Hi loves. This is another update to let you know that I am still alive. But it will not tell you much more than that. Because frankly, I am trying to be wholly here and trying to soak up, imbibe, immerse, percolate, seep, infuse, absorb, inundate myself with what's left of my time in Italy. And blogging, trying to place myself outside of Italy and choose what will be most meaningful to communicate, is distracting me from this endeavor.
I'm struggling with the fact, currently, that none of you can really know what the every day, day-to-day is like here. I can't give you the smells and the buzzwords and the banal, absurd dinner-table conversation which happens. I can't give you the heat or the sudden cool of stepping into the convent corridor. What does the sky from my window look like? Have you ever just watched the swallows for an hour? They look like they're diving towards some kind of center, they look like water bugs, their motion is one quick pencil gesture on the smoothest paper. Even a poem is going to fall short, and a poem is the most potent way to communicate that I know.
Will you all still like me, now that I've been abroad and changed so much? I wondered that. I wondered how much I've actually changed, and how much it's just my perception of myself that's changed by being in new company and new culture all the time. I think you'll still like me. I hope. Will you still approve of me? I wondered that too, and the answer is not quite as clear. I can picture some of you just clucking your tongues and trying to convince me that some of the decisions I've made this semester are wrong, that some of the attitudes I've adopted are inappropriate. But if you still like me, does that give me leverage to change your minds?
Sometimes even I'm weirded out by being in my brain. = ) But mostly I'm happy. Today, for instance, I couldn't be happier if I tried. Well, unless I could have huge hugs from all of you. That would make me happier. Also if I had remembered to shave my legs before wearing a skirt and coming to Blue Bar for the internet (apparently, I learned this today - Italians do not have cappucino after lunch. They have espresso, but not cappucino. Is that odd? I think yes.). I stick out enough without trying - I should probably at least make a vague attempt to fit in. Yes?
Somewhere along the way I passed the 500-post mark of this blog. In fact, I passed the 550 post mark. I feel like that's really a lot. But is it? It's about three years' worth of me thinking out loud to you. I wonder why, as such an internal, private person, I feel OK just talking out loud to the interwebs like this. But I guess it's because I'm still picking and choosing what I'm saying, and I also have time to craft my narrative if I so choose, although often I don't. Has my writing improved at all because I've been writing so frequently on this blog? Will I look back on any of my posts and be proud or happy? Eh. Who knows. I have honestly run out of motivation to really ponder these self-evaluative questions. I'm just me, and I guess that's OK right now. Yes?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Hey loves,
Is it time for another update from Italia? It feels like it is. This morning Elena and I went running again. Whee! And by “Whee!” I mean “Ow ow ow!” We went running only one day last week, our pattern irreparably thrown off by the Sardegna trip, so this week our muscles are a little sorer than usual and our lungs are working a bit harder. It looked threatening and overcast when we got up, but that was actually kind of a motivator, because I love the fog in the morning. The cliff is always in focus, but the hills in the valley are obscured and mysterious. Halfway through our run, though, it did more than look threatening - it started raining. So we picked up the pace quite a bit and pretty much sprinted the last 4th of our run to try and get under shelter before the sky really let loose and soaked us to the bone. It sounds weird, but it was fun, and I laughed a lot. I think running in the rain is sort of akin to dancing around in the rain, and we all know how much I love that.
I realized that maybe I actually do like spring. It’s just not the same kind of liking that I have for fall or winter, and it’s obscured a little bit because it always proceeds so quickly into summer, the one season that I don’t like at all. Don’t get me wrong - I look forward to summer break from school, and good things happen in the summer, but the weather is just horrendous and I loathe it. I wrote a poem once upon a time which ends: “between summer and the silence there will be nothing left of me.” It’s a terrible, cheesy ending line, but it illustrates well that I equate summer weather with a feeling of oppression. I feel like maybe that’s odd, but is it really? Opinions on the worst season?
Alexis, my lovely roommate, turned 22 on Sunday. I felt for her, having to have a birthday in Italia. Sure, it could be cool, but also it’s just weird. And she couldn’t get a package from home on her birthday even, because so many of the packages her mom has already sent have gone astray and never arrived. I think that she doesn’t, honestly, feel all that close to anyone here either, so she was worried that we wouldn’t celebrate her birthday. Well, I don’t know how I always luck out with roommates, but Alexis is really one of the most amazing people ever. She’s great to talk to, and I feel like I’m learning so much from her about mature ways to carry oneself, and about actual compassion. So of course we were going to try and celebrate her birthday in high style! We being Katie, me, and Jeff who did the organizing. But, being secretive, creative people, we wanted to surprise the crap out of her. We didn’t exactly succeed (she knew something was up, but the scope and exact nature of our plans eluded her). But we did leave presents on her bed when she left for church (a journal, which is perfect for Alexis - the only person I ever met who journals even more than Jenn), and then blindfolded her and walked her through the streets to a picnic along her running route, filled with her favorite food/food we invented just for the occasion (the fact that Italy has no salad dressing, for example, leads to creative solutions to salad problem-solving). So her birthday turned out to be more eventful than she expected, and I think that was good. Oh Alexis. I heart that girl. I am going to miss her when we all disperse back into our own little united-states bubble.
Katie’s parents are coming this Thursday! She’s so excited, she can barely sit still at her workstation when she talks about it. I don’t blame her; it’s totally exciting! They’re going to meet up in Rome, and she’s going to travel around with them some, and they’re coming here, and it will be great. She’s pretty close with her parents, I think (she’s the only person I know who discusses her relationship with her parents, which I think is a reliable sign of a close relationship with them). Heaven knows how she’s going to get her portfolios done in time for woodblock printing class, though. She’s still cutting blocks, and hasn’t even cut or obtained her paper yet. Of course, I’m in the same boat, basically, but I don’t have visitors or weekend plans, so that’s a plus for my sanity. My sanity and I aren’t particularly close friends, but I still like to keep an eye on it.
I went to buy stamps today, and as I started to ask for my usual ten stamps, I realized - wait, will I even use ten more stamps? How many letters do I plan on sending? I might only use five between now and the end of the program. How weird is that? So I got five stamps instead. And then I found five dollars.
There have been some hijinks lately. Hijinks of the flirtatious kind. Truitt Seitz, the 27-year-old drawing professor, is showing quite an interest in Alexis lately. And by lately I mean for the last two or three weeks. Or um... basically the whole time Truitt has been here. It’s just gotten really pronounced lately. Alexis’ feelings on the subject are, I think, more complex than she’ll actually admit. He also lives only an hour away from her, and she apparently knows his sister from school. So I have a feeling that the story won’t end when the semester does. At least, Truby shows every inclination to prolong the association.
In any case, it’s just been awkward that he’s crossing the student-professor line so blatantly and frequently. But at least he had the good sense to flirt with someone who’s aware and responsible enough to mitigate the damage. If he’d been flirting with Mary, for instance, odds are that drama would have exploded (Mary being the one who almost slept with her second cousin in Rome, who she hadn’t seen for four years, who barely speaks English - and she barely speaks Italian - well, I probably don’t want to go into the whole saga. But let’s just say Mary lacks good judgment in a lot of areas, including how to relate to her roommate. She and Erin had a number of dramatic fights until they had to move out and switch roommates). So. Romantic hijinks with Truby (we call Professor Skillen “Skills,” Professor Knippers “Knipps,” and Professor Seitz “Truby” - Truitt’s a little sensitive, but Skills and Knipps are totally cool with it).
Then Heffay seemed to be showing an interest in someone! Elena and Katie and I had a betting pool going for a while on who he’d end up dating and when, but we dropped it eventually because he was so determinedly not showing an interest in anyone. So we got kind of excited that someone might win the betting pool after all, but he’s now back to being just brotherly in general. It’s definitely best for all concerned, but still, I really wanted to have an excuse to eat more gelato (whoever wins the bet gets taken out to gelato by the other two). = )
I miss chai tea. I heart mint tea a lot, it’s true, especially with acacia honey in it, but chai tea is also pretty much amazing. I remember when I discovered chai tea and it was like the best thing ever. I haven’t had a cup of chai tea in three months. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Mmmm.... chai tea. *sigh*
Laura speaks such good English. We’ve all been remarking on this lately. Laura is the 22-year-old cousin of our Italian teacher and RA (Federica), in case you’ve forgotten. She took English in high school like everyone else, but at the beginning she was so quiet and loathe to practice it, and she got confused easily when we were asking her questions or something. But in these last couple of weeks, she just is great with it. Her pronunciation is really good, and it comes easily to her, and she understands whatever you ask her regardless of the complexity of the sentence structure. I mean, it’s totally impressive. I wish that I could speak Italian a tenth as good as she speaks English.
Did I tell you that Lucy is coming to visit here? I’m so excited! In just a couple of weeks, I’ll get to see Lucy! Whee! I can’t even tell you how excited I am. I guess it goes back to this: if you’ve done a semester abroad, you’ll understand how excited I am, and if not, then I’m not sure how to tell you.
It will be nice when I am back in the states and I can do more frequent and less lengthy missives. I know it’s sucky to try and read a long blog post or e-mail. But at least you don’t have to contend with the horribleness of my handwriting this way, and I can actually communicate with more people. I think of that as a plus.
Until I talk/hear/type/read all of you again,
Kenzie
P.S.
You know one of the best things about Italy? Napping. In the afternoons sometimes I’ll just lay in my bed and think and look out the window, and then I fall asleep for a little while. I never have time to just look out the window and think when I’m at school.
Is it time for another update from Italia? It feels like it is. This morning Elena and I went running again. Whee! And by “Whee!” I mean “Ow ow ow!” We went running only one day last week, our pattern irreparably thrown off by the Sardegna trip, so this week our muscles are a little sorer than usual and our lungs are working a bit harder. It looked threatening and overcast when we got up, but that was actually kind of a motivator, because I love the fog in the morning. The cliff is always in focus, but the hills in the valley are obscured and mysterious. Halfway through our run, though, it did more than look threatening - it started raining. So we picked up the pace quite a bit and pretty much sprinted the last 4th of our run to try and get under shelter before the sky really let loose and soaked us to the bone. It sounds weird, but it was fun, and I laughed a lot. I think running in the rain is sort of akin to dancing around in the rain, and we all know how much I love that.
I realized that maybe I actually do like spring. It’s just not the same kind of liking that I have for fall or winter, and it’s obscured a little bit because it always proceeds so quickly into summer, the one season that I don’t like at all. Don’t get me wrong - I look forward to summer break from school, and good things happen in the summer, but the weather is just horrendous and I loathe it. I wrote a poem once upon a time which ends: “between summer and the silence there will be nothing left of me.” It’s a terrible, cheesy ending line, but it illustrates well that I equate summer weather with a feeling of oppression. I feel like maybe that’s odd, but is it really? Opinions on the worst season?
Alexis, my lovely roommate, turned 22 on Sunday. I felt for her, having to have a birthday in Italia. Sure, it could be cool, but also it’s just weird. And she couldn’t get a package from home on her birthday even, because so many of the packages her mom has already sent have gone astray and never arrived. I think that she doesn’t, honestly, feel all that close to anyone here either, so she was worried that we wouldn’t celebrate her birthday. Well, I don’t know how I always luck out with roommates, but Alexis is really one of the most amazing people ever. She’s great to talk to, and I feel like I’m learning so much from her about mature ways to carry oneself, and about actual compassion. So of course we were going to try and celebrate her birthday in high style! We being Katie, me, and Jeff who did the organizing. But, being secretive, creative people, we wanted to surprise the crap out of her. We didn’t exactly succeed (she knew something was up, but the scope and exact nature of our plans eluded her). But we did leave presents on her bed when she left for church (a journal, which is perfect for Alexis - the only person I ever met who journals even more than Jenn), and then blindfolded her and walked her through the streets to a picnic along her running route, filled with her favorite food/food we invented just for the occasion (the fact that Italy has no salad dressing, for example, leads to creative solutions to salad problem-solving). So her birthday turned out to be more eventful than she expected, and I think that was good. Oh Alexis. I heart that girl. I am going to miss her when we all disperse back into our own little united-states bubble.
Katie’s parents are coming this Thursday! She’s so excited, she can barely sit still at her workstation when she talks about it. I don’t blame her; it’s totally exciting! They’re going to meet up in Rome, and she’s going to travel around with them some, and they’re coming here, and it will be great. She’s pretty close with her parents, I think (she’s the only person I know who discusses her relationship with her parents, which I think is a reliable sign of a close relationship with them). Heaven knows how she’s going to get her portfolios done in time for woodblock printing class, though. She’s still cutting blocks, and hasn’t even cut or obtained her paper yet. Of course, I’m in the same boat, basically, but I don’t have visitors or weekend plans, so that’s a plus for my sanity. My sanity and I aren’t particularly close friends, but I still like to keep an eye on it.
I went to buy stamps today, and as I started to ask for my usual ten stamps, I realized - wait, will I even use ten more stamps? How many letters do I plan on sending? I might only use five between now and the end of the program. How weird is that? So I got five stamps instead. And then I found five dollars.
There have been some hijinks lately. Hijinks of the flirtatious kind. Truitt Seitz, the 27-year-old drawing professor, is showing quite an interest in Alexis lately. And by lately I mean for the last two or three weeks. Or um... basically the whole time Truitt has been here. It’s just gotten really pronounced lately. Alexis’ feelings on the subject are, I think, more complex than she’ll actually admit. He also lives only an hour away from her, and she apparently knows his sister from school. So I have a feeling that the story won’t end when the semester does. At least, Truby shows every inclination to prolong the association.
In any case, it’s just been awkward that he’s crossing the student-professor line so blatantly and frequently. But at least he had the good sense to flirt with someone who’s aware and responsible enough to mitigate the damage. If he’d been flirting with Mary, for instance, odds are that drama would have exploded (Mary being the one who almost slept with her second cousin in Rome, who she hadn’t seen for four years, who barely speaks English - and she barely speaks Italian - well, I probably don’t want to go into the whole saga. But let’s just say Mary lacks good judgment in a lot of areas, including how to relate to her roommate. She and Erin had a number of dramatic fights until they had to move out and switch roommates). So. Romantic hijinks with Truby (we call Professor Skillen “Skills,” Professor Knippers “Knipps,” and Professor Seitz “Truby” - Truitt’s a little sensitive, but Skills and Knipps are totally cool with it).
Then Heffay seemed to be showing an interest in someone! Elena and Katie and I had a betting pool going for a while on who he’d end up dating and when, but we dropped it eventually because he was so determinedly not showing an interest in anyone. So we got kind of excited that someone might win the betting pool after all, but he’s now back to being just brotherly in general. It’s definitely best for all concerned, but still, I really wanted to have an excuse to eat more gelato (whoever wins the bet gets taken out to gelato by the other two). = )
I miss chai tea. I heart mint tea a lot, it’s true, especially with acacia honey in it, but chai tea is also pretty much amazing. I remember when I discovered chai tea and it was like the best thing ever. I haven’t had a cup of chai tea in three months. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Mmmm.... chai tea. *sigh*
Laura speaks such good English. We’ve all been remarking on this lately. Laura is the 22-year-old cousin of our Italian teacher and RA (Federica), in case you’ve forgotten. She took English in high school like everyone else, but at the beginning she was so quiet and loathe to practice it, and she got confused easily when we were asking her questions or something. But in these last couple of weeks, she just is great with it. Her pronunciation is really good, and it comes easily to her, and she understands whatever you ask her regardless of the complexity of the sentence structure. I mean, it’s totally impressive. I wish that I could speak Italian a tenth as good as she speaks English.
Did I tell you that Lucy is coming to visit here? I’m so excited! In just a couple of weeks, I’ll get to see Lucy! Whee! I can’t even tell you how excited I am. I guess it goes back to this: if you’ve done a semester abroad, you’ll understand how excited I am, and if not, then I’m not sure how to tell you.
It will be nice when I am back in the states and I can do more frequent and less lengthy missives. I know it’s sucky to try and read a long blog post or e-mail. But at least you don’t have to contend with the horribleness of my handwriting this way, and I can actually communicate with more people. I think of that as a plus.
Until I talk/hear/type/read all of you again,
Kenzie
P.S.
You know one of the best things about Italy? Napping. In the afternoons sometimes I’ll just lay in my bed and think and look out the window, and then I fall asleep for a little while. I never have time to just look out the window and think when I’m at school.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
homesick? for reals?
Hey loves,
I confess, this week I’ve hit my first truly homesick patch of the Orvieto trip. Actually, I think it might be my first genuinely homesick patch in years, since sometime freshman year of college (although I don’t remember being particularly homesick, I know I must have been at some point - it’s obligatory). I really do love it here in Orvieto - I don’t want the semester to end yet - I’ve learned so much and I know that this last month and a half is going to teach me a lot more, and it’s so idyllic here in so many ways - but also I’m just ready to leave. And I still have five weeks of classes yet and then two weeks of travel. Seven weeks is a lot of time. But when I realized that the count was going down dramatically - that in a week I’ll be done with woodblock printing, that there are only 19 days left in May, that in a month Greg and Ryan will be here, that in five weeks we’ll be traveling on our own and the semester will be technically over with - well, when I realized all that, I just got this wave of homesickness.
It’s probably kind of funny, actually, me as homesick (it so rarely happens that I just don’t know how to deal with it reasonably). I went into the studio with the intention of working hard on my woodblock prints, but I ended up writing a letter instead, and then just sat for about an hour, not doing anything, just with my head down on my workbench saying to the only other occupant of the studio, which happened to be Jeff, “Heffay, I’m tired. Heffay, I’m bored. Heffay, I have no motivation. Heffay, is it June yet? Heffay, am I being whiney? Heffay, I’m thirsty. Heffay, can we watch a movie? Heffay, I don’t want to do my work. Heffay, what do I do with my woodblocks? Heffay, I’m tired.” Heffay displayed his usual patience and just kept working while I vented my 7-year-old-ness (I swear, that guy is like an infinite well of patience. It’s absurd. I think that’s why everyone picks on him so much - just to see if his patience ever ends). And then Katie and Becca got back from their run and we watched Casino Royale, which provided a good dose of escapism (and people speaking in English. Also as a side note, to my surprise, I enjoyed the movie. It dealt much better with the plotline inevitabilities of James Bond movies, and gave James Bond a little smidgen of humanity, which I approve of. Main characters should always have some smidgen of humanity. My one issue with the plot was the elevator/key bit at the end - they should have done away with that part. It would have been much more tragic and interesting if there had been no key. Also, what was she doing in the elevator in the first place, when none of the other characters where there?).
And then this morning, to cope with my homesickness, I wrote about a bazillion postcards that have been accruing on my desk, and which I just never got around to writing last week, when I intended to. The thought of all the money I’ve spent or will spend on postage this semester cracks me up. Mail is a huge freaking deal here (Alexis is a good example of this - she gets mail, and then saves it for when she feels homesick or discouraged). When they deliver mail it’s like Christmas, and you just feel so darn loved if you got something. Realizing how much it means that someone from home took time to write makes me feel really bad for not sending mail to anyone who was abroad last semester, so I guess I’m overcompensating by sending postcards to practically every person I know this semester. But the clerk in Sardegna didn’t bat an eyelash when I bought fifteen postcards at one whack. So maybe that’s typical behavior for anyone studying abroad?
This is turning out to be kind of a depressing e-mail, isn’t it? But I suppose I can’t be perky all the time. I’m just not built that way. Have no fear, though, the homesickness will pass. I should just throw myself into my work, I suppose, even though I lack any taint of the slightest motivation at the moment, and that would keep me busy and happier. Just as soon as I get my laundry done - until then I haven’t got any clothes to wear in the studio. You remember how few clothes I packed, Mom? Well, somehow I’m still making them stretch two weeks before I do laundry, like I do at school, even though I’ve got a fraction of the clothes. I tell myself I’m just practicing up for those last two weeks of travel, where I’ll be living out of a backpack without even an exorbitantly expensive lavatrice to do my laundry in (it costs 3 euro to do a small load of laundry in the convent’s washing machine!). Possibly this is dysfunctional, but no one else seems to mind - we’re all doing the same thing. = )
Maybe part of being homesick is also just realizing that this is the last week of school for my friends - they’re all doing those things like exams and last-minute-before-summer hangouts. My internal school-clock is telling me that it’s time to be going home, even though for me it really isn’t. Does that make sense? I think it might. But then, it is my head. And if anyone gets what’s going on in my head, it should be me.
This is also a woefully short e-mail - but I can’t help it, because there isn’t really anything going on except the regular day-to-day work and eating and playing and sleeping. I’m reading James Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” which I’ve always been curious about from the title, but which is really only mildly interesting in actuality. Still, isn’t it one of those classic books? So maybe plowing through to the end will be worth it. That’s certainly one thing I love about this semester - there is time to read. Although it’s kind of wasted because there’s not an English-speaking library anywhere, just the few bookshelves in the sala, which is fine, except that apparently no one leaves behind sci-fi or fantasy or kids books or mysteries, which is what I really like to read for fun.
Off to laundry and then the studio,
Kenzie
P.S. My face got better, and my sunburn is practically gone - so it’s a good thing I didn’t bother with the Italian health system. It would have been way more stress than it was worth!
I confess, this week I’ve hit my first truly homesick patch of the Orvieto trip. Actually, I think it might be my first genuinely homesick patch in years, since sometime freshman year of college (although I don’t remember being particularly homesick, I know I must have been at some point - it’s obligatory). I really do love it here in Orvieto - I don’t want the semester to end yet - I’ve learned so much and I know that this last month and a half is going to teach me a lot more, and it’s so idyllic here in so many ways - but also I’m just ready to leave. And I still have five weeks of classes yet and then two weeks of travel. Seven weeks is a lot of time. But when I realized that the count was going down dramatically - that in a week I’ll be done with woodblock printing, that there are only 19 days left in May, that in a month Greg and Ryan will be here, that in five weeks we’ll be traveling on our own and the semester will be technically over with - well, when I realized all that, I just got this wave of homesickness.
It’s probably kind of funny, actually, me as homesick (it so rarely happens that I just don’t know how to deal with it reasonably). I went into the studio with the intention of working hard on my woodblock prints, but I ended up writing a letter instead, and then just sat for about an hour, not doing anything, just with my head down on my workbench saying to the only other occupant of the studio, which happened to be Jeff, “Heffay, I’m tired. Heffay, I’m bored. Heffay, I have no motivation. Heffay, is it June yet? Heffay, am I being whiney? Heffay, I’m thirsty. Heffay, can we watch a movie? Heffay, I don’t want to do my work. Heffay, what do I do with my woodblocks? Heffay, I’m tired.” Heffay displayed his usual patience and just kept working while I vented my 7-year-old-ness (I swear, that guy is like an infinite well of patience. It’s absurd. I think that’s why everyone picks on him so much - just to see if his patience ever ends). And then Katie and Becca got back from their run and we watched Casino Royale, which provided a good dose of escapism (and people speaking in English. Also as a side note, to my surprise, I enjoyed the movie. It dealt much better with the plotline inevitabilities of James Bond movies, and gave James Bond a little smidgen of humanity, which I approve of. Main characters should always have some smidgen of humanity. My one issue with the plot was the elevator/key bit at the end - they should have done away with that part. It would have been much more tragic and interesting if there had been no key. Also, what was she doing in the elevator in the first place, when none of the other characters where there?).
And then this morning, to cope with my homesickness, I wrote about a bazillion postcards that have been accruing on my desk, and which I just never got around to writing last week, when I intended to. The thought of all the money I’ve spent or will spend on postage this semester cracks me up. Mail is a huge freaking deal here (Alexis is a good example of this - she gets mail, and then saves it for when she feels homesick or discouraged). When they deliver mail it’s like Christmas, and you just feel so darn loved if you got something. Realizing how much it means that someone from home took time to write makes me feel really bad for not sending mail to anyone who was abroad last semester, so I guess I’m overcompensating by sending postcards to practically every person I know this semester. But the clerk in Sardegna didn’t bat an eyelash when I bought fifteen postcards at one whack. So maybe that’s typical behavior for anyone studying abroad?
This is turning out to be kind of a depressing e-mail, isn’t it? But I suppose I can’t be perky all the time. I’m just not built that way. Have no fear, though, the homesickness will pass. I should just throw myself into my work, I suppose, even though I lack any taint of the slightest motivation at the moment, and that would keep me busy and happier. Just as soon as I get my laundry done - until then I haven’t got any clothes to wear in the studio. You remember how few clothes I packed, Mom? Well, somehow I’m still making them stretch two weeks before I do laundry, like I do at school, even though I’ve got a fraction of the clothes. I tell myself I’m just practicing up for those last two weeks of travel, where I’ll be living out of a backpack without even an exorbitantly expensive lavatrice to do my laundry in (it costs 3 euro to do a small load of laundry in the convent’s washing machine!). Possibly this is dysfunctional, but no one else seems to mind - we’re all doing the same thing. = )
Maybe part of being homesick is also just realizing that this is the last week of school for my friends - they’re all doing those things like exams and last-minute-before-summer hangouts. My internal school-clock is telling me that it’s time to be going home, even though for me it really isn’t. Does that make sense? I think it might. But then, it is my head. And if anyone gets what’s going on in my head, it should be me.
This is also a woefully short e-mail - but I can’t help it, because there isn’t really anything going on except the regular day-to-day work and eating and playing and sleeping. I’m reading James Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” which I’ve always been curious about from the title, but which is really only mildly interesting in actuality. Still, isn’t it one of those classic books? So maybe plowing through to the end will be worth it. That’s certainly one thing I love about this semester - there is time to read. Although it’s kind of wasted because there’s not an English-speaking library anywhere, just the few bookshelves in the sala, which is fine, except that apparently no one leaves behind sci-fi or fantasy or kids books or mysteries, which is what I really like to read for fun.
Off to laundry and then the studio,
Kenzie
P.S. My face got better, and my sunburn is practically gone - so it’s a good thing I didn’t bother with the Italian health system. It would have been way more stress than it was worth!
Monday, May 07, 2007
Ciao my loves
It’s been a long time - a lot has happened As always, Italy is eventful and adventureful. We went to Sardinia this weekend - it was so fantastic Exhausting, but fantastic. We slept in bungalows right next to the ocean, which unfortunately had no heat, but it was still pretty great. We took the overnight ferry there and back, which was interesting. It kind of sucks to try and sleep for eight hours in those seats - they’re like airplane chairs. The boat was beautiful and big, but not heated all that well, and so I didn’t sleep well at all. The second night we took the ferry Katie and I snuck up to first class, where the seats are larger; we’re small enough to literally curl up into the seat of the chair, so sleeping was a little bit more comfortable. It’s the off season still I guess, so the boat was practically empty and we had the run of it. Unless you got up and walked around, you hardly notice the motion of the boat at all. But that little bit of rocking was pretty soothing, actually. Poor Juana felt a little seasick, but she got over it pretty quickly. Katie and Juana both tried to shower in the handicapped bathroom - for some reason it had a shower head - and I don’t envy them the attempt. I guess after horse camp that one time with Jenn (riding horses, camping, and not showering for a week straight - man, we smelled so bad), not showering for three days is alright with me. Also, there was no lock on the door, so I was way sketched out by the idea of showering there.
I’m still running in the mornings (not every morning anymore though And not this weekend, clearly, when I was busy sightseeing). This leads to occasional adventures too. On Wednesday I got into the kitchen after the run (Alexis estimates it to be almost 2 miles, by the way. Crazy Can you believe it?) and I heard this weird rustling noise. I thought it would be someone in the studio next door, so I went over to find out who was so hardcore that they’d be working before 8 in the morning. Nobody was there, but I kept hearing the same rustling noises. Come back to the kitchen to find a bird swooping around and running into everything. How a bird got trapped in our kitchen I suppose I’ll never know, but I opened the doors and tried to coax it out: “OK, birdie Come this way This is the outside ” While my coaxing probably is a bit nutty, the bird got out without breaking its neck on anything, and that’s what matters. And that’s my little story about a bird in our kitchen. And then I found five dollars.
I realized over the weekend just how bizarre the gender inequality really is this semester. One guy and nineteen women. The number of us all PMSing on the same schedule is staggering. Messiah has a low concentration of males, I realize that, but somehow I’ve always ended up with guy friends anyway. I can’t wait to get away from all these unrelieved females (as much as I’ve come to love some of them), and back into a mildly more balanced group. Because really, nine PMSing women all at once is an awful lot of PMS. That’s almost half the group. I have enough issues dealing with my own mood swings, let alone eight other peoples’ How Jeff (codenamed Heffay) deals with it all is beyond me. He’s got a practically infinite store of patience.
I decided that I love my hair dryer. You know how I was so cold on the ferry? Well, it was cold all weekend, because our bungalow was unheated, and it rained on and off, and I only brought one sweater and no jacket. We did have a hair dryer, though, and Katie and I discovered that it’s flipping amazing to blow-dry yourself when you’re cold. There I am, a 20-year-old college student, sitting on the bed in the bungalow, clothed in every piece of clothing I brought, blow-drying myself through all of my layers of clothing - just to be warm for a little bit. I don’t blame Megan for cracking up when she came in and saw me. I probably did look pretty hysterical. So, let that be a lesson to all of you - make friends with your blow-dryer. It could just save your sanity some cold night at the beach.
Katie was a little disappointed that the water at Sardinia wasn’t brilliant turquoise - the sun boycotted quite a bit of our weekend, at least in the mornings - but I confess I like moody water. Particularly as the sun is going down, and the wind is blowing cold, and it looks like the possibility of turbulence. I dunno, I just like it. Is that odd?
We rented bikes on Saturday, and we biked so much... my butt hurts a lot Everyone, basically, has developed bruises from our intense biking. We ended up biking along the Italian highway for a bit, and that was a little bit scary, but the bikes got us to Porto Pollo, which is beautiful and full of turquoise water and white sand, so it was worth it.
I love return journeys. I realized that on the boat on the way back Saturday night. I just get filled with all kinds of happy endorphins at the thought of being back in my own place. So, in addition to being excited to be back in Orvieto after such a long exhausting fun weekend, I’m getting excited to go back home again for real at the end of this semester. Even if it will be for only a few days - it’s going to be good. And then I have to move up to Messiah again and make a place for myself - but I’ve done that before. No big deal. I can do it again. Anyway, homecomings. Pretty darn cool. Particularly if there are people waiting for you.
I got my first sunburn in three years this weekend, too. Sadly, just on my face, so the rest of my is as pale as ever, but my face is bright red. Katie says I look permanently embarrassed, because I laugh a lot and my face is always red. Maybe it’ll turn into freckles and a tan soon, though, and I can stop looking permanently embarrassed (yes, I have freckles, too ). So, Michael Craig, I guess that means I’m not a creature of the night anymore At least not until next semester, when I go back into the darkroom. = ) I got the sunburn sitting on a rock outside of a fairy-tale forest near the water - it’s a beautiful spot. None of the photos I took really are able to describe the fairy-tale-ness of the forest, so you’ll just have to use your imagination. It was beautiful, though. And a good place for a nap.
Man, on the bus from Palau to Olbia, there was a seriously crazy man on the bus. He smelled really funky, and he kept singing to himself in French and Italian, and just talking basically the whole time. I’m not sure what was up with him, but it was interesting. I suppose being educated about crazy people is part of the european experience?
One thing I hope never to see after this Italian trip: pizza. I am boycotting pizza after this trip. For at least six months, and possibly for the rest of my life. It’s cheap and easy to find here, but man, I am so sick of pizza. If I never see another piece of pizza in my life, I’ll be happy. Unless I’m stranded starving in a desert somewhere in which case I’ll take the pizza.
I feel like our group has bonded really strongly. I only realized how much this weekend, but we fit one another really well, and we know how to deal with everyone’s moods, and we just sort of take care of everyone regardless of whether they’re pissed off or freaking out or sick or hurt or what. It’s good - I don’t think my friends and I even bonded with intensely during college, and I thought those bonds were really close. I feel totally cradled by my group here, and that’s a lovely feeling. I was looking around the ferry, at people sleeping on the floors and reading in their chairs, and I was thinking how much I love some of these girls - and I realized, this must be what it’s like to have sisters. Except for the fact that since we’re not actually related, we don’t really fight =)
The funniest story of the weekend award definitely goes to Katie Ness. She was on the island - La Maddelena - and she, Elena, and Jeff were biking around looking for a beach. Well, they never really found a beach, just harbors. But they were like, hey, we’ve come all this way, we’ve just got to wade in the water, beach or no beach. So they did. Eventually Katie had enough and pulled herself out of the water onto a rock - and smack into a huge pile of bird doo. I mean, the back of her jeans were caked with bird poop Elena apparently almost wet herself laughing. It smelled so terrible, though, Katie was like, “I’ve got to wash these out What do I do?” Jeff, it turns out, was wearing swim trunks on under his pants, so Katie stole his pants to wear while she washed her jeans out in the nasty sea-weedy-harbor-fishy-water. The pants were so huge on her, though, it was ridiculous. Then Jeff needed his pants back, so Katie put her sopping wet pants on, and according to Elena developed a weird waddle to compensate for the uncomfortableness of it all. There were also some fishermen watching this whole proceeding- so Katie has flashed a few Italian fishermen, as well as sitting in bird doo, and slamming her finger in the bungalow door in a completely unrelated series of events. Let me tell you, with Katie Ness, it is a never-ending string of accidental adventures.
We also had a small fire while we were in Sardinia - it was hysterical. First of all no one could get it going, and then Juana came along and worked her magic. So there were about five of us huddled around the fire warming our hands, and somehow we ended up doing this game where we all make our hands as hot as we can stand them, then someone says “go” and we put our hands up on each others’ faces, standing around the fire in a circle. Actually, it feels amazing when you’re freezing and someone puts their warm hands on your face. It was so random and bizarre, but it was funny.
And now, my loves, I’ve go to go, because I’ve got to catch up on a whole weekend’s worth of homework in woodblock printing class. My hands were really glad for the break, though Love and hugs from Italia,
Mackenzie
P.S. According to Heffay, I’ve developed 7-year-old proficiency in Italian now Whee That’s going from being a 2-year-old to being a 7-year-old in a couple of months = D
It’s been a long time - a lot has happened As always, Italy is eventful and adventureful. We went to Sardinia this weekend - it was so fantastic Exhausting, but fantastic. We slept in bungalows right next to the ocean, which unfortunately had no heat, but it was still pretty great. We took the overnight ferry there and back, which was interesting. It kind of sucks to try and sleep for eight hours in those seats - they’re like airplane chairs. The boat was beautiful and big, but not heated all that well, and so I didn’t sleep well at all. The second night we took the ferry Katie and I snuck up to first class, where the seats are larger; we’re small enough to literally curl up into the seat of the chair, so sleeping was a little bit more comfortable. It’s the off season still I guess, so the boat was practically empty and we had the run of it. Unless you got up and walked around, you hardly notice the motion of the boat at all. But that little bit of rocking was pretty soothing, actually. Poor Juana felt a little seasick, but she got over it pretty quickly. Katie and Juana both tried to shower in the handicapped bathroom - for some reason it had a shower head - and I don’t envy them the attempt. I guess after horse camp that one time with Jenn (riding horses, camping, and not showering for a week straight - man, we smelled so bad), not showering for three days is alright with me. Also, there was no lock on the door, so I was way sketched out by the idea of showering there.
I’m still running in the mornings (not every morning anymore though And not this weekend, clearly, when I was busy sightseeing). This leads to occasional adventures too. On Wednesday I got into the kitchen after the run (Alexis estimates it to be almost 2 miles, by the way. Crazy Can you believe it?) and I heard this weird rustling noise. I thought it would be someone in the studio next door, so I went over to find out who was so hardcore that they’d be working before 8 in the morning. Nobody was there, but I kept hearing the same rustling noises. Come back to the kitchen to find a bird swooping around and running into everything. How a bird got trapped in our kitchen I suppose I’ll never know, but I opened the doors and tried to coax it out: “OK, birdie Come this way This is the outside ” While my coaxing probably is a bit nutty, the bird got out without breaking its neck on anything, and that’s what matters. And that’s my little story about a bird in our kitchen. And then I found five dollars.
I realized over the weekend just how bizarre the gender inequality really is this semester. One guy and nineteen women. The number of us all PMSing on the same schedule is staggering. Messiah has a low concentration of males, I realize that, but somehow I’ve always ended up with guy friends anyway. I can’t wait to get away from all these unrelieved females (as much as I’ve come to love some of them), and back into a mildly more balanced group. Because really, nine PMSing women all at once is an awful lot of PMS. That’s almost half the group. I have enough issues dealing with my own mood swings, let alone eight other peoples’ How Jeff (codenamed Heffay) deals with it all is beyond me. He’s got a practically infinite store of patience.
I decided that I love my hair dryer. You know how I was so cold on the ferry? Well, it was cold all weekend, because our bungalow was unheated, and it rained on and off, and I only brought one sweater and no jacket. We did have a hair dryer, though, and Katie and I discovered that it’s flipping amazing to blow-dry yourself when you’re cold. There I am, a 20-year-old college student, sitting on the bed in the bungalow, clothed in every piece of clothing I brought, blow-drying myself through all of my layers of clothing - just to be warm for a little bit. I don’t blame Megan for cracking up when she came in and saw me. I probably did look pretty hysterical. So, let that be a lesson to all of you - make friends with your blow-dryer. It could just save your sanity some cold night at the beach.
Katie was a little disappointed that the water at Sardinia wasn’t brilliant turquoise - the sun boycotted quite a bit of our weekend, at least in the mornings - but I confess I like moody water. Particularly as the sun is going down, and the wind is blowing cold, and it looks like the possibility of turbulence. I dunno, I just like it. Is that odd?
We rented bikes on Saturday, and we biked so much... my butt hurts a lot Everyone, basically, has developed bruises from our intense biking. We ended up biking along the Italian highway for a bit, and that was a little bit scary, but the bikes got us to Porto Pollo, which is beautiful and full of turquoise water and white sand, so it was worth it.
I love return journeys. I realized that on the boat on the way back Saturday night. I just get filled with all kinds of happy endorphins at the thought of being back in my own place. So, in addition to being excited to be back in Orvieto after such a long exhausting fun weekend, I’m getting excited to go back home again for real at the end of this semester. Even if it will be for only a few days - it’s going to be good. And then I have to move up to Messiah again and make a place for myself - but I’ve done that before. No big deal. I can do it again. Anyway, homecomings. Pretty darn cool. Particularly if there are people waiting for you.
I got my first sunburn in three years this weekend, too. Sadly, just on my face, so the rest of my is as pale as ever, but my face is bright red. Katie says I look permanently embarrassed, because I laugh a lot and my face is always red. Maybe it’ll turn into freckles and a tan soon, though, and I can stop looking permanently embarrassed (yes, I have freckles, too ). So, Michael Craig, I guess that means I’m not a creature of the night anymore At least not until next semester, when I go back into the darkroom. = ) I got the sunburn sitting on a rock outside of a fairy-tale forest near the water - it’s a beautiful spot. None of the photos I took really are able to describe the fairy-tale-ness of the forest, so you’ll just have to use your imagination. It was beautiful, though. And a good place for a nap.
Man, on the bus from Palau to Olbia, there was a seriously crazy man on the bus. He smelled really funky, and he kept singing to himself in French and Italian, and just talking basically the whole time. I’m not sure what was up with him, but it was interesting. I suppose being educated about crazy people is part of the european experience?
One thing I hope never to see after this Italian trip: pizza. I am boycotting pizza after this trip. For at least six months, and possibly for the rest of my life. It’s cheap and easy to find here, but man, I am so sick of pizza. If I never see another piece of pizza in my life, I’ll be happy. Unless I’m stranded starving in a desert somewhere in which case I’ll take the pizza.
I feel like our group has bonded really strongly. I only realized how much this weekend, but we fit one another really well, and we know how to deal with everyone’s moods, and we just sort of take care of everyone regardless of whether they’re pissed off or freaking out or sick or hurt or what. It’s good - I don’t think my friends and I even bonded with intensely during college, and I thought those bonds were really close. I feel totally cradled by my group here, and that’s a lovely feeling. I was looking around the ferry, at people sleeping on the floors and reading in their chairs, and I was thinking how much I love some of these girls - and I realized, this must be what it’s like to have sisters. Except for the fact that since we’re not actually related, we don’t really fight =)
The funniest story of the weekend award definitely goes to Katie Ness. She was on the island - La Maddelena - and she, Elena, and Jeff were biking around looking for a beach. Well, they never really found a beach, just harbors. But they were like, hey, we’ve come all this way, we’ve just got to wade in the water, beach or no beach. So they did. Eventually Katie had enough and pulled herself out of the water onto a rock - and smack into a huge pile of bird doo. I mean, the back of her jeans were caked with bird poop Elena apparently almost wet herself laughing. It smelled so terrible, though, Katie was like, “I’ve got to wash these out What do I do?” Jeff, it turns out, was wearing swim trunks on under his pants, so Katie stole his pants to wear while she washed her jeans out in the nasty sea-weedy-harbor-fishy-water. The pants were so huge on her, though, it was ridiculous. Then Jeff needed his pants back, so Katie put her sopping wet pants on, and according to Elena developed a weird waddle to compensate for the uncomfortableness of it all. There were also some fishermen watching this whole proceeding- so Katie has flashed a few Italian fishermen, as well as sitting in bird doo, and slamming her finger in the bungalow door in a completely unrelated series of events. Let me tell you, with Katie Ness, it is a never-ending string of accidental adventures.
We also had a small fire while we were in Sardinia - it was hysterical. First of all no one could get it going, and then Juana came along and worked her magic. So there were about five of us huddled around the fire warming our hands, and somehow we ended up doing this game where we all make our hands as hot as we can stand them, then someone says “go” and we put our hands up on each others’ faces, standing around the fire in a circle. Actually, it feels amazing when you’re freezing and someone puts their warm hands on your face. It was so random and bizarre, but it was funny.
And now, my loves, I’ve go to go, because I’ve got to catch up on a whole weekend’s worth of homework in woodblock printing class. My hands were really glad for the break, though Love and hugs from Italia,
Mackenzie
P.S. According to Heffay, I’ve developed 7-year-old proficiency in Italian now Whee That’s going from being a 2-year-old to being a 7-year-old in a couple of months = D
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