| 10 april 2001 | kim arrives in midwest. tornado season begins. Greetings from Indiana, and Mom's house! I popped up here to visit for a couple of days, and the weather...well, let's just say that I won't be surprised if a swarm of locusts comes a-knocking at the door. So Mom and I are sitting in the Chinese restaurant this evening, eating a leisurely dinner. The place is nearly empty; there are more wait staff than customers. Suddenly, Mom's ears perk up. You hear that? Yeah , I say. I think it's the ice cream machine behind you . Satisfied with my assessment, I shove more egg roll into my mouth. No , she says. Go over to the other side of the room, and listen. I do so, and sure enough, there is a faint, sustained siren sound coming through the vents. Great. Air raid. Mom tells me that Madison must have activated the tornado warning siren, which is a five-minute siren that you can hear from nearly every corner of town. It means two things:
Now, being in a very sturdy and sound-resistant building, I step outside to make sure that it's indeed the tornado siren. Sure enough, it is. I tell Mom. We figure that we're safe where we are, and stockpile our plates with more moo goo and fried rice. If a tornado does come, at least we'll be properly weighted down. I contemplate smearing a bit of teriyaki sauce on the floor and sitting down. Then I'll stick, too. While all of this is going on, the restaurant staff looks at us, puzzled. After all, they're not originally from here. They're from Hong Kong, and I suspect they don't understand the enormity of endless sirens and dark green skies. In fact, our hostess looks at me, cocks her head, and says, "Car alarm?". She doesn't quite understand the word "tornado"; I'm speaking too quickly. I'm taking advantage of the fact that, in my childhood, they were simply a fact of life. You're warned, you duck, you pray. And if you're not from around here, you hear a car alarm. So, how to briefly explain this fact of life in mid-America without sounding like a condescending American? First, you smile. Then, you point to the darkened sky. You whirl your hand around slowly, and simply say, "tornado". Long sirens mean tornado here. Then you cup your hands behind your head and say, "take cover". The siren has ceased. We're in the clear, for awhile at least. The restaurant staffers smile. "Oh, not car alarm! Okay! Tornado! I see." They seem somewhat amused, even enthralled, by the possibility. It's official. They're Hoosiers now. Welcome to Indiana. |
