Two Thumbs Up for America

Twenty hours, two take-offs, and two landings prior to the capture of this photo, I was sipping a cappuccino and eating a Nutella cornetto at a Roman bar. And while I will miss shooting Italian espressos for 60 euro cents at any bar of my choosing, I enjoy being back in America, where I can get free (tap) water at the airport Starbucks and be the most dressed-up 20-something on the plane--even in a t-shirt and jacket. Hello, America.

Don't Wait Up for Me

My time as a Perugian is winding down. I'd like to think that, despite a halo of red hairs giving me away, I have dug in enough to pass as a local. But I'm ready to uproot myself and move on. I'm ready to stay up all night in Spain and drink wine with cheese in France. And when the train once more in Italy stops, I will be ready for the reunion. I hope il Mezzogiorno will also be ready for its latest visitor.

For all the love I have for Europe, I have even more for the Midwest, my true country. I can pass for una ragazza italiana, but I am a Midwesterner through and through; I always will be. I have come to love America (absence really does make the heart grow fonder, no?). Some nights I dream I am driving on a dusty road West. Always westward... Maybe the truth is that I can never be satisfied unless I am moving from place to place, with never enough time to understand or be understood. Maybe it doesn't matter, though, because this is just who I am.

Relocation

Ciao a tutti!

I am here in Perugia, and I have to say I may never return. Well, if I had a choice anyway. No, no, no. But really, I cannot explain how much I have fallen in love with this city and its people. It is the perfect Italian city to learn the language. I am already spelling English words wrong and thinking in Italian. They say actors learn a language better because you have to become a different person. Sono d accordo (mi dispiace, I cannot find the apostrophe button on this European keyboard). I feel like speaking and thinking in Italian has brought out a different person. In class today (my first of the semester), I joked around with il professore. He called me problematic, polemic. Ma, tutto va bene. I live in an apartment in sight of the famous Etruscan arch (look it up) with two Americans and an Italian ragazza dal Sud. Giulia (la Sud) made us dinner our first night, and her boyfriend Giovannis brothers (Giusseppe e Francesco) and his sorella Eleonora came over too. It was...unlike anything. Everyday is an adventure. The food is great, the people are great, tutto va bene. I dont have my computer, so I dont have as much time to actually write so much as give a briefing on what Im doing (unfortunately), so this and consecutive blogs will probably seem really chaotic, frenetic, and schizophrenic. But I will try to write when I can. Also, I have set up another blog to keep my parents and family, etc., up to date. That address is: gaelicandgarlic488.blogspot.com. Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. OK, ciao. Vi voglio tanto bene.

Darning with the Milk-Eyed Mender

I am convinced that Joanna Newsom is a Medieval wood nymph and/or elf. I think once my harp-playing skills have improved I will join her in the forest.



Or maybe instead, I'll join this troupe. Yeeeaah...

The Queen of the Forest

The orator stated his case

As he tore the bandages loose.

And the ladies of the royal court

Began to shriek most wretchedly

When the picture window revealed

The king’s well-hidden secret.

And on the steps of the canal

The pretty girls in yellow robes

Danced thrice around the toppled throne

While the queen of the Old Forest

Cast sidelong glances at the prince,

Perched in disaffected silence.

And St. Ignatius was making

Deals with lions in the back hall

While Eusebius turned his head.

Then angel choirs soaked in gold

Saturated the air with grace

Begging only that they be heard.

But surely the king will not come

And the queen will survive the Fall.

Ignatius will woo the lions

And go once more to Antioch

Where the dour prince will find his voice

‘Til the flood comes and takes them all.

A Word About Warmth

It was the first of the month, so, naturally, I was taking my rent to the drop box in the basement of my apartment building. Down three flights of stairs, past the mailboxes, around the corner and through a doorway, down another set of stairs—I came out by the laundry machines and stopped. I felt like I’d just been wrapped up in a loving embrace. And—no joke—I laughed out loud with glee. I seriously considered staying there for the rest of the day just soaking up that soft, loving warmth like a baby in her mother’s arms. But the image was fleeting; after dropping my envelope in the box for “RENT”, I threw on my winter coat and went out into the cold, April afternoon.

Fever Dream

I can barely remember the last time I was sick. But by my estimate the last time I was this achy and sniffly was somewhere around January 11, 2008. I guess I’ve been well overdue for some kind of setback.

The little buggers always catch up with me when I’m down. That’s how I can remember the exact date of my last malady; there was a circumstance (which is of absolutely no importance to me now, and therefore will not be regaled here) that tripped me up around the time of January 11, 2008.

This time my illness arrived on the heels of a particularly surprising phone conversation with my mother. The afternoon was beautiful—one of the first really nice days this month—but I’d been cold all day. Really, I’ve been cold all month…not important. My tears on the phone surprised me, though, and in an agonizingly sparse monologue I let my mother in on all that had been gnawing at me. I haven’t been happy for months; I’ve been battling too much with my self. In a soothing, sage-like sigh I would never have expected from her, she dispelled my demons.

Just a few hours later, though, it all caught up to me. Every dirty doorknob I’d touched, every sneeze I’d walked downwind of, and every glass I’d shared with unassuming germ carriers came back to haunt me. My throat flamed up, my back ached, and my brain felt like it was trying to squeeze its way out of my skull.

After two nights of waking up at 2 to the sound of intoxicated sorority girls classin’ it up below my window, I decided to take something to help me fall asleep…and stay that way for a while. When I finally awoke at 7:30 (a good hour later than usual), I noticed that I’d been sleeping on the wrong pillow and the wrong side of the bed.

What dreams must I have forgotten by morning to have ended up on that pillow, on that side of the bed…with ash on my forehead.