July 11, 2011

It's July 11th, four months since the quake. The TV aired tsunami footage from March 11. I couldn't take it. 

So we watched a documentary on Audrey Hepburn instead. She came through tragedy herself, during the War. And used the money from her acting career to help children facing similar tragedies. 

How will March 11, 2011 change me? 

And I wonder if Audrey Hepburn could watch war footage? 

I don't have her millions. But I have bubbles. Origami. Sketch pads. Water balloons. A little yarn and two pairs of knitting needles. Essentials all. 

I can't echo Audrey. But maybe I can imitate her a teeny tiny bit. 

Please. Don't forget Japan. It's only been four months. 

Break. Ish.

Break. I'm on break. 

And there have been break-ish activities too, like watching TV and a movie. Like eating the best food in the world, which I will refrain from describing in detail because some of you may be eating dinner, and I'd hate to make you jealous. Only some of it was slimy. 

But it takes a while to decompress. There are stories to tell, ones that didn't make it into the blog. There's advice to ask for. Tears to shed. Ideas to gather for the next few weeks. Acrylic scrubbers to knit. 

Acrylic scrubbers?? I didn't know what they were either. They're a knitted or crocheted dishcloth or ball, made with rough acrylic yarn. The ladies kept mentioning them after the knitting conversations. Their faces and voices and stories don't fade away that easily. 

One of the TV shows today was about the political response after this disaster, compared to the response after the last one. Nobody bothered mentioning that more than four times as many lives were lost in the current disaster. Even so, I wanted to take sides in Japanese politics. For someone to demonstrate that Tokyo cares about the Northeast (Tohoku). I don't even like politics. What's come over me?

I may not be able to make a clean break, at least not today. But I can sit for hours on the couch. I can overeat at a restaurant. I can breathe the air and drink the water without wondering if I should. I can have a few days to process the stories I've heard, without adding new ones. To finish crying interrupted tears. To tell the funny stories too. 

Climbing stairs was a whole lot easier today than yesterday. A few more days and I'll be ready to return to Iwaki City and "be with" again. 

More later. Beddie-bye for now. 

Girl things

There's a new breeze blowing among the evacuees. A restlessness. It's time to do something. They're starting to bring bottled tea and sodas. Offering to help with volunteer work. Cleaning, cooking, anything. Holding baby while mama gets relief goods. Whatever there is. 

The box of onions were spectacular.  Fattest onions you ever saw. Straight from the garden. Votes are split about eating local produce. Some eat it, and others don't. I don't quite know who to believe. But the onions were a thank-you gift from one of the regulars. I smiled and bowed and said thank you. 

You'd think that I was knitting gold instead of socks, the way the ladies gather round. Some just never saw such a thing, others know their terminology. Some left their needles in the nuclear evacuation zone. Others lost their stash of needles, crochet hooks, and yarn in the tsunami. Some grouse about how much their shoulders ached back when they used to knit. One lady specialized in quilting and lost the tools she had used for 30 years. Some make the outrageous claim that crochet is better. Hardly any would refuse a couple of knitting needles and yarn. 

Other changes are happening too. One precious lady, who has finally found her smile again, showed me the beautiful Indian (or maybe Thai?) skirt she was wearing. "It's the first time I've worn a skirt since the disaster. I finally feel safe enough. I always wore pants so I could run if it happened again. But I found this skirt in the relief goods and wanted to wear it."

God bless whoever donated that skirt. 

And one of the nuclear plant workers says that the 30 kilometer zone will be re-opened soon. Families with kids will probably stay away, but adults may want to go home. 

Most of us got out of bed at 3:15 this morning when a vertical quake hit. One lady grabbed her keys just in case she had to leave. 

It's far from over yet. But hey, knitting looks fun again. We're on our way. 

Comforted

My patience ran out this morning. Mostly because I'm tired, in body, soul, and spirit. (Need to catch on earlier next time before I hit empty.) But also because I really, really want to be around kids. How I ended up with a kid shortage I'll never know. They're supposed to be everywhere. 

You know what happened next. I melted into a miserable soggy puddle. It took a little while to listen to the patient reassurance offered by a new friend and regroup. But I still looked like Eeyore. 

But then, there were two inflatable pools to empty, clean, and fill. Then two little one-year-old babies to play with in the kiddie pool. Then a third. Two kids blowing bubbles. A fourth grader in an evacuation shelter who sang me the entire keyboard part for her band tune, her chorus song, and then let me help her build a battery-powered car from her science kit. 

Then there was the late-middle-age man who was over- impressed with the fact that I grew up in Japan. Once we got past that part, he started singing me songs from his home state. I sang him mine. Then we sang a couple of good ol' Japanese country songs (enka) that I hadn't sung in a quarter century. 

I've recovered to approximately Piglet level. 

It was good to outright need them today. Whoever thinks that volunteering is always about giving hasn't tried it long enough. It's more about being human together. 

Another break coming up this weekend. Plenty of one-on-one time with Papa God. That should take care of the fatigue. 

Thanks everyone. I needed that. 

Oasis

Two devastated communities on either side of a seaside hotel. One with skeletal houses, the other with bare foundations and heavy equipment. 

The hotel was built high on a hillside, and was sheltered by a small mountain topped with a sleek white lighthouse. The wave took out 25 out of 27 little boats, destroyed the public restrooms, came up the bank, surged across the parking lot and covered the middle of the road, and then receded, leaving the hotel intact. An oasis of sorts. 

I heard numbers like 7, 9, and 15 meters. One man asking why he hasn't seen tide pools by the hotel since the quake, and being told that the coastline dropped. (One of the communities has "tide pool" in its name.) 

A school teacher from out of town who spilled her quake story to the first volunteer she met, about kids hiding under desks just like during their earthquake drills, then evacuating to the playground but without time to grab coats, and standing there shivering in the snow flurries. No mention of the wave. Maybe her school was on a mountainside. 

A woman who called out from her second story window to the people heading to the seawall to watch the tsunami (seawalls had been completely safe any other time), warning them to run the other way, got a snide comment from one of them, and then saw them all get washed away. 

Don't judge the departed. Hindsight, remember? Breached seawalls were unthinkable a few months ago. Pray for the living who saw too much. 

The hotel owner saying that nobody but nobody expected damage from the tsunami, and some went shopping by the seaside after the quake. "If only they hadn't gone..."

The Japan Self-Defense Force soldier off-duty  who brought his grandmothers to see the coastline. The tired way that he accepted my thanks for his hard work. He nodded quietly. "If only the nuclear plant hadn't been damaged..."

The silent pain in one grandmother's eyes. 

Everyone there had lost so much. 

The hotel parking lot was where we set up the barbecue. Frankfurters on a stick, grilled fish topped with grated radish, steak kebobs, chicken skewers, sautéed onions/mushrooms/green peppers, grilled onions, grilled corn, rice balls, yakisoba (Chinese noodles stir-fried with pork, cabbage, onions, and almost-BBQ sauce, and served with pickled ginger), watermelon and snow-cones. 

Technically the snow cones were supposed to be for the kids. Bah. You should have seen how many adults ate two or more snow cones all by their lonesome. 

There was a ring toss game and a water balloon pool set up for the kids. I saw the staff add extra candy to the ring toss winnings. And you never saw a water balloon pool so lax with the rules. So much for using a paper hook to fish out the string of a water balloon floating in the pool. There were more little hands in that tiny plastic pool than disintegrated paper hooks. It's all good. 

And bubbles. That's where the laughter was. Kids chasing bubbles. 

Cloudy skies during the meal, then hot, hot sun afterward. 

I didn't even bat an eye when I heard that a YWAM (Youth With A Mission) team was coming. YWAM shows up absolutely everywhere, worldwide. Their bus couldn't get through the narrow roads so they walked the last mile or so. They entertained the crowd with drum performances and breakdancing. 

That completed the feast and the gift of a little bit of laughter. 

The silent grandmother enjoyed the drums. Mission accomplished. Small mission, but accomplished. 

Yay!

We were ready for 500 people, allowing for seconds. 

The cooks, the ward mayor, and the person who asked us to do the barbecue all insist that there were 1000 people there. The pastor estimates it a bit lower, at 700. Whether the discrepancy was angels or really hungry people, everyone had their fill, with a constant line for seconds and thirds, and there were leftovers. 

I say miracle. Feel free to discuss. 

More later on the whos and the wheres. For now, a nap calleth. 

I love my Papa God. Glad He didn't let us know how many would actually show up. My friends know just how freak-out-prone I am. I'm doing better lately, but still. 

Nap. I did say that, didn't I?

OK. More later. :-)

Alongside

Today is the big barbecue for 500 people. The food is ready for grilling. We even have a small bus ready to get us there. It's time for something light-hearted for the Usu-iso community. 

Some aren't ready. How could they be? One out of every six people in the neighborhood is gone. 

All too many are missing. Mourning is hard enough when the body is found. But gone? How can grieving even start?

It feels almost petty to mention that buildings and homes are gone. Loss isn't measured in things. But please remember that the loss of a place cuts deep. 

These people are far from weak. They're rebuilding as best they can.

So this barbecue won't be a frolic. It'll be a chance for a broken community to be together. To have plenty of food. To check on each other. To start remembering that good things and good times can happen. That kids play, and strangers care enough to cater lunch. 

It's not time for a festival. But a light-hearted barbecue is not out of place. A bit daring, perhaps. Certainly bigger than we've ever handled before. 

Pray for those who come. Pray for the volunteers as we come alongside with meat and noodles and grilled corn and grated radish and all the other things that make a barbecue special. 

And most of all, pray gently for the wounded hearts who stay home today. 

We're starting our day with prayer too. Only God can pull this off.