Do you know?

Do you know you're loved, Iwaki? Do you know, Ofunato?

If only you could have seen their faces listening to stories from Iwaki. And the yarn they brought for Ofunato. So much yarn. Enough knitting needles and crochet hooks to make an afghan for the Pacific ocean. Balloons that will strengthen my lungs. Puzzles to chat over. Hats from a knitter who knits for the homeless. A knitting book. Small toys. Sewing kits. Whatever else I find when I unpack. 

And the prayers, often decorated with tears. No better jewels for decoration. 

Many Japanese and Japanese-at-heart want to come see you, but can't. Some of this is from them. 

I gave up on the small suitcase, and left Maine with two big suitcases. Stopped by Illinois and added two more. Initially a large and a small, but no way was I going to stop people from adding their share. A neighbor gave me her large suitcase to replace the small one. 

I'm on my way. 

We all know that stuff isn't love. And I brought a lot of it. But maybe enough love from Maine and Illinois rubbed off, and will stick to you for when you need it. 

You're not forgotten. I'll say it as often as I can. I hope you'll be able to hear. 

And if you can listen past us to catch the echoes of God's love... well, that's the best part. 

Midstream

But I just got back. I'm not even finished seeing people yet. There are several more I was so sure I'd see. I was just getting used to the idea that I couldn't go back to Japan. Now, not only can I go, I'm going. 

I'm leaving Maine midstream. There are big stories that I'm bailing on. Dramatic ones like a friend with a broken back, another whose son broke his leg, and a precious grandma starting to wrap up her journey here. Quieter ones like a friend masked in sadness, another looking around her new place and starting to nest, and several wrestling with the complexities of marriage. New boldness and new frontiers for others. 

I want to stay and finish the stories. To find out how it turns out. But as before, I hand each story to Papa for safekeeping. 

I left Iwaki mid-stream too. Miss the people and their unfolding stories there. I was there ever so briefly, barely stepping into the stream before it was time to go. 

Someday, I'd like to nestle into one spot. Maybe. Sorta. 

But not just yet. I'm heading back to Japan, this time to Ishinomaki City in Iwate Prefecture. Two "states" north of where I spent the summer. Well out of the nuclear danger zone. 

I don't know how this is going to work. It's been over seven months since two miles of the city was overtaken by the tsunami. Can I step in midstream? The need is huge, and I won't be superfluous. What will I do? What will this look like? Who will I meet? 

A few days in Illinois, and then I'll fly to Japan on the 28th. Guess I'll find out the answers when I get there. 

*Sigh* Why Maine is on one side of the world and Japan is on the other, I'll never know. 

Glitch

The countdown to Japan, Round Two, has been paused. There's a glitch. Found out around noon.

It'll be midnight in less than an hour. I've realized, among other things, that I'm holding onto this Round Two too tightly. Time to let loose, and watch what happens.

What? Dreamy-eyed pious response, you say?

Not so fast. I'm being intensely practical:  I intend to sleep well tonight. :-)

Pampered

Maine. Meeting so many friends, and just doing life stuff. Luxuriating in usable, undestroyed, everyday places. Seeing some friends who have changed drastically in the last four months, nearly as much as I have changed. 

Hearing some of my changes described to me. Some, I agree with. I do walk taller now. And "I don't think you're spooked anymore" was wonderful to hear, from someone who walked with me through some pretty jumpy times. 

Some, I'm remaining neutral. Like my writing. There are votes at both ends of the spectrum. Might as well stay in the middle. 

Some, not so much. Like brave. Nuh-uh. I just trust Papa God a whole lot more than I did before, so I scream later than I used to. 

All in all, I'm exceedingly pampered. Some dear friends fixed my car while I was gone, so I can casually browse around from town to town. Another is housing me. I'm in the land of Dunkin Donuts, which means way too much coffee. I even visited a friend who served me a bowl of lamb stew. And people listen to my stories. And the prayers have been over the top and wonderful. Just call me Princess. 

Yet it doesn't feel like home. Maybe it's because my heart is still divided. Part of it has always been in Japan, but right now, most of it lives there. 

I'll find out the final details soon, but it's semi-official now. I'll be heading back to Japan in a few weeks, this time to Miyako City in Iwate Prefecture. November to January. 

Love you all. Don't take this personally: I can't wait to jump back in. A couple more weeks of treasuring white folk, then off to a new place. 

Ah, luxury. 

Peacetime

Nature, functioning as it should. The hills of Virginia are more peaceful than the residents know. Nature battles are over leaves and mowers and weeds. Short weeds. Beauty is on overdrive here. 

It's a glorious place to visit. I find my heart having trouble staying where I am and fully enjoying what is around me. I snuggle into my jacket and dart off to chilly rooms in temporary housing in tsunami-stricken towns. Or hear about weedwhacking battles and remember sad housewives from the nuclear evacuation zone describing visiting their abandoned house to retrieve one bag of belongings, and commenting that the weeds were as high as their head and as thick as their thumb. The government-enforced two-hour timeframe gave them no time to tidy up their yard. I went to a very normal small-town fall festival with all sorts of craft booths, and wished I had an apartment to decorate. And flitted off into wondering what can be done for the ladies along the ravaged coastline who need to make a cozy nest for their families this winter. What would they like? Could we make something together?

Even though I'm not staying put very well, it's so good to see what I'm seeing. Driving North from North Carolina to Virginia and watching the trees transition from late summer to early fall. Walking through the festival, smelling kettle corn and funnel cakes and barbecue pork. Seeing vast quiet pastures. Greeting neighborhood dogs. Enjoying the first fire of the season. Pulling my flannel pajamas out of my suitcase. 

It's possible. Some of those towns in Northeast Japan are big enough to extend inland, and have sections that were spared. They managed to continue their festivals this year. Strictly coastal villages have other things on their mind right now. But it's possible. The government has released the 20 to 30 kilometer evacuation zone around the nuclear plant for repopulation. Some will return to restart their towns. It'll take time, but it's possible. 

So as you do your seasonal things, please take time to notice them and enjoy them. Your decorations are different from theirs. Your meat choice and barbecue sauce choice doesn't match theirs. Their background music ain't Virginia bluegrass. I can't describe your treats to them any better than theirs to you. But pray for their small-town normal seasonal stuff. City stuff too. Whatever you see and wonder about. 

Enjoy your season. Happy Autumn.