Hello my loves!
Once again it’s time for a substantial update from Italia. I find myself already dissociating from living here with the knowledge that the end is coming in a matter of days - the countdown is in single digits. I mean, probably it’s sad, but I’ve accepted the inevitability of leaving, and I doubt that I will have much trouble saying goodbye, especially in light of having such an exciting summer planned. Oh, the countdown to the end of the program? Six days.
Katie, Elena and I go into the studio and have long conversations together before we even start working - it’s great quality time to spend with my future roommates, and I love it. Just the three of us, in a semester where solitude has been decidedly hard to find, in the early-morning cool in the shade of the garage. By now the stiff cloth of the gloves has molded to fit our working positions, and the chisels fit easily in the curve of our fingers, so we sit on top of our workstations fiddling with them and swinging our legs as we discuss - whatever. Yesterday we had a conversation about saying goodbye. It turns out that I am the only one who refuses to look back or wave after I’ve already said goodbye in airports. I just think it’s better that way. I’ve said goodbye, and there’s no use prolonging that goodbye a few more minutes. I’m leaving and that’s that. Odd? Or reasonable?
On Thursday, I walked back alone from San Paulo (the new convent, where sculpting class is held) to San Ludovico (the old convent, where we currently live). I had my head down, and I really walked fast. It was almost lunch-time, and the usual Spring thunderclouds were glowering over the roof of the duomo. Imagine my surprise, then, when a little old lady with short frizzed out hair (wearing the nearly universal garb of elderly Italian women. . . a black knee-length skirt, a floral shirt, and a black jacket) interrupted my charge and rattled off (in Italian, very quickly), some unintelligible paragraph involving much gesticulating towards her head and ending in the query: “c’e mercoledi o giovedi oggi?” Oh. . . I thought, she wants to know if today is Wednesday or Thursday? What? So I smiled politely and breathed a sigh of relief that I did, in fact, know what day it was (sometimes, I admit, I haven’t got a clue) and replied, “Giovedi.” “Gratzie!” she smiled very widely and toddled off down the road, eminently pleased that it was, in fact, a Thursday afternoon.
I don’t know if I am vaguely recognizable as someone who knows their way around or what, but several people have come up to me in the street lately to ask directions (I expect you’re saying: heaven help them! Mackenzie can’t find her way out of a paper bag!). In one way it makes me happy to have someone stop me and rattle off Italian and expect me to understand. What pleases me even more? When I can actually give them correct directions! I know it’s a shocking thought, but several times I’ve been able to help people find l’ascensori, or the wall, or the duomo, or just the public W.C. Entertaining, no?
There’s a huge group of Germans here this week. And by huge I mean. . . well, there are 15 or 20 of them, led by an imposing woman the nuns refer to simply as “la signora.” It’s really very much like a spy novel, actually. “La gruppa di la signora,” Therese pulled me into the corner of the refettorio and whispered to me, “dunque non metti questi su tutti i tavoli.” (“The group of the signora, so don’t put these on all of the tables.”) I nodded gravely and sprang to do Therese’s bidding (all the while wishing I had some sweet spy gear, like explosion-making devices). The most extraordinary measures have to be taken, too, so that we do not disturb the Germans during their noon meal, while still somehow managing to clean up after our own, and everything must be on time. The german signora is, in fact, at least six feet tall, has very fierce dark eyebrows and honey-colored hair (clearly dyed over grey) and wears very flowing, loose floral robes. While I could easily imagine her leading a cavalry charge (floral robes flapping in the wind like arabic costumes), it’s absurd to see her every morning leading the Germans in singing exercises, which she does with commendable regularity. Sometimes they inhabit the courtyard, sometimes they inhabit the narrow piano room, but they always begin the day by singing (and every meal is heralded by some sort of song). One morning they were holding hands in a circle and singing with great gusto. This morning, they were practicing chords. Some of the visiting Americans pulled me aside in the refettorio yesterday morning and asked me, “are the nuns having services? Is that why there’s singing?” No, I wanted to respond, There are only three nuns, and none of them are men, so that military air you’re hearing could not possibly be the nuns at their morning services. But instead I said: “The nuns do have a service at 7:30, I think, but that’s actually a group of German tourists.”
As you can see, I’ve been quite good at subduing my internal monologue lately.
This is probably terrible to admit, but I love waking up without Alexis in the room. Today, for instance, her alarm went off only twice, and she got up very early to prepare presents for her family (she’s leaving chocolate and flowers in their rooms for when they arrive - how sweet is that?). So I stayed in bed until she’d finished showering, blow-drying her hair, and all of that jazz. Just so that I could have some time to myself in the room this morning, with the Germans’ singing coming through the windows, just looking at the clear blue sky and the swarms of swallows swooping around catching - well, whatever it is that swallows catch and eat. It put me in a heck of good mood.
There has been some interesting grading controversy lately. I can’t really join in, because, due to kitchen duty cleaning up after the mysteriously musical Germans, I didn’t get my grade for woodblock printing from Skills like everyone else. Skills is kind of hard to catch lately - he’s busy with some conference and moving the program and stuff like that - so, several days later, I still don’t know my grade. In any case, several students feel upset about their grades, for varying reasons. Some people feel that they should have gotten A’s, because they tried really hard.
Well that, my friends, strikes me as a ridiculously naive demand. I don’t even go into my major courses expecting A’s just because I work really hard - and I do work really hard! To expect to go into a class where you know nothing whatsoever about the subject matter or skills required and get an A because you tried hard is absurd. Particularly when work ethic or effort aren’t even on the grading rubric. Get over it.
Secondly, some people are upset because supposedly all the art majors in the class got A’s and all the non-art majors got B’s. Well. First of all, they can’t possibly even know that, because Alexis and I still haven’t gotten our grades. Nor did the person making the accusations have any idea what kind of grades Katie or Elena made (and we’re three of the four art majors in the class!). Secondly, Knipps was pretty generous with grades all around I feel. The primary plaintiff in this case, if I had been the professor, would have failed the class. Most of the other non art majors? They’d have gotten C’s. A few would have gotten B+’s. I hate that they’re complaining about their grades - if they had any idea, they’d take those grades, shut up and be thankful. And if he extends to the art majors the same kind of grace he extended to the non-art majors, well, that’s fair, and you’re concerned about fairness, yes? I hardly think they could look at the work involved and not admit that the work of the art majors was a cut above everyone else’s - just because we’ve had so much practice doing what we do, and we have a little more conceptual sophistication. Thirdly, three of the four art majors in the class way exceeded the requirements of the project in service of their concept. We had more images than required by the syllabus, we had more color images than required by the syllabus, we had way more double and triple-block prints than required by the syllabus, we made the effort to cut all of our text ourselves rather than pasting in computer-printed text.
But, all in all, the controversy is really just entertaining. I think we all needed something to occupy our minds beyond the fact that the semester is ending. And this controversy provides an opportunity for everyone to be righteously indignant in their own way, and discuss fervently the stupidity of everyone else with their own particular set of close friends. Welcome to convent life! Let’s give it one big last hurrah of gossip before we all leave!
Last night was a good night. We decided to do the tourist-y thing in Orvieto one last time and go see “Orvieto sotteranea,” a tour all about the Etruscan caves/cellars/dovecotes under our very feet. We’d have made Skills proud. Because of the great education he gave us about Orvieto, when the guide asked us what these rooms full of square holes in the walls were for, everyone else yelled out “wine!” and we yelled out “pigeons!” The other groups laughed at us, but we were right!
Our tour guide’s accent was atrocious, by the way. Katie couldn’t look at anyone else while she was talking, or she’d bust out laughing. I’m not sure if it was the strange places where she put the emphasis, or the fact that it sounded like she’d very carefully copied the accent of someone who spoke English in a very southern way (so that the Italian and southern accents did some totally bizarre meld of sounds) or if it was just the quick way that she repeated words over and over and over and over at the end of sentences. In any case, it was hysterical. I wish that I could duplicate it for you.
We all just chilled on the couches in the sala that night, talking and listening to Megan’s collection of Dane Cook comedy routines. Jeff gave us hand massages, because we’re all so freaking sore (Katie and I have been giving each other hand massages, but our hands are so sore that to massage someone else’s hands is kind of a conundrum). He gives good hand massages. I sort of fell asleep, though, while he was massaging my hand, and had to be woken up to go to bed. Stone carving really is just exhausting, and not only physically. The effort of focusing on something so tedious all day is pretty sucky. I can’t wait until it’s done - only five more days! Whee!
Speaking of countdowns: Greg is coming in two days.
The latest topic of speculation and drama, besides grading, is the difficulties of packing our suitcases. Hmm. It’s a difficulty indeed. More pressing, however, to my mind, is the question: what to do about the last two souvenirs I need to buy? And how am I going to live out of a backpack for two weeks? How frugal do I need to be in those last two weeks? What happened to my calculator?
Tune in next time, at this same time, at this same place, for the answers to these pressing questions and more.
Love,
Kenzie
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Thursday, June 07, 2007
far and silent lightning
It's always nice when one's brain and one's heart reach a truce. Unfortunately, I am not always a party to their articulation of the truce - so I have no idea why it happened a few days ago. Except that maybe Mom laughing hysterically at my problems put them into a more handle-able perspective for me? It sounds like an unusual cure, for sure, but I'll take what I can get.
This post should be full of profundity.
But I am not really that interested in profundity at the moment. Instead, I am interested in finding out where my cappucino has gone to. Dove il cappucino? Desidero un cappucino, adesso. The decor of Blue Bar is really not that pleasing - I do not come for atmosphere. I come for caffeine. Full stop.
If my hands don't stop hurting soon, I am going to break down and cry. Actually, I kind of wish that I could just have my little inevitable stress-crying bout right now so that I could stop being on the verge of it for days at a time. Over the weirdest things, too. Alexis, Jeff, and Esther denied me access to one of their poetry workshopping sessions. . . well, so what? I'm not in the class, so it's a perfectly reasonable thing for them to do. I've just never been on the outside of a writing group in my life. It was a weird feeling, like the validity of my poetic identity had been denied. I didn't like it much. It must be depressing to be just an art major.
Will I still drink this much coca cola when I'm in the United States?
I think I need to go in search of my cappucino. Like, deep sea diving, only for caffeinated goodness.
Love,
Kenzie
This post should be full of profundity.
But I am not really that interested in profundity at the moment. Instead, I am interested in finding out where my cappucino has gone to. Dove il cappucino? Desidero un cappucino, adesso. The decor of Blue Bar is really not that pleasing - I do not come for atmosphere. I come for caffeine. Full stop.
If my hands don't stop hurting soon, I am going to break down and cry. Actually, I kind of wish that I could just have my little inevitable stress-crying bout right now so that I could stop being on the verge of it for days at a time. Over the weirdest things, too. Alexis, Jeff, and Esther denied me access to one of their poetry workshopping sessions. . . well, so what? I'm not in the class, so it's a perfectly reasonable thing for them to do. I've just never been on the outside of a writing group in my life. It was a weird feeling, like the validity of my poetic identity had been denied. I didn't like it much. It must be depressing to be just an art major.
Will I still drink this much coca cola when I'm in the United States?
I think I need to go in search of my cappucino. Like, deep sea diving, only for caffeinated goodness.
Love,
Kenzie
Monday, June 04, 2007
It is difficult to know one's own mind. I should add this to my portfolio, or make a second portfolio so that it's some kind of series. First offering: It is difficult to say that I love you. Second offering: It is difficult to know my own mind. Probably that would be a great hit.
I'm worried. Those two weeks of travel at the end of the semester? It is hard for me to cope without alone time. On vacations one seldom gets alone time of any kind. And when I do not get alone time I get pretty cranky. Also, I will be traveling with three extroverts. Hmm. Difficult.
Also: Stone carving. It's kicking my butt. My muscles are acclimating (my joints unfortunately are not), but my work pace has slowed to a crawl, and I am having a heck of a time picking out all the forms that need to exist by the end of this week. My fellow students have become vivid cautionary tales of what happens when you try to rush it with the wrong tools: big chunks of stuff break off irreparably. It's scary to watch. A lot of swears have been flying around the studio lately ("Tompkins said a swear!").
On an up note, it was great to have Lucy come out and visit. It made me miss the rest of my school friends really a lot. I can't wait to have girly tea-time with you again/eat dinner/have a geeky conversation/Pro Tempore/take long walks/pretend to have a study party but really just a normal party. . .
It is funny how one piece of mail can be so important feeling. i didn't expect this particular piece of mail at all, I was completely surprised. I've always abhorred/laughed at people whose blog posts are all ambiguous and mysterious, and they don't really tell you what's going on, but they allude portentiously to events in the background. Well, here I am, doing the same thing, at least sort of. I got mail. It felt important. In one way, that really is the entirety of the story. To get all of it, you may have needed to be around for the past nine years (or since my birth).
I didn't realize that in having a boyfriend I was taking such a huge step away from the way I'd ordered my life before. Of course, I didn't realize that in coming to Italy I was taking such a huge step away from the way I'd ordered my life before. I guess what freaks me the hell out about going back home is trying to incorporate all these changes into my real life. That is, I realize I will have to give certain things up in order to keep certain good things about my life right now, but I also want to keep the good things of my life before. So it's complicated. I wish that I could revert back to being 18 when I felt more like I could bluff my way through things, but at 20 I've started to realize just how little I know. Is this what's called adulthood?
I'm sure I will be more optimistic with my life when stone carving is done, never fear. I think it must just be the physical discomfort of life right now which is pushing me over the edge of "complicated" and into the realm of "angst." Or maybe it's just the craziness of study abroad in general which is the most stretching experience I've ever had, and not just stretching but pushing and pulling and punching. Study abroad also fights dirty, and throws in a few bites and scratches. Be warned.
I meant that to sound kind of wryly humorous, but probably it just sounded depressed. Sorry.
Anyway, I've got to go back to the convent, because it is nearly curfew time. Keep me in mind, please, these last few weeks. I feel rather crushed at the thought of . . . well, just about everything involving concentration or intelligent effort. It's one of those days.
Love,
Kenzie
I'm worried. Those two weeks of travel at the end of the semester? It is hard for me to cope without alone time. On vacations one seldom gets alone time of any kind. And when I do not get alone time I get pretty cranky. Also, I will be traveling with three extroverts. Hmm. Difficult.
Also: Stone carving. It's kicking my butt. My muscles are acclimating (my joints unfortunately are not), but my work pace has slowed to a crawl, and I am having a heck of a time picking out all the forms that need to exist by the end of this week. My fellow students have become vivid cautionary tales of what happens when you try to rush it with the wrong tools: big chunks of stuff break off irreparably. It's scary to watch. A lot of swears have been flying around the studio lately ("Tompkins said a swear!").
On an up note, it was great to have Lucy come out and visit. It made me miss the rest of my school friends really a lot. I can't wait to have girly tea-time with you again/eat dinner/have a geeky conversation/Pro Tempore/take long walks/pretend to have a study party but really just a normal party. . .
It is funny how one piece of mail can be so important feeling. i didn't expect this particular piece of mail at all, I was completely surprised. I've always abhorred/laughed at people whose blog posts are all ambiguous and mysterious, and they don't really tell you what's going on, but they allude portentiously to events in the background. Well, here I am, doing the same thing, at least sort of. I got mail. It felt important. In one way, that really is the entirety of the story. To get all of it, you may have needed to be around for the past nine years (or since my birth).
I didn't realize that in having a boyfriend I was taking such a huge step away from the way I'd ordered my life before. Of course, I didn't realize that in coming to Italy I was taking such a huge step away from the way I'd ordered my life before. I guess what freaks me the hell out about going back home is trying to incorporate all these changes into my real life. That is, I realize I will have to give certain things up in order to keep certain good things about my life right now, but I also want to keep the good things of my life before. So it's complicated. I wish that I could revert back to being 18 when I felt more like I could bluff my way through things, but at 20 I've started to realize just how little I know. Is this what's called adulthood?
I'm sure I will be more optimistic with my life when stone carving is done, never fear. I think it must just be the physical discomfort of life right now which is pushing me over the edge of "complicated" and into the realm of "angst." Or maybe it's just the craziness of study abroad in general which is the most stretching experience I've ever had, and not just stretching but pushing and pulling and punching. Study abroad also fights dirty, and throws in a few bites and scratches. Be warned.
I meant that to sound kind of wryly humorous, but probably it just sounded depressed. Sorry.
Anyway, I've got to go back to the convent, because it is nearly curfew time. Keep me in mind, please, these last few weeks. I feel rather crushed at the thought of . . . well, just about everything involving concentration or intelligent effort. It's one of those days.
Love,
Kenzie
Friday, June 01, 2007
i hardly ever ask rhetorical questions
Hi my loves!
Lucy is here. It's good. it makes me miss all of you back home even more, but it is so good to see her again and be able to hang out around here with a friend from home. I am pretty excited now for when Greg and Ryan arrive - which is only about 10 days away.
Corpus Domini/Christi is coming up soon . . . it's apparently a huge thing, and I am very very interested in yet another civic holiday which is very religious.
Stone Carving is going really slowly, but I hurt less than before, so that is a plus. Hopefully I will still not be sore by the end of the weekend.
We are considering a day trip tomorrow, which is exciting.
This is pretty fragmented, but then so is my brain.
Love,
Kenzie
Lucy is here. It's good. it makes me miss all of you back home even more, but it is so good to see her again and be able to hang out around here with a friend from home. I am pretty excited now for when Greg and Ryan arrive - which is only about 10 days away.
Corpus Domini/Christi is coming up soon . . . it's apparently a huge thing, and I am very very interested in yet another civic holiday which is very religious.
Stone Carving is going really slowly, but I hurt less than before, so that is a plus. Hopefully I will still not be sore by the end of the weekend.
We are considering a day trip tomorrow, which is exciting.
This is pretty fragmented, but then so is my brain.
Love,
Kenzie
Thursday, May 24, 2007
ever eccentric
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?
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 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!
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