Friendship on Foreign Shores

True friendship knows no nationality, no boundaries, no international law. My friend, Kyoko, who celebrates her birthday this week, is as dear to me as someone who grew up living next door, though her neighborhood is in Tokyo Japan.

We've been good friends since 1977. No, I'm not from Japan and she's not from the US. That's part of what makes our friendship so extraordinary. We met in Iwakuni Japan when another American woman and I were looking for a department store that was having a sale. Shopping: The universal language for women, right?

Millie and I were in Iwakuni to visit our husbands, stationed there courtesy of the USMC. Having ridden bikes into town to shop, we stopped some ladies on the street to ask directions. "Sumimasen," I said, "Excuse me." That and a few other words filled the short list of Japanese at my command. We spoke in English, and showed the women an advertisement. The women smiled and nodded to show understanding, but our communication was hindered by lack of a mutual language.



Millie, Kyoko, Susan 1977

Always helpful, the Japanese women stopped a young woman who was passing by and explained our situation. The young woman possessed a joie de vivre, a curiosity of all things that was immediately evident in intelligent eyes and a quick smile. And she had recently graduated university---majoring in English literature! How lucky for us to meet Kyoko on that day in that place. How fortunate I've been ever since.

Kyoko acted as our guide in her free time, showing us prominent sights and out-of-the-way places for the month I stayed in Japan. It was all new to me. Tatami mats, futons, toilets in the floor (even on trains--try to go with the flow in that situation!), Japanese etiquette and seafood (squid, octopus, and kelp). Before long we could ask her almost anything without offense and vice versa.

Kyoko married the next year, wearing beautiful traditional costumes; then changing into other outfits for the wedding events.

The next year, we received photos of beautiful twin boys, their sweet faces crowned with gobs of gorgeous black hair. We had two sons, as well, while Kyoko had a third son. Over time life got busier and the letters fewer. Without email and Facebook, snail mail and expensive phone calls were the communication methods of the day.

One evening in 1997 my husband answered the phone to a string of questions.  Kyoko had called around the country until she found us again. She remained effervescent. One of her sons was attending school in the US and he was in a difficult situation. He no longer had a host family, so when school closed on the holidays, he had no where to go. Our home became his home for the holidays.

We loved having Kyoko's son with us, partly because he reminded us of her. He has the same gusto; a reach-out-and-grab-life philosophy. The first time he came to visit he opened an email from his mother. The first part was addressed to me in English: Thank you for having my son, etc. The second part was in Japanese. "That's for me," he said. I left him alone to read.

When he came downstairs, he reported that his mother's email instructed him to "be nice, pick up your clothes, say thank you." I laughed out loud. It was an ah-hah moment for me. Mothers are the same the world over. We just want our children to be safe in a place where someone cares for them and to be polite in return.

Kyoko loves to travel as much as I do and has visited many different shores. She visited large cities in the US such as New York and San Francisco, where she could take tours and public transportation. Visiting slower paced areas such as the NC coast is more problematic for foreign visitors. Renting a car to drive the coast or mountain areas of our state can be daunting.

So in October 2010, Kyoko came to our house to visit the southern coast. We took carriage rides in Wilmington, ate shrimp and grits in Charleston, visited the Biltmore estate in Asheville, went to a college football game in Clemson, shopped the outlet malls, and stayed in my relatives homes along the way. As we traveled, we caught up, filling in details of our years apart. Kyoko said to me one day, "We're lucky we get along so well." Even though we had enjoyed communicating all these years, being together for two solid weeks puts the relationship to the test.



 My cousin Judy, Susan, Kyoko 2010, Grove Park Inn, Asheville
 

And we passed with flying colors. Our friendship is a blessing to me and it shows me how connected we are around the world. She and I mother in the same way; both of us helicopter mothers.  I understand her concerns for her children and she understands mine. When there is an earthquake and tsunami in Japan, it affects me closely. When she cares for an elderly family member, I know her concerns.

 We can look at each other and see ourselves. That's a gift.



 Silver Pavilion

Family Traditions

Sunset on the Cape Fear River, © 2012 Susan E. Hance

 

Here it is near the end of January and I'm almost lucid again. I loved every minute of our holiday family time--well almost every minute. The memories: who can forget playing "Headband" with adults and children sitting around trying to guess what's written on the card attached to the headband on their own head; rushing into Christmas Eve candlelight service, all eight of us late as usual, hoping the kids wouldn't set anything on fire with the candle on the way out; grazing on the homemade peanut butter balls coated in chocolate and any number of other "sinful" delights; walks on the beach trying to burn off holiday calories and horseback riding lessons.


Walks on the beach trying to burn off holiday calories...


CrossRoads Farm, © 2012 Susan E. Hance

...and horseback riding lessons.


The pre-holiday wind up was intense, so the unwind by all rights had to be the same, only it should have been faster, right? You know when the old style phone cords got wound up and you took the cord close to the phone, held it up in the air with the receiver hanging down like a pendulum and the cord spun around until it started to go the other way? That's it.

Oftentimes the things that are worth doing may not be easy. The easy thing is not always the right thing. We could cut back, skip Christmas, have a limited version. While reducing materialism is a great idea, skipping traditions would change the culture of the family.

 Over the years the kids have developed routines when they come to our house. At Christmas they ALWAYS watch Home Alone 1 and 2 and they look forward to it. They sleep on air mattresses in the FROG (family room over the garage) and if we tried to put them in a bed, they'd be insulted. According to them, sleeping in the FROG with the TV and DVD player readily available is their birthright.

There were songs to sing, presents to wrap, and gingerbread houses to decorate.

When the extended clan came to visit for two days, we had around 20 people in the house. Everyone helped, everyone laughed, everyone had a story to tell. Those are the memories that stick with us and become a part of the fabric of the family.

One of the best parts is finding treasures when everyone leaves. I found a note the girls wrote about how much fun they had with their cousins (until one of them threw up) and how great family is. How'd they learn that?  From family gatherings.

Fort Fisher

 




Fort Fisher, c. 2012 Susan E. Hance

In the film, Lincoln, the President and his men focus on the attack on Fort Fisher in an effort to defeat the Confederacy in one last blow. I thought of all the times we've been to Fort Fisher, how its mounds are haunting, how you can feel the souls of those who fought there, imagining how they must have felt knowing this was the one last stronghold and that they would certainly be attacked.

                                                                      




West toward the Cape Fear River, c 2012 Susan E. Hance

The Confederate soldiers must have stared into the sunset on those December nights,  shivering with cold and fright while Union soldiers planned their move. If the Union ended the war too soon, the President would not get the 13th amendment passed. The country would still face the need for abolition, yet Lincoln knew it would be more difficult to pass such an amendment if peace came first. What a weight on his shoulders.



Trees Bent Inland, c. 2012, Susan E. Hance

The live oak trees at Fort Fisher are bent inland from years of ocean breezes pushing against their hardy frames. If only they could talk. What sights have they seen, what conversations have they heard, what prayers from the soon-to-be departed have they lifted up? 

In the book, The Butterfly Effect, Andy Andrews uses examples from the Civil War to talk about why each of our lives matters. The Butterfly Effect is based on a thesis that if a butterfly flaps its wings, it moves the air around it, that moves the air next to it, and the chain reaction can literally change the weather around the world. Andrews describes the role of school teacher, Joshua Chamberlain, officer in the Union army, who in the face of almost certain defeat when his unit had massive human losses and no ammunition, gave the order to charge with bayonets fixed. To the astonishment of all involved, they won the battle. He goes on to say that if the South had won the Civil War, there would have been more than two countries, North and South; there would have been multiple sovereign states, as there are in Europe. Interesting thought.  

 

Further, he says if that were the case, if the USA were divided, it would not have been strong enough to prevail in WWII. Chilling thought.
 

While in battle, Joshua Chamberlain was hit by a bullet. In the belt buckle. He did not die. That's when he rose to lead the charge that changed history.
 

Andrews' point is that we each have a purpose; each of us has a life that matters. And everything we do matters. We can change the course of history,just by doing what we were put here to do. Ours may not be the battle that changes the country's history, but it may change the history of those around us. As a result, they will change the history of those around them. Awesome thought, isn't it?



Camellia: The Rose of Winter

Camellia with Bee, © 2012, Susan E. Hance

Thanksgiving Day dawned beautiful and there were so many things to be grateful for, the list would wrap around the house. Even though we couldn't get together with all the family we longed for, we were able to Skype--and that's amazing in itself. For an 88 year-old to interact with an 8 year-old, miles apart, started me thinking of all the developments of the last hundred years.

Since 1912, we've been through two World Wars and numerous regional ones. We've experienced the rise and fall of the Berlin wall, the development of penicillin, the advent of televisions in every home, computers, near eradication of smallpox, awesome advances in medical treatments, telephones have morphed from wall bound instruments to portable computers, email, text messages, and automobiles that talk to us.

And I-40 was completed all the way from Wilmington, NC to Barstow, CA. We are a connected country, shore to shore, Atlantic to Pacific.

What would Alexander Graham Bell or Henry Ford think of the world today? The story goes that the first time my great-grandfather, James Daniel Dean, saw a "moving picture show," he walked out, deeming it "a bunch of foolishness." My guess is he'd have no interest in tweeting.

I'm grateful for all the advances in my lifetime, but I'm learning to appreciate the small things in each moment. Maybe it's my age, but I hope everyone can find small pleasures in each day.

On Thanksgiving, I noticed from the kitchen window that the bees were happily visiting every blossom on the camellia bush. I've always liked the label, "Rose of Winter" that I'd heard given to that flower. I'm not sure mine is that variety, but it blooms in November and December here on the southern coast. It's my rose of winter, regardless of it's variety. In the next moment I was outside, knowing my food preparation would wait until I returned. I was as drawn to the bush as the bees, admiring its delicate petals, verdant leaves, and numerous buds; offering the promise of more to come.

In winter, when it can be bleak, there is simple beauty to be found. We sometimes feel down about what we lack, yet there is abundance all around us.  Let's look for the promise of things to come and grasp our opportunities.

Hurricanes at High Tide Under a Full Moon

Full moon on high tide, c. 2012 Susan E. Hance

Coastal dwellers know. High winds, high tide, full moon, bad news. Sadly the Northeast has experienced just that. The good news is: disaster can bring out the best in people.

I was asked how many hurricanes I've experienced. Not counting tropical storms, there are 18, best I can figure.

We drove the coast from Pensacola, FL to Mobile, AL one month after hurricane Camille and were astounded to see ships in the highway median and grand old homes that once faced the ocean reduced to toothpick size rubble. In 1996, Fran ripped the 197 foot steeple off our 126 year old church and left it lying in the street like the tip snapped off a string bean. And last year we came home to find a pine tree resting on the roof of our house over the piano. But in the end it's all just stuff, and we are alive and well.

One thing I've learned through all these storms is that people step up to the occasion. And not just because it's their job. The people who go into helping professions (hospital workers, emergency personnel, law enforcement, firefighters, meteorologists, etc.) go into those professions because they are nurturing people. Thank goodness. The image of the nurse holding and bagging a neonate, while they were placed in the ambulance, is an iconic example.

During the 16 years I worked in the hospital setting, I learned how they decide who will stay on duty and who will go home to tend to their own families. There was a list of two sets of staff: Team A and Team B and people volunteer. If the hurricane lasts a long time-which it did when Dennis went up the coast, turned and came back-Team A takes care of patients while Team B rests. Then they reverse. The teams are "locked down" in the hospital when the winds reach sufficient strength. It isn't safe to drive or go in and out of the hospital. Until then, people can slip away to prepare their own families, then return. Meanwhile the hospital rooms must be prepared, food that doesn't need cooking stocked up and bottled water brought in. Staff members get sleeping bags or cots and choose a spot on the floor in an office or conference room. There isn't a room for all of them to sleep in a bed. Patients who can be discharged are. The rest hunker down.

Once there is lock down, staff is isolated from their own spouses, elderly parents, children and pets. Their focus becomes keeping patients safe and as comfortable as possible.

When the  power goes out, the generators run only the red emergency outlets, used for breath support and other critical instruments. In hot weather, the temperature rises, while the humidity races to wilt everything. The windows are made to bow in high winds so they don't shatter. At the height of the storm they begin to pulse in and out. Patient beds are moved into the hallways, away from the windows and closer to available light in the evening. Patients are miserable: afraid for themselves and their families, uncomfortable in the heat, tired of sandwiches and fruit, and anxious about the storm's outcome.

Staff members meet the physical needs of the patients, while also trying to distract them: tell some stories, sing songs, offer a smile and a listening ear.

When the storm passes, those who are on duty just hope replacements can make it into the hospital. After endless hours of nurturing others, they want to go home to their families. During Hurricane Floyd, those who left the area could not get back in. Flood waters kept rising for days, as the flooded rivers drained toward the ocean.

Fortunately, the power company works on restoring power to the hospital first. That means power company employees have been on call all through the storm, ready to move at the first opportunity. They even come in from other states to assist; long caravans of power company trucks are seen moving into the storm area as residents evacuate.. All over town, people who serve others are in the same situation; standing ready.

Let's give thanks today for those who help others. Thank a medical worker, law enforcement member, firefighter, power company employee, military personnel, public official, or anyone else who has devoted his/her life to helping others every day. It's more than a job to them.

Lessons From The Coast: Walking on Water

The Rocks, © 2012 Susan E. Hance

Near Fort Fisher off the end of Federal Point, there's a wall known as "The Rocks". Built by the Corps of Engineers from the tip of the peninsula to Zeke's Island, it creates The Basin. Constructed between 1870 and 1891, the rock jetty was designed by Henry Bacon to prevent silt from filling in Wilmington's route to the sea. Later his son, also named Henry, would use that knowledge in construction of the Lincoln Memorial.

Locals know that you can walk the wall all the way to Zeke's Island, but you'd better know the tides. It covers with water at high tide. Now days the rock is crumbling and treacherous in places, so walking out at low tide is tedious, and walking back at high tide can be tricky.

One local woman took her young son to the tip of Federal Point one day. He pointed to the area between the point and the island and said, "Mommy, is that Jesus?"

"No, son. Why do you ask?"

"He's walking on water."

The man was making his way back as the water covered the wall, but things were not as they seemed.

Knowing the path I'm walking and where I'm going helps in life. Even when I'm up to my ankles in water, knowing where I came from can lead me back to a solid foundation.

Lessons From The Coast: Low Tide

Low tide brings great discoveries, like an array of shells, many broken, but some that have survived the tumultuous trip in tact; a feather, the shell in which an animal once made its home, part of a claw and some man-made debris.















When we find ourselves at low tide, just when things seem depleted, we might feel broken and beat about by the surf, and that's when we find what we're really made of. We find grit and treasures within us that we didn't even know were there, or had forgotten.

Then we find we are whole at the core. Just like a perfect pair of angel wings.