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