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.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
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. :-)
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. :-)
Thursday, October 13, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, October 3, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Life still wins
Kinda went silent there, didn’t I?
Let me explain.
The day we took a trip up to Iwate, up North in the devastation zone, I fell in love with the place. It was right. There’s something more there for me. It was a marvelous day.
And simultaneously, I came face to face with the terror of the disaster. The images of all those buildings with Os crossed out with Xs, indicating that bodies had been located and recovered. The weeds overtaking the expanses of bare foundations. Crumpled cars and boats where they should never be. Destruction too far inland to even fathom how the water got there. The fatigue and uncertainty among the evacuees stood out and echoed my own, and I lost perspective.
In love and terror at the same time. Problem, to say the least.
I could have written it off as post-traumatic stress, and resigned myself to jolting awake in the middle of the night for a while. But over the summer I had seen too much of the good, of the hope, of newness peeking out through the debris. That had to count for something. I needed my balance back.
Did you know that a building totally stripped inside and out for remodeling looks very much like a tsunami-ravaged building, except that the pillars are a little bit too straight and solid? Yeah, I saw one Stateside and spooked, and momentarily expected to see miles of mangled buildings. Not the best of all responses.
So I took the time both to rest and to face up to what my heart had seen, both the love and the terror. And found myself on the receiving end of heart-care. Coming to terms with what I saw. Going much further back before the disaster to take care of some preexisting fears. Hearing God’s gentle voice assure me that safety is being with Him, not where I am or what is happening. Gratitude is back, deeper than ever.
The storm has finally settled. Once again, I can’t stay away. I’m ready to head to Japan again for another three months of whatever may come.
I came to the disaster zone from the outside. I had the freedom to outright leave after three months. And needed some TLC afterward. And I didn’t even do or see all that much.
Does my weakness mean I should stay away? I don’t see it that way. It means I have something small in common with the many who live and work there. Children who know no other world. Moms who are trying to make a home out of a little two-room apartment in rickety temporary housing, with winter on its way. Over a thousand kids who lost a parent. Adults fatigued and unprepared to face the silences of winter, who desperately need to be heard. I didn’t experience all of what they did, but I have tasted enough to know a little bit of it.
No illusions here. Rachel showing up won’t POOF heal everybody. But I’ve got a decent set of arms, hands, and ears to add to the mix. Can’t hurt to pray up close.
No specific dates yet for Round Two. But soon. Talks are underway for heading North to Iwate.
There’s good news of restarts coming from the disaster zone. Seaweed farms restarted. Baby scallops (active little things, did you know that?) collected for raising. Town officials elected. Kids saying they love the ocean. They wish their new school could be built to float, but they love the ocean.
I saw a news story of a dad and his young son. They had gone to see the crumbled foundation where their house had been.
“See that? That’s where our front door was. And you’d go down the hall there to the bathroom. See the weeds over at the back corner there? That’s where you studied…”
“Let’s build a house somewhere again. Soon. Son, where do you want to build it?”
“Right here, Dad.”
I like that kid.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
See you later
It's Japan, after all. Where maple-flavored coffee is too cloying, and the cutting board salesman apologizes that the board is made of mere American wood instead of high-class Japanese wood. How am I supposed to respond to that? I never know which direction to point my patriotisms. Having two of them gets really confusing sometimes.
It's Japan, where even the great mountains give way to rain from Typhoon 12 that stayed and stayed and stayed. More than a year's worth of rain in a few days. Over 100 dead, a few thousand stranded. Several rivers are dammed with landslides. The scenes are so similar to the tsunami destruction that my heart doesn't know how to process it all. Worst damage in about a quarter century. The horror of it largely bypassed the Northeast (thank You Papa!!) and then hit Hokkaido with floods and crop damage. It's a rough year when both the quakes and the storms act up.
It's Japan, where I find myself still trying to keep my hair flat. Its tamest look is curlier than most.
Ever since the quake, the Tokyo area went into power conservation mode. It's Japan, where the public easily follows mass directives, and Tokyo manages to keep power usage at about 75% of the max capacity to prevent rolling blackouts.
It's Japan, where the Shiba-Ken dog goes nuts begging for a bite of my breakfast of natto (fermented soybeans in the stringy stage) and raw egg mixed with hot rice. He whined so much this morning that he got two bites instead of one.
Where my heart feels treasured when people see me off Japanese style, standing outside and waving until I disappear from view. Thanks hometown friends, Iwaki friends, Hayashi-san and Abe-san, and Andrea and Melody.
I've said goodbye to this country before. But there's more for me here. This time, I said what the Japanese say as they head out the door: "I will go and come."
I'm on the way to Narita Airport. Time to switch gears to American mode for a while.
One question puzzles me.
How am I going to get used to neighborhood roads that are actually wider than an American driveway?
I'm gonna miss this place.
It's Japan, where even the great mountains give way to rain from Typhoon 12 that stayed and stayed and stayed. More than a year's worth of rain in a few days. Over 100 dead, a few thousand stranded. Several rivers are dammed with landslides. The scenes are so similar to the tsunami destruction that my heart doesn't know how to process it all. Worst damage in about a quarter century. The horror of it largely bypassed the Northeast (thank You Papa!!) and then hit Hokkaido with floods and crop damage. It's a rough year when both the quakes and the storms act up.
It's Japan, where I find myself still trying to keep my hair flat. Its tamest look is curlier than most.
Ever since the quake, the Tokyo area went into power conservation mode. It's Japan, where the public easily follows mass directives, and Tokyo manages to keep power usage at about 75% of the max capacity to prevent rolling blackouts.
It's Japan, where the Shiba-Ken dog goes nuts begging for a bite of my breakfast of natto (fermented soybeans in the stringy stage) and raw egg mixed with hot rice. He whined so much this morning that he got two bites instead of one.
Where my heart feels treasured when people see me off Japanese style, standing outside and waving until I disappear from view. Thanks hometown friends, Iwaki friends, Hayashi-san and Abe-san, and Andrea and Melody.
I've said goodbye to this country before. But there's more for me here. This time, I said what the Japanese say as they head out the door: "I will go and come."
I'm on the way to Narita Airport. Time to switch gears to American mode for a while.
One question puzzles me.
How am I going to get used to neighborhood roads that are actually wider than an American driveway?
I'm gonna miss this place.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Same old?
Japan has a new Prime Minister now. When a reporter pointed out that the comments released to the American press were the same as the last time a Japanese Prime Minister was assigned, the American government official issuing the comments laughed. What other response could there be, when Japan is on its sixth prime minister in five years?
Another typhoon is pounding southern and western Japan. Just stay away from rivers and mountainsides (impossible in some communities), and evacuate as instructed, and it should be OK. No big deal. It's that time of year anyway.
I'm looking around for another place to go in the disaster area, somewhere with an emphasis on the children. And I need to get translation work done and get packing done to go back to the States. I'm so tired that it's not going smoothly, and I'm bogging down more than I'd like. Eh. Pretend it's OK and it'll go away.
Is it really just more of the same?
Can we really afford to shrug off the first change in government after the disaster, just because Japanese politicians historically play musical chairs a bit more often than other nations?
Do we fail to recognize that the size of this typhoon would be devastating to the Northeast, and forget to be thankful for every moment that the monster storm stays in the Southwest? Do we write off the stories of the deceased, the missing, and the injured, just because the numbers are so small?
Do I ignore my grinding gears as just another transition, and assume I'll settle in eventually? Consider it just part of the cost of spending a summer in a disaster zone, and casually play the "oh well" martyr?
No, it's worth paying attention to what's going on, whether in politics or weather or my own heart.
My fatigue level is much higher than I expected, and I'm not quite sure why. I'm changing travel plans to insert some resting time before fully jumping back into the old routine.
Yeah, so I feel like a soggy kitten after a storm. Still shaking my paws as I walk. But oh what a summer it was! I so want to do it again... Nothing quite like watching Life win.
Just let me refluff and get my purr back first. Soggy won't do.
Another typhoon is pounding southern and western Japan. Just stay away from rivers and mountainsides (impossible in some communities), and evacuate as instructed, and it should be OK. No big deal. It's that time of year anyway.
I'm looking around for another place to go in the disaster area, somewhere with an emphasis on the children. And I need to get translation work done and get packing done to go back to the States. I'm so tired that it's not going smoothly, and I'm bogging down more than I'd like. Eh. Pretend it's OK and it'll go away.
Is it really just more of the same?
Can we really afford to shrug off the first change in government after the disaster, just because Japanese politicians historically play musical chairs a bit more often than other nations?
Do we fail to recognize that the size of this typhoon would be devastating to the Northeast, and forget to be thankful for every moment that the monster storm stays in the Southwest? Do we write off the stories of the deceased, the missing, and the injured, just because the numbers are so small?
Do I ignore my grinding gears as just another transition, and assume I'll settle in eventually? Consider it just part of the cost of spending a summer in a disaster zone, and casually play the "oh well" martyr?
No, it's worth paying attention to what's going on, whether in politics or weather or my own heart.
My fatigue level is much higher than I expected, and I'm not quite sure why. I'm changing travel plans to insert some resting time before fully jumping back into the old routine.
Yeah, so I feel like a soggy kitten after a storm. Still shaking my paws as I walk. But oh what a summer it was! I so want to do it again... Nothing quite like watching Life win.
Just let me refluff and get my purr back first. Soggy won't do.
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