Strangely Silent

For several days, I watched in silent fascinated horror as Tsunami waves washed over Japan and people picked through the wreckage for parts of the life they had known. Then the awful truth about the nuclear meltdowns started to drift over, slowly and insidiously, first as full on lies then part truths. Finally, when the initial interest faded, the real truth slipped into the back pages of the news. It was leaked out like the leaking radioactive water. It floated by like a radioactive steam cloud.
In the recent days, I have searched the news for follow up information. There is none, but an occasional paragraph on some world conference on nuclear safety. There is some discussion by world leaders that maybe we should be looking into safer technologies.
The real truth is that the Japanese nuclear reactors are still melting down, releasing outrageous amounts of radiated water and waste into the environment and nothing is really being done to stop it. When Chernobyl went, the US rushed to help dump concrete on the facility to stop the release of radiation. Last I heard, it was marginally successful, but the area is still seriously contaminated and uninhabitable. At least there was a stop. Well, that is what we were led to believe, anyway.
But now, the world has lost interest in this event in Japan. We are poisoning the Pacific ocean, our food, water and air. We are not even watching in fascinated horror as our planet becomes uninhabitable. We are watching baseball, politician's exposing themselves, and a rather messy trial on the death of one baby. Not one person I have spoken to in the last month is aware that this meltdown is still happening.
I am nearing the end of my time on earth. I have had my children, played on the beach, eaten fish, and breathed somewhat clean air. But this is not available for my children and grandchildren. I am so sorry for them I can hardly speak it. And I am helpless to make any difference or changes. I can not make it stop. I am strangely silent and pensive.
As I get ready to go to Oregon, I think about the poisoned salmon in the rivers- they have swum in the poisoned ocean. I think about the poisoned rain that falls from the radioactive mist over the poisoned ocean. There is no safe place on the planet.
This year I will spin wool, knit socks, be with my friends, grow vegetables and fruits in my garden and be silent. The disaster will spread over the world in silence as contaminated products move from one place to another. I cannot knit a big enough blanket to hide under or enough socks to protect my family from the terrors that will come.
So I will continue on, mourning in my depths, for the loss of the future. Silently.

My Grandmother Said

That there were "benefits" to being deaf.
We were driving down to Mississippi from Missouri to visit my cousin, Leigh. My children were small then, and this grandmother would be their great grandmother. So Great Granny Inez was in the front seat. Little people 8 and under were in the backseat. I got to drive and listen to the whining and bickering behind me.
My grandmother looked at me, askance, and said, "There are benefits to being deaf." Then she removed her hearing aids and took a nap.
I have just finished, again, the painting in the guest room. I did the touch up on the wall where the painter's tape ripped the paint off. And I did the touch up in the oil base window casing, with a small artist's brush no less. As I did the little details, cleaned the brushes, hammered the lids down, I was reminded of my grandmother's words. I now believe that if there are any remaining flaws in the window paint job (and I know there are), I will just remove my glasses and slip into fuzzy vision. I won't see them close or far, due to that age of bifocalizm. And if anyone complains, they won't be invited to stay ever again.