Earthquakes. Living the Ordinary during Extraordinary Times. Flushing Loos and Drinking Water.

On about the fourth morning after the earthquake, I went to my friend's house, she was out. Her daughter, Ric and I started cooking up the meat from my defrosting freezer--the freezer sitting at the Old New House...with no power, actually no plaster, chimney or ceilings either as I think about it.

We'd been running around all morning. I was tired, and needed the loo. My friend's daughter directed me out the back door. There I found the long-drop loo. We'd all been told that the city's infrastruction, damaged by the Sept 4th earthquake, was now in ruins. "Do NOT flush toilets" --this was the order of the day. Even if you had running water with which to flush a loo, which most people didn't have anyway, no one was to flush! "We Kiwis, we're a camping people, you know how to make do, most of you have dug a toilet in your life time.' Our mayor said, with that certain Kiwi pride.

My friend's long drop was second to none. Very deep, bricked up to a nice sitting height , a good seat made of wood and even a carved out seat cover. It was protected on three sides by a wooden structure and tarpoline. Everything you need, including the toilet paper was there. Well everything except the flusher! I was a good earthquake girl...and took care of business outside!

My friend came home and I complimented her on her fine long-drop. "Oh, did you use it?' It turns out, that for the most part, that household, like the home of the friend's we are staying , had taken on the old Kiwi drought saying. They mostly used the indoor loos and "When It's Yellow, let in Mellow....When It's Brown Flush it Down!"

As the week has progressed, that has become the official mantra anyway. If you don't see your sewage back up your toilet or flow into you lawn, then .... well you know the saying. But we have all been schooled, from an early age, the moment you stand up (at least in my case) you PUSH that handle. Mellow Yellow is hard to achieve.

But we know where its going. And it isn't nice to think about. With broken sewage pipes and destroyed pumping stations, our waste is flowing freely into our rivers and oceans. And of course seeping into our ground. This, the once proud city of the purest natural underground water, water that need no chemical treatment at all, is now a place of badly contaminated water. We are under strict advisement to boil all water for 3 minutes before drinking or brushing teeth.

In case you don't live in Christchurch, I would like to inform you that boiling all your water for drinking and teeth brushing is ALOT of work.

But I must not complain. For in the Eastern Suburbs, they have no running water nor electricity to boil what they get from various sources. I visisted one of my neighbors from the Old Old House, they are using a gas stove to boil water. They get the water from a natural spring that has a tap on it...in my front lawn. Do you remember the story in September...how I fought the insurance and won...and they put a tap on the natural spring that had sprung a leakat my house. Just as well I fought that battle isn't it!

Maddee had a bath yesterday. She kept dipping her face in it. No darling, don't put your face in the bath. Don't let it get into your mouth. No honey, don't flush the toilet. I wonder what kind of adult she is going to be? Do you think she will lack the toilet flushing complusion of her mother?

But Richard! He should know better! He came home from work yesterday and told me he drank water from the tap. " I just was thirsty and before I knew it, I had run water in a glass and gulped down two big mouthfuls." Just as his work colleague said, 'Did you just..." Richard remembered. Turns out his friend had done the same alittle earlier. That didn't stop me from scolding, because I'm not looking after someone who gets disentery because he isn't smart enough to remember to drink boiled water!

I went upstairs to get ready for bed still shaking my head and hoping the silly man wouldn't get sick. I used the milk container full of boiled water to wet my toothbrush and gave my teeth a good cleaning. I turned on the tap, rinsed my toothbrush, rinsed my mouth and took a sip. Oh no, pains hit my stomach immediately. But I'm pretty sure it was remembering the long drops and Flushing Brown Downs...and not really IMMEDIATE ONSET DISENTERY! (Could some tell me if that exists, because if it does....)

Written by Barbara on March 2.

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.

Earthquakes and Personal Loss.

I've been intending to write this for a couple of days. I planned on putting it up as I put up photos of the two houses we have survived in this Earthquake Event. I have been overcome by a weariness that would not allow me to write. Today I was determined that before I went to bed, I would write these thoughts that wrestle in my brain. Today I would write.

But today, I also walked my street again. My beautiful street with houses all along one side, looking down at the Avon River. I walked it, and gave baking to my neighbors who are still there, still living without water, power, or sewage. Their immediate difficulties strangely out weighing mine. My house is so broken it is unsafe to live in, so many there have houses that are in awful states of disrepair, but inhabitable (if only barely). Then I spoke to a neighbor whose house is only one away from my own. A woman I had hardly seen while I lived on the street. She is one of a large family who have lived on Dallington Tce for decades. A close family who seem to need no one else. Her father-in-law (80 + years) was born on Dallington Tce. Her sister-in-law lives behind her, a niece also is in the same group of houses, there could be other family members, I don't know.

The woman looked at me, as she took the plate from my hand and said, 'Thank-you. I will pass this on to my parents-in-law. I say, 'I'm taking theirs now.' (They were the only part of the family I really chatted to on a daily basis.) She stops, 'They're not there, their house is unsafe.' Before I could say a word of sorrow, she goes on. 'You don't know, their youngest son, Phillip's younger brother, he was killed by a falling boulder in Sumner.'

There it is again. That greatest of all loss, the loss of father, son, brother, uncle. I read today about a boy, they called him a teenager, his fourteen birthday just past. He was a boy, an only child. His school was out early, and he had birthday money. He did what any child in this city could do before. He took the bus into the city to spend his birthday money. My own children, my son, Micah, whose 17th birthday is on Saturday and my daughter, Izzi, who turns 14 in two weeks, they do it all the time. All the buses went into the city bus exchange. There you could grab a bubble tea, a coke, an ice cream. Meet with friends at Mac Donalds, or the brand new place called Wendy's. Walk the shops, spend your birthday money. This boy, this boy like my son, the age of my daughter, is gone.

All over this once beautiful city, the pain and grief are ever present. Even on my own street. How can I write about my personal loss today of all days...for it is truly nothing.

Written by Barbara on Feb. 28th.

Christchurch and Loss of...

Life ... I'm blessed to be more than a degree away from this loss. It is the worst, as we all know. This earthquake will cause a great deal of grief for many around the world. I haven't lived in this city long enough to have an expansive network, but even I know people who have suffered this loss. The friends were I am living, an older couple, both grew up here. Already they know that they are connected to at least four building missing in the city. This loss is the greatest of all losses.

Confidence...how does a city rebuild world confidence? How can Christchurch claw through the destruction and come back a city that people will want to do busniness in and with? What tourist will come here? What language student will study here? What conference will be held here? People from twenty countries are missing in our city right now. How do we get confidence again? How do the people of Christchurch get the confidence to walk the streets again? How do you trust the buildings above your heads? How do trust the high-rise car parks? Confidence is lost.

Heritage and History...Christchurch was a different sort of city in this country. New Zealand is a young country. When you fly into Auckland you see a city that thriving and new. So shiny and bright. Heritage buildings are scattered across the cities and its suburb. Christchurch is a city where the buildings of history dominate. Brick, stone and concrete. When I came here almost 6 years ago I understood why this is said to be 'the most English city outside England.' After spending so many happy years in Cambridge, I found happiness in being here. It was comfortable. The city founders must have thought and planned to make this city as much like home as possible . It was a warm and comfortable city, with its lovely old buildings. The announcement today that half the brick buildings will have to be destroyed and a third of the city demolished is a painful loss of history.

I feel these losses too. It is not just the city that has suffered this, it is personal, it is me. My confidence is shaken. (Earthquake pun alert!) My heritage and history is lost, broken and shattered.

Earthquakes and Words of.....

Comfort... opening my facebook, reading an email, talking on the phone or in person to a friend or family member, these words have been a life-line of emotional support to me. Words of comfort are more important than I ever realised. How I now wish I had spoken more of them in my life. When David Cameron spoke from Kuwait on the TV, I nearly cried. Harper in Canada, less emotional but I clung on every word, a note from Obama, seemed a let down, Gillard's words expected and appreciated (along with the hundreds of Australian man-power here on the ground within hours!) Our own PM John Key was in his finest hour when he called himself a son of Christchurch and said your pain is our pain. Only words...but words of comfort are powerful.

Information ... words of information have become like gold. Lack of those words leaves a hollow that is deep. I wait for words that tell me what has happened, when power or water or sewage will be returned, and I fight back the thought that needing that information is foolish beside those who wait for information about lost loved-ones.

Encouragement...every time someone says, Christchurch will rise again, it is incredible the fighting spirit that renews in myself and all around me. When someone on TV or real life says, Cantaberians are a resilient or fighters or strong, I think we rise up and become more resilient, stronger and fight harder.

Pain...are important. Each time I tell my story, it has less power to hurt me. Each time I hear the story of another who went through the day, I know I shared it with someone else. Each time I hear the story of great courage, I realise how far people can be pushed and still come back. Each time I hear the story of loss of babies, sisters, brothers, sons, fathers, mothers and loved-ones, though I don't think I can bear it any more, I hope it helps that someone else is sharing their pain.

Humour-- Being me, I made it through the last earthquake on the back of my rather strange sense of humour. I'm finding it harder to reach into that bag of tricks this time. That is not to say I don't appreciate a good story or joke..and can giggle or even laugh when one comes my way. But making earthquake jokes is just not serving me this time. (Okay--stop with the sighs of relief already!) Some day maybe I will once again make those jokes so prepare yourself for that torture. But as I wait to see how many have lost their lives, I can only feel sorrow. Smiles and laughter are far away.

Written by Barbara on February 25th

At 12:50 I should have been writing. I had been up until just a few moments before then.

All morning I sat in my favorite chair, by the picture window of this rented house. But for some unknown reason, Richard decided to come home for a late lunch. Only the Grace of God could have caused this. Ric was too busy to come home, he'd taken his lunch to work, made it himself. I think this was the first time I ever discouraged him from coming home. I wanted to write and he was too busy to take the time off. It seemed sensible. I should write on, he should work on. Twice, maybe three times, I told him not to. But he insisted.

I had only just stood up when it struck, we knew in a second it wasn't a normal aftershock. Ric took my hand and pulled me towards the front door. The house was shaking vertical, like something in a Disney ride...but terrifying without the fun. We could hardly stand up, no less get to the door. But Richard pulled me towards it only to find that glass was blowing out of the door, we retreated back. Then the debris, all the plaster, wood, dust and glass flew at us. The picture window exploded, and the chimney fell into the living room, pushing the log burner at us. Ric stood with his arms around me.

Time is strange. It lasted forever, but was over in seconds.

When it settled we ran to the door again. Richard, finding my shoes and sticking them on my feet.

This time, unlike September, I was hysterical. It's my children, see. This time the earthquake didn't strike us in the wee hours of the morning. This was lunch-time and my children were across town, baby in preschool in the north, the others to the south.

It was our Maddee we ran for, Ric driving, going up on footpaths to avoid the now broken roads. I know I cried, over and over again about the fact that she had only just settled down from the last. I guess that probably didn't help Richard much!

She was okay. The children were all outside, singing songs about Jesus. My little Maddeed who had been so traumatized by the first event. We had made 5 steps forward, going to preschool again the largest and last. She is 3-4 steps back now, hardly leaving my side, terrified by this new onslaught of aftershocks.

Then across the city to the other children. It took 1 hour to drive the 15 minute trip. Along the way we picked up a young woman walking with a two year old boy, she was crying. She was trying to walk home, across the city.

I could settle down now. Cell phone coverage was dead (just like in September) except that my daughter, in university in Otago, 4 1/2 hours away, could call everyone. So she assured us we were all fine and arranged the meeting up.

The traffic was mad, but we still didn't know how bad this one was yet. I did whisper to Richard, 'This one can't have not caused deaths. We were so blessed last time, but it struck us at the busiest of time."

I think about that now. It seemed so hard in September, we never really knew what hard was till February.

After meeting up with our other children, it took us three hours to get the young woman and her little one closer to her part of the city. Not home, but close enough for her husband to reach her by foot. Cars were gridlocked on roads towards her home. We had to drop her, and pray she is walked away.

Our city is devasted. We are safe, with friends. Not sure of next steps Everyone in this city, including ourselves, knows someone under the rubble.
Written by Barbara (beegirl) on February 23th.

Aftershocks and Truly Shocking.

Left homeless by the Sept 4th Earthquake, we quickly found a house to rent. We deemed ourselves most blessed. Our beautiful house by the Avon River was destroyed, but we rented a very similar house, closer to the city, and still by the river. That old statement, some people never learn...I think they wrote it for us.

I thought, until just recently that those six months were tough. The aftershocks kept us ever aware of what had happened. The people of the city were jumpy and tired. We didn't sleep well. We woke up early to aftershocks. Our children slept in our beds, had nightmares and often didn't want to go to school.

My little one, Maddee, who turned four in December, was one of those highly traumatized children. She returned to behaviour baby-like behaviour patterns. She was afraid of water, wouldn't sleep in her own room, and would not leave my side. I coaxed, talked, hugged, chatted and prayed for weeks. We would make progress only to have a day of intense aftershocks and find it was all undone.

Even my next oldest daughter, Izzi, struggled through. So much of the time, she held her own, but a bad day of shocks, or a large aftershock in the night, and I would trip over her on the floor of my room when I got up the next morning.

Life was tough.

The worse thing for me was the warnings of more to come. We were told that the pattern is always to have a point lower magnitude earthquake in the first week after a large event.

It didn't come.

We had five points somethings, but no six's. A month, two, then three past. The experts appeared back on our news, giving us the good news. The time to worry about another large earthquake was past. Each passing day made it less likely that a six pointer would happen.

The aftershocks lessened in intensity, they grew further apart. Life returned to a new normal, we talked to our insurance agent, worried about how long the land reparation was going to take, looked at plans for a new house. The worry was disappearing. Maddee returned to preschool.

In the days leading up to February 22nd, I don't remember feeling an aftershock. All we had to do now was put up with the longevity of the restoration. The event was past.

Maybe that is what makes an earthquake so shocking. Copying the words of the great Monty Python...'No One Ever Expects an ...Earthquake.' Especially when you've just had one.