Until last night, things had settled down for us, geologically speaking. The aftershocks from the Iwate-Miyagi earthquake had pretty much stopped. Small tremors occurred occasionally, but nothing really out of the ordinary ― a shindo 3 here, a shindo 2 there.

Until last night, when the glasses started rattling and the ceiling lights started bouncing, the prelude to a whooshing roar as our second big earthquake intensified. The quake registered as a 6.8 on the Richter scale, with its epicenter about 65 km from here, east of Morioka. Areas close to the epicenter had landslides and some fires; Kitakami escaped relatively unscathed once again. JR East didn't resume train service until about 1:45 pm, but people who needed to travel simply found other ways, and we went on with our lives.

There are two attitudes frequently associated with the Japanese people. One is ganbaru ― perseverance, or striving to do one's best. It is expressed in many ways: as a spirited cry during a sporting event, as an exhortation from one classmate to another struggling with an answer, as a soft bit of encouragement from a mother to an injured child. The other is shou ga nai ― there is nothing to be done, or there is no help for it. It is an attitude of acceptance that there are things over which we have no control, and all we can do is let the chips fall where they may.

Over the millennia during which the Japanese formed these attitudes, the earthquakes must have played a role. What, after all, can you do about the earth moving, splitting and collapsing as it does? You can give up, which at best makes you a quivering mound of fear every time the house creaks and at worst leaves you with a life and community possibly in ruins. It doesn't prevent the quakes from happening. You must persevere. You must go on. And you must do so with every expectation that the earth will awaken again. When Mother Earth needs to let off some stress by shifting plates around ― there is nothing to be done. You can only accept that it will happen, and persevere when it does.

After dinner on Saturday night, Matthew and one of our companions played a friendly game of shogi, a Japanese variant of chess. The rest of us drank and cheered them on.



Matthew emerged victorious after a long endgame. Next time, we'll play an all-American game: Monopoly.

I bit the bullet and went sweater shopping yesterday. Stereotypically, trying on clothes is the subject of much wry humor and/or moaning for American women. Especially summer clothing. So imagine the apprehension inherent in a regular shopping foray, and add to that the element of being a wide-shouldered, giant-ribcaged girl in a country generally populated by women of slight build. The opportunities for humor and moaning are endless.

I found what I was looking for: a sleeveless turtleneck, with matching cardigan. They didn't have black out, so I asked the shopgirl to bring me a medium black one, if they had any. She returned, bearing two black sleeveless turtlenecks: one medium, one large. I was grateful but a bit embarrassed ― clearly, she knew (as did I, honestly) that the medium was a long shot.

She showed me to a fitting room, pulling what looked to be a tissue-paper veil out of a dispenser on the wall. Put this over your face before trying things on, she said. It protects the clothes. I love practical Japan — no icky lipstick stains on the clothes. So awesome.

Tissue veil on, I attempted the medium. It quickly became obvious that I wouldn't even be able to get my head through it, much less anything else. The large was perfect. Feeling optimistic, I pulled on the cardigan, which was cute and cozy and had sleeves that ended about four inches above my wrists. Nothing a bone saw couldn't fix, I suppose. And really, I like cute clothes, but not that much. I can only assume from this that miniskirt shopping isn't in the cards for the next year or so.

Some time ago, my language partner loaned me a manga (comic) that she had been reading. It was a very useful one because it was bilingual ― it had been translated into English, with the original Japanese text on the sides of each frame. I read the English at the time and enjoyed it a lot, but couldn't even begin to contemplate sorting through the Japanese. All those kanji, and who knew where the words began and ended. . . .

A couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd give reading the Japanese a go one more time before I give it back. It took a while with a lot of cross-referencing, but I read it. To quote a Japanese language reference of Matthew's: "Look Mom, I can read Japanese!" Sure, there's a lot of grammar that I missed (and who needs grammar anyway, really?), but being able to read a manga aimed at teenagers is pretty exciting. I was so excited by my newfound ability to read that I bought the second book in the manga series in Japanese only. I won't be turning into a fangirl anytime soon, but I figure if it makes me push the boundaries of my language learning, then a little manga is a good thing.

Forty-eight hours later, we're continuing to feel aftershocks. They've slowed down a lot, but we still get a strongish one every few hours. One of the last reports I saw said that by last night, there had been upward of 400 aftershocks. The JMA warns of a 90 percent chance of a magnitude 5 aftershock occurring in the next three days, and a lower chance of a magnitude 6. Apparently, the new normal is feeling the earth move on a regular basis.

The earthquake has made the dogs more sensitive to seismic activity. Before Saturday, intensity 1 or 2 quakes didn't faze them at all ― they'd just continue snoozing away while the ground rolled. A 3 might have woken them up and made them a little curious. Now, they cause Aki to get up and move closer to us, trembling and looking worried. She's been very clingy over the last few days.

As for us, we're getting used to living in a country in motion. It's kind of weird to be doing chores when an aftershock hits and you have that initial moment when you assess your options: keep washing the rice or find cover. Or you hear a rumble and pause to think: train, truck, or earthquake? We'll probably never think of an onsen in the mountains as an entirely peaceful refuge ever again, although fear won't prevent us from going. Instead, we'll adopt the Japanese mindset about such things and persevere.

By now, you may have heard of the big earthquake that hit northern Japan yesterday morning. At 7.2 on the Richter scale, it ranks as a "major" earthquake. In our part of Kitakami, it reached 5-upper on the shindo scale, intense enough to cause cracks in the walls of earthquake-resistant structures. But at our house, it just spilled some coffee, knocked a few books off shelves, and caused the automatic safety device to cut off our gas.

Of course, it was big enough to cause us worry. Perhaps the strangest thing about it was how it went on, and on, and on. I guess every big earthquake feels like it goes on forever to the people experiencing it, but this one really did go on for almost 20 minutes. Well, the intense shaking did, anyway; I guess it was probably actually several earthquakes in quick succession, but the vibrations from each were still going when the next arrived. Here are the earthquake maps from the Japan Meteorological Agency showing the earthquake at 8:47, and still going strong at 9:01.




Just how close was this to us? Here's a zoomed view.



And just how (not) bad was it for us? Well, here's the shelf that moved. Some games almost fell, and a few books did fall.



Shortly after 9, the intensity fell off. But — and this was a very strange sensation — the ground continued to gently roll and pitch for about another hour. As it continued, we picked ourselves up, checked for damage, reset the gas supply, and started to go back about our business. By the time it stopped, we were so used to it that we were still unsteady on our feet, like when you step on dry land after spending some time in a small boat.

The rest of the day and night were a continuous series of aftershocks, sometimes just minutes apart. By 10pm, just 13 hours after the earthquake, there had been nearly 200 aftershocks. Many more came throughout the night, and they have been continuing today with less frequency.

On my way back to the office last week, I had an unusual cabbie. For one thing, he was chatty, unlike the other Japanese cabbies I've encountered. For another, he looked very much like one of my bosses back in Washington, if my boss had been Japanese rather than of Mediterranean descent. It was the second time he'd been my driver, and both times I noticed the resemblance immediately.

Occasionally, we come across Japanese versions of familiar faces from back home. What's interesting about these occurrences is that they cover a wide variety of Western features. My boss looks nothing like an old client, American Idol-era Clay Aiken, or Steven Spielberg, yet we've seen Japanese versions of each of them. And, as a general rule, Japanese features are pretty homogeneous, so it's not like we're keying off of similarities in hair or eye color. It would be easy to say it's a trick of the mind, that it comes from needing some connection to home, but the first J-Clay sighting occurred while we still lived in America. The likenesses must come from somewhere more fundamental than that.

Anthropologists and ethnologists probably have researched this phenomenon and come to some conclusions about why we see the familiar in the apparently unrelated. For us, the non-scientists, it's just a part of the ongoing adventure — who are we going to see next?

Hachimantai is a mountain and national park that straddles the border between Iwate and Akita. It's also the scene of the "Aspite Line", a very scenic drive that crosses the mountain near its summit. Even in May, there was plenty of snow near the top.



On the Iwate side, there are alleged to be some spectacular views. All we saw was fog, though.



And here's the view when we finally got our oscillation overthruster working.



(Photos by Robert Davis. Hi, Dad!)

Earlier this month, we attended Jinku Matsuri in Esashi, a small town south of Kitakami. Jinku Matsuri is a festival featuring dances performed by people from Esashi who are celebrating their 25th or 42nd birthdays. 25 and 42 are traditionally yakudoshi years for men, but both men and women performed in the dance groups or in their accompanying music groups.

Prior to the featured dances, local children danced in a parade that passed through the main festival ground.



The 25-year-olds made a big impression with their wicked hairstyles, and later with their original music and dance. The amount of energy they created in the festival ground was amazing.



The excitement was amplified by the 42-year-olds' entry. Seriously ― the 25-year-olds' musicians played with a lot of drive, but when the 42-year-olds took over the parade song, they did so with a huge BOOM! of drums and more complex movements. It was wild.



They also provided a flash of style during their original dance.

Having visitors is the perfect prod to do all the things you've wanted to do, but haven't. Like going to the Iwate coast — it's so close, and yet we'd never been. So on a beautiful Tuesday morning, we prepared for a day trip to the coast, stopping at Hige-oyaji's place for breakfast. We told him our plans; he got really excited and animatedly told us to go to the Goishi Kaigan to see Kaminari-iwa, "Thunder Rock." Kaminari-iwa is a longish outcropping of rock running parallel to a cliff. Ocean water charges through the gap between them, creating a huge "BOOM!" as it does, hence the name. Because he's awesome, Hige-oyaji hooked us up with an outfit running small speedboat cruises around the sights in that area, including through the Kaminari-iwa gap.

From the shore, Kaminari-iwa looks very cool, and the movement of the water through the gap is mesmerizing.



You get way more of the "thunder rock" effect from land than on the ocean.

The turnaround part of the boat trip took us through Anatoshiiso, a rock formation rather resembling a giant, rocky set of brass knuckles. On the initial approach, it was not at all clear to us that our speedboat was going to fit through that middle hole.



It did, thanks to the careful maneuvering of the boat pilot.