This is a Get To Know Liza Better Moment: I hate anise. I hate it more than just about any flavor on the face of the earth. My hate for raw tomatoes? Does not even come close. I know I'm already a picky eater - the whole no-pork/shellfish/cheeseburger thing eliminates a lot - but really. Anise. European licorice, that stuff in the bowl at the hostess desk at an Indian restaurant, any anise-flavored liquor...cannot handle it. Stomach-turning awfulness.
This was brought on by a recipe I found tonight on a food blog, of which anise played a singular role.
Ohmuhgawd. Anise. *Shudder*
My nerves are a jangled sloppy mess. Last night I was wired, almost hyper, when Hilary and Greg dragged themselves all the way to Tennessee to pick me up. Rehearsal this morning was ok, but gradually, throughout the day, I've been getting more and more on edge. I forgot to rehearse with Robert at the church. My heartbeat keeps speeding up and slowing down.
But I should start at the beginning, and it'll be a cryptic beginning, because the internet is too cold a translator for the deeps that is a person's heart, and I'm sorry for that. Rich told me to leave the last entry up, even though I had planned to delete it. So it would be there, so it would be a reminder, of the terrible thing that almost happened to us.
So I drove myself to Charlotte. It was the first time I did the drive myself. I'm ashamed it was the first time. Four months in Indiana, four months with a car of my own and only now, on the brink, did I make the effort to get in and drive.
It was a good trip, a revealing trip. I drove home at night, emotionally exhausted. I made it over the Smokey Mountains without incident, drove through Nashville, and was cruising along Highway 24, lined with dense trees thick with the night, when I saw, directly in my path, outlined in shadow, a great, majestic buck. It did not see me until I slammed on the brakes, pumping them up and down, holding the wheel for dear life. In the slow motion before the collision, I was aware that I had to swerve out of the way, that I was headed toward the thick trunks of trees to the left, and that I was screaming. I swerved. The deer bolted, and then we collided with a smash of glass and smoke. The animal, glorious in life, hit the front of my car with a devastating thud, then hurtled into the middle of the road, flailing. Its legs were broken, and still I feel the sobs locked in me, not yet released, remembering its wide sad eyes, the way it dragged and dragged itself to the trees, the way it finally fell to the ground and, after a while, lay still.
I remember pressing the hazard lights over and over again. I remember getting out of the car and then getting back in to turn off the smoking engine. I remember dialing 911 with shaking hands. The wonderful family who stayed with me in the cold, until the police officer came to file the accident report and call the tow truck, and who drove me thirty miles out of their way so Hilary and Greg could themselves go out of their way to pick me up in Hopkinsville.
But I cannot get that deer out of my mind. The beautiful innocent animal that I made suffer, that I killed. Its desperate accepting eyes. The way it finally lay, quiet in the dark, not quite to its home among the trees, its great glorious antlers lit by the light of my flashers, blinking, blinking.
we could have been so happy together
Wait one second. An important Postscript was left out of yesterday's entry: Obama won the presidency. Not that anyone didn't know that, of course, but still, it's something worth writing about.
Now don't screw it up, sir.
Looking forward to Kung Fu tonight, because I've finally watched Kill Bill (both of them, even though they were the edited-for-content TBS versions, which is all I can handle anyway, ok back to the topic, here), and I'm feeling kind of inspired. Plus I have my test for yellow sash on Saturday, and I'm a bit behind because of the tour.
Ah, the tour. I've returned to find the trees on 1st Street beginning to shed their leaves. Autumn is exiting the stage in a storm of pomp and color. The ground is coated in gold and the leaves that are still on the trees are firey red against their naked trunks. I'm wearing a white woolen sweater as I type. It stands out starkly against the light tan I acquired in Florida. Nevertheless I'm glad. I do not think I would be happy in a place with no Autumn, though it be fair and sunny all year. There is something thrilling about pulling on the first jacket of the season, about zipping up those tough black boots to prepare for snow; and it is equally glorious to go outside on the first day of spring, with arms swinging loose and bare in the warm sun, wearing sandals for the first time since October.
This isn't to say that we had a bad time in Florida. Quite the contrary, as they say. We performed one to two times a day, hence the lack of blogging, and gave lots of workshops to kids around West Palm. It was wonderful to perform at such a prestigious hall, with real stage lighting and an audience full of enthusiastic kids. We also had a lovely time exploring the city: dancing, going to concerts, finding the good places to eat, and of course, going to the beach.
Two things, however, stand out in my memory. The first was our experience working with inner-city kids. Though we walked out of those workshops feeling like we had been blindsided by tractor trailers, I'll never forget the incredible warmth in the eyes of those little girls, their small hands grasping for mine at the end of the hour, their moments of unsung brilliance that came out like shooting stars, brief and sparkling, when I least expected it.
The second was the night after our first performance. It was dark already, but we headed to the beach anyway, stepping over the low, white wall and sinking our feet into the cool sand. And there it was: the sea. Dark and beautiful, awesome and terrible, it crashed upon the shoreline as if, in the line between the city and the water, time shifted into eternity. The waves were gentle around my legs, the water warm and tropical. In the sky the stars gleamed, and two times, a meteor flashed and disappeared into the night. For some moments all of us transcended the barrier of time in which we stood. The salt wind was blowing in our hair. Our thoughts traveled to secret places. Our eyes looked outward, outward, to the great power and peace that is the sea.