It`s that time of year again. I`ve only been outside on the balcony a mere five minutes and can smell scalp hair singeing in the morning sun. Still....suppose it beats stinky armpits on the old pongometre. With all the austerity measures regarding electricity being `voluntarily` enforced, I`ll be reeking around Tokyo for the next few months. But I am not alone. Major companies have temporarily revised working hours and holidays, in order to conserve electricity. Train lines have reduced their schedules. I even heard that top ranking politicians are relinquishing airconditioning in their limousines.
"Well,Jubai!" I enquire of the cat, conked out in the shade," What`s in store for us today?" I tend to talk to the cat.....and answer back for him, as he can`t seem to organise a coherent reply in any lingo recognisable to me.
Mercifully, this time of year is `pool season` in Japan. All the preschools and schools have pools, much to the delight of the kids.The `super` pools open next weekend which is causing ripples of excitement amongst my mates and I but...... March the 11th still hovers even as far away as Tokyo. The Dai Ichi nuclear plant in Fukushima is still rather poorly and is leaking various obnoxious substances, some invisible to the human eye, out into the surrounding environment. Out in the stores, in dim lighting, you can see folk squinting over Kanji and checking out the origin of that harmless looking potatoe or cucumber,languishing innocently in a palm. I`ve taken to ordering veg directly from a farmer in Kyushu.
The fish is....well...rather `fishy` at the moment and certain types are just off the menu. Same goes for meat, some is `dicey`, some okay depending on the region. Infact, certain folk think it is better to risk eating products from China than homegrown produce in Japan. What`s a bit of food poisoning next to thyroid cancer.
You can check the radiation levels in the air and tap water on websites every morning. Now the schools very kindly issue regular bulletins on the condition of the water in the school pool. It`s a gradual thing. A lifestyle that we`ve slowly acclimatized to.
Cesium,Thorium and other scary sounding substances with names I can`t remember let alone pronounce, banter around on everyone`s lips.I can imagine the talk at the poolside,this summer.
Mummy A. "Did you check the water levels on the billboard at the entrance?"
Mummy B. "Yes! All within the government`s revised safety guidelines.!"
Collective sigh of relief, as vigorous rubbing of sunscreen resumes on small limbs.
Mummy C. " Damn....I forgot!" Pulling out a calculator and consulting a chart.
Everyone in chorus. "What`s wrong?"
Mummy C. "I forgot. Little Hiro has a dental xray scheduled tomorrow. So...." More tapping on calculator," Today, we watched TV. That`s 1 mrem. He already has one crown...so plus 0.1 mrem....plus the spinach we ate this morning.........one Xray is 1mrem.......Minus that from the yearly average of 360mrem....." As we all watch on in awe,"Oh...okay. No problem. He can stay in the pool today!"
Monday, 11 July 2011
Saturday, 28 May 2011
The Cat Burglar He Ain`t.
This must be the official definition of `heaven`. Take a photo. Of me. Sat in first class on the Nex to Narita Airport. Doing nothing but gazing out at the suburbs zooming by. I must admit, it did take me a good ten minutes to subdue the urge to give the trolley lady a hand with her orders. Not to mention, the the ads hanging a little bit too much to the left for my liking. That sinking feeling that I`ve forgotten something is well...sinking a tad after I wrote `the kids are at home with Dad` a hundred times. I can actually hear my thoughts now that the fervour of three wee ones all grappling for my attention, at the same moment is now Dad`s predicament across Tokyo somewhere. Yeah. Take a picture and place it next to the definition for `heaven` in an English dictionary.
"Ahem." I hear a throat clearing opposite and am stunned to see that it is my Grandma sat opposite. "Gran," I exclaim joyously," What a lovely surprise! You are looking well!" For a person who died eight years ago, surprise was rather an understatement of the situation.
"You need to wake up,lovely," she purred balancing a tuna sushi roll between deftly held chopsticks. "There`s a man in the garden." Wrenching my head round to look out the window at the hundreds of gardens in differing states of bloom, I enquire. " Which garden?" With a sigh and a smile, Grandma replies. "Your garden,darling. There is a man in your garden!"
I sit up rigid in the bed. The Dreambends. Almost as bad as the Babybends. I swear there is a tangible smell l of Old Spice left from that encounter and then I hear the noise. On the balcony from the twin`s room next door.
I still cannot rationalise what I did. Call me stupid, naive, brave or just empowered from witnessing my dead `meat and Yorkshire puddings` Gran consume sushi heartily with double helpings of wasabe. Obviously being dead adds a new lease of life to things. I got out of bed. Walked into the twin`s bedroom. Saw the outline of someone on the balcony outside, fiddling with the door. I strode over to the door. Unlocked it, opened it and came nose to nose with a very startled young man. "What the hell do you think you are doing on my balcony?" I roared in Japanese, feeling anger bubbling up through me. "Get off my balcony NOW!" To which, he swiftly acquiesced, jumping over the railings, hitting the tree nearby and thudding to the garden below.Pulling his T-shirt over his head, in a vain attempt to hide his features only resulted in a rather nasty collision with another tree. Gobsmacked, I watched as he pulled a can of beer from the air,took a swig and he was over the wall into the neighbour`s garden.
One police car, six police bikes, and a total of ten police later in my garden. It is 4am and pouring with rain. Two of the policemen know me from the summer when my underwear kept being stolen from my washing line. Victoria Secret, to say the least. Worth bringing the FBI in, in my opinion.
"So?" Policeman in charge pauses," He was a burglar?" I shake my head. " I am not sure!" And further to the officer`s enquiring look. " I mean a real burglar wouldn`t wear a white T-shirt and be drinking beer in between jobs, would he?" I shrug. "Totally stupid,right?" I reinforce with a smile. "Unless he was a foreigner," bursts out one officer laughingly patting me on the back, followed with hearty guffaws filling the night sky as I quickly interjected. " Or a member of the Japanese police constabulary!" as more back tapping and laughter rose up. Rose up around my husband stood horrified to the spot, making slashing noises across his throat at me.
Ten minutes later they caught him. He was found terrified, hiding in a bush in some nearby garden. Drunk and rambling on that a foreigner had tried to murder him.
We found his shoes, wedged in the tree this morning. If he wants them, he can come and ring my doorbell like a civilised person and ask for them back.
Oh....and the police, after I thanked them for all their help and kindness, informed me that my kidnapped underwear is now a cold case......
"Ahem." I hear a throat clearing opposite and am stunned to see that it is my Grandma sat opposite. "Gran," I exclaim joyously," What a lovely surprise! You are looking well!" For a person who died eight years ago, surprise was rather an understatement of the situation.
"You need to wake up,lovely," she purred balancing a tuna sushi roll between deftly held chopsticks. "There`s a man in the garden." Wrenching my head round to look out the window at the hundreds of gardens in differing states of bloom, I enquire. " Which garden?" With a sigh and a smile, Grandma replies. "Your garden,darling. There is a man in your garden!"
I sit up rigid in the bed. The Dreambends. Almost as bad as the Babybends. I swear there is a tangible smell l of Old Spice left from that encounter and then I hear the noise. On the balcony from the twin`s room next door.
I still cannot rationalise what I did. Call me stupid, naive, brave or just empowered from witnessing my dead `meat and Yorkshire puddings` Gran consume sushi heartily with double helpings of wasabe. Obviously being dead adds a new lease of life to things. I got out of bed. Walked into the twin`s bedroom. Saw the outline of someone on the balcony outside, fiddling with the door. I strode over to the door. Unlocked it, opened it and came nose to nose with a very startled young man. "What the hell do you think you are doing on my balcony?" I roared in Japanese, feeling anger bubbling up through me. "Get off my balcony NOW!" To which, he swiftly acquiesced, jumping over the railings, hitting the tree nearby and thudding to the garden below.Pulling his T-shirt over his head, in a vain attempt to hide his features only resulted in a rather nasty collision with another tree. Gobsmacked, I watched as he pulled a can of beer from the air,took a swig and he was over the wall into the neighbour`s garden.
One police car, six police bikes, and a total of ten police later in my garden. It is 4am and pouring with rain. Two of the policemen know me from the summer when my underwear kept being stolen from my washing line. Victoria Secret, to say the least. Worth bringing the FBI in, in my opinion.
"So?" Policeman in charge pauses," He was a burglar?" I shake my head. " I am not sure!" And further to the officer`s enquiring look. " I mean a real burglar wouldn`t wear a white T-shirt and be drinking beer in between jobs, would he?" I shrug. "Totally stupid,right?" I reinforce with a smile. "Unless he was a foreigner," bursts out one officer laughingly patting me on the back, followed with hearty guffaws filling the night sky as I quickly interjected. " Or a member of the Japanese police constabulary!" as more back tapping and laughter rose up. Rose up around my husband stood horrified to the spot, making slashing noises across his throat at me.
Ten minutes later they caught him. He was found terrified, hiding in a bush in some nearby garden. Drunk and rambling on that a foreigner had tried to murder him.
We found his shoes, wedged in the tree this morning. If he wants them, he can come and ring my doorbell like a civilised person and ask for them back.
Oh....and the police, after I thanked them for all their help and kindness, informed me that my kidnapped underwear is now a cold case......
Wednesday, 11 May 2011
In The News. Yokohama Hotel Offers It Doggy Style....
Weddings that is. A hotel in Yokohama is now offering the bride and groom the option of having their pet pooch along as a `witness`. Just as I was wondering what exactly the doggies in question would be sealing this momentous occasion with, the article then goes on to explain that the doggy `witnesses` attending can `seal their paws` on paper to show their corroboration on the joyful day.
www.japantoday.com/category/national/view/yokohama-hotel-offers-weddings-with-canine-witnesses
I can just imagine it. A whole new dimension in the `wedding stress` stratosphere opening. Instead of your future in laws arguing the toss over the flower arrangements or guest list, it could now be superseded with whose canine takes the momentous day`s biscuit. Would the bride be upstaged by little furry Tixibell decked out in matching mini dress,diamante and bouffant hair with decorations?
Over the last ten years in Tokyo, I`ve noticed the doggy presence intensifying on the streets. Canine restaurants springing up, doggy fashion stores, doggy salons and don`t get me on the doggy prams we now see everywhere. Don`t get me wrong! I adore animals but pampered pooches being wheeled around like wee bairns, dripping with designer clothes and jewellery has the `lights are on but nobody is home` or `please go get a life` pong to it. Save it for the reality shows set in totally unreal Hollywood. It`s like listening to nails scratching down a blackboard when you experience it constantly in your everyday life. particularly when you are forced to wait for an elevator with your twin toddlers in the double pram so a couple of ladies can go first with their wee poochies sleeping in their new doggy perambulators.
But maybe it`s my generation. My mum could never understand why I thought my Siouxie and the Banshee hairstyle was sexy.
www.japantoday.com/category/national/view/yokohama-hotel-offers-weddings-with-canine-witnesses
I can just imagine it. A whole new dimension in the `wedding stress` stratosphere opening. Instead of your future in laws arguing the toss over the flower arrangements or guest list, it could now be superseded with whose canine takes the momentous day`s biscuit. Would the bride be upstaged by little furry Tixibell decked out in matching mini dress,diamante and bouffant hair with decorations?
Over the last ten years in Tokyo, I`ve noticed the doggy presence intensifying on the streets. Canine restaurants springing up, doggy fashion stores, doggy salons and don`t get me on the doggy prams we now see everywhere. Don`t get me wrong! I adore animals but pampered pooches being wheeled around like wee bairns, dripping with designer clothes and jewellery has the `lights are on but nobody is home` or `please go get a life` pong to it. Save it for the reality shows set in totally unreal Hollywood. It`s like listening to nails scratching down a blackboard when you experience it constantly in your everyday life. particularly when you are forced to wait for an elevator with your twin toddlers in the double pram so a couple of ladies can go first with their wee poochies sleeping in their new doggy perambulators.
But maybe it`s my generation. My mum could never understand why I thought my Siouxie and the Banshee hairstyle was sexy.
The League Of The Lego.
I hate Lego. White, black, green , yellow, red, blue, purple...I am not a racist. I hate Lego. It wasn`t always this way. As a child, I adored the stuff. Tinkered with it for hours but there`s a thin line between love and hate, they say.
I am sure it breeds faster than gerbils. I know gerbils. I took four home one summer holiday from school. Two boys, two gals. "Whatever you do," warned Ms Teacher, perfectly manicured nail waving pointedly two inches from my nose for extra effect," Do not put them together in the same cage." Me being the worldly age of 14, where you know everything, sick to death of all these old farts harping on about head transplants, I took pity on the wee things one hot day and let them loose in the `big` pen. Eight weeks later, I took over sixty back to the school. In a new cage my Dad had constructed as the harem had started to gain momentum. I know gerbils.
"So what do you not like about living here?" enquired a mutual mate of hubby and mine one evening." The cockroaches and..." I paused as my lip started to curl and friend interjected "Let me guess... the hot and humid summers?" Shaking my head, I spat out "Lego."
After being impaled through either foot numerous times on a daily basis, I have decided that every piece of Lego needs to be redesigned with it`s own mini airbag. Sweeping a field for landmines somewhere out in south east Asia must be a hell of a lot easier than securing the first floor in my place. These tiny, plastic tyrants are not only magically capable of transporting themselves anywhere throughout the house but once there, have chameleon qualities rendering them invisible to the naked eye. My confidence to walk `shoe free` into any room has been shattered, placing a great strain on me emotionally and physically. " Everything okay?" enquired my mummy friend stumbling onto me hopping, swaying and dancing around on my toes, humming under my breath " I know you are in here!" in her son`s playroom.
I`ve heard rumours that a piece of Lego was even found on the moon. Imitating a moon rock.Nearly ripped a hole in the astronaut`s boots. But it was all hushed up by The Whitehouse.....probably by another piece of Lego. (Cue in Goldsmith`s `Ave Santani` in the background)
Besides the physical daily torture, Lego also has other insidious means at it`s collective `We are The Lego` hand to stomp it`s presence into your psyche. Yesterday early morn, I was wrenched from a deep sleep by what I thought at first, was a bat flapping in my face. A torchlight revealed Batboy. "What is it?....Did we have another aftershock?" as I reassured him with a hug, suddenly noticing that the house was silent....and still. And the clock`s hands glowed on 5.30. "No,Mummy." Batboy grinned his lopsided grin, and holding out a catalogue, flapping it excitedly in my face "I know what I want for Christmas.This new Star Wars Lego kit..........."
I am sure it breeds faster than gerbils. I know gerbils. I took four home one summer holiday from school. Two boys, two gals. "Whatever you do," warned Ms Teacher, perfectly manicured nail waving pointedly two inches from my nose for extra effect," Do not put them together in the same cage." Me being the worldly age of 14, where you know everything, sick to death of all these old farts harping on about head transplants, I took pity on the wee things one hot day and let them loose in the `big` pen. Eight weeks later, I took over sixty back to the school. In a new cage my Dad had constructed as the harem had started to gain momentum. I know gerbils.
"So what do you not like about living here?" enquired a mutual mate of hubby and mine one evening." The cockroaches and..." I paused as my lip started to curl and friend interjected "Let me guess... the hot and humid summers?" Shaking my head, I spat out "Lego."
After being impaled through either foot numerous times on a daily basis, I have decided that every piece of Lego needs to be redesigned with it`s own mini airbag. Sweeping a field for landmines somewhere out in south east Asia must be a hell of a lot easier than securing the first floor in my place. These tiny, plastic tyrants are not only magically capable of transporting themselves anywhere throughout the house but once there, have chameleon qualities rendering them invisible to the naked eye. My confidence to walk `shoe free` into any room has been shattered, placing a great strain on me emotionally and physically. " Everything okay?" enquired my mummy friend stumbling onto me hopping, swaying and dancing around on my toes, humming under my breath " I know you are in here!" in her son`s playroom.
I`ve heard rumours that a piece of Lego was even found on the moon. Imitating a moon rock.Nearly ripped a hole in the astronaut`s boots. But it was all hushed up by The Whitehouse.....probably by another piece of Lego. (Cue in Goldsmith`s `Ave Santani` in the background)
Besides the physical daily torture, Lego also has other insidious means at it`s collective `We are The Lego` hand to stomp it`s presence into your psyche. Yesterday early morn, I was wrenched from a deep sleep by what I thought at first, was a bat flapping in my face. A torchlight revealed Batboy. "What is it?....Did we have another aftershock?" as I reassured him with a hug, suddenly noticing that the house was silent....and still. And the clock`s hands glowed on 5.30. "No,Mummy." Batboy grinned his lopsided grin, and holding out a catalogue, flapping it excitedly in my face "I know what I want for Christmas.This new Star Wars Lego kit..........."
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Something`s Afoot Again!
Foot is back. The left one. Not that Sir Foot has been away on holiday. Or fell off as I strolled leisurely around the park, only to notice a few hours later that something wasn`t quite right.......or left. Now while the rest of me is beyond doubt female, Sir Foot, albeit a cross dresser, is decidedly male. I have deduced this because a female would have better sense than to develop an injury when you might just need all your strength and dexterity to flee to safety. (Tokyo is still having aftershocks) Sir Foot has protested that it is in fact ole Achilles that just cannot be brought to heel. A bad carpenter always blames his tools, I say.
"What`s wrong with the foot?" Neighbour enquired as I hobbled around our front garden sorting garbage. "It`s the old Achilles problem," I explained," Thanks for your concern but please don......." And was surprised to hear Neighbour repeat the same question ......but in the opposite direction towards the pathway this time and then hubby`s voice replying, " It`s the old Achilles problem. It`s no problem."
I managed to limp over without too much grimacing. Grimacing with make up on would be frightening enough. Grimacing with a bare face? I`d be up for premeditated murder.
"Thank you!" I breathed in Japanese," But I am okay!" Beaming my broadest smile as Neighbour continued to direct his gaze at hubby. " Must be difficult trying to look after three kids with a sore foot......" to which I interjected, "Thanks again for your concern but when you have three kids you just tend to get on with it!" Topped with another smile.
"It`s no problem, thank you" hubby reassured the Neighbour, who still hadn`t cast a glance in my direction. "Well!" I pushed in...literally with my face in front of hubby`s, trying to engage eye contact with Neighbour," I wouldn`t say totally no problem but you do what you have to do in these situations."
"Right then," grinned Neighbour as I made a gesture of lifting either armpit and sniffing it followed by a quick rendition of Queen`s `The Invisible Man` through pursed lips," Everyone`s okay. See you later," And suddenly acknowledging my presence and holding his hands up in protest," Sorry. English. no no."
"What the hell," I throw at hubby as Neighbour retreats back under his....sorry, into his house."Excuse me but I thought I was speaking Japanese...."
"Leave it,Sweetie.! " soothed hubby ever the diplomat,"Are you going to make me one of your famous bacon butties?"
"I`ll have to gather mt strength about me," I joke," This foot might be affecting a lot more than my walking"
"What`s wrong with the foot?" Neighbour enquired as I hobbled around our front garden sorting garbage. "It`s the old Achilles problem," I explained," Thanks for your concern but please don......." And was surprised to hear Neighbour repeat the same question ......but in the opposite direction towards the pathway this time and then hubby`s voice replying, " It`s the old Achilles problem. It`s no problem."
I managed to limp over without too much grimacing. Grimacing with make up on would be frightening enough. Grimacing with a bare face? I`d be up for premeditated murder.
"Thank you!" I breathed in Japanese," But I am okay!" Beaming my broadest smile as Neighbour continued to direct his gaze at hubby. " Must be difficult trying to look after three kids with a sore foot......" to which I interjected, "Thanks again for your concern but when you have three kids you just tend to get on with it!" Topped with another smile.
"It`s no problem, thank you" hubby reassured the Neighbour, who still hadn`t cast a glance in my direction. "Well!" I pushed in...literally with my face in front of hubby`s, trying to engage eye contact with Neighbour," I wouldn`t say totally no problem but you do what you have to do in these situations."
"Right then," grinned Neighbour as I made a gesture of lifting either armpit and sniffing it followed by a quick rendition of Queen`s `The Invisible Man` through pursed lips," Everyone`s okay. See you later," And suddenly acknowledging my presence and holding his hands up in protest," Sorry. English. no no."
"What the hell," I throw at hubby as Neighbour retreats back under his....sorry, into his house."Excuse me but I thought I was speaking Japanese...."
"Leave it,Sweetie.! " soothed hubby ever the diplomat,"Are you going to make me one of your famous bacon butties?"
"I`ll have to gather mt strength about me," I joke," This foot might be affecting a lot more than my walking"
Friday, 29 April 2011
Mighty Proud To Be British In Tokyo. Cheers William and Kate!
She looked every inch a princess. `HRH She` being my mate Kate, that is. I was invited to the wedding but didn`t want to risk upstaging anyone. I was even thinking of just popping over for the day but was worried if the paparazzi got word, the mass media`s attention might be wrongly diverted.
Well...Okay....I might be stretching the truth a wee tad but I do know more about her than some of my friends, thanks to the media.
Try and shoot down this gingerbread girl with a heat seeker missile if you can but..... I reckon no country does pomp, pageantry or jubilee with as much panache as the British.
I remember being a lowly newspaper girl.....or should it be `lofty` compared to my current occupation as `general slave`......on July 29th 1981. It took me almost four hours to complete a run that normally took thirty minutes. I didn`t complain. My British `stiff upper lip` kept it resolve from street party to street party where I was plied with every kind of soft drink and grub ever known to half lings.The whole country was in party mode.
I`d like to feel that Princess Diana had something to do with changing Madame Weather`s mind and coaxing the sun out for the day. Kate looked luminescent in her gown. `Which Disney princess is that?` enquired Booby Slayer mesmerised by a real carriage with horsemen appearing on screen. "What`s he doing to her hands,?" wee one asked later on in the ceremony,to which I gave a brief explanation about when a Prince falls in love with a Princess, he gives her a special ring and marries her.
" What does `Give all my worldly goods` mean?" Batboy trilled up, his forehead creased in a frown. " It means you share your things." I swiftly answered, eyes glued onto the screen. "What?" screeched Batboy,"Even your best Lego set?...Yuck! I am never going to marry anybody!" Just as Booby Slayer`s booming tenth count of digits on both hands neared breaking point, pitched against my considerable efforts in listening to wedding vows being exchanged, she suddenly piped up "Mummy. I need more fingers....." and at my look of mystification, " ...for the rings...from all the princes...." As Batboy lugged his Lego sets up to his room....
I feel intoxicated by just watching the scenes from Britain. The crowds, thousands of people so close together, regardless of nationality, race or class, joined together in revelry celebrating a new generation within the Royal Family. I raise a glass to you all...wherever you may be....`May the best of your past be the worst of your future`.
Well...Okay....I might be stretching the truth a wee tad but I do know more about her than some of my friends, thanks to the media.
Try and shoot down this gingerbread girl with a heat seeker missile if you can but..... I reckon no country does pomp, pageantry or jubilee with as much panache as the British.
I remember being a lowly newspaper girl.....or should it be `lofty` compared to my current occupation as `general slave`......on July 29th 1981. It took me almost four hours to complete a run that normally took thirty minutes. I didn`t complain. My British `stiff upper lip` kept it resolve from street party to street party where I was plied with every kind of soft drink and grub ever known to half lings.The whole country was in party mode.
I`d like to feel that Princess Diana had something to do with changing Madame Weather`s mind and coaxing the sun out for the day. Kate looked luminescent in her gown. `Which Disney princess is that?` enquired Booby Slayer mesmerised by a real carriage with horsemen appearing on screen. "What`s he doing to her hands,?" wee one asked later on in the ceremony,to which I gave a brief explanation about when a Prince falls in love with a Princess, he gives her a special ring and marries her.
" What does `Give all my worldly goods` mean?" Batboy trilled up, his forehead creased in a frown. " It means you share your things." I swiftly answered, eyes glued onto the screen. "What?" screeched Batboy,"Even your best Lego set?...Yuck! I am never going to marry anybody!" Just as Booby Slayer`s booming tenth count of digits on both hands neared breaking point, pitched against my considerable efforts in listening to wedding vows being exchanged, she suddenly piped up "Mummy. I need more fingers....." and at my look of mystification, " ...for the rings...from all the princes...." As Batboy lugged his Lego sets up to his room....
I feel intoxicated by just watching the scenes from Britain. The crowds, thousands of people so close together, regardless of nationality, race or class, joined together in revelry celebrating a new generation within the Royal Family. I raise a glass to you all...wherever you may be....`May the best of your past be the worst of your future`.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
My Life In Tokyo Post March The 11th.
It was a glorious morn, capped with a vivid ultramarine sky dotted with puffball clouds, tendrils drifting lazily .I was in the garden with The BoobySlayer. Pruning and priming in anticipation of the upcoming cherry blossom season. Bat Boy and Bat Girl arriving home from school, had just stepped out on the patio as I felt the first shakes. "Oh,Mum! Look at the trees!" gasped Batboy in awe. "Let`s go inside," I singsonged. As we stepped inside, the shaking started to intensify.Missiles, rudely dislodged, rained down from all angles. I will never forget standing there, mouth probably agape, three kids clutching my legs, as I struggled to stay standing and deflect flying objects. The noise was indescribable. A roaring. A howling of metal, wood and earth mingled with the screams of my children and neighbours. The rocking gained sudden momentum and we were thrown down onto the ground. I grabbed the patio door with one hand while covering my wee ones`s bodies.
I looked up at the sky. Nope, it hadn`t changed one iota over the past minute, and thought that this was going to be the day we died. At least it was a nice day for it. I suddenly thought of my Gran and one of her most common sayings. `When your number`s up. It`s up.` An image of a giant bingo ball machine popped up...balls bouncing in all directions wildly in my head. Sadness couldn't compete with the all encompassing terror mingled with a smidgen of awe at Mother nature`s capabilities. The lamp posts swinging madly like those little animal springy ride ons that my smallest one so loves. Buildings and vehicles swinging hysterically. And the people being thrown down onto the ground, like straw dollies hurled around by a child having a tantrum.
My life has been split into two parts. The naive pre `11th of march 2.46` me. Waltzing around in my little world, humming a wee ditty, secure in the knowledge that things such as civil war, plague, AIDS, huge earthquakes and tsunamis only happen to other folk...and mainly only actors in a movie. Compared to the post `11th of March` me who has looked under the bed and not only come face to face with the bogeyman but been snogged quite frenziedly by him.
Life in Tokyo is pretty much back to normal. On the surface anyway. Two months ago, the first thing I did of a morn was to put on the kettle.These days, it`s switch on the computer to check our area`s radiation levels. I still pass the same young guy every morning. A fine specimen if ever I saw one. Sweat accentuating every toned muscle as he jogs. He now dons a small Geiger clipped next to his pedanometre.
My mobile phone is now equipped with an earthquake alarm. One that can be set to differing intensities. And what kind of sound you enquire, heralds an earthquake warning? A WW2 air raid siren? A wee tune from Holst`s `The Planets`? Screaming? Nope. A trill that immediately conjures up images of Tinkerbell and conies, not screaming,mass panic, destruction or death. However, in Tokyo, it stirs the same reaction as a siren erupting into life in a biological warfare research centre, with alarms ringing simultaneously .Everyone clamouring to check magnitude and where exactly.
My view on life has changed irrevocably. Transfixed in a moment in time, that you have absolutely no control over, where you feel with your whole being that death is coming, spun my whole spiritual being on it`s axis. I feel so grateful to be alive. I savour every day. Possessions have lost their importance. Nothing, and I mean nothing means more than my family, my friends. I feel a renewed sense of purpose to not waste my life when so many thousands lost theirs.
I looked up at the sky. Nope, it hadn`t changed one iota over the past minute, and thought that this was going to be the day we died. At least it was a nice day for it. I suddenly thought of my Gran and one of her most common sayings. `When your number`s up. It`s up.` An image of a giant bingo ball machine popped up...balls bouncing in all directions wildly in my head. Sadness couldn't compete with the all encompassing terror mingled with a smidgen of awe at Mother nature`s capabilities. The lamp posts swinging madly like those little animal springy ride ons that my smallest one so loves. Buildings and vehicles swinging hysterically. And the people being thrown down onto the ground, like straw dollies hurled around by a child having a tantrum.
My life has been split into two parts. The naive pre `11th of march 2.46` me. Waltzing around in my little world, humming a wee ditty, secure in the knowledge that things such as civil war, plague, AIDS, huge earthquakes and tsunamis only happen to other folk...and mainly only actors in a movie. Compared to the post `11th of March` me who has looked under the bed and not only come face to face with the bogeyman but been snogged quite frenziedly by him.
Life in Tokyo is pretty much back to normal. On the surface anyway. Two months ago, the first thing I did of a morn was to put on the kettle.These days, it`s switch on the computer to check our area`s radiation levels. I still pass the same young guy every morning. A fine specimen if ever I saw one. Sweat accentuating every toned muscle as he jogs. He now dons a small Geiger clipped next to his pedanometre.
My mobile phone is now equipped with an earthquake alarm. One that can be set to differing intensities. And what kind of sound you enquire, heralds an earthquake warning? A WW2 air raid siren? A wee tune from Holst`s `The Planets`? Screaming? Nope. A trill that immediately conjures up images of Tinkerbell and conies, not screaming,mass panic, destruction or death. However, in Tokyo, it stirs the same reaction as a siren erupting into life in a biological warfare research centre, with alarms ringing simultaneously .Everyone clamouring to check magnitude and where exactly.
My view on life has changed irrevocably. Transfixed in a moment in time, that you have absolutely no control over, where you feel with your whole being that death is coming, spun my whole spiritual being on it`s axis. I feel so grateful to be alive. I savour every day. Possessions have lost their importance. Nothing, and I mean nothing means more than my family, my friends. I feel a renewed sense of purpose to not waste my life when so many thousands lost theirs.
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