Its hard to drive I learned tonight, when you are crying. Things get a bit blurry. At the same time though, its hard to stay in your room when you're crying, so I had decided to take my chances. I drove all the way to the airport, without directions except for following the leaps in my stomach of past trips. I circled the terminal three times, peering over the side of the car when the ramp got to its highest point, trying to identify buildings to use as landmarks. I was looking to try and find a place to watch the planes take-off. Somewhere that would rattle my heart and slap my imagination back into working order. I have yelled at my mind so much these past weeks, the way it rolls back and forth between where I am, where I want to be and where I am not. Plans that fill up my soul, but empty my wallet, and more frightening, the opposite. The best bet looked like some of the old buildings of Fort Snelling, althogh I knew there was almost no chance that I would be able to stretch out on the outskirts of an old Military Base without being escorted off the premises in handcuffs. I tore around corners and made mental maps of the places that looked like they could work, but every turn had angry signs urging me to leave. I finally listened when the signs turned into a cop car, and left, somewhat defeated, somewhat giggling to myself. As I climbed back into Minneapolis' skyline, like the arms of an old friend I began the next search for a equally good place to go, somewhere perhaps I could find on my bike. I drove through old parking lots so full of potholes, there wasn't much else besides, and down abandoned roads that made me wonder if cars were even allowed on them.
I don't know what to do with my life, so it seems, I have begun wanting to look for places to hide. Well, actually, I have plenty of fantastic ideas of what to do with my life, but sometimes, as much as I wish it wasn't true, things are out of your control, and I have been driving myself into the ground the last month making myself accept this. I can't control what jobs are available, nor who will hire me. If I could always just rely on the big ideas my mind can produce, I wouldn't even spare enough time to write this. I'd be too busy a top camels in Jordon, or chasing down paintings and men gorgeous enough to be put in them in Italy. I'd be behind the lens of a camera somewhere in Brazil or on a boat going to a monastery in France. I think that this is the reason I have been so upset lately, I know I can't go and buy tickets to these places, but I have put so much pressure on myself to create the life and make the choices that will let me do that someday that I am caving under the depression that it isn't happening now. I want so bad to make a life that keeps the top of the TV cold and tires of my bike hot that I have a hard time forgiving myself for this intermission and downtime. My heart wants the next great adventure, but my somehow more logical and sensible mind won't release the reigns, even if its nipping at the bit.
I'm scared that when I tell myself that I am just waiting for the right time to leave, I will accidentally let time go by and find myself wiping my kids noses and paying a mortgage while I wonder where my passport went and why my hiking boots still look so new. Some people are scared of going skydiving, being alone in the woods, hearing loud noises and finding themselves in a strange place. I am scared of not.
I'm writing this to convince myself that its ok to take a deep breath. Its okay to be somewhere longer than you thought. Its ok to become familiar and know where you are when you open your eyes in the morning. There are lots of good things about it. Like a "usual" at the cafe down the block and having memorized the drink special at a favorite bar.
I'm scared because this is usually the time when people turn into real adults. Many of my friends are getting married, getting jobs and getting comfortable. I feel like the next few stretches will determine if I will zig or zag.
But the whole world is such an enormous book, that I am not ready to stick a bookmark in and let the crease become permanent. I want to see whats on the next page, the next chapter. I guess right now I am looking up the words so that I can continue through, understanding better and being ready for more. I'll find that place to hide soon, and curl up with this absolutely wonderful book.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
One fine day...
I don't remember the exact instance of finding it, but that summer a mother bluebird had laid a nest of eggs in the bluebird house behind our house we were constantly chasing swallows out of. For weeks the little eggs sat, and i checked them almost everyday for progress. One afternoon, as the yellow bus chugged away down our dirt road i peered into the nest and saw a small crack in one of the eggs, and then, as i was looking as close as my eyes could, it moved. Now this, this was exciting. I tore into the house to tell mom the news, and after the course of the afternoon, one by one tiny, wet pathetic birds emerged from those tiny beautiful eggs. We weren't allowed to look for more than about a minute or so at a time, because we weren't suppose to scare off the bluebird parents, as eager to see their young as we were. Over the next few weeks, each time i opened the lid of the box, the birds grew bigger and more demanding. Aaron showed me how if you whistled they would think it was a parent and instinctively open their beaks for food. Before long they had grown their feathers and chubby and bright-eyed they barely fit in their tiny home. And one fine day, one was gone, and later that afternoon, another. By nightfall, they had all learned to fly.
I can only hope so much for you too.
I can only hope so much for you too.
services at 9 and 10:30
I don't think I believe in god. There. I said it. The last five years of wanderings around the world, and more thoroughly around my head have brought me here. But you saw it right there, I don't think I believe in god, which isn't a no, but it isn't a yes either. I have done what every other person worth their weight does and made my decision. I have taken everything I have seen, and everything i have heard, what I have tasted in my mind and felt with my heart, heard through my fingers and laid them all out. I have picked them up, turned them over and looked for anything that would make them tell me something. I've gone back and forth and back again. I have looked at them sideways and upsidedown. I have rearranged them and hoped to myself that I found them that way.
It seems to me that people who have to deal with adversity and take on more than most usually go one of two directions. I have medical files that will make your head spin. God is a rock and foundation of their lives, assuring their existence and whispering that it will make sense, that every unfair thing will come around...He shall never give you more than you can bear....To me, god is their coping device. Their beer, their pot, their one hit wonder.
I was never into vices.
The other choice feels better to me. Its just you and me kid. We get what we get and we don't throw a fit. Life is so painful and unmanagable it will make you cry hot tears of agony, but before you know it, its summer and you just pulled up on your bike. Its quiet in the woods and noisy in the city. You kisssed that handsome stranger or laughed through the night into your pillow with your best friend. And when it finally comes around to you taking your last breath we all hope you are thinking of the latter set.
As far as I can see, things happen, we make choices and deal with them and as soon as we have it on its way, things happen again. This goes on for a handful of decades and soon we find ourselves with grey hair and failing livers and we eventually decide to go. That's all there is, atleast on the first level. Everyday is another set of time to make those choices in, it will flip and turn and soon become another. If you let it, soon, it can be spinning pretty fast. I'm not telling you there is nothing after someone stops breathing, but I don't know how much that promise enlists the efforts of putting the puzzle and riddle of our lives together. As far as I am concerned, I'm not going to be able to know anyway. If some mythical port of knowledge has some sort of twisted script for my life, I would probably feel a bit resentful at the choices they scribbled in, but laugh at all the fun I have so far gotten away with.
Church is nice though. Seeing the same people each week, styrafoam cups of weak coffee and three year old girls in twirling skirts running past on your way out from the bathroom. The well rehearsed routine of rising with the worship pastor as the guitar begins on those same predictable chords. If I didnt love to sing as much as I do, I wouldnt have made it as far as I did in church to begin with. A well sung harmony to Silent Night, as the candles flicker in the breath of the congragation. That's enough to make anyone feel good. An accapella benediction at the end of the service. I grew up in a household full of hymnals and an out of tune piano. For awhile there were as many guitars as easychairs, and cds spilled off endtables like coffee. The music portion of the service always entised me enough to stay through the sermon, however upset it always made me, because I knew that he was just a man, telling us what he thought, deep down I knew I didnt have to believe him.
Do I miss going to church? Yes. I miss the bustle of the morning. I miss Dad waiting in the car for mom to put on her lipstick. I miss my heals clincking across the hardwood in our kitchen. I miss scurrying inside and making our way to the balcony as the music spills into the foyer. Yes, I miss church. I dont miss theology and religion. I don't miss the guilt, the regulations and rules. I don't miss the confusion and the questions being answered in a half hour sermon that were too large for the entire building. I don't miss people turning a deaf ear to the injustice in the bible, or the questions they didnt have answers for. I don't miss the ignorance, or the silly bliss that when along with it.
I read a book not long ago. It was a light hearted memoir of a girl growing up in a small town, but it had one more reflective chapter. Every Sunday her family went through the bases and off to church, except her father who would tinker in the garage instead. One week, the ecentric child asked her dad "why he wasnt a christian?" He answered, cooly, "who had told her that?" "He didnt go to church", she said. Within minutes they were in the truck, flying down a dirt road, until he pulled up to an old campsite outside town.
"Where-ever two or more are gathered".....he began. "Two or more what? Trees?" he suggested. "Bugs?" "That's silly", she told him. But he didnt hear her...because his eyes were on the heavens.
I could maybe be that dad someday. I could maybe figure out enough of god to understand what he needs from me, and what i need from him. I want something less epic. Something that can make sense and still leave me time to blaze down a trail on my bike, or chase camels in the East. I want something wider and more neutral. Since god is so hard to understand i can not participate with one that condemns people for something that isnt understandable in the first place. As counterintuitive as it seems with the need for an absolute truth part of me still believes that i can be right, and so can you. But i won't ever find him behind those stained glass doors, no matter how pretty they are. Its not as though someone in the church ever really did me wrong, but im not sure anyone really did me right either. I took classes in college to learn things I believe i should have known when i was 8. History, society, politics of the bible, they really would have done me more good than giraffes smilling as they stuck their heads out the top of the ark.
I want to know that its ok that i pressed pause. I am unwilling to smile along in church if i don't understand it. I am not comfortabe with communion, and revivals when i don't agree. I am many things i never was suppose to be, I party, I drink, I curse like a salior. I lost track of the number of people I have madeout with. I hit it pretty hard some nights. But I am not a liar. I am not a faker. And I am not going to go until my insides and outsides agree. If i ever go at all.
It seems to me that people who have to deal with adversity and take on more than most usually go one of two directions. I have medical files that will make your head spin. God is a rock and foundation of their lives, assuring their existence and whispering that it will make sense, that every unfair thing will come around...He shall never give you more than you can bear....To me, god is their coping device. Their beer, their pot, their one hit wonder.
I was never into vices.
The other choice feels better to me. Its just you and me kid. We get what we get and we don't throw a fit. Life is so painful and unmanagable it will make you cry hot tears of agony, but before you know it, its summer and you just pulled up on your bike. Its quiet in the woods and noisy in the city. You kisssed that handsome stranger or laughed through the night into your pillow with your best friend. And when it finally comes around to you taking your last breath we all hope you are thinking of the latter set.
As far as I can see, things happen, we make choices and deal with them and as soon as we have it on its way, things happen again. This goes on for a handful of decades and soon we find ourselves with grey hair and failing livers and we eventually decide to go. That's all there is, atleast on the first level. Everyday is another set of time to make those choices in, it will flip and turn and soon become another. If you let it, soon, it can be spinning pretty fast. I'm not telling you there is nothing after someone stops breathing, but I don't know how much that promise enlists the efforts of putting the puzzle and riddle of our lives together. As far as I am concerned, I'm not going to be able to know anyway. If some mythical port of knowledge has some sort of twisted script for my life, I would probably feel a bit resentful at the choices they scribbled in, but laugh at all the fun I have so far gotten away with.
Church is nice though. Seeing the same people each week, styrafoam cups of weak coffee and three year old girls in twirling skirts running past on your way out from the bathroom. The well rehearsed routine of rising with the worship pastor as the guitar begins on those same predictable chords. If I didnt love to sing as much as I do, I wouldnt have made it as far as I did in church to begin with. A well sung harmony to Silent Night, as the candles flicker in the breath of the congragation. That's enough to make anyone feel good. An accapella benediction at the end of the service. I grew up in a household full of hymnals and an out of tune piano. For awhile there were as many guitars as easychairs, and cds spilled off endtables like coffee. The music portion of the service always entised me enough to stay through the sermon, however upset it always made me, because I knew that he was just a man, telling us what he thought, deep down I knew I didnt have to believe him.
Do I miss going to church? Yes. I miss the bustle of the morning. I miss Dad waiting in the car for mom to put on her lipstick. I miss my heals clincking across the hardwood in our kitchen. I miss scurrying inside and making our way to the balcony as the music spills into the foyer. Yes, I miss church. I dont miss theology and religion. I don't miss the guilt, the regulations and rules. I don't miss the confusion and the questions being answered in a half hour sermon that were too large for the entire building. I don't miss people turning a deaf ear to the injustice in the bible, or the questions they didnt have answers for. I don't miss the ignorance, or the silly bliss that when along with it.
I read a book not long ago. It was a light hearted memoir of a girl growing up in a small town, but it had one more reflective chapter. Every Sunday her family went through the bases and off to church, except her father who would tinker in the garage instead. One week, the ecentric child asked her dad "why he wasnt a christian?" He answered, cooly, "who had told her that?" "He didnt go to church", she said. Within minutes they were in the truck, flying down a dirt road, until he pulled up to an old campsite outside town.
"Where-ever two or more are gathered".....he began. "Two or more what? Trees?" he suggested. "Bugs?" "That's silly", she told him. But he didnt hear her...because his eyes were on the heavens.
I could maybe be that dad someday. I could maybe figure out enough of god to understand what he needs from me, and what i need from him. I want something less epic. Something that can make sense and still leave me time to blaze down a trail on my bike, or chase camels in the East. I want something wider and more neutral. Since god is so hard to understand i can not participate with one that condemns people for something that isnt understandable in the first place. As counterintuitive as it seems with the need for an absolute truth part of me still believes that i can be right, and so can you. But i won't ever find him behind those stained glass doors, no matter how pretty they are. Its not as though someone in the church ever really did me wrong, but im not sure anyone really did me right either. I took classes in college to learn things I believe i should have known when i was 8. History, society, politics of the bible, they really would have done me more good than giraffes smilling as they stuck their heads out the top of the ark.
I want to know that its ok that i pressed pause. I am unwilling to smile along in church if i don't understand it. I am not comfortabe with communion, and revivals when i don't agree. I am many things i never was suppose to be, I party, I drink, I curse like a salior. I lost track of the number of people I have madeout with. I hit it pretty hard some nights. But I am not a liar. I am not a faker. And I am not going to go until my insides and outsides agree. If i ever go at all.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
the president elect (11.04.08) 1:58am
There were squeals of joy when the Midwest section of the country’s polls closed. The colors swept across the map on the screen like a fan, or the sun from morning to night. We searched the screen, looking for Minnesota like an old friend until finally James called out. It was there. We had done it. Minnesota had turned blue, and much to our joyous surprise so had its neighboring states, clustered together whispering with a secret. Soon we were all on our feet, clapping and screaming, a rush of excitement and proud achievement evident on the TV screen. The door burst open, the downstairs neighbor Jackie had heard our commotion and come up to yell along too. Phone’s rang, Claire and James began jumping on the couch and I found myself yelling into the phone to my roommate Steph whose congratulating words were drown out by the cheers behind her all the way in Pennsylvania.
And all of this just because things had gone well in the Midwest. It wasn’t long before our conversation drifted to stories and side subjects though. As we kept an eye on the TV eventually we realized that it wouldn’t be long until the polls in the West would be closing and once scanning the screen we realized that those were the only states whose land had stayed grey so far, that we were almost there. It wouldn’t be long until we knew who would be the next President of the United States. As the timer on the TV clicked down I scooted closer to Claire on the couch and grabbed her hand. James yelled our remaining seconds. Like a whirlwind the remaining states’ results slammed into the glass of the TV. Blue blue blue….. Another round of yells and hollers met the ceiling and we shook with excitement. Through the open window the neighbor’s joyous sentiments mixed with our yells and met in the air outside the window. Through the jumping we didn’t realize what the TV said right away, but at one point I saw the words we had dreamed about for months, even years.
BREAKING NEWS: BARACK OBAMA PRESIDENT ELECT – CNN PROJECTION
Once we saw this, the celebration of Midwest’s victory seemed as mild as a passive high-five. Tears were shed, yells went out like confetti and I made incoherent phone calls to friends who met my yells with ones of their own. Whiskey was shot. The TV screen scanned the crown gathered at Grant Park in Chicago, where Obama would be speaking and the thousands and thousands of supports gathered danced in the street. Some shock with excitement and others hollered with the zeal of a child. The look in the eyes of the citizens gathered in that park held joy so pure you only see it a few times in your life. A blurry image of a town in Kenya, where Obama’s father lived showed supports celebrating kicking up dust with the news. When the newscast broke to the church Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughter ministers at her joyful reaction to the news was indiscernible over the singing that was going on in the background.
We sat through John Mccain’s speech politely and dismissed it as soon as if was over. Gushing to one another we waited for the unbelievable moment in which Obama would take the stage and address the crowd. We all cuddled in on the couch and I grasped Jame’s knees across my lap to listen. And on he walked, proud and true. Everything we wanted. And everything we needed. Michelle and their girls held his hands and waved at the camera looking beautiful. The crowd was exploding. When he finally hushed the crowd he gave us a speech of a new kind. It was strong and beautiful. Elegant but sobering. This was it. We did it. We got what we wanted, and now was our time. Our time to take our problems and fix them, find a new angle and make a new way. With focus we listened and agreed. Once we finally turned the TV off we gushed to one another our excitement and disbelief. After parting for the evening I set off on my bike to make my way back home. Watching the skyline was exciting, the renewal of hope that good things can and do happen. When I got to my room back at the K-house I began settling in for the evening, I had just grabbed my towels and was headed to the bathroom to shower when I heard the unmistakable uprising of a crowd. Decided this was something I needed to see I threw my slippers on and was expecting to wave and watch a few drunken supporters who were drumming up excitement out on the streets. It was instead however a few hundred students chanting their joyful glee at our new president elect. I waved them on, yelling my support until a few beckoned me across the street. The delight was contagious apparently because someone told me that the crowd had just gathered spontaniously. We took our eagerness around Dinky town and down University until we finally, with found farewells dispersed at the dorms, about a mile away. I was offered a ride home by the group who had motioned me across the street in the first place and we swapped stories and gleefully cooed our good fortune. Wished each other well I jumped out of their car and re entered my building.
The next morning I learned from a coworker that there had been dancing in the streets in the Cedar Riverside neighborhood, one known for Somali immigrants, and in good form she had joined in. The news told me Harlem had taken to the streets as well. Time Square was awake with light and noise and crowds of cheering. Across the nation we had decided that staying inside wasn’t good enough. That our joy had been a bit too large for that.
A few days later two men ready to give their lives to kill Barack Obama had been attained. I heard from my mom that students at my younger sisters school had flung racial slurs onto their facebook status’ and that Barack Obama was considered the anti-Christ by much more than a few of people reported by a vicious email that floated through cyberspace.
Yet as serious and frightening as these threats are, I told my mom a few days later in the kitchen, after she reported the way some of my more conservative relatives felt about him with a heavy heart that we had time on our side. This next administration will not bring rainbows, butterflies and perfect world peace. Puppies will not skip through meadows of daisies. Give it time. I believe that (President) Obama will do a great job. I believe that it was more than a young man with a handsome face and a good speaking voice that light the nation on fire. There was a real and un-dismissible reason that so many millions of people marched to the polls. It wasn’t just a fad that so many hard working people donated their hard earned money to his campaign. It was certainly more than media excitement that brought thousands of regular people to become team leaders, precinct captains and give up their Saturdays to sit and make calls. We are smarted than that, we can’t be fooled just by bandwagon politics and platitudes like HOPE.
These things are real, and I am confident that when January rolls around this will be something we will proudly tell our grandchildren about.
And all of this just because things had gone well in the Midwest. It wasn’t long before our conversation drifted to stories and side subjects though. As we kept an eye on the TV eventually we realized that it wouldn’t be long until the polls in the West would be closing and once scanning the screen we realized that those were the only states whose land had stayed grey so far, that we were almost there. It wouldn’t be long until we knew who would be the next President of the United States. As the timer on the TV clicked down I scooted closer to Claire on the couch and grabbed her hand. James yelled our remaining seconds. Like a whirlwind the remaining states’ results slammed into the glass of the TV. Blue blue blue….. Another round of yells and hollers met the ceiling and we shook with excitement. Through the open window the neighbor’s joyous sentiments mixed with our yells and met in the air outside the window. Through the jumping we didn’t realize what the TV said right away, but at one point I saw the words we had dreamed about for months, even years.
BREAKING NEWS: BARACK OBAMA PRESIDENT ELECT – CNN PROJECTION
Once we saw this, the celebration of Midwest’s victory seemed as mild as a passive high-five. Tears were shed, yells went out like confetti and I made incoherent phone calls to friends who met my yells with ones of their own. Whiskey was shot. The TV screen scanned the crown gathered at Grant Park in Chicago, where Obama would be speaking and the thousands and thousands of supports gathered danced in the street. Some shock with excitement and others hollered with the zeal of a child. The look in the eyes of the citizens gathered in that park held joy so pure you only see it a few times in your life. A blurry image of a town in Kenya, where Obama’s father lived showed supports celebrating kicking up dust with the news. When the newscast broke to the church Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughter ministers at her joyful reaction to the news was indiscernible over the singing that was going on in the background.
We sat through John Mccain’s speech politely and dismissed it as soon as if was over. Gushing to one another we waited for the unbelievable moment in which Obama would take the stage and address the crowd. We all cuddled in on the couch and I grasped Jame’s knees across my lap to listen. And on he walked, proud and true. Everything we wanted. And everything we needed. Michelle and their girls held his hands and waved at the camera looking beautiful. The crowd was exploding. When he finally hushed the crowd he gave us a speech of a new kind. It was strong and beautiful. Elegant but sobering. This was it. We did it. We got what we wanted, and now was our time. Our time to take our problems and fix them, find a new angle and make a new way. With focus we listened and agreed. Once we finally turned the TV off we gushed to one another our excitement and disbelief. After parting for the evening I set off on my bike to make my way back home. Watching the skyline was exciting, the renewal of hope that good things can and do happen. When I got to my room back at the K-house I began settling in for the evening, I had just grabbed my towels and was headed to the bathroom to shower when I heard the unmistakable uprising of a crowd. Decided this was something I needed to see I threw my slippers on and was expecting to wave and watch a few drunken supporters who were drumming up excitement out on the streets. It was instead however a few hundred students chanting their joyful glee at our new president elect. I waved them on, yelling my support until a few beckoned me across the street. The delight was contagious apparently because someone told me that the crowd had just gathered spontaniously. We took our eagerness around Dinky town and down University until we finally, with found farewells dispersed at the dorms, about a mile away. I was offered a ride home by the group who had motioned me across the street in the first place and we swapped stories and gleefully cooed our good fortune. Wished each other well I jumped out of their car and re entered my building.
The next morning I learned from a coworker that there had been dancing in the streets in the Cedar Riverside neighborhood, one known for Somali immigrants, and in good form she had joined in. The news told me Harlem had taken to the streets as well. Time Square was awake with light and noise and crowds of cheering. Across the nation we had decided that staying inside wasn’t good enough. That our joy had been a bit too large for that.
A few days later two men ready to give their lives to kill Barack Obama had been attained. I heard from my mom that students at my younger sisters school had flung racial slurs onto their facebook status’ and that Barack Obama was considered the anti-Christ by much more than a few of people reported by a vicious email that floated through cyberspace.
Yet as serious and frightening as these threats are, I told my mom a few days later in the kitchen, after she reported the way some of my more conservative relatives felt about him with a heavy heart that we had time on our side. This next administration will not bring rainbows, butterflies and perfect world peace. Puppies will not skip through meadows of daisies. Give it time. I believe that (President) Obama will do a great job. I believe that it was more than a young man with a handsome face and a good speaking voice that light the nation on fire. There was a real and un-dismissible reason that so many millions of people marched to the polls. It wasn’t just a fad that so many hard working people donated their hard earned money to his campaign. It was certainly more than media excitement that brought thousands of regular people to become team leaders, precinct captains and give up their Saturdays to sit and make calls. We are smarted than that, we can’t be fooled just by bandwagon politics and platitudes like HOPE.
These things are real, and I am confident that when January rolls around this will be something we will proudly tell our grandchildren about.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
10 men, 6 oxen, and 8 days (12.06.07)
If the ten powerful men who knocked down the center door, for his height exceded the limits of the building he was created in,began moving the colossal piece this afternoon, if they hitched the oxen and worked throughout the night by the time my feet land on American soil, David, small boy turned ironically into a giant by Michelangelo, would stand proudly arriving in Piazza Signoria glaring towards the South, at Rome. At the Medici family, just daring them to return.
I will be out of the country this time next week, high in the air and on my way back to you.
And while i have paced myself, and i have journaled and been aware of the passing days...I have no idea how this happened. It seemed yesterday i was staring wideyed at the Cathedral and unsure at the busstops. I still stare up at the Duomo when i pass her and smile to myself, but by the time i get to the bustop i usually am swept away with the music of my ipod and end upleaning against 500 year old buildings waiting for my turn to push onto it. I know the cashier at the grocery store, and Giovanni and i exchange smiles and morning greetings when i pass his resturant on the way to school. When i get a sandwhich, my sentence is finished for me, and the ''pomedora e mozzarella panino'' is probably half finished. I shout over the bells that clang each hour instead of stiffling conversations to hear them. I could get anywhere in the city with my eyes closed, save that i would easily trip over loose cobblestone on the way.
It seemed just a bit ago that i swam in the sea and hiked the amalfi coast. That first trip seems lifetimes ago now. I remember the days i saw my classmates and polietly said hello. As i pummeled JP from behind when i meet him at the duomo before the Inter game, it proved our great leaps in familiarity between CAPA members.
The general awe from student to professor has also faded, proved by Ian writting that his professor Frank was the word for ''monkey'' in Italian when he wrote the forgotten trivia on his quiz, taught by Frank's wife. And Frank's echoing laughter in the Galleria Acedamia when he hasseled Ian about it the next morning in art history showed the casual relaxed enviroment of school here.
Sunday i meet JP, Avery and Leah anxiously for the game. I stepped onto the bus with my new Fiorentina scarf loosly wrapped around my neck. Glancing around the bus i noticed other swatches of purple on everyone from young fiesty teens to old men and women. An elderly man on a bus passed with a purple and white fiorentina banner sailing behind him, tied to the end of the bike. Purple flags fell from windows along the way, and holloring and cheers from passing groups of young men expressed out excitment for the match later that afternoon. Game days bring pride out of the woodwork and nods to and from fellow supportes on the bus felt like an acceptance from the city. Both JP and I were atleast twenty minutes early, and insistent on calling the missing members the moment the clock struck noon, our decided time to meet. On the way, we stopped for Kababs..fantastic sandwiches similar to Gyros and through sloppy mouthfuls JP and i gushed over world cup moments, favorite and dispised players and generally exuded excitment. We arrived at the stadio early and paced the vendors, both food and gear, and picked our way through the Viola newspaper for news.
After a moment of silence for the Fiorentine's coach, whose wife had passed away the day before, the whistle blew and the game began. I'd like to point out that during this moment of silence, it truely was silent. You could hear a pindrop. The entire sold out stadio, and i sadly sigh to think of the hollors and jeers that likely would have found the silence back in America. The respect was refresing.
Unfortunatly, we lost, but fought a good battle. We were, after all playing Inter-Milan a powerhouse of a team. In the second half, JP and I excitedly whispered to eachother, trying to hid our urging from the passionate Florence fans, that we really wanted Inter-Milan to put Marco Materazzi in. He is a very aggresive, very skilled player we had seen during the cup, and whats more was the recipient of the headbutt from Zidane. Finally, in held breath we saw him remove his warmup jersey and take a spot near the center line waiting to be gestured on by the ref. While the crowd loudly sneered their displeasure...JP and I were triumphant, happy to see him play in person.
After the game Steph and i wandered the steets back to our apartment, and as Sunday came to an end we both expressed our enormous disbelief that this trip was so soon coming to an end and we were about to face our last week of classes, followed only by one of finals.
This week has been relativly quiet. Monday brough class, and my only unusal diversion of the day was a long walk across the Arno, nothing even that out of the ordinary.
I woke up Tuesday to experience my 22nd birthday. I recieved a great deal of wellwishing by ppl passing in the hallway and my facebook wall swelled with birthday greetings aswell. I was even able to talk to my brother Seth as we found that both were on facebook, and i scurried off to call him early in the morning.
I walked into CAPA tuesday evening for my late afternoon class, and saw that the mail had arrived in my absence from school since that morning. Every last letter in the S-U section had my name scribbled on it. The enormous pile of letters and cards i harvested from the shelf brought raised eyebrows from everyone. Clearly a record! I enjoyed opening each one and savored their kind words and birthday wishes. I returned to my email to find similar posts and felt even more loved. That evening i went out with friends to dinner. I took the delibrate step of being photographed in front of the cathedral to record the beautiful conditions this birthday came to me with.
Wednsday too was full of normality of class and Florecnce life. Art history took me climactically to the Galleria Acedemia to see the famous David, which i have viewed on several other occasions under my own efforts. He did not, as he never will, disapoint.
I have some christmas shopping to finish up and hope to be done before the last week starts as its not something i want to be focused on in my last days here. That will probably take up my afternoon. This evening I will attend the CAPA student organized Christmas party that was advertised with a hand made sign on the bulletinboard, with the skill of a 2nd grader. Its appearence brought laughs as it is tenderly adherded with tape and created with scraps of colored paper and disregarded textbook covers.
I have tomorrow off, where i am sure to complete any shopping i dont this afternoon. The weekend sprawls before me with no real plans. Any loose ends i will tie up and sights unseen with be experienced. I may even -gasp- start to pack, its unbelivable that such efforts are actually now appropriate.
Anyway, this is likely the last i will write. I will be found in that red house in Chisago on December 15th, giving an excruciatingly long slideshow of my thousands of pictures surrounded by family and friends...and probably extremly shellshocked...something that might be lessened by christmas cookies.
I hope this finds you well. This experience is leaving me never better.
Arrividercci, Molto Amore -Corrie
I will be out of the country this time next week, high in the air and on my way back to you.
And while i have paced myself, and i have journaled and been aware of the passing days...I have no idea how this happened. It seemed yesterday i was staring wideyed at the Cathedral and unsure at the busstops. I still stare up at the Duomo when i pass her and smile to myself, but by the time i get to the bustop i usually am swept away with the music of my ipod and end upleaning against 500 year old buildings waiting for my turn to push onto it. I know the cashier at the grocery store, and Giovanni and i exchange smiles and morning greetings when i pass his resturant on the way to school. When i get a sandwhich, my sentence is finished for me, and the ''pomedora e mozzarella panino'' is probably half finished. I shout over the bells that clang each hour instead of stiffling conversations to hear them. I could get anywhere in the city with my eyes closed, save that i would easily trip over loose cobblestone on the way.
It seemed just a bit ago that i swam in the sea and hiked the amalfi coast. That first trip seems lifetimes ago now. I remember the days i saw my classmates and polietly said hello. As i pummeled JP from behind when i meet him at the duomo before the Inter game, it proved our great leaps in familiarity between CAPA members.
The general awe from student to professor has also faded, proved by Ian writting that his professor Frank was the word for ''monkey'' in Italian when he wrote the forgotten trivia on his quiz, taught by Frank's wife. And Frank's echoing laughter in the Galleria Acedamia when he hasseled Ian about it the next morning in art history showed the casual relaxed enviroment of school here.
Sunday i meet JP, Avery and Leah anxiously for the game. I stepped onto the bus with my new Fiorentina scarf loosly wrapped around my neck. Glancing around the bus i noticed other swatches of purple on everyone from young fiesty teens to old men and women. An elderly man on a bus passed with a purple and white fiorentina banner sailing behind him, tied to the end of the bike. Purple flags fell from windows along the way, and holloring and cheers from passing groups of young men expressed out excitment for the match later that afternoon. Game days bring pride out of the woodwork and nods to and from fellow supportes on the bus felt like an acceptance from the city. Both JP and I were atleast twenty minutes early, and insistent on calling the missing members the moment the clock struck noon, our decided time to meet. On the way, we stopped for Kababs..fantastic sandwiches similar to Gyros and through sloppy mouthfuls JP and i gushed over world cup moments, favorite and dispised players and generally exuded excitment. We arrived at the stadio early and paced the vendors, both food and gear, and picked our way through the Viola newspaper for news.
After a moment of silence for the Fiorentine's coach, whose wife had passed away the day before, the whistle blew and the game began. I'd like to point out that during this moment of silence, it truely was silent. You could hear a pindrop. The entire sold out stadio, and i sadly sigh to think of the hollors and jeers that likely would have found the silence back in America. The respect was refresing.
Unfortunatly, we lost, but fought a good battle. We were, after all playing Inter-Milan a powerhouse of a team. In the second half, JP and I excitedly whispered to eachother, trying to hid our urging from the passionate Florence fans, that we really wanted Inter-Milan to put Marco Materazzi in. He is a very aggresive, very skilled player we had seen during the cup, and whats more was the recipient of the headbutt from Zidane. Finally, in held breath we saw him remove his warmup jersey and take a spot near the center line waiting to be gestured on by the ref. While the crowd loudly sneered their displeasure...JP and I were triumphant, happy to see him play in person.
After the game Steph and i wandered the steets back to our apartment, and as Sunday came to an end we both expressed our enormous disbelief that this trip was so soon coming to an end and we were about to face our last week of classes, followed only by one of finals.
This week has been relativly quiet. Monday brough class, and my only unusal diversion of the day was a long walk across the Arno, nothing even that out of the ordinary.
I woke up Tuesday to experience my 22nd birthday. I recieved a great deal of wellwishing by ppl passing in the hallway and my facebook wall swelled with birthday greetings aswell. I was even able to talk to my brother Seth as we found that both were on facebook, and i scurried off to call him early in the morning.
I walked into CAPA tuesday evening for my late afternoon class, and saw that the mail had arrived in my absence from school since that morning. Every last letter in the S-U section had my name scribbled on it. The enormous pile of letters and cards i harvested from the shelf brought raised eyebrows from everyone. Clearly a record! I enjoyed opening each one and savored their kind words and birthday wishes. I returned to my email to find similar posts and felt even more loved. That evening i went out with friends to dinner. I took the delibrate step of being photographed in front of the cathedral to record the beautiful conditions this birthday came to me with.
Wednsday too was full of normality of class and Florecnce life. Art history took me climactically to the Galleria Acedemia to see the famous David, which i have viewed on several other occasions under my own efforts. He did not, as he never will, disapoint.
I have some christmas shopping to finish up and hope to be done before the last week starts as its not something i want to be focused on in my last days here. That will probably take up my afternoon. This evening I will attend the CAPA student organized Christmas party that was advertised with a hand made sign on the bulletinboard, with the skill of a 2nd grader. Its appearence brought laughs as it is tenderly adherded with tape and created with scraps of colored paper and disregarded textbook covers.
I have tomorrow off, where i am sure to complete any shopping i dont this afternoon. The weekend sprawls before me with no real plans. Any loose ends i will tie up and sights unseen with be experienced. I may even -gasp- start to pack, its unbelivable that such efforts are actually now appropriate.
Anyway, this is likely the last i will write. I will be found in that red house in Chisago on December 15th, giving an excruciatingly long slideshow of my thousands of pictures surrounded by family and friends...and probably extremly shellshocked...something that might be lessened by christmas cookies.
I hope this finds you well. This experience is leaving me never better.
Arrividercci, Molto Amore -Corrie
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