Friday, March 18, 2011

My dear Japan

I've been in shock for the last week or so.  I just cannot believe what has happened to Japan.  I am having a hard time imagining what the future may bring to this dear country, and an even harder time thinking of those wonderful people going through such trauma and devastation.

I am a better person because of the blessing I had of serving my mission in Japan.  Those beautiful people taught me so much about civility, integrity, hard work, community and so many other things.  I feel like Japan is my second home and its people, my people.  My heart aches for them.

I have worried about loved ones over there.  I have worried about the children of Japan.  The elderly, all those in harm's way or who are suffering.  I think of the mothers who have lost their sons and daughters.  I think of the fathers trying so desperately to hold things together.  Many hundreds of thousands are now homeless, with many hundreds of thousands more who have become nuclear refugees. I know there are many people there, even still more than a week after the earthquake, who do not have enough food and water.  There are many people out in the bitter cold, without adequate shelter or the necessities of life.  People that I love don't have immediate water supplies.  I don't know if they are okay right now, and all I can do is send my pleas Heavenward for them.

I'm really at a loss for words. 

So, my dear Japan, I am praying for you.  Hang in there.

Sunday, March 6, 2011


This morning Mom knocked on our door with a forsythia bush in her arms.  And a stylish haircut to match!  She was such a sight with those long sticks darting every which way.  She always wears sunglasses, even when speaking at the church at Gram's (her mother's) funeral.  It's quintessential mom.  Red hair and sunglasses.

Anyway, she handed the swordlings to me, and I pulled them into the house and tried to fit them into our pint sized kitchen.  Really, the bush takes up the whole table, but Mom says you have to be dramatic in small rooms.

She had been down to the other apartments she owns and trimmed her forsythia and very kindly brought me the clippings.  I put them into a pitcher with some rocks, trimmed them down, and hopefully we'll get some blooms soon.  The kids think it's great.  I just hope no one pokes their eyes out.

Some time after Mom's thoughtful gift I called her to say maybe I'd try to transplant them out into the yard in a few weeks. 

Me:  "I'll watch the blooms, then inspect the bottoms for roots.  After that I'll plant them outside and they'll die of shock."

Mom:  "That's a great idea!  It'll be like a symbol of hope lost!  A twig memorial!" 

Until then, then!