Eat Pray Love

I am currently reading Eat, Pray, Love. It was given to me for my birthday by a dear friend of mine. "I don't know if you'll like it," she said to me as I unwrapped it. To this I thought, "What? This is a New York Times bestseller! It's being made into a movie! My roommate in Cortona said it was pretty good. I've wanted to read it..." But I think I'm beginning to agree with my friend. I'm not sure I like it.

The first third of the book takes place in Italy. THIS I like. My memories of Italy are simultaneously fading and becoming increasingly vivid. I'm remembering more of Rome than I remembered a few days after I left it... and not just because I'm reading this book. I remember streets and feelings and places and people, where they stood and what they looked like in those exact moments, whether there was a cigarette between their fingers or a backpack on their back.

I also feel many of the same thing she feels. She talks about Loneliness and Depression as if they are two unwanted detectives, lingering and stalking her as she travels about. These, I understand. They follow me a lot, too. Especially now that I am doing essentially nothing with my life. "SO! DO something." Thank you lingering voice, I love you, too. I'm trying. It isn't easy when no compass points north.


However, I have some serious issues with the book. It's obvious that she's going through a midlife crisis. She isn't really fooling anyone, and I hope she knows that. I have some theological issues with the book, but I won't aggravate you about that right now.

Anyway, and then she gets to Italy and all she wants to do is eat and speak Italian. Americans, she insists, are never very good at just taking in pleasure. We're good at being entertained, but not good at taking in pleasure. If we do, we feel we must earn this pleasure or have earned it.

Incorrect.

I am very good at taking in pleasure. Too good at it.

I get pleasure from reading books. I get pleasure from spending time with friends and noticing the patterns of blues, greens and browns in their eyes. I get pleasure from looking at stars. I get pleasure from looking really closely at blades of grass to see the little velcro-like hooks. I get pleasure from "accidentally" getting paint on my fingers while holding a paintbrush a little too close to the bristles.

I get pleasure from gazing endlessly at artwork. Oh, I could do that all day. Really, I could. Never go to a museum with me. You'll never get out. (I once heard the statistic that the average time spent in front of a work of art is approximately 30 seconds. 30 SECONDS... for something which the artist spent hours, days, weeks, months, even years to complete. And the most you can do is stare at it for 30 seconds! We spend more time watching the average youtube video which might have taken a few hours or days to make. Come on guys... really. Which brings me to another objection with the book.

She didn't go to one museum when she was in Italy (she says this regretfully...) and then she takes it back... she went to the National Pasta Museum. WHO DOES THAT? Honestly? What was the POINT? If you wanted to learn Italian and eat all day, you could have done that in ANY small town in Italy, learned more Italian and eaten better (and less expensive) food than if you had lived in Rome the whole time.

And this is why everyone hates Americans.

I am disgusted.

The loose ends

So for all of you who didn't know, I made it back home fine. I spent two weeks traveling in Germany and Turkey. It was good to have those two weeks, mostly to process the semester. Processing, I have decided is not only important, but also often overlooked. I was, admittedly, quieter than I usually am, but there were many thoughts flying through my head. I've decided to post some poems I wrote. I use poetry as a processing tool, much like I use art in certain situations. Both of these poems, I am sure, came out of the many visits to cathedrals and churches in Italy and thoughts on the Church. I am currently taking History of World Christianity and it is fascinating to see my thoughts on the Italian Church in context.

Cortona
Cigarette smoke and guitars
Fill our holy place. Brazen
Sparks shatter our dome.
We have lit our own rolled incense
And candles to lift our unsilent prayers.
The Hymns that pour into our cathedral
Are sweeter than any choir.

This is our sanctuary, and now we choke
On tears of forgiveness as we speak
Confessions and do penance for sins
Uncommitted. We must pack our relics
And graven images from this long
Pilgrimage into unworthy suitcases
And embrace our crosses to carry
Them away, never to forget this self
Made church, this body of believers.


I wrote this next one after a visit to a Church in Pienza. It was actually one of my favorite churches that we visited. I suppose it is distinct in the fact that it was incredibly sparse and thus reminded me of protestant churches. It is actually really unfortunate that the protestant tradition has done away with artwork within the church. (Really guys, we need to bring GOOD art back into the church. It will be a difficult task considering the watering down of Christian art... Christian art is now unfortunately usually equated with bad art, and also unfortunately, most of the time, in the modern context this is very true.)

The Altar
In this dark corner, I found God.
I was waiting for him. Every Cathedral tried,
Vainly, to capture that glory. I waited for Him
In Mary’s empty arms. I looked
In Christ’s stretched and mangled body. I looked.
He sagged under the weight of prayers unanswered.

But here in this corner
There was no sacrifice,
No cup, no cross.
And there, my heart laid itself
On the altar. It sought silence.
It sought to stop beating
So it could beat again with renewed
Vigor. He was not in the storm,
Or the lightening or the earthquake
But in the still whisper.



Anyway, I never said it was good poetry, I just said it was poetry. These are the best that came out of my processing poetry.

NOW on to something completely different!

This semester, I have been adjusting to life back at school and trying to finish out my time at Westmont strong. Thus far, it has been mostly successful.

I just got into my Senior Show, which is very exciting, considering it is a competitive event and four out of our 18 senior art students did not make it in. I encourage you all to come visit and see our Senior Show which will be up in Reynolds Gallery until May 8th.

http://www.westmont.edu/_offices/arts_at_westmont/arts_calendar.html

You all should go. It will be a great show with my fellow seniors. I've seen some of the art which has been submitted, and I have to say that I am very excited. I did some excellent charcoal drawings and I encourage everyone to come see those, at least. They are phenomenal, if I do say so myself. What I submitted for my senior show was a continuation of a project that I began in Cortona, so again you should all come up and see it. Westmont is beautiful and the art is fantastic!

Thank you all for reading of my adventures. I am working on setting up my own website, which hopefully will have its own blog section. This may take some time, but be looking for that update! Thank you all.

It's all about The Fire, isn't it?

(I originally had this posted on Facebook, but Mom urged me to post it here. This was written while in Germany... before coming to Turkey. Yes, I was in Germany for about five days before coming to Turkey. I will be here until... Wednesday at which point I will return to Germany for another fivish days before coming home. It has been very lovely, but very cold. I stupidly lost an AMAZING pair of gloves on the bus to Naples :( and did not realize it until coming to Germany and then being seriously annoyed because my hands were cold. Serves me right. They were well used in Cortona. I miss them.

Upon arrival in Turkey, we both did not see my uncle who was picking us up and did not see my bag which had to be checked in. Gordon thought he had their number, but didn't and I thought my bag would be with the rest of the luggage from my flight, but wasn't. It was with the 'International Flights' luggage. Such an annoyance. Ah well. Gordon was determined to find turkey to eat in Turkey on Thanksgiving, it turns out that it was entirely unnecessary as, just as I predicted, my aunt has a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner for us here. It was wonderful.

Alright, without further ado, the stuff I posted from Facebook. Mostly my thoughts on the Tea Fire and the end of the Cortona program.)

Something to contemplate a year later.

It came up tonight, The Fire did. It put our little, insignificant school on the map for the whole country to see. But people shrug it off. They say "Oh, Westmont. Didn't you all get caught in that fire a while back?"

And my mind flashes back to fluorescent light streaming through gray and a thousand students pacing or laying about, lackluster and in shock about the whole situation.

"Yes," I say, "I spent sixteen hours in a smokey gym."

I try to explain how it was, but they've already lost interest. It isn't real for them. It isn't real like it was for me.

They don't understand that every time I smell smoke, I think about how the ash burned my eyes every time I laid down.

They don't know that whenever my clothing smells like cigarettes, I remember how my clothing smelled like smoke, even after the shower at Kelly's and how after a month of them sitting in the car, because I didn't even want to bother with them, how even then, they smelled of smoke.

They don't realize that any time I see a light on a hill or something illuminating the night sky, I get a rush of adrenaline until I know for sure what is causing the light.

They can't imagine the sinking feeling of hearing the destruction over the loudspeaker.

They can't hear the wind screaming or see the orange sky or watch a red sun rise through a sea of ash.

Cortona.

Yes, it's all about that fire. Nothing can be quite so bad now. I can have patience with other situations. Getting up at 2:30 to wait five hours in an empty airport is nothing.

I understand people not understanding. I understand when they don't feel as I do.

They won't know the rush of meeting strangers and suddenly realizing you have another family, even if you don't quite feel like it yet.

They can't see all the art works mingling together from centuries and centuries all forming one long narrative, talking to each other and being able to talk back in their language.

They haven't heard the endless conversations of fifty people living in the same space and cooking in the same kitchen, drinking the same wine and tasting the same peppery olive oil and saltless bread.

They don't know the view that was never the same any two days. They aren't familiar with the burning in our calves from the hill, just not steep enough to be a staircase, nor the cold wind on our chapped faces brushing up the falling leaves.

They will never drink cappuccinos with quite the same relish. They won't visit the same places in the same sequence or walk quite the same foot steps. They'll never ride in the same buses or trains.

They won't hear the same voices chanting lessons, explaining the meaning of the cupids on Goliaths' helmet or why Mary's robe is always blue or why this line should be longer or how this needs more value or not to carve in that direction or how to order food without sounding like a complete idiot.

They'll never taste the same walnuts, pears, figs, noodles, pesto and cheeses.

They won't curl on the couch with the same people.

They won't know the echos off the high ceilings or complain about the light in the hallway going off after a few minutes.

And they'll never know quite the same feeling of bereft after leaving all this behind.

In the end, it's all about The Fire, isn't it?

From "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn"

By Betty Smith

The night was heady and frosty. There was no wind and the air was cold and still. The stars were brilliant and hung low in the sky. There were so many stars that their light made the sky a deep cobalt blue. There wasn't a moon, but the starlight served better than moonlight.

Francie stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms wide.

"Oh I want to hold it all!" she cried, "I want to hold the say the night is-- cold without wind. And the way the stars are so near and shiny. I want to hold all of it tight until it hollers, 'Let me go! Let me go!'"

"Don't stand so near the edge," said Neely uneasily, "You might fall off the roof."...

"I need someone," Francie thought desperately, "I need someone. I need someone to hold close. And I need more than this holding. I need someone to understand how I feel at a time like now. And understanding must be part of the holding."...

"Neely, if you had to die, wouldn't it be wonderful to die now- While you believed that everything was perfect, the way this night is perfect?"

Friends, it was my last day in Cortona on Tuesday. The last days were spent packing things and enjoying the company of my friends. We watched a meteor shower on Monday night/Tuesday morning. My friends, this was the perfect passage for the evening. We walked up to The Fortress
which is right above Santa Margarita (the church at the top of the hill above the JDK center. Oh, and also, did I tell you that Santa Margarita is the patron saint of Cortona? She protects Cortona from earthquakes and bombs. I somehow seem to remember talking about her, but maybe I didn't. Her big miracle is finding her dead lover in the middle of a field. I think the story is sad...)
But anyway, a friend and I went with some friends, most of whom were very alcoholically charged. Lexi and I were not, so we listened to the others and talked to each other and wished upon falling stars.

On Tuesday, we packed everything and had dinner for the very last time at Tonino's. We had dinner there the night before as the "Last Supper" which was Tonino's finest. Tonino's is actually a five star restaurant and hotel. We did not experience the "fivestarness" of Tonino's most of the time. Not that the food was bad, it just wasn't "five star." But the last supper was pretty good and it was also the twins' birthday. They turned twenty one. We've had many a birthday here, and it's great because they always make an extra effort at dessert the night where we have a birthday, not that it mattered that night... but we did have fun.

That was Monday night. On Tuesday night, the twins' dad came down. We took him to a place in town called "Dulce Maria" and had dessert. Apparently, I was very funny. I was making jokes about feminists, the Cookie Monster and Land Before Time (3,000,005! Watch them turn into oil!) And then I tripped, which was only funnier until the next day when I noticed a huge bruise on my left knee. The stories that left knee has. I think in a different life, I would be a comedienne. Maybe I will be some day... maybe.

On Wednesday we said good-bye to our dear Cortona and made our way to Naples. Napoli is a bit of a shock in comparison to the rest of Italy that we have seen. Naples is VERY industrial/urban. We have thus far been to very scenic and rural towns (even Rome had its rural moments). Naples is also scenic, but very much like a big city, full of cars and apartments and noise. It has been very hazy here all day. We went to the beach yesterday (not so huge for me since I have lived next to beaches literally my entire life) and it was very nice. The sand here is black and filled with sea glass and worn ceramic pieces. Sea glass, for those who don't know what it is, is glass from bottles or wherever, that has been worn away by the ocean to be translucent and rounded at the edges, much like smooth, round rocks only they are still in odd shapes. It's very pretty against the black of the sand. There were a lot of stairs to get down to the seaside. It made Cortona's hill look a little silly (but not much).

Today, we went to the Compadimonte, which is a huge museum that used to be a mansion filled with paintings from the Renaissance, Italian and otherwise. It contained a Caravaggio, which we all went on a mad hunt to find, before sauntering through the rest of the museum. It was a huge building and one could certainly imagine balls and events being held there before it became a museum. Then we hung out on the lawn for a long time, playing with a soccer ball that a couple of teenagers did not want anymore. Then we went to the Archeological museum. Lea called it "the Superbowl of Archeology." I must admit, it has a LOT of classical sculpture in it, including a room filled with "naughty" objects taken from Ancient Roman villas and homes.

During the 19th century when excavations were beginning to be made, naturally, there was a lot of scandal around these explicit objects that they found. Not wanting to damage the pure minds of the lady folk who went on the Grand Tour, they decided to take all of these objects and put them into one room, so that their gentility could be preserved. This just means that now we have a room full of ancient phallic objects. It's pretty funny when you think about it... rather than be spread out and less shocking, you get shock all at once... and a lot of it. Naw, it wasn't all that bad. Romans used these objects to ward away bad spirits. They were considered signs of fertility and because of the completely ridiculous nature of some of them, rather funny. And laughter was the best way to ward away evil spirits, thus these were talismans against bad spirits.

The rest of the museum was remarkable. It contained many figures and mosaics from bathhouses and from the temples located in Pompeii before the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Most of these figures were colossal, well over twice to three times my height, I am sure. Oddly, though all of us have been feeling rather exhausted and we were all rather glad to be back on the bus to go back to our hotel. And now I am at an internet cafe... and very late for dinner.

All Hallow's Eve

The joys of being in college on Halloween!

I just got an e-mail from my first cousin once removed about having to give out treats and sadly running out of fun-sized bits of joy. My mom replied with a comment on the fact that our neighborhood children apparently either don't trick-or-treat or simply just don't come to our house.

Well, my friends, I was very excited for Halloween and was not at all disappointed. I LOVE October. It's possibly my favorite month. I like July, also, obviously since it is party month at my house, but October is starting to win over. I had a fantastic October (see other blog entries) and was sad to see it go, but what a way to go!

I was a little disappointed getting up because I did not really want to go on our weekly field trip to heaven knows where. Then I read that we were going to Siena. Cool, I thought. Little did I know (I would have known if Grace and I hadn't skipped dinner on Friday night) that we were not going to Siena but Bevagna and Torgiano. Huh... so... again with boring little towns that no one has ever heard of... It didn't turn out so badly.

Bevagna was actually pretty nice. We went to a Medieval paper making place. They apparently do annual competitions in June around Medieval paper making with specific standards that they must follow in order so that they keep in line with how paper would have been made in the Medieval era. It was pretty cool.

Then they had a park which was very nice. It's all fallish here. The fall colors are in full blast with bright yellow leaves everywhere. We just sort of flopped down on the lawn and soaked in our environment.

Then we went to Torgiano, which was cold. We went to a wine museum. It had a nice printmaking and ceramic vessel collection. That was fun to see. The best bit was the view and sunset, though. It was very beautiful, especially because the moon was also up. I did not think that anything could beat Southern Californian sunsets. I think Tuscan sunsets would hold their own in a competition.

Then we went home. We were all supposed to come dressed up in costume for dinner. They actually are beginning to celebrate Halloween a lot more here in Italy. As far as I can tell, it isn't a HUGE deal as it is in America, but people carve pumpkins (they don't buy fake plastic or Styrofoam ones... they carve REAL pumpkins. Italians, I applaud you. Well done.) and children dress up and they sell firecrackers at the toy store. Wait, what??? Firecrackers??? Yes. None of us bought them, but you could definitely get yourself whole packs of fireworks and the kids around town had a lot of fun. America could learn a lot from Italian celebratory style...

Dressed up for dinner, eh? I didn't know what I wanted to be. At first I was like, I'll wear an overcoat and a hat and be "Carmen San Diego" but then I thought "No, I have had enough of stupid Halloween outfits. I know I can't be anything really awesome, but I'll dress up nice and look cool... yes. This is a good plan."

If anyone knows anything about stupid Halloween costumes, it's me. Freshman year of college, I cheered for ceilings. I was a "Ceiling Fan." (Wait for it to sink in... yeeeeah... that's right.... can't believe it, can you?) Sophomore year, I put on a bandanna and eye patch and attached a dollar bill to each ear. I was a "Buccaneer" (say it out loud... waaait for it.... yeah... even WORSE isn't it?) Last year... I was.... I don't know what I was... as I remember it... something to do with my roommate's extra corset, although I seriously gave much thought to putting a box with a bra attached to it over my head and being "Wall-E" (watch mom's eyes pop as she reads this...)

None of that for me this year. No, I was going to look nice... well... maaaybe I'd dress up as something... just a little.

For some reason, since Freshman year, I have had an outrageous amount of glitter in my make-up case. Why? I don't know. I suppose I have been waiting for the opportune moment. I didn't see a more opportune moment than this. I put on all black, with a deep red and black scarf I bought in Florence, but on a pair of black and silver dangly star earrings I bought and some really dark red lipstick and a whole heckovalot of glitter. What was I?

If you guessed beautiful woman making fun...er... being a vampire from the 'Twilight' series, you guessed right. I had SO much glitter on. I definitely 'dazzled.' This has been the First time I have ever been anything emulating something slightly frightening. Nothing can be more frightening than a sparkly undead person who stalks people and constantly tells them how delicious they smell.

Grace twisted her ankle in Bevagna (she's hobbling around on a sore ankle today. I don't know if it's just twisted or something else. She'll find out on Tuesday.) so she wasn't really into the Halloween spirit. She thought she would just go to dinner and head back up. How wrong she was.

They had a lot of great costumes last night. The printmaking professor dressed up as Frida Kahlo (ok, I totally thought about doing that one also last year when I had long hair... and a unibrow:) a few of the boys dressed up as a few of the girls on our program (not quite effective as the boys both have beards and did not shave them.) and several of the girls dressed as old people (one very convincing old man and three convincing old ladies). We also had a number of wildlife (a zebra, a deer and a bear) and a Native American, Robin Hood and Cupid all complete with bows and arrows. My personal favorite was our Art History professor who wore all black with a gold band around her waist and a red cap on her head. When she pressed down her cap, it lit up. Any guesses? She was a Lazer pointer! (She uses one for every class, so it was funny...)

At Tonino's, they had candy on each table and they had cleared out the room next to ours. They gave each table a bottle of white wine and a bottle of Moscato (really sweet sparkling wine. It's good stuff. Even the non-drinkers drink full glasses.) Then the music started in the other room. They brought in a DJ who was really... bad... but we didn't care. In my opinion he was actually better than a lot of the DJ's they have at Westmont. (Yeah, Westmont... you need to get with the program. The Italian guy who plays and sings Italian folk music which sounds very similar to Polka music is better than your DJ's.) He mixed in a few songs from Grease and the YMCA song and we had quite the dance party. (Grace went home after this, but she stayed much longer than she had intended on doing.)

Then everyone went down to the Lion's Well (the local pub) to continue to celebrate. They had a better DJ who was pretty darn good. Again, WAY better than Westmont DJ's. I ordered a Fuzzy Navel and thoroughly enjoyed talking to people.

All in all, it was a delightful evening.

(And also, I need to stop using so many parenthesis! Geez...)

The Irony

Oh, the irony! There are a number of festivals that go on this time of year. One of them is the Castagne Festival in Preggio. I went to it the weekend before last. The excitement! The adventure! The... unexpected... ness.

I did not know what kind of festival it was until Gino got us into the car and we left for Preggio. Apparently, he'd forgotten what kind of festival it was until that morning.

Castagne, my friends, is Italian for chestnut. As mentioned in the previous blog, I am allergic to chestnuts. I broke out in hives in second grade on Christmas Eve and found out that Santa was not real... it's ok, I just remember being to itchy to care that my parents were stuffing my stocking.

Since then, my curiosity has been satisfied as to the flavor and nature of this curious dark brown nut. But it is very difficult to explain to someone who does not speak English that the reason that I was not participating in the wonders of chestnuttery was not because I was being picky or a fussy American, but that simply I could not eat them. So I just lived with Gino calling me a "fussy American woman."

My roommate, dear Grace, the same weekend went to the International Chocolate Festival in Perugia. I can't completely say that I am jealous (no sarcasm. Honest.) Apparently, as it was the first weekend of the festival, it was over packed and there was not much variety in the kinds of chocolate they had. In other words, she said that most booths sold the exact same brands. She did buy some Italian Hot Chocolate. Italian Hot Chocolate is very different from American Hot Chocolate. American Hot Chocolate is like... flavored water in comparison. Italian Hot Chocolate is basically hot chocolate pudding. It thick, frothy and amazing.

It's ok. I am glad I went to the Castagne Festival. I still had fun, I just couldn't eat much there. We did finally find something without chestnut in it, lamb on a skewer. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

About food here, big surprise, everything is Italian food. (Duh, you're in ITALY! Enjoy the food while you can!) But friends, there is only so many ways that one can fix pasta, and I have had them all here, I am sure. Actually, everyone is getting sick of Italian food. I broke down last week and bought a pack of Oreos (they come in boxes of four packs... this is nice because that way one does not serial eat Oreos). This week, people were making hamburgers and steaks in the kitchen We don't get steak a whole lot at Tonino's (the place we eat every night), so everyone who was not a vegetarian was drooling over the variety of red meat in the kitchen this last weekend.

I personally made some chili. It was slightly too spicy, but I enjoyed it anyway. I didn't get many takers on it though :\ It isn't really all that much fun to cook for oneself I learned. There has to be someone to enjoy it. It's like art. Art for oneself has a place, but usually it is restricted to sketchbooks and journals, where it's more of a processing than actual 'art.' Art is meant to be enjoyed by more than one person.

And now for this weekend. I've gotten really bad at taking pictures on this trip. It's difficult since all of the places seem to run together and there are very few that really stand out in my mind. This last weekend we went to Voltarra and San Gimigiano. I think that San Gimigiano will definitely forever stand out in my mind. First place, it is the location of "The World's Best Gelato." No joke. This place has won the World Gelato Competition two years running. I must say, it was pretty good gelato (but again, I am really over gelato, also. Give me Ben and Jerry's. Please.)

Second, it is the home of not one, but two Museums of Torture. We went to both. I thought it would be a fun Halloween activity. Friends, I do not recommend them. It sounded so cool at the beginning... until you realize that people actually were tortured in these ways and are still tortured in some of the ways displayed. The best/worst part were all the wax figures that were being mutilated in various ways. It is enough to turn one's stomach. I was already feeling rather ill from the bus ride over. It was an odd mixture of revulsion and fascination, which is, I am sure, the feeling that most got from walking in there... probably the entire purpose. I just felt sorry for all the kids going in there with their parents.

(And now on to something completely different...) The other night we watched the bronze pour. That, my friends, was exciting. They had been preparing for it all weekend. They had to do a burn out, first. This is when, once the wax pieces are set inside a plaster and brick dust mixture, all of the wax is burned away leaving a hallow mold in which to pour the bronze. This took three days of watching the flame/temperature, making sure that it did not go out or vary. Then they melted the bronze and poured it. It was spectacular. I didn't get any pictures, but there will be another bronze pour on Friday night, so maybe I'll get some pictures then.

It's crunch time. We are getting ready for our exhibition and all of our classes are winding up. This means that I have a test and a paper on Friday and on top of that, I should be working very hard on The Boyfriend. Oddly, my "downtime" right now consists of drawing, which I find ironic since I find drawing very frustrating. My final project in drawing is... drawing people sleeping... like actually sleeping. Not just modeling as sleeping, but in their beds... sleeping. This means that I have to either wait until they are asleep, or do as I did this morning and get up at 6:30 to catch some of my friends asleep. Don't worry, I asked permission about twenty times to do so. It's kind of an awkward assignment I have chosen for myself, but I like it.

ok... should be in Italian right now (blah)...

Over a Sea of Clouds

(This is a long one, but I promise... it's worth it. It even has pictures! Read it on a break or something...)

Sunday, for me, seems to be the best day here. All good things happen on Sunday. This weekend, we stayed in Cortona... well, most of us did. Groups of people went elsewhere, but I stayed in Cortona. It was nice, but I was feeling rather depressed. It seems to happen a lot to me on Saturdays. I thought maybe it was because we were traveling on Saturdays and thus had no downtime, and so Sunday always seemed cooler, comparatively, because we could finally take a break. Apparently, not so.

But anyway, on Sunday, we went to La Celle. This is the monastery where St. Francis lived. Grace and I woke up at 5:30 AM. I was almost convinced by my body not to wake up and go. But Grace convinced me that it was a good idea. So I dragged myself up and grabbed my camera and headed out to meet our Art History professor in La Piazza della Repubblica (the main steps of Cortona that are in movies and pictures...). It was all dark as we left the city walls and Orion was high up in the sky. (I found that he only comes out here in the very early morning. The rest of the time, he is below the horizon.) We started on our hike.

Lexi, my walking partner...

I am a slow walker. I don't like walking very fast, and fortunately Lexi (one of the twins) doesn't either so she walked with me. It was nice, except that because it was so dark, we kept losing the rest of the group. The road was straight, so we couldn't really get lost. Unfortunately, Grace, who started with us, did. She likes to take pictures (and a lot of them) so she often falls behind. She told me she had a lovely adventure on her own, though.Cortona from a distance

This is the valley just after sunrise

Friends, I don't know what is wrong with me, but I seem incapable of wearing sensible shoes on hikes. Like any true native Southern Californian, I love my sandals. Do I love any particular sandals? No. I love my flip-flops. These brown flip-flops have been where no flip-flop has any right to be. They told me not to wear them on our trip to the Roman Forum. Did I listen? No. I wore them anyway. They told me not to wear them in Carrara. Did I listen? No. I wore them anyway. They told me it was a forty-five minute hike to La Celle. I should have known to wear some sensible shoes. Did I? Not at all. My feet were free and breezy all morning. Now you are expecting to hear some terrible story about how I fell and twisted my ankle because I failed to wear proper foot gear. Gottcha! Haven't hurt anything yet... (Knock on wood.)

It has been very rainy so the clouds and mist had settled into the Tuscan Valley. We were above the cloud line though, so while it was clear, we got to look out over the blanket of mist settling into the crevices, with bright flecks of gold where streetlights were still shining. Then we got to La Celle. La Celle is extremely scenic. It is not hard to imagine how St. Francis got so close with nature. There is a waterfall which goes right through La Celle. They have a rose garden there and bridges. It's exactly how one would imagine a monastery to be, only prettier.

This is a waterfall inside La Celle.

Naturally, there isn't any water right now, but I thought it was a cool pic.Pretty vines...

Some friends in the courtyard of La Celle

We went to Mass... that was a bit of a let down. Lea, my art history professor thought there was going to be chanting. Not much chanting. It was very... anti-climatic. But that's ok, because then we got to walk home.

We walked back with Lea, Devon (the other twin), Caitlin (a new friend) and Laura (the first person I met upon arrival in Italy). Fall definitely is in the air, and chestnuts have been falling off the trees. Chestnuts are weird. They fall off in spiky pods which break open to reveal the chestnut inside, which when you roast those, reveal the actual chestnut... nut. I get very antsy around chestnuts, though, because I'm allergic to them, but the other girls were excited to pick them up and play with the pods. We walked back much slower, and we were able to enjoy the Tuscan scenery. Looking down on the clouds was even better on the trip back. The sun was shining over the sea of clouds. It looked almost as if we were seeing the valley from an airplane, only there was foliage around us. It was breathtaking.


Later, Gino, our seventy-some year old gardener, took my roommate, Heather, who I roomed with in Rome and Florence, and myself to a festival in a town which is part of the brotherhood (?) of Cortona. (Towns are set up very differently here in Italy. They have regions, communes and then I think what they call 'brotherhoods.' Cortona is the capitol of this brotherhood, but part of the Arezzo commune, which is located in Tuscany.) Gino is an odd duck. He is kind of a mix between a creepy old man and a grandfather. He compliments all the ladies, sometimes a bit inappropriately (we chalk this up to Italian culture and very broken English), but at the same time, is always very helpful and kind. He owns a cat, named Bella, who he treats very affectionately. Bella loves Gino back and follows him everywhere. Bella also likes people in general and will often walk into the study room and fall asleep on the sofas, waiting for someone to pick her up and/or pet her. This makes me happy.

The festival was a lot of fun. It's harvest season, so there were a lot of people there. There were some people grape stomping, Grace and Heather bought a bottle of wine each (we all agreed it is pretty good, but then again, this wine is also practically just grape juice...) We bought bread and cheese and walked around. Gino insisted that I dance with him to one of the bands playing. He's a pretty good dancer, actually. He's the best leader I think I've had since the TA of my ballroom/swing class last fall. Gino also invited me to go dancing with him later this semester. I don't think I will... while he's a good dancer, it was kind of awkward.

Dancing with Gino...

It rained again today. It's been rainy and beautiful. I love rain. The wind has really picked up, making the windows fog and the clouds roll. Today, my drawing class took a field trip to a bar (cafe) where we drew one of my classmates. I drank cappuccino (becoming a serious addict) and we ate pizza, and listened to jazz. It was great. I feel like I did a very good job. It's nice to feel good about one's art.

(because I'm sure you all have just been DYING to see what I've been doing... here's a sample)

Our model and fellow student, Rory

I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful God's creation is. Truly, He is the greatest artist of all.

Psalm 8

A psalm of David.

¹ O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.

² From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise
because of your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.

³ When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,

⁴ what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?

⁵ You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

⁶ You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:

⁷ all flocks and herds,
and the beasts of the field,

⁸ the birds of the air,
and the fish of the sea,
all that swim the paths of the seas.

⁹ O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!

(Sorry for the length... a lot happens in one day...)

As an added plus... this is my Boyfriend. He's on his side in this picture.
This was taken last week... he currently doesn't look like this anymore.
I'm not going to show you pictures of the plaster model because I want it to be a surprise,
but if you all ask very nicely, I might put up pictures of the runners up.
(AKA the clay models of the ones I didn't do AKA my little Frankenstein's Monsters.)