Love Tsunami

Love Tsunami single from Beach Blues album "Love Tsunami" is a upbeat and catchy song that speaks about the waves of love that crash down on Miami and other cities. The lyrics use vivid imagery of waves crashing down to represent the overwhelming feeling of love. The song speaks about the joy of slipping and sliding through life with the person you love, and how it makes everything feel nice and alive. Let love flow and enjoy the ride, as the Love Tsunami is here to stay.

Love Tsunami

Thank you for your love of tacos and Taqueria Tsunami. Your information will be passed along to the appropriate restaurant. You are also welcome to come in and apply between 2 - 4 PM, Monday through Friday at the restaurant.

"I think of 20s love as the same as the tsunami because I read that in the tsunami, the tide was way in. So fish were flopping around the shore, and people were psyched. They were gathering them with baskets, like 'I can't believe my luck! Look at all these fish!'

Each year as the weather warms, shelters anticipate a wave of kitten births, known as Kitten Season. However, given the previous year's lack of spays, they now find themselves preparing for a tsunami. The only hope for these kittens to grow into healthy adult cats is the combined effort of the entire community.

Why do coastal areas with millennia of collective memories forget such painful lessons? Experts cite attachment to ancestral land, urbanisation and the shifting of traditional communities, the influx of new people with no knowledge of tsunamis, and the convenience of low-lying areas for the fishing industry. Each generation builds stone monuments at the highest point of the tsunami that struck their homes, then forgets those lessons, their faded stone lettering a metaphor for collective amnesia.

But not everyone forgets: the Oikawa family in Ofunato, further along the coast, lost their house to the sea but the family of five, including Natsuko (12), Hinako (10) and Masatsugu (eight) remembered the stories of tsunamis from their grandmother and ran toward the mountain, away from the coast. One of the few villages to emerge largely unscathed, meanwhile, was Fudai, also in Iwate Prefecture, which is shielded behind a 15.5m seawall and a 205m floodgate built at the astronomical cost of 3.5bn yen. It was considered a classic rural boondoggle at the time, but the man who pushed it through, late mayor Kotaku Wamura, is now considered a hero, driven it seems not by the grubby imperatives of Japan's voracious construction lobby but by the searing memory of the 1933 tsunami that again pulverised the north-east. "When I saw bodies being dug up from the piles of earth, I did not know what to say," Wamura wrote in his biography of the disaster he witnessed and the lessons he learnt when in his twenties.

A few weeks after the disaster, I spoke to Kenji Nakajima, a fisherman in the sleepy fishing village of Sakihama, Iwate. Nakajima and his fellow villagers sheltered for decades behind a 10m reinforced-concrete wall built in front of the sea after a tsunami raced across the Pacific from Chile in 1960, killing 142 people along this coast. The wall of water that inundated his village on 11 March was twice that high, he says. He and his wife Yuki then argued in front of me about whether to build on the same spot or move inland at greater cost. "We can't rebuild here," said Yuki, as her husband kicked at the ground and the now-ruined tsunami wall loomed in the background. "In 50 or 60 years the waves will come back. We'll be dead, but what about our children?"

Families will argue in the same way in the coming years and, if the insurance pays and they can find land, they will shift their house a few hundred metres from shore, where their children and grandchildren will be safer. By the time the next tsunami hits, 61-year-old Komukai may well have passed, and the children he shouted at will have their own painful memories of the 2011 Tohoku tsunami. Most of the towns and villages will have been rebuilt. But the photos salvaged from the muddy ruins of Rikuzentakata? They will have long since faded from memory. 1 041b061a72