Living In Christchurch.

There is an email being past around here these days entitled "You Know You Live in Christchurch When...". I love it, it really made me laugh. I am going to copy my favourites from it and add a few of my own. Here we go.

Christchurch Living means.....

1. You are in a nice eating establishment and excuse yourself to go to the powder room, only to find yourself in a portaloo.

2. All your pictures and decorations are on the floor.

3. You prefer to sit under the dining table instead of around it.

4. Dressing up to go to the city means wearing a hi-viz vest, hard hat and boots.

5. You greet friends and acquaintances with the words, "Do you need a place to have a shower?"

6. You've read and understand the terms and conditions of your House and Contents Insurance.

7. When your kids ask, 'Where's my...?" You can easily answer-- 'It's on the floor."

8. The words 'geotech' and 'liquefaction' are part of your everyday conversation.

9. Your toddler makes guesses at the size of aftershocks.

10. You think it is normal to see soldiers standing at the corner of the streets.

11. You roll your eyes and think 'big deal'when breaking news says there was a 4.9 earthquake in Wellington.

12. You drive by corners and can't remember what used to be there.

13. You jump every time a truck goes by and and windows of the house rattle.

14. You walk through the park, looking up at the trees, not to see the birds, but to make sure there is nothing around that can fall on you.

15. The old saying 'built like a brick house'has completely changed its meaning!

Boiling Water

I'm boiling water again. I keep a huge soup pot on my stove and each evening I boil water. I'm starting to feel like a witch, with a cauldron.

It's kind of fun,this boiling water thing, unless of course I run out. Besides, it reminds me of my childhood in Indonesia. I only have to boil my water for three minutes. Back when I was a child in the village, water had to be boiled for twenty minutes and then poured through a charcoal filter after it cooled. Okay, I'll be honest I didn't boil the water back in those days. We had young women who worked for us and they did it. Sometimes I helped pour it through the filter though!

You won't believe this, but I didn't know it was World Water Day when I started writing this. In fact, when I started writing I didn't know World Water Day existed! I only found out because I googled 'boiling water' to see why it was we boiled our water so long. Maybe we didn't need to do it that long, but not one of my family ever came down with cholera or typhus when people in the village died as epidemics rolled through.

I wrote this because I want you to turn on the tap, pour a glass of water and drink it. Brush your teeth, and rinse your toothbrush under the flow of water from your tap. Appreciate water that flows clean. (Please refrain from following these instructions if you live in Christchurch. And if you are from my old neighborhood, I apologize for even mentioning running water when you still don't have any.) But don't feel sorry for me. I don't mind boiling water, it is just one of the little things that changed, and it is one that doesn't matter.

It also doesn't matter that we have bits of paper lying around from insurance companies, and the EQC. Today when I swept, in the dirt on the floor was a card with a number for counseling services offered by the EQC. These are the little reminders of life that changed. All very unimportant things that are ever present in our life. We never forget. New plates, new furinture, not enough mugs, empty cupboards, all remind us. EQC notes, and boiling water, the occasional tear when one of the little girls remember something that is gone (okay me too)keep it close to our emotions. But just in case you forgot, we had an earthquake, and if you come to Christchurch, remember to boil your water.

Earthquakes Are No Respecter of Persons

I was driving down Papanui Road and saw this house being demolished. It was one of those huge houses, in Merivale. Merivale, yes, it's just like the name sounds, posh. The houses are beautiful, or in the case of a few, were beautiful. The demolishing company was on that site, as I passed, I saw rubble and antiques, all combined in the macabre mixture that an earthquake creates. The owner of that particular million dollar house had been interviewed on television. The house, once beautifully done and full of period antiques, was felled with all the contents.

It is, you remember, a pain I understand. I did not live in a million dollar house, the furniture that I owned was not period antiques (though I had some lovely antique pieces). But I think most everything in that house was special. Okay, maybe the Tupperware wasn't special, and I had a few bits of clothing that I no longer even liked and wondered why I bothered buying in the first place. But I have travelled around the world, and I am, by nature, a storyteller, so nearly everything I owned, had a story. Okay, so now you know that if you had visited me before the earthquake, you would have seen some interesting, but not overly expensive things, and been bored by a story. But don't worry, it's almost all gone now. My major story now is, 'I bought this after the earthquake.'

I'm classically middle class, the sort of woman who is completely average. I'm so average, that if you put me up beside ordinary, I'd make it look special. It didn't matter on the day of the earthquake. The houses of the wealthy, the poor and the average, ordinary, middle class, lay broken in this city.

As I drive around the city, venturing out through the traffic to find which roads I think I can tolerate, I am saddened by the businesses lost. I think of those people, who must be worried about what the future has for them. The little dairy and the Chinese Take Away not far from my old house in the Eastern Suburbs. Those two places where hit hard by the September event, how they worked to get things back into place, only to be hit again. I see the same story written on so many corners around Christchurch. The broken buildings say more than just damage, they speak of fear, of uncertainty, and of pain.

Surely I am not the only one who reads that same story in the faces of those poor central city business owners. Some of those people are wealthy, city property owners, and some just small business people. It doesn't really make a difference, when an earthquake takes all you have. I watched the news with horror as they attempted to enter the red zone in the city and were fought off. Is not that anger, really just fear of the future? Where are the leaders of our city, or country, the sons and daughters of Christchurch (or Auckland or Dunedin) to put a hand on the arm of these poor people, sit down with a cuppa and reach an agreement that gives them peace?

Peace is hard to find in the aftermath of an earthquake. The land itself continues to shake, the roads and buildings are constant reminders of what has happened, personal life is uncertain and rumours of squabbles and politicizing concerning the rebuilding of city increase insecurity. It doesn't matter if you are rich or poor, an Earthquake takes everything, including peace, from everyone.

Altered States.

"I think that was a 3 pointer."

"Oh," says I, "I didn't feel anything. Did you feel something?"

"I think it was a 3 point 2 point 5."

"Oh," I say, again, and watch as Maddee goes back to her play.

There are words and thoughts that have entered our life here in Christchurch, things I never knew about or at least never thought about before. Earthquakes alter more than just the land, it alters the people, even in the simplest of ways.

"Hey mum, look at that, there's a Search and Rescue Man on a bicycle." Isabelle points out as we are driving down the street.

"Ah, probably the easiest way for him to get to work in the city would be bicycle." I answer.

USAR, a word we all now know, Urban Search and Rescue Personnel, now a common sight, often a conversation point. Even my children can identify these people on the streets, passing by, on a bicycle.

"Do you think the inspector will come today?" Maddee asked me.

"Inspector, what inspector?" Excuse me for not being with it, but I was talking to a four year old. Maybe she was talking about Inspector Gadget, or was it some odd thing that came up on Bob the Builder or some other television program?

We were just arriving home, and I pulled the car up, more than ready to turn my attention to getting in and having a cup of tea before starting dinner preparations, which were taking more thought and planning because I hadn't yet had replaced my pots and pans.

"Mum, do you think an inspector will come to look at the house?"

Then I got it. An EQC inspector, or a Structural Engineer inspector. EQC, Earthquake Commission, Engineers, these were things we never thought about, no less spoke of a few months ago. Now we talk about this all the time while we are waiting for someone to inspect Molly's flat to say if she can live in it again. Has the inspector come to your house? Have you heard about when the inspectors will visit you? Have you seen the inspectors in your area yet? It is a common topic around this city now. Poor Maddee was just joining the conversation of life.

On the door entering Maddee's preschool, a new sign as appeared. 'Out of respect for our children, please keep all earthquake related conversations outside these premises and away from little ears." I wonder if I should wear a sign like that? No I don't think I can.

Everywhere I go, people are in huddled up, chatting away about the earthquake, where they were, what has happened to them, what they have lost, if inspectors have seen their property, troubles with insurance. I do it too. It is the first thing we talk about when meeting up with a person. And here I am, blogging about it. There is some compulsive need to use these new thoughts and words in every day life. I think as we speak these words, they become normal. And normal is good.

Earthquakes and My Personal Loss.

I write about my personal loss during this Earthquake Event with a deep sense of gratitude. I lost a house on Sept 4th, I lost almost all my contents on February 22nd. Compared to the losses of life...I lost nothing.

From the moment of the Sept.4th Earthquake it was perfectly clear that our home, a dream house, set on the banks of the Avon River was destroyed. This house, not quiet 80 years old, had been a haven during the 5 difficult years we had lived there. The personal stresses that Richard, and hence, our family, had endured during those 5 years sometimes crept in the doors of that beautiful house, but for the most part we could lock them out, and retreat as a family. We laughed surrounded by the rimu paneling, and enjoyed the sunshine through the large windows peeking down at the river. We read books by the log fireplace, and made fun of each other in the dining room. I felt its loss, but my sadness was more for the value that it added to the scenic river, than for my own loss.

Oddly enough the Sept 4th Earthquake took few of our precious possesions. I mourned the loss of a broken pottery bowl that Richard had made when he was 17 or 18 years old. Glass shattered in picture frames, but for the most part, what was held in those frames remained in tack. At the beginning of this Earthquake Event, it was okay to mourn the loss of things. We were a city that had endured a 7.1 Earthquake without a single loss of life. But as it was I did not need to mourn much at all, for our contents loss were little, carpets, glasses, and a stove, the most replaceable of all possessions.

That all changed on Feb. 22nd. This strange earthquake, richter scaled at only 6.3 shook the ground at twice the force of gravity of the first event. No one needed to tell us that this was twice the earthquake, we knew it as the house shook around us vertically, till every south and north facing window blew out. I took no time to assess damaged when it finished. Ric put my shoes on my feet (I never wear shoes if I can help it!) and we ran for our children. It was a day later before I walked through that house.

I've lived an extraordinary life. My parents left the city where I was born when I was 6-7 years old. Since then I have wandered the earth, making 7 countries my home for long periods. Visiting many others. I guess I'm a 'Keeper' rather than a 'Thrower'. I have, or should I say had, beautiful things I've gathered around me from the world. A pottery set from Settle, Washington, a carving of the butterfly dancer from Bali, pictures from Texas, a limited edition print of Cambridge, England, maple tables hand-made from a friend in Saskatchewen Canada, a hand-blown jug from West Virginia, a little pottery person from the North Island, china mugs from England, pottery mugs from nearly everywhere in the world. The rimu furinture, hand-made by the prisoners of Paremoremo Prison on the North Island. Just a tiny page fromt the catalogue of my life. These things, these memories of my life are now shattered. When I walked through that house, it seemed my life lay in little shards across the floor.

I have things---of far less monetary value, which mean more to me than even these...baby clothing (can you imagine keeping baby clothing from 5 babies!), the quilt my grandmother gave me for my wedding, the quilts I made for my children. These are a few of the things I desperately want to find in that rubble.

As I write this, Richard is back at the Old 'new' house (Maddee's term). He probably shouldn't be. It's been 'Red Stickered'. So, as the law requires, we have had a qualified builder inspect it. It is unsafe, the roof too heavy to be supported by it's broken foundations. What can we take out? What will be safe for us to remove? Ric is there looking for those precious little things, the little memories, it may be unsafe to ever pull out the big things. I told him, no risks! No risks! No one thing is worth a life. Not a collection of piled things could ever replace a person.

And I know, in reality, that it was not my life that lay broken and scattered on that floor. It was only things. I have lived that life. I have those memories. I have written about my journey. It is not taken from me. I've shared those memories with my father, who recently returned to His Lord, I continue to talk about them with my mother, I use them to poke fun at my brothers, I laugh about them with my sister. My husband of nearly 26 years and I say..."Do you remember ...." and together we piece together some almost forgotten story of our life. Somewhere along my journey, these children of mine started saying, 'Mummy remember when..."

Memories are not the things. Things are reminders of the memories, and though I hope to save a few, and I feel a certain sadness at their loss. I still have those memories. And the people with whom I shared the experiences are not under rubble. They are safe. I have all that truly matters.

Written by Barbara on March 1.