. Another nodded off in her chair. Glad to be a place where she could do that. I guess Mr. Grumpy needed a place for that too. 

We ran out of food to distribute, and the clothing choices are pretty narrow. Good thing we're taking a long weekend. It's the Obon holiday, a time when relatives are supposed to come home, both living and dead. Usually it's just another family celebration. Grief will be close to the surface for many this year. 

We had a sloooow Saturday. The debris teams went to their various locations, but the assistance center crew basically napped. Even the tiredest volunteer was relaxed and saying how nice it is to have a lazy day. 

A volunteer just arrived who may have information on working with kids in the disaster zone. Isn't it just awesome that he looks like Super Mario? 

Man. I must need another nap. 

Choose

She has faced much. And she admitted that these five months of difficulty after the disaster have brought her to the point of considering suicide. She is under medical supervision. 

The question boiled down to whether or not she believes that new, good things could be on their way. Whether things can get better, or whether she's alone with no way out. 

She's looking for a home, and has nothing to put into it. Filling her car with bedding and appliances doesn't solve the entire question of choosing life or death. But it's a start. Listening and hearing will go a long way. 

Ultimately, the choice is hers to make. She was starting to smile a little before she left. Life will win if she lets it. She says she'll be back. That would be a joyful thing. 

Five months since March 11. There were fireworks tonight, partly as the standard celebration of summer, and partly in memory of those who lost their lives in the disaster. Life and death, side by side. 

Many places in the disaster zone haven't been cleaned up yet. Rebuilding has hardly had a chance to start. The Prime Minister of Japan is preparing to step down. Much is at stake as the government changes. 

It's not always just a matter of watching Life win. There's a choice to make, for all of us. 

"I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life." (Deuteronomy 30:19)

Just after 3AM, August 12. Another aftershock, intensity 5. Another reminder that there's still much to do. 

Egg omelet roll

And a full day it was. 

The pool was a jumble of very happy boys for a while, until a scraped knee scab suddenly peeled and stung and stopped the fun. But the hot sun was about ready to broil us all anyway, so maybe it was just as well. 

The bath house owner from just around the corner brings food for the volunteers sometimes. He is starting to pray. "A Korean young man finished his bath and left, and then came back just to tell me 'God is on your side. He's for you.' Made me happy to hear that. Ya know, I ain't been the prayin' kind, and I don't understand God much, but what that kid said, I know that's right."

I will be leaving Iwaki City on August 31. I'm letting people know now, especially the gentle ones. One of our "backstage crew" who organizes the relief supplies cried. We both knew that only a few of those tears belong to me. Most were for all the other good-byes when she lost her town so suddenly. 

Even those of us who moved away from a town we loved can't understand what it's like to suddenly evacuate after the nuclear incident. The frustration of the town still existing, but being inaccessible. A British volunteer and I listened to her story for a good long while. We may not fully understand. But we can listen. 

One evacuation center has nine people left. One is a little granny (What am I saying little for? They don't make big grannys here.), with scotch tape on her eyelids to pull them open. Don't know why she hasn't had an operation to shorten her eyelids. Maybe money, or maybe health. But scotch tape granny is always the first to start a conversation. Mostly about the food we brought. She's the reason that stewed fish is on the menu. She ordered it last week. 

Several of the volunteers ate with her. Even the little boy who was running around pestering everyone during the meal loves her. He gladly went to fetch some bottled water from the fridge for Granny's guests. 

Yes, she has an apartment to go to. The gas hookup was today, and the little boy's family is helping her clean the place to move her in. 

We wanted to hear more, but she swatted the topic away and got back to the current event. "My have you ever tasted such lovely fish? Oh the chicken is so tender. This egg is spectacular. Kin-chan sure cooks a good meal. You ever forget to cook me some of this egg omelet roll, Kin-chan, I won't eat a bite of your food, you hear me? This fish goes so well with the rice. How good of you to make it and eat it with me."

She then proceeded to set the menu for next time. Eggplant is in season now. She wants it sautéed and finished off with a miso sauce. Oh, and make some mabo tofu, that should be easy enough. The salad, don't do raw vegetables. And macaroni doesn't taste good. Potato salad is what she wants. And egg omelet roll. Don't forget that. 

It'll be five months tomorrow since the big earthquake. She and a hundred thousand others have not been able to control what happens around them. Even the choice of what to eat. 

You know what? Kin-chan will have that meal ready for her next week. Her apartment won't be ready yet. No, he won't forget the eggs. He was chuckling about the menu all the way home. 

Yep. Good day. 

Keeping on

A break, tears, and massive amounts of prayer did my heart good. Thanks, everyone, for the backup. A lot of good heart-work got done this weekend, and I returned to Iwaki with a much surer step. 

And five can openers. They seem rather random. Maybe they are. But they were on sale and I've heard a couple of evacuees mention that they turn down canned goods because they have no can opener. So I figured five can openers wouldn't hurt anything. Into the relief goods they went. 

The crochet needles are gone already. Still have some knitting needles left. It makes me pause and think when an older lady takes a teeny lace-sized crochet hook and is excessively grateful, pledging that she will treasure it. It's basically a wire with a bent tip. How much she must have lost to be so relieved and happy over a short length of thin metal. 

She used to knit sweaters on her knitting machine. The wave destroyed everything. Now, one hook is precious. 

Glad I'm not the one making tough decisions around here though. Don't know if this was the first occurrence, but one family was turned away today because they were not affected by the quake and kept coming to the life assistance center for relief goods. But I trust the person who made the decision. He has to really get pushed before making a move like that. 

Yet I also see extreme fatigue among the long-term volunteers. A black eye from walking smack into a telephone pole that's always been there. Shortened fuses. One rescuing another by getting away for a mountain walk. Tighter voices that need a good warm-up. Or a cup of tea and a recliner. 

Pastor Mori is back from vacation this morning. He looks more ready than I've seen in a while. 

Time to start the day. 

Discouragement

A man involved in reconstruction carries a load too heavy for his heart, absolutely convinced he was just profiting from the misery of the quake victims. 

The man suddenly weeps, realizing he's working to rebuild, and not to get rich on misery. Prayer, encouragement, and much-needed tears lighten his heart a great deal. 

A quilter lost many years of her work in the tsunami, and is still unable to even consider quilting again. 

But she can knit and crochet with her new needles. She says yarn and needles can keep her company until she can quilt again. She quilts from the heart. And her heart-pictures...

Later then. Knit, friend. 

A mom of four is alone with her kids. Her husband now works hours away because the quake eliminated his local job. 

She finds another mom to talk to. They share mom things that I will not understand until I have my own. Both moms visibly relax. 

Me. Hearing so much, tired and needing rest, seeing precious kids, wanting to stay longer, but realizing that August will end all too soon. Once summer vacation ends, so does my time with kids here in Iwaki. Discouragement runs deep and robs me of needed sleep. My thoughts are jumbled. 

My 1:30 AM e-mail to a friend is answered an hour later.  She reminds me to face what I feel and choose God's peace. Doing so buys me a few hours of sleep. 

The man still has his job to face every day. The quilter has more grief to process. The busy mom is still caring for her kids by herself. 

I still have no clear-cut answer. 

But God brought what each of us needed at that moment. Thanks, Papa. 

It's another Yokohama weekend. The encouragement continues, mostly in the form of reminders. God is faithful. This trip started on very short notice. There's still time. I've seen God lead before, and heard Him clearly. Follow and listen. There's more. 

That, plus some time totally away from the disaster (tell me what could possibly be less disaster-zone than a crowded mall), is reviving my heart. 

Pray that the other three discouraged ones I described are being cared for just as tenderly. 

There are many discouragements of many sizes. Mine is admittedly a much smaller issue than what those around me face. I am watching Papa God come alongside all of them, big or small. 

Many of the evacuees try to shrug off their own situation, pointing out that others have it worse. We make sure to acknowledge the difficulty that they are actually facing, and remind them that their own situation should not be ignored. Does pointing at someone with a broken leg heal your own broken arm? 

The disaster is old news now. Volunteers are getting fewer and fewer. The need is still great, and changing form by the minute. Longer-term volunteers are getting tired and discouraged. Four of our major players in Iwaki are taking long vacation time away to recharge right now. Does that tell you anything?

Please keep coming alongside. The discouragement and fatigue among the volunteers may look small beside the disaster. But it's real. 

Cafe

Over the last two days, I've been given mango tea, a can of cafe latte, an ice cream bar, and a Go-gurt. All from people who come to the assistance center. That ice cream bar and Go-gurt were probably the most expensive, given who brought them. She gave up something to bring those. Accepting thank-yous from recipients is an important part of the day. 

A lady who sells deep-fried foods came. She's an evacuee, and her business is struggling too. She expects to have a couple of slow years before business picks up again. 

But a lot of evacuees are tired of deep-fried foods. Most of the meals in the evacuation centers were deep-fried. Maybe her guess of two years will be enough to get her market back. 

One of our volunteers loves to cook for evacuation centers. He makes sure to omit heavy oily foods, and always makes plenty.  We tease him that he thinks they need a banquet. Actually, maybe they do. They sure get one. 

The very last of the centers in Iwaki City will close next week. The city originally planned to close everything by the end of June, but not everyone could find a destination. One lady said she couldn't find an apartment, and will go back to her rented house. It leaks when it rains, but she has nowhere else to go. Roofers are over-booked. Tile roofs require special skills. 

Two shy sisters, a fourth-grader and a second-grader, were among the many kids who came to the cafe. They were supposed to have gone to their lessons at a house by the beach on March 11, but the quake hit early enough to keep them from going. That house was destroyed by the wave. 

I told them I'm very glad they're alive, and so is everyone else. Their shy little smiles made my day. 

During a rare lull when there were no kids in the cafe, I picked up my knitting and sat next to some newcomers to the assistance center. Turns out that both were knitters, and had no needles or yarn. 

Once that little problem was corrected, right then and there one of them started casting on and knit a few rows of a green-and white scarf. Her fingers couldn't wait to start knitting again, and started in as soon as they touched the yarn. She was grinning from ear to ear. 

The other said she needed to measure her grandbaby first. But she was watching every single stitch her friend made. 

They were next in line to get relief goods. The man in charge of  distribution almost called their name, and then saw her happily knitting away and stopped himself. She didn't get called until she put away the knitting. Her enjoyment was just too good to interrupt. 

Mr. Distribution takes a breather in the cafe now and then, especially when the next person is deep in conversation or just looks happy and relaxed. He knows they need the time more than a few bags of stuff. 

The cafe was mobbed with kids today. Rainy day again. Balls, balloons, a pretend ice cream store, a couple of babies intent on getting back outside... Let's just say I took a nap after lunch. Can't wait for a sunny day to put up the brand-new pool that just arrived! 

In the midst of this hustle-bustle comes the quake information lady. She knows which faults are doing what, and what's predicted next. Her nuclear information is over the top. She's hovering over the line between prudence and paranoia. Sometimes her tone sounds like the quake is winning. She loaded her car again last night to be ready to evacuate. She may be right. She may not. How should anyone respond in these uncertain times? 

The little ones remind me that balloons are fun and that crayons are worth a taste-test. We all need the reminder.