Our pets

This is the first little guy we got. It's a Giant Sequoia (baby) from the gift shop at Muir woods. The entire time we were walking through those woods Misha kept looking for a pine cone, or some seeds, or even a little sequoia tree that he could take home and grow himself (technically illegal, but there really wasn't much of that to be found on the paths anyways). Luckily we found that they actually sold these baby trees as souvenirs. It seems to be turning brown at the bottom though and I don't really know why. I've gotten so much conflicting information on how to take care of these that I really don't know what the heck I'm doing.


This is the Coconut tree we picked up at IKEA. I just thought it was cool because the tree is growing right out of the coconut, plus it's a good size to have on the floor of our bedroom.


This is the orchid plant the Misha got me for my office. At first it had a bunch of really gorgeous flowers on it and more buds that were about to open. Unfortunately, I didn't know any better and watered them way more than they are supposed to be (orchids apparently only need about as much water as a cactus) so all the flowers died off prematurely. Now all that's left are the long green leaves and since I've stopped watering it it's doing just fine.


Now, the garden center in my neighborhood was selling carnivorous plants in the spirit of Halloween, so I got pretty excited when I saw them. Venus Fly traps, especially, are damn hard to grow, especially from seed. I remember one time Philip got a growing kit as a present because he was enthralled by the idea of them. We followed the instructions exactly, even keeping that big "terrarium" in the fridge for months to simulate the necessary dormancy period. But not a singe seedling so much as hinted at sprouting up outta that dirt. These ones were already pretty big as far as Venus Fly Traps go. I also got a bunch of the North American Pitcher plant because it looks nice in the pot. These eat bugs by luring them in with secretions that bugs are attracted to. Each plant is like a tube with some wind of water at the bottom, and once a bug falls in, escape is impossible and the plant digests it (somehow).

My office

I love my office! It's awesome. I can honestly say that I feel happy in this space, even though it's a work space, which I usually wouldn't like. As soon as I saw this awesome yellow desk in West Elm I knew I had to have it. My big external monitor (another thing I've never had the pleasure of having before) is attached to the wall so it doesn't take up any desk space. On my desk I have space for a keyboard, mouse, and of course my Wacom tablet, plus a lamp and my beautiful orchid plant. The chair (from EQ3) is quite comfortable and ergonomic so I can work all day with getting major back aches like I used to, and underneath my desk I have a sheepskin rug which is SOO soft and fluffy under my feet. I have ample shelf space in arms reach for all my drawing supplies, books and files. Seriously, this space really couldn't be more perfect for me, I think it really shows my personality quite well. Here's a picture:

Just encase you were wondering, here's also a picture of my kitchen (well, at least our dining table) and bedroom. By the way, memory foam mattress+pillowtop cover= super comfortable, you sink into it like a down pillow, but it still gives you plenty of back support. Seriously mom (yes I'm talking to you since I know you're one of the only people that actually reads this stupid blog! hehe) you've got to try one of these pillowtop mattress covers on your bed. You won't regret it!


I'll post pictures of the living room/ rest of the apartment later.
Love you guys!!

The Beginning

It's my 12th day in San Francisco and I'm doing quite fine. the first day I got here was apparently the nicest day it had been in a long time, and it stayed that way for a couple days, which is a small miracle around here. I guess I just brought the sunshine with me from Texas.

As soon as I got out of the car in front of my new home I was immediately greeted by a most wonderful smell I can't say I've ever experienced in any other large city before. It reminded me of many happy days at Grandma's house in Minnitonka when I was young and had not a care in the world. I cannot explain where this scent might have been emanating from, but the sense of warmth and welcoming it gave me was incredible.

The next couple of days were filled with non-stop preparations, shopping, organizing, putting furniture together. It seemed that we were getting at least 20 packages a day, and like a child a Christmas, I was eagerly opening each one, finding silly things like a lemon squeezer, a package of 60 Bic pens, and even, to my delight, slides and scientific instruments to use with our newly acquired microscope.

I have settled in quite nicely and even have my own office space with a wonderfully cheery yellow desk from West Elm and a sheepskin rug underneath which is incredibly soft and nice for digging my toes into.

I guess in all the relaxing and vacationing of the summer, spending 2 weeks mostly sitting in a car for hours on end and then stopping by one restaurant after another for each meal, I have gained weight. I don't really see it, but it's quite evident every time I try to put on a pair of jeans and they just don't quite fit. So, I stepped on the scale yesterday and indeed had my worst fears confirmed. So, the fervor of my dieting has been renewed and I am completely determined to lose at least 12 pounds by Christmas, which shouldn't be too hard if I just use these steep hills as my gym.

Speaking of the hills, I have never been more scared riding in a car while going down hill than I am here. Some roads are so steep that even as you sit on the very edge of the road before it slopes off, you cannot see the road in front of you. I just can't get used to it, it feels like you are driving off a cliff.

It's a strange feeling living here right now. Not too unlike my time in Rome. It's hard to explain, but I can already feel that, like Rome, my creativity will flourish here and I will find a new sense of artistic yearning, something that was unfortunately lost during my last year and a half a RISD. (I know how strange it sounds that I have to get out of art school to find my passion for art again, but thats just the way it goes sometimes)

Overall, everything is great, and this is just the beginning.

Life goals

learn how to drive
graduate from RISD
get my first car
join an artist residency program for a year
get a job as a designer for a while
be an RA for the EHP program
join the Peace Corps.
get my own studio to work in.
start my own design firm.
Become a Fellow of the American Academy in Rome
settle down
raise a child
buy a house
design something that makes a positive impact on the world
travel the world
make people happy
never loose sight of God
be joyful

The Hayloft, 1968

Dust floats through the air in the quiet cool of the hayloft.
Up here we build our thrones and castles out of the golden bales.
Tucked away from the watchful eyes of mom.
Pieces of straw stick out every which way.
Poking at my skin and making it itchy.
Deb and I kick off our shoes and lift ourselves up into the rafters.
Breathing in the sweet smell of the wood and hay,
We carefully move along from one beam to the next
until we are way beyond the edge of the upper loft.
We tiptoe along a thick balance beam,
Standing in the middle, I am scared to look down.
It never seems this high up when you are standing way down there.
Deb grabs my hand tight and looks at me,
a smile creeping out the corner of her mouth.
Ready Panda?
My heart beats faster as I look away.
One. Two. Three. Jump!
I shut my eyes tight and take the leap.
Landing butt first in the large mound of loose hay below.
“Again, again!” I laugh, with straw covering my entire body
and sticking out all over my two long braids.
“Hey Debby look! Now my hair looks like yours! Haha!”
“Mleeeh” she says, as she sticks out her tongue at me.

2 hour exercise

I walk under the bright blue sky. Sun in my eyes, cold wind in my face. In the park I spot a falcon sitting up in the trees. It’s piercing eyes staring down at me. It swoops down and makes a quick and determined course towards a large group of pigeons, who take off and try desperately to avoid his hunting path. I doubt he’s trying very hard because he doesn’t actually catch any one of the easy prey and presently lands on a tree branch on the other side of the park. Quit playing games with me falcon! You might have actually had me for a minute there but now I can see that you never really had any true intention of going for it.

As I open the door the sweet smell of coffee and sugary syrup hits my nostrils and I am instantly transfixed. I’m normally not a coffee drinker but today I could use the extra boost. “Give me something mochalaty” I say to Patrick behind the counter. “Mochalaty!?” he says in confusion. “So I’m guessing that you DO want something with coffee in it? I’m just going to go ahead and be inventive here.” Great. Patrick always seems to know how to please me. I sit down at a small table by the window as more and more people start streaming in. Strange, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place quite so busy. What exactly happens on a lazy Saturday afternoon that makes people suddenly feel the need for a coffee break? The large windows make this particular establishment quite excellent for people watching, though I could honestly do without the constant stream of mall traffic passing by. Along with the usual suspects hanging out in the corner, two rather scruffy, scrawny looking men are sitting in the high-backed wing chairs by the fireplace, warming up and trying to get comfortable, avoiding drawing too much attention to themselves and getting kicked out.

Mort Goldblum is a slinking sort of man, tall and old, looking almost fragile. His white hair travels down to around his mouth and chin, long slender arms and legs looking all too much like my own grandfather’s. He most often wears the same thing: worn blue denim jacket with a stained white shirt underneath, brown slacks frayed around the ankles, thin brown socks and faded brown loafers with a hole torn out of one of the toes. He is an obviously intelligent man, never to be seen without a book in his hand. And yet he too has somehow ended up on the streets, forced to brave the cold along with a group of mostly-crazy old men who often engage him in mostly asinine conversations about events that have never taken place and dreams that will never come true. This is his 7th year and he has miraculously managed to retain his sanity.

Ms. Danquith enters and sits down in front of me. She retired long ago but still enjoys the going down to the local Hope Street School and volunteering her time as a substitute teacher. She had taught 7th grade English for 38 years and never once forgot the names of her students. The kids she sees now really don’t appreciate her as much as she deserves, but then again what kid does appreciate women as ancient-looking as she is, perpetual grimace plastered across her face? Both children and adults also can’t help but notice that she always seems to be wearing any one of an array of strange hats. Today it is a bubble-gum pink fuzzy thing with rather large ear flaps, no doubt warm but far too bright and bubbly for the rest of her personality.

Nick Hoffledorf is a grumpy, incorrigible old homeless man whom I quickly learned about when I first started coming here. He’s rather strangely lumpy and is always seen wearing a brown leather jacket, black sweatshirt and black baseball cap with tufts of wispy white hair sticking out the sides. He comes in here every day and sits slouched way down in one of the soft leather chairs in the corner in order to stare angrily at people whom he feels are getting a better deal at life than he is, which, considering his situation, is pretty much everybody. On many occasions he has been known to try to flirt with some of the many pretty young girls who also frequent this place. Since they undoubtedly will ignore him and start talking to Patrick instead, he glares at them ever more incessantly until he can’t stand it anymore and goes to complain to the manager about how unfair it is that these girls don’t want to talk to him. Jane is a very patient woman, but sometimes his special kind of craziness is just more than she can take.

A white limo pulls up to the curb just outside, exciting a group of little girls who jump up on top of the window sill couch and press their faces up against the cold pane of glass, certain that anyone who rides in such a car must be somebody important and interesting. A bunch of bride-grooms carrying suits and a rather large, white wedding dress, ever so carefully wrapped in layers of protective tissue paper and plastic, step out and hurry on into the Biltmore next door. I guess everyone gets their special day when they get to be considered someone important and interesting by random strangers walking by. Maybe someday that will be me, but the closest thing I’ve come to an actual relationship in the past couple of years is my rather new, yet almost daily stint with Patrick, who will not only make me a mean cup of marble-mocha-frappa-macchiato-cino whenever I’m in the need, but who also does a great job of filling up the extra space on my already too-small bed on nights when the both of us should probably be getting in some much-needed sleep instead.

Maybe next time around things will be different. Maybe someday I’ll find someone who will give me the kind of emotional connection I really need, but hey, I’m still young, right?

Anyways, these 2 hours are just about up and my coffee’s getting cold. Time for a refill!

Computer-rendered watercolor

perspectives

1st Person
I hang from my mother, dying with the onset of the cold. Born nearly five moons ago during a time of much rain and wind, I have grown much.
Day by day I watch the winged beings (“flyers”) come out of the great blue above me and land all around my home and family, hopping around and singing many sweet melodies every morning. Here also are the furry grey creatures, which I have lovingly named “gatherers”, scampering about the world and leaping gracefully across my family tree and sometimes landing on my mother with such force that it sends wild shivers through my veins and threatens to rip me clear of my mother’s grasp.
Now in my old age I am not the color I once was. I have grown brittle and dry and I feel my grip on my vast home weakening with every new gust of cold wind.
Today I am finding happy amusement in the antics of the numerous gatherers below me, who are playing a game with the black pole that is sticking out of the ground, where the flyers often gather in a harem of feeding and happy banter all around. The gatherers are, as always, attempting to gain access to the many colorful little seedlings which are somehow stuck in to the very top. They seldom make it up there before sliding back down to the ground with a soft ‘thump’. But today there is something new in the yard. A similar black pole now stands a short stretch apart from the first one, but this one has some sort of strange vine attached to the top and about 2 gatherer’s lengths down from that is attached a stalk covered in mostly yellowish kernels.
Suddenly I hear a great clattering not too unlike the noise that comes from the sky when a storm comes and bright streaks of light flash across the sky. There is only a streak of grey as one of the gatherers leaps across the air towards this new treasure. With amazing accuracy, the small body hits its mark, but it doesn’t stop there. He continues downward and then with even greater speed, snaps back in the opposite direction towards me.
Closer and closer it comes as I realize that I too, am in a collision course with this ill-fated creature.
I am suddenly ripped away as I feel the whip of air and fur from the passing projectile. The air creates a current under me and glides me gently downward, swaying to and fro as the green, spiky looking ground looms closer and closer. When I finally land, I find to my great relief that this bedding not the terrifying deadly spikes I thought they were, but actually provide for me a fitting final resting place.

3rd Person
He sits there waiting anxiously, pondering on what the best move for him to make this time might be. All attempts at the bird feeders this morning have been futile as the wrought iron shepherd’s crook holding them a good 5 feet up off the ground had recently been slicked down with a rag and a jar of petroleum jelly. Each attempt to climb the pole in this state by either him or one of the other squirrels had resulted in a humiliating slide back down and often even a sore rump from hitting the ground with such force.
While they would normally turn dejectedly from this scene and settle for food foraging the good old-fashioned way, there is a new challenge for him to set his sights on this morning. A rather appetizing-looking fresh ear of corn is now hanging from a bungee cord, which has been tied to the top of a recently placed wrought iron pole a few yards to the side of the bird feeders.
It always takes a bit of trial and error before they can fully master any new contraption and figure out how to overcome all of its obstacles to obtain the tantalizing morsels of food set out there, as if solely for the purpose of taunting them.
This ear of corn seems simple enough to obtain. It is merely hanging there with no apparent other obstacles in the way. From a higher vantage point one could easily take a jump to land directly on the corn. But just as this thought came to his head, so too, it came to another one of the squirrel’s heads.
The race was on.
In a flash he took off to around the other side of the house, scaling a small tree that was oh-so-conveniently placed along one of the walls of the back shed with seemingly no effort.
The perusing squirrel caught up with him as they both tumbled onto the thin metal roof of the shed, but, startled by the sudden loud clashing noises upon the roof, this squirrel fell behind and came to a halt on the edge as the other squirrel leaped gracefully off and landed right on target.
The squirrel quickly realized that it had been a trap as he sunk down to the ground with his claws grasping tightly into the corn kernels holding on for dear life. In an instant the bungee cord snapped back and he was catapulted into the air at a sharp upward angle; landing about 8 feet away, stunned.

Creative Writing 1

Creative writing essay:
Life Story, 1 page, no sentence can be longer than 3 words.

It’s dark here. Out I came. Light, thump, cough. Born in May. Parents both teach. Their fourth child. Siblings crowd. House is loud. Go.

I am Rachael.

It’s hot here. A border town. Don’t know Spanish. Don’t really care. No que voy. I am alone. School is rough. I am tough. That is all.

I grew up. I got taller. Away I went.

Off to RISD! Crank it out. Art is crazy. Whirling, swirling paintings. Rainbow colors mix. School is rougher. I am tougher. That’s not all.

I grew older. I got wiser. Away I went.

Rome is home. Ruins are nice. By the slice. Nero’s cats stayed. It’s good here. I speak Italian. Va bene! Gelato means yummm. Ruins crumbling. Can I stay? Mother may I? No, you can’t. Away I went.

It’s cold here. I am freezing. Longing for sunshine. Seeing only rain. Where are you? I cannot see. It’s dark here. Who am I? Blind man’s cane. Punch-out Braille. Touch the world.

God is great. Bright, shining light. Lead me forth. Until the end.

Love.

Remix: cut and paste words from other people's essays to make a new story.

Mother may I touch the blind man's cane? No, you can't.
I just stared. Bravery left me. Just like you, I was young. I was scared.
So uninspired. He missed home. He missed safety. Working 3 jobs. Mom was angry, he just drank. They kept fighting.
Always yelled. We watched ruins crumbling. It hurt my ears.

It sucked. Then I changed. Took a while, but I changed, va bene!?! It's good here.
Now I'm punch-out banjo singing beatboxing. It's nice. Can I stay?

Away I went. The cats stayed home.
It's cold here. I am freezing.
African herdsmen played in the snow, froze their feet.
I kept quiet.

Please, don't worry.

A Story of My Heart

I finally managed to get myself to enter the shiny new Case Center building today to see the new location of the RISDworks store and see if I couldn't find myself some cool new Fred products. What I found instead was a book by David Macaulay called "Rome Antics." Now I know that Macaulay was an EHP'er himself during his time here at RISD, so I was interested to see how his own experiences in EHP would play out in the book. Following a homing pigeon flying through Rome to deliver a message, It book is full of the usual suspects of sites and scenes from famous landmarks around Rome, plus a few lesser-known, more intimate Roman sites. Now where would this homing pigeon's final destination be for the author/illustrator? Why it was unmistakably the beloved Cenci, of course. It was neither named nor labelled, but I know the place like the back of my hand from the door to the rooftops, and for me, as for David Macaulay, it is the place where my "inner homing pigeon" will fly. The final scene of the book is where the pigeon finally reaches his recipient, the author himself working at his studio in the top floor of the Cenci, who opens the message which simply, and aptly reads "yes." You should have seen how my smile just spread across my face and my eyes neary brimming with tears of joy as I felt the final connection with Macaulay and the true meaning behind this story like very few people in this world can. For me it was more than just a childrens book about a bird, or a book about places around Rome, but rather it was the story of my own heart, going back to the place that I will forever call home.

Moving On

I seem to have disappeared for the past 2 months, I know, but so much has happened within that time frame that I couldn't possiably go back and explain it all. So I must to to the furture instead! Or at the least the here and now.

I'm back in Providence, where I brave the cold winds and slushy, icy sidewalks every day. Things are pretty good. Though I seem to have a lot of time on my hands lately which is rather disconcerting. I am trying to fill my time with other stuff such as jobs ( I now have 3 of them), extra-curricular stuff and what not. Yesterday I went with about 3 or 4 other RISD students and volunteered at a Soup Kitchen downtown for a good 3 or 4 hours. It was fun, but sad at the same time, because I know that the 100 and more people that we served were having to live out in the cold and could hardly afford to feed themselves while I have always had the good fortune to have a warm bed to sleep in at night, as much food as I want, and more. Poverty affects all kinds of people, from old war veterans to the well-educated, the disabled, and even young children I saw come in for a hot meal. Hopefully I will be able to go volunteer there more often, because they could really use more help.

A couple days ago I got a banjo in the mail from my grandpa and have been practicing it as much as I can. I'm actually kinda amazed by how much I've learned about it already. Hopefully someday I will be good enough to play a song for people.

Well, the new group of EHPers arrived in Rome about a week ago and I am totally jealous. I miss it a lot. A LOT a lot. But, I hope the new group is settling in nicely and having as much of a good time as they can considering how much it has been raining there lately. Someday I will go back, this I am sure of.

This morning I took a Cappoeria class, which was fun. I had never done that kind of martial art before. Of course, since it's been so long sense I've really worked out like that, I am now quite sore and my poor feet have formed huge blisters. Next week I tackle fencing. Wish me luck!

long overdue

Ok, sorry for the lack of posts this month you guys. I seem to have found less and less time to be able to take away to do more writing. Much has gone on this month, but mostly I'm really just trying to concentrate on my final project, which is due in a very short 2 weeks. Unfortunatly that means that I have also had to seclude myself from the outside world and often despair at the end of each day when I find that I have not left the Cenci to go outside all day, save for the occational trip to get a few more groceries at the store down the street.

On a sadder note, I have just now learned of all the chaos going on in Mumbai. When I first heard of it, my immediate reaction was "Oh Dio, e' purtroppo! Cos'e brutto!" (which roughly translates to 'Oh God, how unfortunate! that is horrible!') And I dont really know how else to react to such a thing, Mumbai feels like it's a world away from here, and yet I have well learned by now that this really is a small world, and just because I can't see it doesn't mean it should be any less important to me. Please pray for all the victims of this violence, and pray that we may one day have peace on the earth.

Today being Thanksgiving, there is much preparation going on in the Cenci for our dinner tonight. We are having another pot luck for Thanksgiving, just bigger, more formal and planned out than our previous pot lucks. Each person is responsible for making a specific dish for the group. RISD has provided us with the wine and the turkeys, which are being cooked right now. We are trying to make it as traditional of a Thanksgiving meal as possible given what ingredients we have available here, but it should be good.

Lord God I praise you and thank you for all the blessings of this life. You have provided me with everything I need, every day. May I remember to give thanks to you always and everywhere, not just on Thanksgiving day but every day. Thank you for my family and friends who love me and support me no matter where I am. Thank you for the oppourtunity to come to Rome, where I have grown in body, spirit, and knowledge of this wonderful world you have given us. Fill us all with your great love, lift us up by your Holy Spirit and protect us from harm and the trials of temptation, now and forever,
Amen.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Happy Thanksgiving! I love you!

Gli Storme

There, all of a sudden, a new presence in Rome that cannot be overlooked. Small black birds, which I have learned are Starlings, have taken over the skies and are now demanding every space on every tree, power line and rooftop. I do not know where they came from. Perhaps they are just passing through on their way south for the winter, but as the evening approaches it is hard not to notice their swarms filling up the sky. Even through my small viewable piece of sky I can tell that there are thousands of them at any given time.

The Romans refer to them as "Gli Storme," which is a term only used to describe this particular occurrence. The really special thing about this flocks of Starlings is in the unusual way they fly. I guess you could call it "in-formation" because they all fly together as a group, but there really is no particular formation in which they fly. Rather, the mass is constantly moving and changing shape as if it were one body of liquid, swimming through the air and changing simultaneously along with the breeze.

Swirling up and around the warm currents of air, each group looks as if it is performing its own ballet. They come from all directions and merge into each other, as different colors may swirl together in a bowl, never fully mixing but nevertheless affected by the other.

I become entranced watching this intricate dance pay out in the skies above, and it becomes hard to tear myself away and focus on more pressing matters.

When the sun has finally set, it may be experienced by anyone venturing outside, especially along the Tiber, a loud ruckus coming from the treetops up above. The almost deafening high-pitched twittering of the hundreds of birds resting among each tree should be enough to make anyone wary of walking underneath the wide canopies, but if they cannot be avoided for your destination of choice, it would be wise to have an umbrella handy.    

The Grass Grows Through It

The cobblestone streets of Rome are filthy. Dirt, trash, cigarette butts, dog poo, and dead birds are seen on a daily basis. Broken stones stick up everywhere and you have to constantly be watching where you're walking so you don't trip and fall, or step on something you'll regret.

 

And yet, through all these atrocities, the rain comes down, washing away the surface and seeping down into the cracks. Then, in a short amount of time, up through dirt springs new green grass, giving the streets a fresh look and new life. You see, without all the dirt and filth, the grass would never be able to grow, and while the streets would look a lot better if they were perfectly ordered and clean, they would remain lifeless.

I like to think of this occurrence as a sort of metaphor for what God's good grace does to us in our own lives.  So long as we live in this world we are all subject to temptation and sin. Try as we might, we alone cannot rid ourselves of the dirt that covers our hearts and souls, and it accumulates. So, we come to stand before God covered in dirt and filth and beg to be washed clean. By His mercy He rains His grace upon us, washing away our sins and seeping down into our souls, where, because we have humbled ourselves before Him, a new life springs forth from the dirt, filling up every crack in our being with fresh green grass. The dirt of our temptations roots us down and makes us permanent, for though they may be troublesome and grievous, in them a person is humbled, purified, and instructed, and through the intervention of God the grass will grow through it. 

Be wary my friends! Take care not to trample the new grass which has taken so much to grow. Protect it and do not take it for granted by continuing in your old ways. It is still frail and must be taken care of to get stronger. Christ can be your constant gardener, and you need only to invite Him in.

Thank You Lord for your constant streams of love and mercy. We are but the dirt under Your feet and You, in Your infinite kindness bow down and raise us up, giving us a newness of life and restoring our souls. Lord I pray that when we stray from Your path, like the Good Shepherd You may find us once again and strengthen our convictions in You, that we may follow You now, until the end of time.  

Amen

The Feast of Saint Francis

This past Saturday was the feast of St. Francis. To commemorate the occasion of my favorite saint I decided it would be a good time to make my pilgrimage to Assisi and see all the spots that I have come to know about through books and such. Being the lone traveler that I am, I went by myself. But have no fear, I was I good hands. For the 2 days and nights that I was there, I stayed with a very hospitable host family who has taken in RISD students in previous years when the students would do a week of organized home-stay time as part of the EHP program. The hard part for me though was that my host parents didn't speak any English, so I could only speak in Italian for the entire weekend, which in retrospect is a really good thing because it forced me to use what I have learned in Italian class thus far, and quickly learn what I didn't know yet.

On the feast day, I went into Assisi around 11:30am and found that it was quite crowded. I could barely get into the Church of San Francesco because there were so many people streaming in and out! So instead I decided it would be a better plan to walk around outside and do some exploring around the area before confining myself within any particular space. Though I had a map with me, I didn't bother taking it out because even if I had known where I was, I wouldn't have known where I was going, except for as far away from the crowds as possible.

On the rural roads climbing up Mount Subasio, I saw a pen with a family of donkeys in it, including a tiny little baby donkey.
I named her "burrito" which in Italian means little butter. hahaha

Shortly thereafter the wind picked up and it started raining/hailing, luckily I had brought my umbrella, as small as it is, but I was not prepared for the cold that followed the hail, so I didn't stay as long as I had planned. When I got back to the house, I found that my host mother had baked dozens and dozens of cookies while I was away! For dinner (my first truly Italian meal!), she made pasta shells in tomato sauce, and then we got slices of tomatoes, prociutto cotto (cured ham), fresh mozzerella, and bread, and then for the last course we just had some lettuce with vinaigrette, which is meant as a sort of palette cleanser.

After getting my bearings around the town, I went back the next day with a bit more of a plan, as well as my sketchbook and drawing materials, which I had left behind the day before. After attending Sunday church with my host parents, I went back up to Assisi and went to the church of Santa Chiara (St. Clair).

Later, on a trek to the church of San Damiano, I passed by a beautiful olive grove and couldn't resist sitting down in the middle of it for a while to sketch the landscape.

San Damiano, which is where the Franciscan Sisters lived almost from the very beginning of the order, was such a quint little place. Situated down the hill from Assisi, the Sisters who lived here were in peaceful solitude, and the area has remained as such. The only other being I saw with a house close by the convent was a goat, who lived in a rather small house under a tree.

By the time I got back to the house at the end of the day, I was well worn out. I was again treated to a wonderful dinner of stuffed tortellini in a chicken soup broth, followed by baked tomatoes with bread crumbs and beef, followed by a plate of green grapes. Even though I only stayed with this family for 2 days, I still feel it was a very insightful experience into the lives and culture of a typical Italian family, which ended up reinforcing some known stereotypes, as well as disproving others.

I'm so glad that I took this journey and I look forward to coming back again sometime and seeing more of Assisi. I am also glad that I discovered this method of staying with a host family, and I now want to find other families in other places that I want to go.

Peace and Good,

~Rachael

Cinque Terre

Le Cinque Terre is a chain of five remarkably picturesque towns on the Italian Riviera, covering about 7 miles of beautiful coastal territory which is punctuated by cliff top olive groves, grape vineyards, striking geology and azure water below soaring cliffs.

In the morning we took a train to Riomaggiore, the southernmost town in the chain, and arrived at around 10:30 in the midst of pouring rain. Due to the rain throughout the day and the previous night making the trails muddy and dangerous, our main hiking journey that we had planned was cancelled and we were left free to do whatever we wanted. Our lodging for the night was in the form of apartments that were interspersed throughout the town. My favorite of these apartments was tucked away in the uppermost part of the town and to get there, one had to climb an old stone trail, with the hills rising immediately on either side, which reminded me greatly of the Hobbit land in Middle Earth of the Lord of the Rings books. Even the quaint little stone apartment house, with the large round doorknob placed in the center of the door, and just enough room for 4 people to sleep, seemed as if it had just come right out of a children’s picture book. People in my group were planning on going down to the shore for a little swimming and possibly some cliff diving, but when I got outside and saw these stone steps which looked as if they hadn’t been travelled in 50 years, I just couldn’t say no to climbing them and seeing where they led to. Since I am never one for letting a little rain and cold stop me, I ventured out with no idea as to where I would go or what I would do once I got there, but the beauty of the trail ahead was calling to me and telling me to move forward.

Along the trail, every path that I saw deviating from it was another opportunity for exploration. Traveling like this I often found myself at the top of a hill overlooking a garden, in the middle of a grape vineyard, or stuck in the thorns of raspberry bushes. By sight or sound there were no other people. It was just me and the earth, getting to know each other. Slowly but surely I was making my way to the top of the mountain

Higher and higher I went until I realized I could see the ocean and the small town of Riomaggiore leading up to it. Towards the top of the mountain the vineyards gave way to forests, with traces of ancient walls for some long-forgotten purpose scattered throughout. I just
keep on walking, feeling as if I am searching for something without knowing what it is yet.

Taking the opportunity of the silence and state of peace with the earth and sky that I was in, I start singing hymns and songs of praise to God for the supreme beauty of this world that He created. I pray for the land and the people here. For the energy to carry on and for the wisdom to know when it's time to stop. For guidance in God's chosen path for me, and the strength to follow it.

No matter how grand people can build a church. No matter how much gold and silver and jewels and art can be put there. No matter how well designed a cathedral can be. No man-made thing on Earth could truly "house" God. I believe that if God were to choose any place on earth to reside it would be in the pure and natural wilds. Nothing a human could ever make could be as beautiful and complex and perfect as what God Himself has created. It is for this reason that I seek the Earth in solitude, for it is here where I can feel God's presence most strongly, and know that He is here with me. Here away from the eyes of others I can be my true self, an imperfect child of God. I within Him and Him within me.

As I walk along the top of the mountain, more and more of the world below starts coming into view. Eventually I come upon what appears to be the end of the trail, and the start of a couple more trails around a small field. From the side of the cliff here I can see the entire coastline and the vast ocean stretching out miles and miles before me.

I feel as if I have reached the ends of the Earth. Way far out in the distance I can see a barge out in the ocean, alone in a vast, never-ending sea of beauty. My spirit is transported to the place where the ocean becomes the sky and I know that although I too am out here by myself, I am not alone. I have carried with me the spirit of all adventurers who have come here before me, as well as those who have yet to come. The only thing that could have made my joy more complete is if I could have shared that moment with someone I love, but I knew that they were right there with me, thinking of me as I was thinking of them, in the place where the ocean becomes the sky.

Northern Tour- Day 5

After a restful night's sleep in my own private hotel room, I get up early in the morning for the 45 minute bus ride into Genova for the day. There are obvious signs of the rain showers that were passing through all night long, and now the storm clouds threaten to rain upon the morning as well.

Driving along the coastal cliff sides, I can see from the bus window these dark clouds over the ocean. The clouds themselves are displaying some beautiful contrasts in color and shade, and a temporary break in the clouds allows the sun to suddenly burst through in magnificent rays of light, highlighting a spot of the ocean below as if God himself is touching the water and making it holy. This rare scene along the coast was so beautiful that it had everyone on the bus completely entranced. One girls behind me, upon waking up from a short nap could barely believe what she saw before her, just laughing and saying that it was "too ridiculously beautiful to be real."

view of Genova from the top of this weird "elevator" thing we went on.

Genova, which one of the major port cities in Italy, is also home to the largest aquarium in Europe and, looking for a different experience today, we all decide that this is one opportunity that we cannot pass up. It was cool, and I really enjoyed watching the dolphins and penguins, but I think that I have definitely been to at least one or two bigger aquariums in the US. Plus, I accidently mis-read my watch and got out of there a good 45 minutes earlier than I had to, and could not get back in because we were not issued actual tickets. So instead I went to this glass shirical greenhouse called the "Biosphere" and sketched for a while. Luckily, since I was the only one in there for a while, I got to go in for free and was able to do whatever I wanted. 

One of my favorite sights of the day was when we got a special tour of the Teatro Carlo Felice, which is Genova's theater and opera house. This is the most complex stage set up I have ever seen. The ceiling is 100ft high from the stage and the floor is 100ft below the the stage, which allows for immensely complex scenes to be raised and lowered throughout the performance, on 3 by 5ft panels that can move together as a whole or individually move up and down, or even pivot in any direction. I got to see workers building the set for the next Opera to be shown there and was amazed by the depth and precision they go through to make a stage set that will just be torn back down into scraps after a few performances.

After a full day of touring we head back on the bus to our hotel in Varazze.
Some rainy weather has once again left this place in a blanket of fog, rising and moving along the mountains as if some magical force were acting upon them.

Of course! I say to myself.

This is the place where clouds are born! Why didn't I realize this before? It seems so simple now, that a place which has captured the hearts and imaginations of artists and writers for centuries would also be a nursery of the sea and sky.

Back in Varazze I have a lot of preparing to do. This was actually the last day of the official tour and tomorrow we are all (minus Ezio, Tom and Susan Mills, and the bus) going to take a train from Genova to Cinque Terre for a weekend of mountain trails, cliff diving, swimming and hiking.

Northern Tour- Day 4

After spending the night in a nice hotel in Bologna, we eat breakfast in the hotel before setting out for the day. For the record, this hotel has the BEST hot chocolate I have ever had. When I asked for it, they brought me a small pitcher full (about 3 or 4 full servings worth) of a thick, rich and creamy hot chocolate that tasted like they had just melted a fine semi-sweet chocolate bar and whipped it together with some cream for just the perfect amount of richness, but enough of that.

Bologna is perhaps the most "Americanized" urban cities that I have seen in Italy thus far. This is largely due to the fact that it is, in large part, a college town. Bologna University, with a student population of around 30,000, is actually the oldest university in the western world.                             (above) The leaning tower of Bologna 

It was officially founded in the year 1088, which just astounds me when I think about how Columbus didn't even discover the Americas until a few hundred years later. But despite it's age, it really just feels like any other typical college town anywhere. During the tour we stop in to see the University's Museo di Anatomia Umana Normale, which is an anatomical museum of wax pieces made in the 18th and 19th centuries, a large part of which is dedicated to the study of baby delivery, which was the first of its kind and highly advanced for its time.

After a visit to the Giorgio Morandi museum, we head over to Le Corbusier's Pavillion de L'esprit Nouveau (the New Spirit), built for the Exposition des Art Decoratifs held in Paris in 1925, but torn down the following year. In Bologna they have built a faithful replica based on the original plans in 1977 for the use of study by architecture and design students. It is an exhibitional building: a standardized housing project designed according to Corbu's "purest" manifesto which shapes social habits and philosophy of living spaces rather than following previous social models. While I don't agree with Corbu's "ideal" living standards, and shudder to think of how horrible it would be if he had been able to carry out his plans for an "ideal" city (think of those massive standardized housing projects built in communist Russia), I still appreciate his design skills in being able to build a very inexpensive house made completely out of cement, but still with open spaces which are opened up to the outside world and have a lot of natural sunlight filtering through. My favorite part of the house is a very small outdoor pavilion that has a tree growing in the middle of it, which is poking through a large hole in the cement roof of the pavilion. The only thing I would have changed about this space is to have grown some grass in the ground instead of putting in the cement tiles it has now.

Once again we get back on the bus and head out on a 3 hour plus journey, crossing the Appennine chain again, and enter a small region called Liguria, situated in the narrow strip of land between the mountains and the Mediterranean Sea. Traveling along the "Riviera di Levante," a road that was rediscovered by English travelers, such as the poet P.B. Shelley, I find myself amongst a beautiful landscape, ever changing and never getting old, mountains and hills on my right, coast and sea to my left.

Finally we reach our destination, Varazze, a small, quite coastal town where we will be lodging for the next two nights. After dinner I head outside for a stroll in the cool sea air. Though it is only 9:30 by my watch, the sky is already pitch-black and I only see a couple of other people out and about. The beach is completely deserted, but the moon and the few buildings in town that still have their lights on give me just enough light to walk by, so I go and climb out along this boulder jetty jutting out into the ocean. Shrouded in the darkness, I stand there in quite solitude, absorbing everything around me and contemplating on all the things that had passed before my eyes in the last couple of days. I thank God especially for all the blessings of this life. For being with me everywhere I go, and I pray that He help me to grow in wisdom, understanding, humility, grace and above all, love. Love for friends and enemies alike, love for family and love for strangers on the street. It is love which connects us all and binds us together with a chain 10 times stronger than any act of hate could ever be. Through this love I can feel the presence of all my family and friends standing behind me, keeping me company in this cold, dark landscape in an unwavering wave of love and support. Looking out into the darkness at the vast ocean in front of me, I too am reaching out my hand to all my loved ones back home, sending out all my love and happiness across the seas to reach you, wherever you may be.

Northern Tour- Day 3

After another night in Siena, we departed early this morning for Firenze (Florence), about an hour and a half away by bus. Firenze is a bustling tourist city absolutely full to the brim with rich, elaborate Renaissance art and arcitecture. Indeed, Firenze is the gem of Tuscany. The city of Medici. The city of the Renaissance. From Giotto to Michelangelo, from Dante to Boccaccio, from Machiavelli to Galileo and Leonardo DaVinci, Firenze gave Italy her greatest artists, writers and scientists and out of her soul was born the whole of humanistic aesthetic. Vasari attributes it all simply to the purity of Tuscan air, which is probably as good an explanation as any.

the Firenze duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore

During our short excursion through Firenze, we go to the Convent of San Marco, which was completed in 1445 for the Dominican monks at the expense of the Medici family, who were wealthy bankers and art patrons. In each cell of the convent there is a different fresco of a devotional image painted by one of the monks who lived there. Though the rooms are roped off to prevent people from entering more than a foot or two into the space, Tom Mills, always the advocate for getting into places for artistic purposes by any means necessary, defiantly goes into the roped off are to sit down and draw his favorite painting. At on point the security guard walks over and peers into the room to see what is going on in there but says nothing about him actually being in there, which just astounds me. I am beginning to see how, in this country at least, artists are regarded with a certain reverence and often are able to gain privileges and access to places that are closed off to the general public. I really like this idea and I wish the concept were a lot more wide-spread, especially in the US where artists struggle to gain any sort of respect for their studies.

Loggia dei Lanzi in the Piazza della Signoria

The last place I stop by to see while in Florence is the Piazza della Signoria, where they put all of including the Perseus; the Rape of the Sabines, Donatello's Judith and these famous sculptures, Holofemes and the copy of Michaelangelo's David, placed in the same location in front of the town hall for which the work was originally intended. Of course, being an art student in Florence, I, as well as a couple of others in my small group, fell it the properly stereotypical thing to do to pull out our sketchbooks and attempt to do some studies of these masterworks. Such a world-famous work as the David can be rather intimidating to even attempt to capture when it is standing right in front of you, and in doing so it is important to accept the fact that your sketches will never be able to do the work justice. Instead, they are meant to be used to study the form and proportions of the body in hopes of gaining an understanding of what it is that gives the David its power and life force. It is rather surprising to note how big his head and hands are in proportion to the rest of his body, which in my mind is an anthropomorphic style meant to symbolize the surety and strength of his hands with a rock and sling, as well as his intelligence and sharpness of mind.

With about a half hour left before we have to meet up with the rest of the group and head off to our next destination, I decide to sit down on the floor of the piazza right in front of the David and continue doing sketch studies, accompanied by Chris, who was working in water colors. Being that there was a constant stream of tourists and large tour groups coming into the piazza, we found ourselves in a rather awkward position to be situated, and if I hadn't had someone else to do it with me, I doubt I would have had the courage to keep it up for very long. It's an interesting feeling when any artist is doing his own work in a public setting such as this. Chris,who has done this a lot more often than I, tells me that he has always felt that whenever he is doing any sort of sketching or painting in public, he feels as if it almost becomes like a performance piece as well. No matter how much you try to ignore the people around you watching and commenting on your work to their friends, you must realize that you are inevitably making a spectacle of yourself, and do your best to try and not let that effect your work. Indeed, the entire time I sat there, already being fairly self-conscious about my rather rough sketchwork, I had to hear tourists behind me making comments (probably not realizing that I speak English and could understand everything they were saying) and it is rather funny that of the few times I turned my head to look around me, I saw people taking pictures of the pair of us working just as much as they were taking pictures of the David statue.

Florence is a beautiful city, and a wonderful place for any artist or art historian to go and study, but it is all together too touristy for my taste. One girl in my group actually lived here for about a year as a painter's apprentice and she says that she never really had to learn any Italian the entire time she was here because the mass of the tourist industry makes it so that all the Italians living here must learn how to speak English for their benefit, which in my mind is a rather sad stae of affairs for the people, the culture and thehistory of this place. At 5:30 we leave Firenze and, crossing the Appenine chain, we reach Bologna, the capital of the Emilia-Romagna region, where we spend the night.