Monthly Archives: March 2013

Gluck

February’s new things just kind of happened.
Even after my blog post, the new things just kept coming: including an invitation to 4th Street Live.
Confession time: at first, I was too tired to write about my latest adventure. Then I was too lazy…then laziness morphed into a kind of forgetful remembrance: I remembered going out to the clubs and I remembered thinking up a blog post, but I forgot that the words had never actually left my head. Then I forgot when it happened.
So throughout the entire month of March, I have labored under the illusion that my new thing was out of the way and written up. How exactly I remembered that 4th Street was in February, I honestly do not know…just one of those things that comes to you in the middle of the night, I guess.
So here it is, the last half of the last week in March and I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do.
Cue the Japanese restaurant right by work and the realization that I’ve never had sushi.
Actually, never having eaten sushi was kind of deliberate; with a mother like mine, you have no choice but to be aware of mercury poisoning in the ocean. Not to mention, why on earth would I ever pay more money for uncooked food? Seems a bit skewed to me…but with time in such short supply, what’s a girl to do? So I swallowed my fear of mercury poisoning (not literally, I hope) and marched myself into the sushi place.
Tip number one when ordering something you never thought you would: make friends with your waiter! I had no idea there were so many ways to prepare uncooked meat–so I just asked my waiter to pick something for me. She was very nice, and told me to order something called a Derby roll. “Very popular,” she said.
Its popularity must be based on something other than appearance, because my first thought on seeing a Derby roll was: “Dear God, I hope that’s not for me!” It looked, for all the world, like two tail fins stuck on either side of pastry coated in brown sugar. Also, it was huge; maybe 8-10 inches long.
So there I was, facing down a giant sized portion of something I was not really inclined to do anything but look at…and absolutely no idea how to eat it. My informative waiter had already gone and so were the not-so-helpful menus. To my right, the people had already finished and to my left, they were still ordering: no help to be found there. An experimental prod with a fork revealed the Derby roll to be pre-sliced into six pieces, each one an uncomfortably large mouthful. By slicing each piece in half, I was able to consume the sushi in twelve bits.
Believe me, I counted.
Objectively, I understand why my waiter recommended the Derby roll: the marriage of crunchy sugar and smooth meat made for a fascinating taste…if you are a connoisseur. Personally, I couldn’t get past the slimy quality under the sugar.
I downed three enormous glasses of lemonade with this meal; the first to keep me from bolting as soon as I ordered, the second to get the stuff down and the third to keep it down. I also spent the majority of the ride home convinced the raw fish was going to slide back out.
I’m still not convinced it is getting digested in the usual manner.

I will say this: if it were not for The List, I doubt I would ever have eaten sushi. Thanks to The List, I doubt I ever will again. Yuck!

Categories: The List | 4 Comments

A Different March Second

I woke up this morning acutely aware of what day it is….what day it was a year ago. March 2, the tornado.

One year. Wow. One year ago today, my world was literally picked up and thrown upside down. One year ago, at almost exactly this time, I was standing in my front yard, soaked to the skin and surrounded by chaos.
I was afraid of this day. I was afraid of the memories and the trauma echoing back up. I was afraid of the TV, the radio, random conversations with people: all reminding me of something I could never forget. I was afraid the flash-backs would return.
Instead, today I was given something else. Today, I was given a different March second.

It is not the memories that define this day, it is the differences.
It’s Saturday, not Friday. It’s a work day, not my one day off. I was woken by alarms, not my alarmed mother. It is cold and snowing, but the wind is barely blowing. I remember how last year, I was so upset that the weather was interfering with my plans to go to Clarksville to shop…today, I spent almost nine hours in Clarksville, but I wasn’t shopping. My hoodie is gray, not purple. I haven’t forgotten how to drive today. I’m writing this on my iPad, not clutching a pink laptop, hoping that I don’t lose whatever I forgot to back up. I remembered to charge my phone last night…unlike last year. I spent the majority of today indoors. Last year, I was mostly outside; and even when I did go in, the outdoors followed me (since we were rather lacking in walls at the time.)
I am wearing the same shoes as I did on March 2nd. They’re wet again this year, but that is from two hasty showers at work and not from walking through rain, hail and puddles.
The differences stack up like a wall between these two days, reminding me that, while this might be an anniversary, it is not a mirror. Today is its own day, a perfectly normal day that I am sure I will completely forget about in time.

People ask me what I remember most about that day, that other March 2nd. I don’t have a one-sentence answer for that. I remember the rain. I remember huddling against a church wall. I remember Michael hugging me. I remember Kim’s Skittles jacket. I remember a green sky. I remember the rainbow. I remember friends saying “I thought you were dead!”
What has stuck with me most about that experience would have to be the glass. Since The March 2nd, I can’t stand broken glass. I always stare at it for a moment now, before I clean up. Shattered glass means chaos, tragedy, bad things happening, terror and fear. Others have noticed this metaphor in my writings post-tornado.

I was composing this in my head as I was coming home from work. As I was coming up the last hill before my house, I paused to take in the damage one year later. Trees still look like toothpicks; the cemetery is still missing to o many headstones. There’s still metal stuck up one tree like a flag.
That is the new normal, one year later.

Categories: ordinary life | Tags: , | 2 Comments

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