Okinawa Peace Prayer Memorial Park

Yesterday we finally visited Peace Prayer Park...something I've wanted to do since we arrived on the island. After spending the day there, I'm glad that I had waited...that I've had the opportunity to observe and interact with the Okinawan people before my visit, because the more I've seen, the more I've learned to love and appreciate the Okinawan people. Because of this, the things I learned and saw here had a stronger impact on me. I cried through a great deal of the park.

It is a very large complex, with different buildings and exhibits. Some of them you pay a small fee to enter (like the memorial hall and the museum) but most of it is free. The placards below were in the information center:




Please click and enlarge these photos to read the text.



From here, we hiked the steps to the memorial hall...



Which houses an Okinawan art gallery, as well as a giant, praying Buddha statue. We took photos next to our favorite paintings. I know I've mentioned in other posts how nutso I am over Okinawan roofs...as well as those Okinawan dance bonnets.










This giant Buddha took one man (Shinzan Yamada) 18 years to build. I won't go into all the symbolism here, but there is much. We had this hall to ourselves, so we could sit and take our time. The photo doesn't do justice to the size and beauty of this statue, or the peaceful feeling in the room. I sat down to read the biography of the Okinawan artist in the brochure, and started sobbing. He built this as a remembrance of all the war dead...including his two sons...and as a wish for world peace so that others wouldn't have to know similar tragedy. He started this at the age of 72 and during the 18 years, he fell off the scaffolding twice...and got back up to continue his work.



I'm sure you noticed the colorful streamers surrounding the Buddha in the picture behind Jake. They are actually thousands of little paper cranes (like in Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes), which are made by school children each year and sent to various peace memorial sites around the world.



Patrick compared to the statue.



It's hard to see in the photograph...but there is a cluster of stars painted on the ceiling above. This symbolizes the final resting place of all those who were killed. It's beautiful in person.



The details are stunning. This is all done in traditional Ryukyu lacquer.






Downstairs, underneath the statue, there was a room full of display cases filled with "peace stones" collected from countries all over the world. They were placed under the statue based on the belief that the wish for peace is universal.


Guess what Germany's "stone" is?



As we left the memorial hall, we followed the path around back to the butterfly garden. It is small, but beautiful. It is symbolic to how precious life and peace are.



I thought this was ingenious, and I don't know why I never thought of it. They pulled the leaves which held cocoons off of the trees and clipped them up to hang in one area. Aren't the pupae stunning? I never knew they came in gold. These are Ogomadara...the largest butterfly in Japan.



Small, medium and large caterpillars.

Jake was popular with the butterflies:













Above: (Clockwise, L to R) I love all the many varieties of Shisa dogs on the island. The hands have to be my favorite. They are molds for one of the Buddha hands...and they fit perfectly in the garden. Heading back down the steps of the memorial hall, you can see how large the property is...and this is only a portion of it. As much as I hate spiders, there are some beautiful ones here.




Next, we walked over to the actual museum.



The above exhibit is right inside the door of the museum. I know you can only see the large shell and half of a smaller one, but there are many actual, unearthed ordnance shells in this display. They represent hundreds of thousands of unexploded shells still believed to exist on this beautiful island. The battle of Okinawa was named by the people here as "The Typhoon of Steel".


The children's area is beautiful. Most of it is in Japanese...but some of it you don't need to read to understand. I loved the globe behind Jake, where pictures of children make up the continents of the world.



I caught a glimpse of this outside one of the windows and it sent my heart aflutter. I guess I'm not the only one who goes gaga over these roof lines, because this appears to be purely aesthetic here...it's just the roof of the museum made to look like a village.

Next, we went to see the permanent exhibit inside the museum, which you have to pay to see. The cost was minimal. Up until this point, we practically had the place to ourselves...but we could hear a thundering roar of chatter coming behind us as wave after wave of Japanese high school students from mainland Japan came up the stairs.


You see this placard first thing as you walk into the exhibit. I gathered this was going to be a timeline of Okinawan history (which it was).



A stunning screen mural...there is no way photographs could do it justice because of the dim lighting.

This is the point where a docent came to tell me that there was not photography allowed in this particular exhibit. (Bummer!)

This is also the point where we decided we were better off allowing the students to pass us as there were just too many of them to be able to see around. Cliff said to me, "Watch them as they come in the room and see what this is about." Sure enough, each group of friends would enter laughing and joking (a universal teen trait) and as soon as their eyes caught the signage and they saw this part of the exhibit was dedicated to the Japanese oppression of the Okinawan people, they fell silent. Without fail.

The groups breezed through quickly, leaving us to take our time. I already knew some of the history...but it was interesting to read the lengths the Okinawan people went to in order to prove themselves loyal "imperial citizens" of Japan. They were forbidden from speaking the Okinawan dialect, and could be shot as spies if caught doing so. Everyone was forced to learn Japanese. As a result, their local language is all but dead. Can you imagine having your heritage, your culture, your language erased by force? I can understand why the Okinawan people value traditional art, music and culture so much...and why peace and harmony are paramount in their society. I loved this quote from one of the brochures...

"The Okinawan Heart is a human response that respects personal dignity above all else, rejects any acts related to war, and truly cherishes culture, which is a supreme expression of humanity."

The displays progressed through WW I and II. To see the pictures, artifacts and testimonials was almost too much. Okinawans were forced to live in caves, many of which were already used as tombs for their ancestors. As the American forces advanced, babies and children were killed by Japanese soldiers for crying (so they wouldn't give away their positions). They were forced to give what little food they had left to the Japanese soldiers and many died of starvation. They couldn't leave the caves for weeks or months at a time for fear of being killed by American soldiers...so their dead loved ones piled up around them. The barrage of American shelling killed civilians by the thousands. Entire families were wiped out in one shelling. It is said that every single Okinawan living today has family members who were killed in this battle. One-third of the Okinawan population was wiped out. I can't even imagine.

In the end, when the Japanese knew they had no hope of victory, they slaughtered civilians as they retreated or forced them into mass suicide. In other cases, Japanese soldiers convinced the Okinawan people that they would be savagely killed by American forces if they were captured, driving thousands to throw themselves into the ocean, to their deaths. Although there's no doubt the Okinawans suffered greatly during the ensuing US occupation (land seizures, civil rights violations), they were surprised that Americans were not the savages the Japanese had led them believe.

As you leave the exhibit, through a huge picture window, this is what you see:



These are the famed "suicide cliffs". It's hard to believe such a beautiful view could be the scene of such tragic events.

Of all the museums I have been to, this one was the most engaging, emotional and powerful. They did an amazing job in every detail, left me wanting to read every inch of the place and learn more...and I highly recommend it, especially if you have an interest in history. (Family and friends: Hint, hint!)



This is the Cornerstone of Peace. Even though you can't see it, there is a flame which was transferred from 3 different sites...peace monuments at the first landing site of US forces in Okinawa (Akajima island), as well as the two sites where the US dropped atomic bombs (Hiroshima and Nagasaki).



These are the most adorable school uniforms I've seen yet. These children are from mainland Japan. You must enlarge the picture to get a better look.



The children all walked around the circle and took notes in their matching books while their tour guide spoke.



I love these shorts!



The path to the cornerstone is lined with stone monuments, etched with the names of the 240,000 war dead...military and civilian, of all nationalities. There are several rows of Americans...this is where they start.


And here is a panoramic view from the Cornerstone of Peace.



As we were leaving, there were still Japanese students coming in droves. Notice the pond to the right we had to cross over...



This little guy swam over to us as fast as he could while we were crossing, looking at us expectantly. Cliff threw him a hibiscus flower...and another, much larger turtle came and snapped it away. But of course, I missed it.



On our way back to the car, we stopped at this monument called "Peace Hill". It is supposed to represent one of the many naturally formed caves which Okinawans were forced to hide in and fend for themselves. The inscription on it says, "A strong will toward peace." This monument's symbolism really struck me after learning of the significance of the caves in the museum exhibit. I don't think I'll ever look at another cave or shrine on this island the same way again.


And just when we thought we might not make it any farther (the heat and humidity were rough) a sweet Okinawan man selling Blue Seal ice cream, beckoned us to his booth. We had to lick fast to keep up with the drips, but we found some shade to enjoy our pineapple, sugar cane, mango or sweet potato cones...



And have some great family discussion about the things that we learned. There was no way we could cover everything there was to see in a day. We'll need to return, for sure.


Why is there war? I wish I had the answer. Selfishness and greed, to oversimplify it. How do we stop it? Another answer I wish I had. It's obvious that taking just the example of Okinawa...it is not enough to be peace loving. They were a peace loving people, and war found them. No matter how they cherished peace, they were caught in this Typhoon of Steel between two great armies. Regardless, I will continue to hope, pray and strive for peace...because while it may seem paradoxical...as we are sort of in the "business" of war in this family...I have personally felt (as a family member of the 1% of our nation who currently provide for it's defense) the truth in the following quote:

"The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war."---Douglas MacArthur


P.S. And if you guessed Germany's rock is a piece of the Berlin wall...you'd be correct!

And That's No BS

Let me start by getting off-track. I'm wondering how many times I can reference Facebook on my blog in a week before people think I spend all my time there? I do have a life, honest. I even blog about it. But Facebook is my connection back to the USA, so I check it every day. I don't do any games or other applications. I refuse to poke people, or send them hearts or flowers. I simply scan my newsfeed and enjoy the glimpse into the daily lives of people I care about, and see if I can return the favor with anything worthwhile.

Anyway...there is a Facebook group called, "You know you've lived in Okinawa when..." that went viral. I haven't actually checked it in months (because it was getting redundant) but it was so much fun to laugh at the common experiences I've had with others, being an American living on Okinawa. One of the items I saw listed repeatedly had me baffled.

"You see a man walking his bull down a busy street like it's no big deal."

OR

"You see a man taking his bull for a walk by the nose."

What?! How had I missed this? Where would one find a man walking a bull down the street? A couple of people mentioned the area near Camp McTureous, which is just north of us but on the Pacific side of the island. I rarely get over there, but decided I'd have to go sometime just to witness the man walking the bull.

Well, on our way back from Peace Prayer Park today (which was a fabulous experience I will blog about later) on the very southern tip of the island, I saw a sight that led me to near-hyperventilation and back-seat-driving ("Oh my gosh! Honey...turn around! Turn around!!!")

We were on a very busy street, but Cliff made the next possible U-turn as I grabbed my camera. He pulled off on a side street and I bolted out of the van to capture this:




Just like people said.



And there's the rope through the nose. (Look at the first picture. You can barely see it...but if you look closely, you can see the knot at the end of the rope in his other nostril.) This is ALL the control this man has of his bull. He was so gentle. I even got to pet him.



The man was so patient. He gave the bull the command to stop when he saw me coming (he's probably used to crazy, camera-wielding Americans) and he just waited patiently for me to get my fill. He made a few size jokes with hand gestures (about the bull...not me) and then I reluctantly left the scene...



And he continued his walk, turning down the hill, toward his farm. All in a day's work, I suppose.

It made me wax a little nostalgic for this.

I love this place!

Checkin' another one off the list...

Teaching Jake to make bread...CHECK!

I didn't plan on doing this today, but Jake had other plans. He came into my room early, asking if I had any bread cookbooks he could look at, because he wanted to make a baguette. (What 11 y.o. American kid wakes up in the morning and thinks, "I'd really like to make a baguette today."? I hadn't even heard the word until I was an adult...and didn't know the meaning until the advent of the WWW. Am I raising nerds? Am I OK with that?) I just so happened to have a kids' bread cookbook, so I got it for him and told him to knock himself out. He found a French bread recipe he liked, and started throwing ingredients into the KitchenAid. (With only my supervision and occasional advice...so was I really "teaching" him? I was getting off easy, me thinks.)


This is how it looked after the first two risings. We just decided to go with a traditional loaf for our first time. I wasn't sure it was headed in the right direction, but I figured it would still taste good, even if it wasn't attractive.



Ready for the oven...



It was very crusty...and Jake was very proud.



Not a bad texture at all...probably wouldn't win any ribbons, but it was not bad at all. Next time, we're going to roll up the dough for a rounder shape to see if we can pull off the baguette. Learning is so fun when you get to eat your practice!



THIS is what I'M talkin' about!

And within minutes, the entire thing was gone. Hours of work for minutes of pleasure. Next time we'll make two loaves.

(Trivia: Can you believe my mom used to make bread every. week when I was little? And she'd grind her own wheat, too. Anyone else out there grow up with a wheat grinder on their kitchen counter?)

Independence Day 2010

Our 4th of July was pretty low-key this year. I wish I could tell you it was because we are super-righteous and since it fell on the sabbath, we spent it reading our scriptures and writing letters to missionaries. That would be a lie (and that would not be very righteous at all).

In reality, we were still recovering from our vacation...which probably had something to do with it. Also, I know at least I was feeling kind of melancholy...being an American not in America, knowing the whole country was over there partying without us. Every Facebook status update was a reminder of that. (Can you tell Facebook is my window to the world?) It reminded me of last year, actually. (The not feeling very festive part). To some extent because of the foreign country thing...but mostly because we were missing Cliff so much.

We started out the day at church. Since it was the first Sunday of the month, that meant it was Fast and Testimony Meeting and we had the opportunity to hear and bear testimony. This honestly can be hit or miss...but this Sunday's meeting was great. We have a family Fast Sunday tradition of eating homemade pizza for dinner, which I made with artichoke hearts, zucchini, onions, garlic and tomatoes (and cheese for everyone except me). It was pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself.

Even though we weren't going to any sort of party, or to watch the fireworks on the Air Force base, we did feel like we should mark the day somehow...so we watched The Patriot with Mel Gibson. It had been several years since I watched it, and it was even more awesome than I remembered. It was exactly what I needed today.

Of course I am grateful for those who serve in our military today...but I am especially grateful to those who had the courage to fight for our independence when doing so was as good as a death sentence (for themselves and their families). Some of them were members of my family. Samuel Huntington was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. He is my (many-greats) uncle on my mom's side. Joseph Parks fought in the Revolutionary War and is my (several-greats) grandfather on my dad's side. Then his son, Rufus Parks, fought in the war of 1812. I can't help but wonder what life was like for them. What did they believe? What kind of sacrifices did they make? I wonder what they would think about America today? Would they feel like it was worth it? I hope so.

I think the 4th of July is like many other "picnic" holidays in our country. It's more about the family traditions that we participate in...and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that...I think it's wonderful. I love picnics and fireworks. But the fact that I had no desire to do either of those things this year was making me feel...well...kind of unpatriotic, really. Like..."What's wrong with me?!" I don't want to be all somber when everyone else is celebratory! But in thinking about it again, I'm OK with it. This is a family tradition, of sorts.

I will leave you with one of my favorite patriotic quotes:

"God forbid we should ever be twenty years without such a rebellion.
The people cannot be all, and always, well informed. The part which is
wrong will be discontented, in proportion to the importance of the facts
they misconceive. If they remain quiet under such misconceptions,
it is lethargy, the forerunner of death to the public liberty. ...
And what country can preserve its liberties, if its rulers are not
warned from time to time, that this people preserve the spirit of
resistance? Let them take arms. The remedy is to set them right as
to the facts, pardon and pacify them. What signify a few lives lost
in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from
time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants.
It is its natural manure." ---Thomas Jefferson

God bless those patriots whose actions allow me to worship, to celebrate and to live FREE...and God bless America!

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Toy Story 3 and Toys R Mine

We are seeing LOTS of movies this summer. We don't normally enjoy movie theaters. Without fail, there are seat-kickers, obnoxious teens trying to impress their friends with their wit when they should shut up and watch, cell phone talkers/texters (yes...your illuminated cell phone screen is just as annoying as your voice, thank you), people who wait too long to take out their babies/should have gotten a sitter...and it's just not enough of an enjoyable experience to warrant spending the money when we can Netflix it in a couple of months.

For some reason (I'm guessing because there are so many good movies coming out), this summer, we've braved the masses and have so far seen:

(1) Shrek Forever After (Do the roar...I love you, Da-deh!)
(2) Prince of Persia
(3) Karate Kid

And:



All of these movies were exceptional, I thought...but Toy Story 3 was very special. I LOOOVED the first Toy Story movie. My boys were the perfect ages (2 and 4) to watch it over and over, to want all the merchandise (Troy=Buzz, Patrick=Woody) and to look adorable wearing the sweat suits, PJs, costumes, etc. I have attached such sentimental value to this movie.

So, in the year that my oldest is graduating, the producers reached right into my chest, ripped out my heart, and made Andy part of the class of 2010 as well. Thanks guys. I needed that reinforcement that childhood is slipping from my grasp.

Many of my Facebook friends let it be known via status update that the end made them tear-up. One even admitted it made her full-on sob (and her kid is still in 3rd grade...what does she know?!) but I wonder how many people started the movie crying? And my kids knew it, too. They kept looking at me as if they were expecting it. As soon as they started showing the home-movie footage of Andy growing up, I lost it. Eventually, I got a hold of myself and got into the movie...but the ending was brutal.

Troy and his friends were quite proud of the fact that Andy is a 2010 graduate. They said it meant they had literally and figuratively grown up with Andy. They planned to watch it together, and when the credits rolled, their childhood would officially be over. Well...travel and life got in the way, and Troy had to suffer through watching it with his family, instead. He is still a child for another month, anyway.

Afterward, the big kids had other obligations, but since he's been bugging us (and it was on my summer list) we took Jake to the Japanese Toys 'R Us.

(Trivia: When Troy was tiny, in one of those free parenting magazines, there was a "cute stuff kids say" section, with a quote from a 3 year old, asking her mom "When are we going to go back to Toys 'R Mine?" That's what we've called it ever since.)



Of course, there would be Power Rangers.



And whatdya know...Toy Story 3!



Love the Japanese packaging.



I don't know WHY it never occurred to me that Woody would speak other languages. If this guy wasn't $50, he would be MINE. Can't really justify it, though.



Buzz is multi-lingual, apparently. As much as I like Japanese, I liked the salsa version better.



Of course, there were all the usual Toys R Us departments. You know...Lego, Barbie, Thomas the Tank Engine, Nerf weapons...



The Godzilla section...



And of course, all these little screens throughout the store, in case you missed their commercials on TV.

There were also plenty of darling Okinawan children...and I tried not to look like too much of a stalker while observing them.

It's actually a good thing our kids have mostly grown out of toys...because I could really do some damage inside a Toys 'R Mine right about now. I already have some birthday presents picked out for some nieces and nephews.

Flashback Friday...Washington DC Trip

October 1996


Back in the day, when Cliff was a Marine, he attended the Staff Academy in Quantico, Virginia. We were living in Joliet, IL at the time, and I felt comfortable enough with the distance to drive by myself with a 4 year old, a 2 1/2 year old, and one in the oven, so that we could attend Cliff's graduation.

The graduation itself was pretty unremarkable. (Well, except for that part where Patrick was being really obnoxious during the ceremony, while I was trying to be prepared to take Cliff's picture. And I pulled him close and scream-whispered in his ear about how he'd better knock it off right now. And he still kept it up, so I pinched his behind. And then he screamed, "OW! Mommy, don't pinch me! DON'T pinch me! That's NOT nice!" Yeah. Not one of my finer moments.)

Anyway, after all that pomp and circumstance, we stayed a couple of nights in the Quantico BOQ. We shared one ancient bedroom as a family, and a communal bathroom down the hall with who-knows-how-many of our closest friends. Pretty posh. (I hear they have since remodeled.)

We thoroughly enjoyed Washington DC. We only had a couple of days to spend before we had to head home for Cliff to make it to work on Monday, but we packed in quite a bit. We hit all the big monuments, walked by the White House (the line was impossibly long so we opted not to stay) and went through several of the Smithsonian museums. We also went to Arlington, hoping to see some progress on the Women in Military Service for America (WIMSA) museum...but they had just broken ground and there was really nothing to see. (I'm a charter member and my profile can be viewed on screen there, now that it's done. I haven't been back to DC since, though.)



That's little Patrick to the left, Cliff's behind, and sweet Troy.



Funny how random memories can be. One of the things I remember most is trying to feed the pigeons. We bought popcorn from the nearby cart expressly for this purpose...and this young dad with five little kids in tow came over precisely where we were trying to feed them and the kids proceeded to try to annihilate the birds. One had a giant plastic dinosaur he was swinging by the tail trying to whack them, another was throwing his matchbox cars at them. The dad just laughed like some sort of hillbilly and said, "Git 'em!" I was pregnant (and therefore free to speak my mind) and I just looked at him and said, "You've GOT to be kidding me! Seriously?!" He said nothing, but eventually got the hint and moved his brood along. (Probably to go torture some homeless people...or light things on fire.)



Get a load of how skinny Cliff was! They used to PT him to death at that unit. I swear, half their day was mandatory PT. Honestly, I fed him well. He just worked it all off.




Sweet boys on the carousel.

(Trivia: I saw some boys like these at the bank the other day. They were playing under the counter, tickling each other and laughing while their mom counted out rolled coins. It reminded me of a day just two months after this trip, when I was in the post office, licking stamps for Christmas cards. {Remember licking stamps?} My boys were playing under the counter, much the same way. A woman came over to me and offered to help me stamp my envelopes {I had over a hundred}. I gratefully accepted her help, and when we were done, I thanked her. She looked me in the eyes and said, "God loves you and your children." I have to admit, I was taken aback...and my voice cracked as I replied, "Thank you. I know that." And then she went her way and I went mine. But I never forgot her kindness, or her unabashed words.)

God does love us...and our children. {Even moms who pinch their kids...and kids who throw things at pigeons...and dads who encourage them to do it.}