The Fall Collection

Theme: Re-read

2012-01-15T13:16:00.000-08:00

Elaborating on the theme of returns and branching out from our usual poetry assignments, I'd like to take time this week to rediscover our favorite poems, and perhaps discover some new ones. It's easy to get stuck in a stylistic rut when then only work you ever read is your own. I think it's important to keep reading poetry if one hopes to write it, but that can be difficult with school and work and then endless allure of novels and histories and all things prose.

This week, our assignment will be to revisit a favorite poem and write something about it. Notice its structure, its central theme - what is it that makes this particular work compelling? If you have the time, you might try to also find a new poem that strikes you in a different way and explore how it has been crafted. Happy reading!

Returns - Susan

2012-01-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

After Christmas

I will not write about home.

You can never go back, that much

is well documented.

Here are the things I can return:

1 T-shirt, too tight around the middle

3 Spiral notebooks, poorly bound

1 Textbook, for a class not taken

One can give back what is useless, or broken.

One can lay claim to something new.

The former cannot re-emerge as the latter.

One can return, but not return to.

There are no stories in objects untouched,

spaces uninhabited, clothes as yet uncreased.

The old stories are gone.

They are in that home, whose doors are locked.

This emptiness is yours to fill –

Return

2012-01-13T12:16:00.000-08:00

To return is to
turn into yourself.
As an archaeologist
carefully brushes years
of dust aside
to uncover the pieces
of symbols of life
left behind,
I parse my way
through odd things;
crumbling relationships,
disintegrating memories
seeking some fundamental truth--
only to find that the heart
of the substance
is the dust.

New Year, New Theme: Returns

2012-01-08T13:56:00.000-08:00

For this week's exploration, we are going to delve into the idea of 'returns,' a common idea this time of year. Whether you are wishing someone many happy returns, returning a sweater that just isn't you, returning home for the holidays, or returning to your daily life after a holiday trip, returns are popping up all over the place.

A many happy returns to you!

A Recipe - Susan

2011-11-28T17:19:00.001-08:00

With your hands, pull together

this shaggy dough,

marbled with sweet butter,

smooth as the skin

across his shoulders, and also

freckled, with cinnamon and salt.

Apples for sweetness –

slice them thinly,

mound them up and tuck them in.

There will be too many to fit,

eat one with honey,

lick your fingers clean.

Play the serpent.

Kiss his lips and let him taste

the nectar on your tongue.

The air is heavy,

perfumed, sweet and spicy.

Realize, you are naked.

Eat your fill.

On Vegetarianism and Monogamy - Naomi

2011-11-28T10:43:00.001-08:00

On Vegetarianism and Monogamy

First I
sauteed the onions
until the opaque became
translucent
Alternative ingredients
build and thicken the dressing
Substituting animal fruits for
kinder, inanimate nutrients

Meeting daily caloric needs
of intimacy can be strained.
Hunting and gathering
compliments
and touches
But to refrain from
hunting--
against natural instincts--
evolutionarily seems
counterproductive.

And yet--
the body moves more freely
not weighed down
with dense
digestion

And while beads
form and glisten
on the browning
skin of the turkey
I know
it will not be me
who dismantles
the strips of meat
with my tongue

Food, glorious food!

2011-11-22T07:05:00.001-08:00

In honor of Thanksgiving, I propose we write poetry about FOOD! Food is such a big part of our, or any, culture. So much of Susan and my time together has been around various kitchen tables, enjoying amazing food with people we love. There are wonderful amazing things that people are doing with food, and also hurtful ways that food is used against us. This is the first time I am preparing Thanksgiving dinner, and I am looking forward to doing some serious meditating on the food we eat, and the wonderful people I will be eating with!

News Poem

2011-11-07T18:16:00.001-08:00

For this poem I drew inspiration from National Geographic - Jimmy's mom got us a subscription last Christmas and it has been a monthly source of wonder.

Telescope

I want to talk about peripheries:

how we define ourselves by what surrounds us –

and what we keep at bay.

I was reading about the North,

about Scandinavia, up close to the Arctic.

There are people there, called Sami –

at the edge of all things, just before unending white.

They herd the reindeer, sing to them,

move with the living, beating, tide of fur and hoof

across imagined borders, inked and named

in far off, warmer places, where the lines are drawn.

I saw a picture, once, of galaxies colliding –

an image of the past so distant,

the mind recoils from the knowing.

Four arms encircled, spiraled tighter, and there,

became a Rose.

These stories are not connected.

Or, if they are, it is only from the outside,

looking in.

Don't Ask for the Meaning- Naomi

2011-11-01T13:53:00.000-07:00

Here is my poem from the Social Media Found theme. All were notes on my Twitter feed. Luckily I follow some of the world's greatest minds, so my samples were extraordinary. Thanks New Yorker, John Darnielle, and Neil Gaiman!

Don't Ask for the Meaning

Now's the perfect time
Of the day,
lonely, cold, wet Halloween,
Beautiful and amazing.
Looking forward
Finally, the cries of our spiritual hunger are answered.
I felt it deserved to live
Petition to save
God Says
Lions mocking
A symbol left from the dictator’s regime
Postage stamps
Not sure I got what I was going for
A new chapter
The magical glorious peculiar show
in need of heavy editing
Humans evolved to be social creatures
Thank you to my co-conspirators--
Some of the world’s most beautiful.
Don’t ask for the meaning- ask for the use

What's the News?

2011-10-31T14:38:00.000-07:00

I loved our last theme, and I've decided to build on it a little for our next prompt. One of the great things about living in our digital age is the ability to tap into a nearly infinite network of information. The whole of human knowledge is quite literally at our fingertips. The world is our library.

With that in mind, this week I'd like to dig a little deeper. For this prompt, choose one article, photograph, status update, headline, tweet, or whatever else you find out there on the world wide interwebs and elaborate it into a poem in your own words. Dive in, and enjoy!

Found Poem

2011-10-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

To begin with: I apologize for my dereliction of duty last week! I was experiencing a serious case of writer's block tied to some recent anxieties and upsets. But I'm back now, and I absolutely love this week's prompt. Social media is so much a part of our every day lives, but it's rare that we stop to find the poetry in it.
Artists have been exploiting the bounty of the digital age since the 90s, acting something like DJ's, rearranging bits and pieces of found visual information, creating meaning by altering the context in which these images are received. I tried to approach this assignment from an artistic angle rather than a literary one, creating a collage of words that's meant to evoke a certain mood rather than prompt textual analysis. The poem is pieced together entirely from sentences and fragments of sentences that appeared on my Facebook newsfeed in the past few days, as is the picture, which was taken by a friend of mine in New York as Central Park was buried in the first snow of the season.

Fog Machines

Oh, hello, nor’easter.

The first flurries of the season fell, carried by the wind, followed by the leaves.

But there is still that lingering thought.

How could you ever

Confirm/deny?

There are no words

... Perchè niente è cambiato anche se tutto è diverso.

For now we are young.

Still, that lingering thought.

Chemistry and timing.

I write

and hope to see.

That lingering thought.

Even then it is a moment of grace.

Theme: Social Media Found Poetry

2011-10-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

Found poetry has been one of my favorite genres of poetry since I first played with it in high school. Infinite combinations can be made when you only take the words of other people and reconstruct them in new and meaningful ways. Our dialogue theme last week made me think a lot about how we communicate today compared to generations past. Certainly the internet and social media have opened communication channels that were previously untapped, whether that is for good or not is open to debate. So, in honor of this meditation on communication I challenge you to choose one channel of social media, be it your e-mail inbox, your Facebook or Twitter stream, or whatever the kids are keeping up with these days and create a found poem using the words of the social network. Enjoy!

Poem 4- War Correspondence

2011-10-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

I work in the Clements Library at the University of Michigan which is a collection of primary materials and documents all focused on American History. It is an amazing place to be, and I have access to people's personal lives over 500 years (take that, Facebook!). One collection I just spent some time with was a collection of letters between an Army doctor serving in England in World War II and his fiancee at home in Syracuse. They wrote more than 600 letters in the two years that they were apart, sometimes writing 3 or 4 letters a day. However, despite the seemingly prolific communication, there was a month wait time for their letters to float across the Atlantic Ocean so they never were really able to have a dialogue. They weren't able to respond to each other in time, so their correspondence takes the form as parallel individual narratives. They are quite lovely, and made me think a lot about how much dialogue has changed. My own significant other lived in England for a year and our communication took quite different forms. I wonder if historians will have access to our correspondence?

Some of these lines are taken directly from the original letters, though much of it is inferred. Read it as you like. I attempted to construct separate narratives, as their letters were, but also give it an overall structure that could be read in multiple ways.

War Correspondence

(I had a hard time with formatting, so I just took a picture of the text)

I've lost count of the themes...

2011-10-17T14:36:00.001-07:00

But here is this week's! It's always a challenge to try out new forms of poetry - it can be a real pain trying to mold your own unique style and language into a form that can seem stilted and archaic. It's amazing, though, how liberating restrictions can be. Closing one creative pathway inevitably necessitates the opening of another. I'm not going to propose we write sonnets, although the thought did cross my mind, but I am interested in exploring one of the less common poetry forms: the dialogue poem. Unlike most poetry which is written from the vantage point of a single character, dialogue poems allow for a conversation rather than a dramatic monologue. For this week's assignment, write a poem that engages two or more characters in some kind of verbal exchange. To inspire us, here's one of my favorite (racy!) dialogue poems by e.e. cummings.

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

Poem 3 - Susan

2011-10-15T15:22:00.001-07:00

Navigation

Distance is losing meaning –

this, we know.

It is an old thought;

old as telephone lines,

railways, steamships,

rickety, rolling, shining cars,

and all things that puff and chug

and cough up fumes.

Old as the great grey

snakey windings

of a million-tailed nest

of highways, byways,

and stubby driveways,

leading nowhere,

and everywhere at once.

There is meaning in a journey –

from solid ground surrounded

on all sides by endless blue.

You wrap your bundles tightly,

one by one:

here is taro, breadfruit,

coconut, banana,

here is clothing, weapons.

There are animals, packed,

as well, alongside human cargo.

They are fat, now;

the sea will leave them gaunt

and wild eyed.

Your hope, you tuck

beside your gods,

at the prow of the boat.

You strike out into nothing –

and for days that will be all you see.

You will watch the stars;

mark their passing

from one concave horizon to another –

the birds will guide you,

and the color of the sea,

the gathering of clouds

hugging the flanks

of still invisible peaks.

One day, your will again see green –

mountains rising taller than the waves.

Your feet will kiss the sand,

sweet and white, untouched and infinite,

and you, also, will be made new.

There are no journeys, now –

only transportations.

I am here, and the sand is white

and sweet, and bounded on all sides

by glass, and concrete, and cement.

There are a thousand miles

that separate myself

from all I left behind.

But my bundles can’t sustain me,

and, not having marked the path

with my own un-callused feet,

I cannot seem to find

the right way home.

Poem 3 - Naomi

2011-10-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

There is a system here--
a pattern of whirs and purrs and churns,
its presence is not as felt now
as it once was,
exhaling thick black
panting
slowly at first and then with increasing
intensity
But now
--not without starts and stops
crossing lines--
we glide,
the system pushing me
steadily to you.

A Favorite Transportation Poem

2011-10-11T07:04:00.001-07:00

She Being Brand

e.e. cummings

she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg.  ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

         (it

was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-
;Still)

Theme 3: Transportation

2011-10-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

This summer David and I went to Promontory Point on our way to Michigan. We saw the place where the Transcontinental Railroad came together, opening the United States up to rapid travel from sea to shining sea it had recently taken in their war(s) with Mexico. It hit me particularly because my students and I had studied wagon travel extensively, had followed Lewis and Clark and then the ill-fated Donner Party across the treacherous American landscape. And then bam! Suddenly you could take the same journey in a matter of days, on cushioned seats, with warm dining car food! I know we talk about our current age as the technological age, but I can't think about many things that have had so profound an impact on our lives as transportation.

Susan and I are probably acutely aware of transportation as we both live far from our families and dearest friends and both have, until recently, maintained relationships over miles and oceans.

I have met few people who don't love to travel, but most people also complain about transportation (especially in this 'post-9/11' world everyone keeps talking about). But transportation can be an escape in itself. Sometimes I like the trip separately from the journey. Being on a plane, or a train, or a long car ride, or even a bicycle ride can take us out of the every day movement of things. There is also a certain beauty in the mechanics of these things (refer to the Steampunk aesthetic).

So this week's theme is transportation. Take it as you will.

Past Personification

2011-10-08T09:57:00.000-07:00

This poem doesn't exactly follow Susan's theme (come on, Blake!), but it definitely gives voice to someone outside William's perspective.

Two Sunflowers

Two Sunflowers
Move in the Yellow Room.
"Ah, William, we're weary of weather,"
said the sunflowers, shining with dew.
"Our traveling habits have tired us.
Can you give us a room with a view?"
They arranged themselves at the window
and counted the steps of the sun,
and they both took root in the carpet
where the topaz tortoises run.

William Blake

Poem 2 - Susan

2011-10-07T11:24:00.000-07:00

Sea and Fire

This week I too was inspired by the inanimate - in my case, the Hawaiian islands that I currently call home. The Hawaiian island chain was formed at the site of a hot spot between tectonic plates, deep deep in the Pacific Ocean. Each new volcano is formed as the magma produced by the hot spot cools and builds up upon itself, eventually breaking the surface as a new island. As the Pacific Plate moves, so too do the island volcanoes. As they get farther away from the hot spot, erosion begins to act upon shores that are no longer replenished by cooled magma. The islands shrink, and eventually sink back into the ocean. The Hawaiian hot spot is currently shared by three volcanoes on the Big Island of Hawaii, among them, Mauna Loa, which, if measured from the its base at the ocean floor, is the tallest mountain on Earth.

Mauna Loa

I was born into contradiction –

from molten fire

into the cool and deep

of the ever shifting Earth.

I grew.

Youngest of my brothers:

in the salty dark,

I built myself

of liquid flame, extinguished

and made hard, again,

and again.

I grew by centimeters,

and millennia would pass

before I felt the kiss

of Tradewinds on my faces,

the lick of waves in hidden inlets,

the great green caress of Life.

Youngest of my brothers:

I am not now so young.

The boiling life within my veins

grows cold, and cracks.

The Earth still moves beneath me,

I am powerless,

and vast.

I will die in contradiction –

sucked into the womb

that birthed me.

In the cool, and deep,

fire becomes stone.

Take 1-Naomi

2011-10-05T18:34:00.000-07:00

I love the idea of picking inanimate objects, so if the mood strikes me I might possess another unsuspecting object this week. But here's one for starters. I was inspired (as I often am) by the beautiful, majestic ginkgo tree that rests beside the University of Michigan Student Union. Title pending.


Photo from Wikipedia, not from Student Union (but similar!)

The height of it is high
and with every quake
every shake
I sense the depth of it too.
Every swing of the branch takes me
higher by my own height
and by my own height again.
Once, in my youth, the distance
was part of the fun.
My green limb clung and swung
bending and grasping
tightly to its base.
But with every blow, every bluster
green tightened to yellow
and yellow is too delicate
much to delicate
to hold.

Assignment 2 - New Perspective

2011-10-03T19:12:00.000-07:00

What a wonderful first week we've had on this new incarnation of our beloved blog! Naomi's last post has me thinking that we should end every week with some Emily Dickinson - nothing like her for getting the mental cogs turning...

So, down to business. As poets, and most likely as people, Naomi and I both tend towards the deeply personal. Much of our inspiration comes from within, from our own emotions, cares, worries, and attempts to make sense of the world and other people. Of course the aim of most poetry is the universal within the personal, but I believe it's worthwhile in both writing and life to try to step outside ourselves every once in a while and see what emerges through a new pair of eyes. That's why this week's assignment will be to write a poem from a point of view other than your own. Choose someone you know, invent a whole new character, or even try to see things from the perspective of an inanimate object - write as anyone or anything you can dream up. Have fun, and I can't wait to read what comes next!

Poem for Thought from our Namesake

2011-10-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

Autumn - overlooked my Knitting-
Dyes - said He - have I -
Could disparage a Flamingo -
Show Me them - said I -

Cochineal - I chose - for deeming
It resemble Thee
And the little Border - Dusker
for resembling Me -

Emily Dickinson

Reader Submission

2011-10-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

This poem comes from Laura, a poet in California. She wrote this in honor of an autumnal birthday, and sent it along with a photograph from her lovely garden.

When flowers sing,

They dance with breezes,

They stir the leaves,

When flower dance,

The sky watches,

The clouds join in,

When flowers bloom,

It is a brief celebration of life

That happens each year,

At the same time

It’s a new birthday

Like yours

They just remind us.

Poem 1 - Naomi

2011-09-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

My output seems to be more influenced by my computer programming class than by the changing of the seasons.

An Exercise in Equinoctial Thinking

If two halves
equal one whole

Then today the day is

complete.

Taking this further--

today we are complete,
as we have gone two solar cycles

without balance

and the universe demands

balance

We shall give it

if only for today.

Poem 1 - Susan

2011-09-30T09:56:00.001-07:00

Hello all! It's been a long, long time since I posted here, but I'm very much looking forward to this new incarnation of the blog. Since I'm back in school, but taking science and math courses rather than my usual history and language, I've been missing this kind of creative writing. I can't wait to get back into the groove of poetry, although it's been a long time since I've written with any seriousness.

I've always taken much of my inspiration from school books and courses - it's a constant source of amazement to me how all disciplines intertwine if you look closely enough. It's fair to say that this semester you'll be seeing a lot of Physics in my poetry, particularly relating to Newton's Laws, which have a lot to say about just about everything. Anyway, that's enough of an introduction. Without further ado, here's my first poem:

Song of Scales

Now is the Hour of Symmetry –

Autumnal.

The Sun balanced on its point

precarious above the wobbling Earth.

We could call it a system, unstable –

that when upset, experiences a force

in the same direction as the disturbance –

accelerates away from equilibrium.

Sailors and Astrologers –

(though, sailors have ever been

readers of the Stars)

Once marked this Equinox

when our Great Star, the Sun,

entered into Libra – bearer of the scales,

Goddess of Justice, Balance, Truth –

so many names, we might say,

for a single concept.

All things crave balance –

even our Tilted Earth,

if only for a moment, seeks solace

twice a year, in Symmetry.

And what cruelty then,

that such repose,

should be denied to Us, her creatures –

imperfect, crooked

from straining towards the daylight

even as the Nights

grow long.

Theme 1: Equinox

2011-09-26T05:49:00.000-07:00

Source: Wikipedia

For our first theme, Susan and I will be writing about the concept of Equinox. Because we have both already written extensively about Fall, that seemed too easy a theme, and too obvious. But I would like to respond to the changes going on in the world around us as the leaves in Michigan react to the changing weather.

I love the idea of an Equinox, both literally and metaphorically. Take it as you will.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Equinox

Restarting the Collection

2011-09-23T11:56:00.000-07:00

In the hope of returning to our original intention for this blog - to share a creative experience, Susan and I are embarking on a new project. Maybe we'll go the 70s rocker way and call it "The Fall Collection Revival."

Here's the idea: Susan and I are both students again (another sort of revival) and we are catching up to speed with the practice of weekly assignments. I can't speak for Susan, but I know the most creatively productive time for me is also when I have weekly deadlines, like when we met in our poetry workshop, nearly five years ago in Berkeley (wow!). So we decided, why not create shared weekly poetry deadlines?

While living together, Susan and I played around with "assigning" themes for a week or two, and we are also going to incorporate this into our new project.

So to recap:

Weekly Poetry Deadlines
Weekly Poetry Themes

Hopefully the outcome will be greater creative output and a lot more to share with each other and our readers.

Want to play along? If others want to play with our themes or suggest themes please let us know! If more people want to get involved, I'm sure I could find a fun way to incorporate all of our creative output in the blog!

Enjoy!

Two Poems

2011-07-29T10:24:00.000-07:00

Apparently leaving Chicago has been the most fruitful inspiration I've felt in two years. I am so grateful to this city for facilitating so much positive change in me, for beating me up and nurturing me. I am truly ready to say goodbye, with a few sighs.

The Nature of Punctuation
From this bridge-
North-
looking Southeast,
the Sears Tower
(Willis Tower)
and the John Hancock
(Tower?)
form bookends of the
city
(Trump purposefully mis-shelved).
A mallard bobs her head
in time
to the riverside weeds.

On Leaving Chicago
I want to write about
diaspora,
and the feeling of inner-emigration.
Privately, I leave these
poems for Elijah at my dinner table,
filling the cracks in Walls with
tiny filaments of paper.

Instead,
I write of the
lush cornfields of Ann Arbor
and the feeling of
coming home.

Yoga July 2011

2011-07-25T10:04:00.001-07:00

In the heat
my body becomes
a traveled terrain.
Streams swell from
hidden underground
waterways carving
the crease where
hip makes way
to ribcage.

The other bodies
orb around me,
pulsing with the
swampiness of
new life.

In the end I tuck
and roll my mat,
like seaweed over
sticky rice-
a sure sign
of civilization.

Central Park, June 2011

2011-06-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

How to describe
the way the light filters
through overlapping
trees?

The leaves collage
and shadow each other
Exposing four unique
shades of green.

Buffalo Dusk

2011-06-09T06:39:00.001-07:00

Carl Sandburg

The buffaloes are gone.
And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and
how they pawed the prairie sod into dust
with their hoofs, their great heads down
pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
And the buffaloes are gone.

My class is studying Manifest Destiny and the Mexican-American War and the Trail of Tears and one of my students brought this poem in.

As always, I am moved by repetition.

24 Years: A Retrospective

2011-06-01T04:52:00.000-07:00

As I sit to write this it is the evening of my 24th birthday. It is remarkable that another year has come and gone, and it has made me think of the gift my dear friend Anna gives us each new year; a written reflection of the year that's passed.

I passed my 23rd birthday finishing my first year of teaching and celebrating with my incredible fifth grade class about the stunning growth they made.Feeling great confidence in my ability to teach I accepted a position at my school teaching 7th grade Language Arts and Social Studies, knowing I would be teaching with my dear friend Kevin, who teaches math and science.

Straight from my first year of teaching I shot across the Atlantic Ocean to meet David in England. He had just finished his Masters degree in History at Cambridge, and was graduating in July. We went on a fast and food-filled tour through Munich, Prague, Berlin, Stockholm, Paris, and Amsterdam before joining David's dear parents in Cambridge for the graduation. After watching the ancient-seeming graduation (all in Latin!) we went on a driving tour through England, to Stratford-Upon-Avon to visit Shakespeare, Bath to spy on Jane Austen, and to Stonehenge. We even found David's ancestral homeland, Priddy and enjoyed drinks with locals. Then, David and I went to meet his friend in Scotland, before returning to my second homeland, Ireland.

It was amazing to leave "Ms. Aplet" in Chicago, to rejoin David after a year of a trans-Atlantic relationship which, though filled with postcards, was really quite lonely. It was also amazing to see so many new things with the man who has truly become my best friend.

Chicago has been a mixed blessing for me, and I returned with a heavy heart. I didn't yet know I would be entering an incredible challenging year. I figured that my first year of teaching was over, and everything would get better.

On my last night in Dublin, I received an e-mail that the Director of my school had been forcibly removed by the head of the Charter School Network. With his dismissal, the rest of the leadership team left the school. The team that had promised to support me though the challenges of 7th grade were now gone and I was left with a brand new team that didn't know me.

After a tear filled censorship battle, hours of struggling and battling to maintain autonomy in my classroom while maintaining professionalism, hours and hours of planning and working and grading combined with the hormones, drama and smells that come with 7th grade, I am proud to say that I have (almost) survived 7th grade, again.

Another challenge hit me in the beginning of December at a Hanukkah party when I fell and tore a ligament in my right knee. Without knowing the full extend of it, I had torn my ligament very slightly in high school during a hip hop class. I had been walking with this injury for the past five years unbeknown to me. Friends rushed me to the emergency room for a painful bracing of my leg until I could have surgery two weeks later.

Gratefully, my parents rushed to my side to support me through the surgery and stayed with me in a very cold and snowy Chicago December. After the surgery I was returned to near infancy and my dear parents were forced to perform tasks they hadn't been responsible for 20 years.

I took this bit of "down time" to apply to graduate school at the University of Michigan School of Information.

I returned to work January 2 after spending a hobbly week in San Luis Obispo with David's family. For the first several weeks I had to teach sitting down with my leg in a full cast elevated on another chair. Although seventh graders are no where perfect behaviorally, they were incredibly supportive and helpful, and we were able to quickly make up for lost time in December.o

After a month of physical therapy, we realized that I was not recovering as planned. Scar tissue had grown around my knee and locked it in, preventing me from bending my leg more than 20 degrees. I therefore had to return to the surgery table, and during the worst blizzard in Chicago in the last 20 years (19 inches of snow in just 24 hours) I underwent a second surgery to break up the tissue.

I had a wonderful physical therapy team, who worked with me three times a week on late evenings after school, and I have continued to progress, finally losing crutches at the end of April. I joked that I might be unique in my mission to earn a Masters Degree (in Teaching, awarded in May) and learn how to walk at the same time.

Whew, what a year.

Tonight I attended my first Yoga class since the surgery, a Bikram Yoga class with my dear friend Traci and for the first time since surgery I feel hopeful that I will make a full recovery. It is frustrating not to be back to 100 percent after so many hours and weeks and months, but at least I know I will get there.

My mantra during Yoga was aimed at unblocking all of the stagnation in my life. I have been feeling so stagnated with movement, with relationships, with emotions, with goals and I am ready to release all of these things to get some fresh air and excitement in. I am ready to embrace the future.

And what a future! This fall I will leave the classroom to become a student once again at the University of Michigan. I am joining the School of Information to study Library Science and Archival Management, and I am thrilled. I will be moving to Ann Arbor to join David, who is busy earning his JD at the Michigan School of Law. I look forward to new friendships, new movements, new books, new contacts with old dear friends, new recipes, new experiences, and time to enjoy it all!

This weekend, my dearest friends joined me for a delicious birthday dinner. Over a toast I compared my last two years to Dorothy's journey on the Yellow Brick Road. I am so grateful for all of the people who have joined me a long the way, and grateful for the person that I have come to Chicago.

Student Work

2011-05-30T08:13:00.000-07:00

One teacher post. One of my students wrote an Ode to me for our poetry unit.

Ode to Ms. Applet

You are my
teacher but I
see you as a
friend.
You are sweet as
an apple.
When you teach
I feel like no
other teacher can
teach like you do.

When you teach us
Poems,
You sound like
the Queen of them.
Ms. Applet you are
Nice,
caring,
sweet,
and especially a
Great
Teacher.

Except for the fact that I obviously haven't taught them how to spell my name, I am truly touched.

The Last Three Months

2011-05-30T05:02:00.000-07:00

It seems fitting that this blog entry sandwiches my first post in Chicago. Fitting because looking back on the last two years I quite literally had no time to think, to reflect, to write. When I got into teaching everyone told me that the most important thing to do during my first years of teaching is to write. And even though the most important and successful aspect of my teaching "career" (mini-career) was my ability to reflect on my effectiveness, I spent all of my reflection on teaching, and none on me.

So here I am with four weeks left staring in the face of a vastly neglected blog.

Another force propelling me towards memorializing is that I turn 24 tomorrow. This number is a little scary and unfamiliar to me. I don't quite identify with it yet, though I suppose I don't need to until tomorrow. The mid-twenties mark does seem an appropriate time to return to blogging. Maybe my mid-twenties with them will bring with them more wisdom and wit.

Chicago, Week 1

2009-06-28T12:25:00.000-07:00

Greetings Comrades!

My summer Institute in Chicago is a jolting and often overwhelming experience. 18 hour work days, steaming heat (I've often sweat through my clothes by 7:30 am), high demands, and strained personal relationships have left me in a veritable pile of mush come Friday afternoon. I will refrain from touching too much on these subjects, as they only exhaust me further and talk about the good things that have happened this week.

*I have been slowly making connections and even friendships here. Though my life seems mostly disjointed and fractured, some shining faces are starting to poke through, helping me grasp and remember the things I like about myself. Other relationships are frustrating and overwhelming, but I am constantly forced to assess my own pitfalls and am being challenged to work on the areas of myself which quite honestly need some work.

*I got a sneak-preview of the students I will begin working with on Monday. They are bright, intelligent, and good-humored. I am excited to get to know them over the next four weeks.

*I managed to sneak in a gorgeous graphic novel read this week, which I highly recommend. It's called Portraits of Israelis and Palestinians for my Parents by Seth Tobocman. It felt good to access a higher level thought and empathy and to remind myself of the damaged world which I am slowly taking into my hands as I grow up.

*I found a group of fellow Corps Members to practice Yoga with. This morning we practiced for an hour in the grass outside our dorms at the Illinois Institute of Technology. The combination of the wind and the rushing L-Line helped me remember to hold concentration through adversity.

*I am constantly impressed with David. Our relationship continues to revive and energize me. I am amazed at how even short conversations refresh me from the worst moods and motivate me to keep working.

*My parents have been such an amazing support system. Their constant love and support, as well as their ability to remind and center me on my purpose in these five weeks and beyond.

*I have received the most amazing mail from the west coast!!! Keep it coming! The letters and postcards have been giving me that extra energy to push through every day!

Love,

Naomi

Tales from the Crypt: Library Vampire

2009-05-28T12:27:00.001-07:00

These are the sorts of stories that makes me totally devastated to be leaving the Conservation Department of a large library.

Last week the Conservation Department received a stack of books with a handwritten note

Dear Library Supervisor,

X (a library patron) committed suicide. His body was discovered .
(police report #, coroner's report #)

We Found some books in his apartment which we are returning to you.

*Note: There was a lot of mold in his apartment. The books should be sanitized before being stored so other books aren't damaged.

Yours,
J (his neighbor)

P.S. He gambled by day-trading on the internet and was penniless when he died.

You may find me morbid for enjoying this letter. I find it fascinating, and disturbing, and sad. I think his neighbor included the day-trader business to excuse his neighbor's estate from responsibility to the library.

The best part of the story is that one of the books, about vampires, had a disturbing reddish/brown stain penetrating the entire volume. Our supervisor declared that it was simply an intense coffee stain, but I'm not so sure. He seems a bit like a vampire himself, so he might be in on the conspiracy.

Here is my theory. I think "J" is a vampire who gorged on his neighbor in the stress of the lengthening daylight hours/the recession. Maybe he saw that "X" was on his case, researching vampires to betray his secret identity. Vampires are usually pretty classy, and respect culture and the arts, so he couldn't not return "X's" books. Prove me wrong.

May Flowers

2009-05-15T13:36:00.000-07:00

I've been busy finishing school and saying a long, sweet goodbye to California. David and I have been busy catching all of the things I want to do before leaving, including:

1) A fun-filled day at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, complete with photo booth shots of our undying-cuteness.

2) Oakland A's games complete with beer and hot dogs (for me) and nachos (for him)

3) Nightlife at the California of Sciences. Cool fish and more expensive alcohol than you could shake your leg at. We both liked the albino alligator the best.

4) Free Comic Book Day at Berkeley's Comic Relief.

5) Star Trek opening night in costume. Spock and Bones, together again.

It's been an amazing month and I cringe to think of all the things I will miss next year on my solo-adventure to Chicago. I know in my heart that everything will be okay, better than okay. But it's hard not to feel vaguely devastated when I look at that face of his.

Winding Down

2009-04-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

So here we are again...
I know I've been awful about this whole blogging thing, but I've been so lazy about all of my writing these days, and for the most part I've assumed that all the stories I'm accumulating will be even better in person. But the months are slipping by and I've realized that this adventure is finally ending, and before I start out on the next one I want to take some time to do a little literary digesting, and if any of you care to read along, share advice, or just let me know you miss me too, well, that would be just lovely.
These past few months have been a whirlwind - I'm not even sure where to begin. For one, I finally got the internship I've been trying for since I learned it existed. Remember way back in the fall when I went to that incredible five day food festival in Torino? Well, that amazing event is coordinated by an organization called "Slow Food" (look them up at this address: http://www.slowfood.com/) whose mission , according to their website is to "counteract fast food and fast life, the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world." Bascially, they're all about the things I value most, and I was so excited to discover that every May in Bologna they put on a film festival celebrating films of every genre, length, and nationality that have to do with what we eat. After months of email harrassment and miscommunications, I finally managed to snag an internship doing translation work for the festival catalog, and I've been working my tail off and having a great time with the Slow Food folks here in Bologna (who have promised to hook me up with some contacts back in Berkeley for future career considerations...)
In between work, pretending to study for finals, and scrambling to piece together a few things that just might pass for Berkeley-caliber research papers, I've also played host to quite a few friends who've passed through Bologna - my old friend Connor dropped out of the blue en route to visit his sisters in Spain, the lovely Kelsey found her way to me from Bristol, Jackie and Ben Parker included me on their amazing three week Italian tour, and my German sister, Tabea, and her parents came out for a weekend of pasta, gelato, and the first sunshine Bologna has seen after a very, very long winter. I doubt I did the city justice in my attempts to show off its many charms, but each guest allowed me to experience familiar sights as new and refreshed my sense of wonder at this place that I now call my home.
Of course, it hasn't all been playing host - I've definitely been doing my share of wandering these days, and I'm not slowing down yet! This afternoon I returned from an 8 day journey through Andalucia, Spain, and I have to admit there's been some serious consideration of yet another year(s?) abroad... I travelled with two wonderful Californian girls, Melissa and Florencia, staples of my life in Bologna without whom I will surely be lost in the year to come...
We started out in Granada, and yes, for those of you who are keeping track, it was the second time I've spent one-too-many days in that stunning city this year. The new summer sunlight, blinding on the white roofs and the white peaks of the Sierras, was the inspiration for the first poem I've written in a very long time. There is no denying that the European winter is a brutal thing, and more than once the Californian in me questioned the sanity of people who would choose to live in a country capable of such thermal extremes, but there is something to be said for the coming of Spring in the land of real and varied seasons. There is absolutely such a thing as Spring fever - you feel it in your blood with the first sightings of sunbeams on green grass and the warmth that teases color back into too-pale cheeks. It is contagious and intoxicating, and lying in a hammock on a terrace in Southern Spain it starts your feet to twitching with the urge to dance or run or travel or start something new...
From Granada we moved on to Cordoba, where we spoke Italian with Spaniards and experienced coincidences and mosque-cathedrals, and endless cafe-con-leche, and then Sevilla just in time for the Feria. Stepping onto the fairgrounds was strangely like stepping sideways in time - some odd combination of past and present, saturated with the scents of horses and wine and so much fried food. The women were dressed to the nines in their traditional dresses, flowers perched atop their elaborate hair-dos or dangling precariously to the side of one ear, while men strutted in flat black hats and jackets and pants that seemed to tight to ride the horses that filled the cobbled streets of the fairground, their manes and tails plaited neatly or tangled with sweat in the afternoon heat and wind. Set apart from the standard carnival fare (sickening looking rides and cotton candy stands and stalls advertising "perritos caldos") there were the casettas, elegant little tents in which families held week long parties, drinking, eating, and dancing the Sevillana, a traditional dance whose hand motions were described to us as picking an apple, taking a bite, and casting it aside.
This afternoon I finally made it home, just in time for the rain and a fit of nostalgia that I can only attribute to the ending of an incredible trip. It's strange, but I haven't really felt homesick during my time here in Bologna. As much as I love and think about so many people back home, they belong to another world that has been far from my mind in these months, mostly because it would be impossible to truly make a life here if I was still clinging to the one I'd left beind. But now that I'm closing in on my last few months in Italy I find myself thinking more and more about California. For the first time since Rome, I can feel that familiar ache of missing, and it's bittersweet to think that leaving this time may not be quite as hard - there's a sense of completion to this year, a feeling that nothing truly important can ever be really left behind. And I am so ready to see all of you again. I am thinking of every one of you, probably more than you realize. I am coming home soon.

I should take more pictures

2008-10-04T04:35:00.000-07:00

So it's a lazy Saturday here in Bologna, and I'm sitting in my bed thinking about the change of seasons. Not so long ago it was full fledged summer here in Italy. This is what the best days looked like:

That's Bologna's biggest and snazziest park- the Giardini Margherita. There's a little caffe on an island in the center of the pond. It's got a covered terrace overlooking the water, which is filled with turtles, tiny fish, and very big fish that mill around waiting for the bits of bread that kids throw down from the bridge. The park is full to the brim with couples, like most other places in Italy, but it's also got families, high schoolers, people on rollerblades, and circles of hippies playing guitar and passing around suspicious looking cigarettes. I spent some really nice afternoons there when the weather was warm, sitting in the grass with my friend Marina and reading Harry Potter in Italian.

Then, seemingly overnight, the seasons changed, and it was autumn. Suddenly, I had to dress like this to venture out of doors:

Thankfully, my hair is so long these days it keeps my ears warm, and my Berkeley collection of scarves is serving me well. And of course, with the arrival of autumn, have come my first university classes. Predictably, the Italian university system is disorganized and confusing. Classes don't start all on the same day, but rather vary depending on Facolta (think Letters and Sciences) and Dipartimento (Art History). Also, since high school here in Italy is 5 years instead of 4, their BA program (prima laurea) is only 3 years. After that, there's two years of "grad school" for a laurea specialistica. Because we're here through UC, we can take both undergrad and graduate level courses, which are usually much smaller and involve a more American interaction with the professor- discussion rather than straight lecture. The only class I've had so far has been "Archeologia e Storia dell'arte Cristiana e Medievale" - Christian and medieval archeology and art history. It's really interesting, and I'm shocked to learn that I can actually follow a graduate level course entirely in Italian. In fact, the problem I'm facing isn't language comprehension, but rather my complete lack of background in Christianity. Who knew there were so many saints! And what on earth is the difference between a Cathedral and a normal Church??

Another shift that's come with the cooler days and cold late nights is this new and wonderful appreciation of where I am and what I'm doing. Sometimes walking down the street I'm suddenly struck by the realization that this is real- I am young and living in Italy and my life is unfolding in front of me to be molded into whatever shape I please. The whole city seems to be filled up by possibility, tucked into every alley and fountain and stretching indefinitley out into the too-blue sky. Maybe it's a euphoria that won't last, but one day I woke up and I wasn't lonely any more. Something clicked, and it was enough to just be myself, here, and at this moment. And it's still true that I have no idea what I'm doing, and I still spend too much time thinking about the past and wondering about the future, but it's October now, and I finally know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

The sweet and the low

2008-09-23T11:34:00.000-07:00

I'll start with the good.
The weekend in Germany was incredible. I took a night train from Bologna to Munich- 7 hours next to a man from Napoli who expounded without stopping on his views on immigration (against), evolution (impossible), and the youth of today (drug addicts and drunks, all of them). The 17 year old Italian across from me insisted in touching my legs with his legs throughout the trip, stretching out across the compartment and innocently changing position whenever I tried to shift away. I finally made it to Munich at 6.30 in the morning and camped out in a cafe until Tabea arrived at 11. After a lovely cup of coffee in downtown Munich, we went to drop off our bags at her friend Flo's house, conviently located about 3 blocks from Oktoberfest, which was already in full swing by 2 o'clock in the afternoon. After a quick lunch (of pasta... go figure) we made our way down to the site. It was jam packed with more people in lederhosen than I have ever seen. There were giant carnival rides, stands selling traditional (pretzels and bratwurst) and not so traditional (beer ice cream?) Bavarian treats, and of course, the famous beer halls- giant tents filled with people drinking litre-mugs of cold, savory, foamy German beer. We made a halfhearted attempt to get into a tent, but there wasn't much chance. People had been waiting since 9 am to get in, and there was no sign of anyone coming out. Instead, we walked around, went on a carnival ride, and then decided to go get drinks in town before dinner.
We returned to Flo's house for a lovely traditional meal of sausages, potatoes and saurkraut, and afterwards we were joined by some new friends for cocktails, german board games, and a midnight snack of nachos. The next day Tabea and I returned to Stuttgart for Jason Mraz. It was lovely seeing her family again, they are some of the most welcoming people I've ever met. The concert was spectacular, even better than I could have hoped. We were second row from the front and we danced and sang without stopping for the entirety. Sadly, the weekend was over in the blink of an eye. Monday I packed up and left for Italy, enjoying my last few moments of the incredible German public transportation and overall good organization.
On arriving in Pisa around 9 pm I learned that the only train to Bologna left from Florence at 1.47 am. As I sulked, waiting for my first train to arrive, I got a call from my dad. He sounded strange on the phone, and after asking about my weekend, he said he had some terrible news. I felt my heart drop straight into my stomach. At first I thought it must be to do with my mom's heart- she's still having some trouble and they're thinking they might have to operate again. But I could never have guessed what was coming.
"I don't want to tell you this, but Fiona died." His voice broke, and I felt my throat close up.
They think she must have eaten something poison, since one day she was healthy, and the next she came home horribly sick. The morning after, she was gone, having fallen asleep on her favorite leather couch in the living room. My parents are destroyed, it must be so much worse for them than me, living in the suddenly very empty house.
It's amazing how much an animal can steal your heart, and how much losing them can break it. I still can't believe her little smiling face won't be waiting for me at home this Christmas. She's still so alive in my memory.

What I've been eating, part 1...

2008-09-07T23:57:00.000-07:00

White Wine Sangria

Ingredients:

1 bottle decent white wine
1/4 bottle white rum
Sprite
2 small, sweet apples
1 mango
handfull lychees (or grapes, in a pinch)
1 peach
1 nectarine
juice from 2 large oranges
simple syrup to taste (equal parts sugar and boiling water)

Chop fruit into approx. 1 in. pieces and place in a medium sized pot. Add rum, wine, OJ, and sugar. Don't make it too sweet, since you'll be adding Sprite later.
Refrigerate at least 3 hours, longer is better. Serve over ice, topped off with Sprite.

Hot and Spicy Salad

Ingredients:

1 medium zucchini
2 medium carrots
1 medium red onion
handfull brown mushrooms, handfull cherry tomatoes
Sambal chili garlic sauce (or Sriracha)
white wine vinegar
olive oil
salt and pepper
cumin or curry powder

In a large skillet, saute the onion until softened, but not browned
Cut zucchini and mushrooms into similar sized pieces and add them to the pan. Season with salt, pepper, and your spice of choice. Once they're mostly cooked, add quartered cherry tomatoes and hot sauce
Using a mandolin or a standard vegetable peeler, grate the carrots into long, flat strips, like tagliatelle noodles. Add the carrots to the pan and add more salt and hot sauce.
Finish with a dash of white wine vinegar.

Fig and Brie Appetizer

Ingredients:

1 baguette, cut into 1/2 inch thick rounds on the diagonal
Brie or similar soft cheese (I tried a goat cheese that was similar to brie, but lighter)
either standard honey or date honey, which I assume could be found in a middle eastern market - it's amazing!!!
fresh green figs

Brush the bread slices with olive oil and toast them very lightly in the oven.
Drizzle with honey and place a slice of brie on each, then return to the oven to melt the cheese.
Once the cheese is melted, remove and place 1/2 fig on each slice of bread

Almost as long awaited...

2008-09-07T09:54:00.000-07:00

First, let me apologize for the ridiculous break I took from updating. I guess I was waiting to have something to write about. Unfortunately, my own journal has seen similar results of this crafty waiting plan. Now that I'm back in school I don't see myself getting that much better in my own journal, but hopefully I can at least keep up here.

I still can't believe that summer is over, even though I've been in school for two weeks now. I guess because I spent so much time with David (The Graduate), I never really realized that I would be going back. I feel like I spent the whole summer expecting summer to start and then it ended. Really, it was an amazing summer. It was so relaxing and laid back. It was nice living with David, working full time and coming home to each other at the end of the day, catching up on some reading and watching really good movies. Towards the end I started getting antsy that I hadn't gone anywhere, but I realized it was only a psychological complaint. I decided I didn't have a good summer without looking at the facts. In all honesty it was one of the best summers I've had.

Things I accomplished:

I listened to three years worth of This American Life archives. On those long grueling days at work I would sometimes listen to three or four a day. It was beautiful.
I read A LOT. I caught up on a lot of things I've been meaning to read, plus found some new favorites. like Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation.
I studied a bit for German before starting class, not enough really, but some.
I studied a bit for the GREs, again, not enough, but some.
I co-habitated successfully with my partner and continue to do so, which I think is a major accomplishment for both of us.
I managed to save up some dough.
I cooked A LOT.
I welcomed lovely new roommates into my home.

But... I never went swimming! Can you believe it?

So now, the new semester. I'm only taking 13.5 units but I feel totally overwhelmed. Deutsch is kicking my little butt. My two history classes are great, but I'm having a hard time trying to keep up with them while not falling behind in German. I hope conditions improve.

That's all for now.

P.S. I edited our list of comrades. Everyone is blogging these days.

Long awaited, I'm sure

2008-08-27T02:24:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile...
I tried to post from Israel, but couldn't quite figure out the buttons in Hebrew. I got back to Bologna yesterday afternoon around 2 and crashed for the rest of the day. I woke up briefly to unpack, do some grocery shopping, and eat a light meal, then I went back to sleep until 8:30 this morning. It's strange being back in Italy. My Italian is definitely rusty, after almost a month of English, but my Hebrew has certainly improved. It's so odd how much I can understand, even though I never speak. I find myself following my relatives' conversations easily, without thinking about it. It's so different from how I understand Italian- that requires intense concentration, translation of certain words. But with Hebrew, it's as though it's already in my head, I just absorb it without thinking. I think after college I will have to spend some time in Israel, re-learn the language for real.

My vacation was amazing. Tel Aviv is such a cool city, especially in the summer. The beach is packed with gorgeous, suntanned people, cafes, bars, and restaurants, and at night the whole city is alive with music. I stayed there for about a week, listening to amazing bands (my favorite was a girl named Rif, about our age, who sounds like an Israeli Fiona Apple), eating incredible food (and a lot of it), and exploring the city. Afterwards, I spent a few days at my uncle Amichi's house in Pardes Hanna, waiting for my parents to get in. After 17 years of shyness and cold-shouldering, my girl cousins have finally opened up to me. I had a great time hanging out with them, as well as my aunt and uncle, who are always lovely. It's so strange being a part of a big family when I'm in Israel. They're all so tight knit, their lives completely interlocked even as they whirl around one another in a flurry of activity. I've only ever really been close to my nuclear family, and for most of my life my brother's have been so at odds with my parents that my relationships with them have been kept separate. Being in Israel is dislocating, I know that by blood I am a part of this clan, but I can't help feeling irreconcilably (sp?) foreign.

When my parents got in, I moved with them to a house we rented from an old lady on Kibbutz Sdot Yam. It's the most incredible place- right down the road from Caesarea, a Port City built by Herod in the Roman Era, and immediately on the beach. The grassy lawns are overflowing with Roman artifacts, many of which have been claimed as lawn ornaments by the kibbutz inhabitants. Our house boasted two at the entrance and four more as plant holders on the modest tile porch. The woman herself, Ester, was a pretty amazing character. She arrived in Israel in the 30s, before the Zionist movement even began in earnest. She came from Yemen, and her entire family made the trip on two donkeys. When she got to Israel, she joined the Palmach- the first Israeli military, composed entirely of young volunteers. There, she met her German husband, married, and moved to Sdot Yam. The house was full of pictures of her, her husband, children, and grandchildren, wedding pictures of women in elaborate Yemenite costume, her husband's German family looking somber in suits and buttoned-up dresses. The sea was about a minute's walk down the path, and every morning my parents and I woke up at 6 am for a walk to the ruins of Caesarea, followed by a swim in the Med, breakfast, and a nap. It was so good to see them again, to spend some time being totally lazy with the people I love best. We did do some touring- we spent one day at the Holocaust museum, Yad Veshem, and another in Tel Aviv, where I showed my mother the boutiques on Shenkin Street (which she loved) and toured the art museum, which had a surprisingly large collection of Picassos. Afterwards we went to dinner at a restaurant called Manta Ray- it's right on the southern end of the beachfront promenade, and it was absolutely incredible. One appetizer was a cylinder of crab meat on top of dates, topped with some kind of sweet/spicy chutney, dinner featured mussels and chorizo in a fennel scented broth, calamari and shrimp in a creamy white sauce with parmesan and figs, and the most perfectly fried calamari I've ever had. The only thing that could have improved it would have been my favorite Berkeley dining companions to over-do it on Sangria and laugh at my Dad's terrible jokes.

Now that I'm back, Bologna seems terribly lonely. I know this is just the beginning, that soon I will feel at home here in my little, sunlit bedroom, but for now, I can't help wishing I was on the plane with my parents, back home to California.

2008-08-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

I stayed home from work today with cramps/hangover. It feels strange to sit around with nothing to do. I rarely take days like this, but it's kind of nice to steal a slice out of my usual schedule. I feel like by skipping work I've created extra hours in the week to just lie in bed. I have been working full, full time and it's so frustrating to come home at the end of each day too tired to do anything but crash. This is my last summer as an irresponsible student and I feel like I'm making a mess of it by being too responsible.

That said, Ashby is a lovely place to be. The weather has been mild, not the unbearable hot stickiness of May, but more like how it was in Berlin last summer. Parts of me ache for my dorm room in Berlin. It was stark white and empty because all I had fit into a tiny suitcase. This year has been a blur. I can't comprehend how quickly time has flown.

Our new roommate is moving in mid-August. I'm looking forward to the fresh energy, and also to having a settled house. I'm anxious about the transition. I feel like a sort of Madame here, not in the pimp way, but just like I am the Lady of the House since I have lived here longest and manage all financial transactions. People look to me to check if things are ok. It's a funny, strange feeling.

That's all for now.

First Italian Poem

2008-08-01T07:42:00.001-07:00

Dissipation

It’s July in Rome, and I can’t sleep.
Even as the sun dips languidly into the horizon,
in timid increments, like a cautious bather
the heat still lingers. It hangs
draped over rooftops, across clotheslines
strung like cobwebs between flowered balconies,
caught by the fibers of the starchy sheets on my hard mattress,
pricking beads of sweat from my restless legs and feet.

The fan churns weakly in the corner, defeated
by the humid weight of stagnant air. And despite
the itchy, pressing warmth, I will not throw
the blankets back. Because uncovered
here means unconfined, borderless, and thus exposed.

And I have already felt my edges start to blur,
standing in the courtyard of San Pietro,
head swept back to follow marble pillars
up their gleaming length into the too-large sky,
feeling so untethered I could almost
shuck this tiny clumsy body, atomize
into the ivory-cradled blue – almost.
Except the heat enfolds me, layered thickly like a bandage,
compressing me into myself, until I can look down
to find my feet still balanced on the cobblestones.

So I’ve lied awake since midnight, counting down
until those precious few cool hours before dawn,
willing myself heavier, dense enough
to remain whole, contained without
the ballast that once kept me grounded,
gave me shape.

Cooking and nostalgia

2008-07-23T09:53:00.000-07:00

My time in Rome is quickly winding down. My final exam is next Thursday, and after that it's off to Bologna for two or three days before I leave for the holy land. My time in this city has not been easy to say the least, so I'm very much looking forward to starting fresh in my new home. Although my last weekend was a lot of fun, I can't help but feel a little ratty in my claustrophobic little room, hiding from the roommates who have begun to drive me absolutely bonkers. But it's not much longer, and there certainly have been some good times. Here's a rundown of the most exciting events of the past week:

Friday night: Went out with some of the roomies for an aperitivo, including the absolute best alcoholic beverage I have ever consumed: a frozen mojito. It's like a mojito slushie, all sweet and bright green with a wedge of lime, a sprig of mint so big it was more like a small bush, and a maraschino cherry. I was a little too greedy with mine and ended up with an awful brain freeze. After that, we had sangria at an outdoor cafe where we talked with a nice Swedish couple on a romantic vacation, followed by hard ciders at our new favorite pub, The Scholar's Lounge. At The Lounge we made friends with a nice young English lad who we invited to crash on our couch and join us for Saturday brunch. Bedtime that night was about 5 am.

Saturday morning: I made a pretty monumental brunch: basil and parmesan scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes with plenty of olive oil, garlic, and rosemary, polenta with arugula and porcini mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, sliced and salted, pancetta (Italy's sad excuse for bacon), and peach nectar and prosecco bellinis (the perfect brunch hangover cocktail). Afterward, we lapsed into a severe food coma and went back to sleep for the next four or five hours.

Saturday night: Woke up, got dressed up, and made our way to the opera! The show was Aida- the music, costumes, and singing were all out of this world, but I'd have to say my favorite aspect was the location. The stage was set up outdoors, right smack in the middle of the ruins of Rome's largest ancient bathhouse complex. The broken stone towers rose up like extensions of the Egyptian themed set, lit up by varicolored stage lights, bats flitting back and forth from tree to tower as the sun began to set. Absolutely breathtaking. My only complaint was that the show didn't start until 9:00 pm, meaning it only got out around 12:30. What with the previous night's sleep deprivation, my head did nod a bit towards the middle of the third act. Still, an amazing experience, and worth the agony of trying to get a cab to take home five people at 1 am. In the end, I had to convince the driver I really only count as half a person.

Sunday: Went to a beach outside Rome, lied in the sun all day, played in the Mediterranean, ate a salami, cheese, and tomato sandwich followed by a nutella and ricotta and fig gelato. Life is good.

Still, most nights I miss coming home to Ashby and Fulton and just walking into any room for a chat, a giggle, or a hug. I find most of my stories starting with: "my friends in Berkeley..." I've been trying to write, but the words are difficult to find. I'm looking for something in between change and loss, but so far I haven't come to any enlightening conclusions. For now, I'm looking forward to a night at the movies, American style. My roommates and I, and most of the kids in the program, are heading to the Warner Village Theater to see The Dark Knight in English. I can't wait to eat popcorn... I can only hope that they do that here... somehow prosciutto and melone just wouldn't be the same...

Love at first sight...

2008-07-14T10:55:00.000-07:00

So, this weekend was my first glimpse of the city that will become my home over the next year. On Thursday after class I caught the train from Roma with some of the other kids in the program. Three hours of rolling green hills, hay bales, and glimpses of miniature cliffside castles, and werolled into the graffiti covered Bologna train station. It was about seven o'clock at night and wehadn't eaten since noon, so we dropped our bags at the hostel and immediately made our way to the restaurant reccommended to us by the girl at the front desk.
There were seven of us and the restaurant was narrow and crowded, but the waiters happily made room, joking and flirting and teasing in true Italian style. Everyone seems friendlier in Bologna. There is none of that big city curtness that you find in Rome- they haven't yet learned to be impatient with American tourists, in fact, most seem genuinely pleased when you try to speak the language. Bologna is famous for several dishes, mostly for tagliatelle al ragu (known in the States as pasta bolognese) and any sort of filled pasta, like tortellini, ravioli, etc. I decided I was obligated on my first night in Bologna to try the dish that was seen as deserving it's name. The noodles were the egg-y yellow color of fresh pasta, piled with rich, velvety meat sauce, the savory richness cut perfectly by the acidity of red wine and freshly grated parmesan. For dessert, a chocolate cake with hints of amaretto and a dusting of powdered sugar. I left so full I could barely stomach the walk back to the hostel, let alone the pint of beer we ended up drinking at an Irish pub near the university with a sign outside declaring daily happy hours for exchange students (known in Bologna as "Erasmus").
The next day, fortified with a breakfast of chocolate croissants and cappuccino, we set out to find housing. I can't begin to describe how nerve wracking it is to walk out into a strange city and try to find a place to live with only a rudimentary knowledge of the language and a list of phone numbers pulled off websites, notice boards, and sides of buildings. The first place I saw was so far from what I wanted that I had to stop for a gelato pick-me-up to stave off the despair. The second place, however, was lovely. The address at first had me skeptical- a building on Ugo Bassi, one of Bologna's main drags, seemed like it would be unbearably noisy and chaotic, not to mention that I wasn't even sure where to find it amid all the glass storefronts and sidewalk cafes. But once I found myself in front of the enormous, double wooden doors I began to feel a little hope. Inside, once the heavy doors had swung slowly shut, all outside noise was hushed to a murmur. A marble staircase wound up and up and up, flanking an old fashioned elevator inside a wire cage. On the third floor, a lovely young woman named Elena smiled as she opened the door to show me inside. The room for rent was behind double wooden doors, painted white, facing a large window opening onto a rooftop courtyard. A narrow single bed in one corner, a bookcase, wardrobe, and a desk were the only furniture in the room. It was perfect. I looked around a bit more that day, but I knew that I had already found the one.
Bologna itself is incredible. It's a lot like a bigger, amped up, European version of Berkeley. It's a very young city, very bohemian, all sidewalk cafes and bars and women with dreadlocks and linen pants. Of course, this is Italy, so their sunglasses are still Dolce and Gabanna and the pants probably cost about as much as a month's rent in Berkeley. Still, I felt immediately as though I could feel at home there in a way that I haven't yet in Rome. I only have three weeks left here, but I can't help but count the days. Rome is too big for me, or maybe I'm just too small for Rome. This has been such a strange time, so much change that I'm not even sure what to think about any of it. I feel almost as though my edges are blurred... not a very good description, but then, I'm not really sure what I mean.
Anyway, enough of that. More to follow on the last weeks in the eternal city...

232 Years Young

2008-07-08T19:56:00.001-07:00

It's hard figuring out what to write when I spend all day every day counting books, processing books, unpacking books, moving books, and reading books. Not much writing is involved; I have plenty of opportunities to practice writing numbers on bookslips, but other than that, there are not many chances. Whenever I work at a computer though, I do get to listen to This American Life, so I've been going through the archives, starting with the earliest episodes from 1995. Averaging roughly 2-3 episodes a day, I've managed to get through November 1996. And by the way work is going this week, I bet I'll be to 1997 soon. Ira is my new best friend.

This weekend David and I went to Willits for the Fourth of July. It was really nice being home. Seeing the parents, and going to the amazing Frontier Days! parade down Main Street. I saw some good friends, and I got to meet my friend, Lindy's, fiance.

Not many people were home. I don't know what I expected. A lot of friends who graduated ahead and behind me were there, but almost none of my friends who I graduated with were around. I feel like that unspeakable time is upon me. Willits ceased to be my home pretty much the second I graduated, earlier than that, even, but everyone else kept going back. I've never been home for a summer, but this summer it seems like the trend has caught. It's strange, kind of like Lindy's engagement, and my constant anxiety about my "future." This weird bubble of living away from home but still being our parent's dependents is rapidly coming to an end. It's scary. And good. But mostly scary.

I wish I could be like Ira Glass and already had an internship with NPR at age 19. Oh well.

Don't worry, you are in eeeetaly

2008-07-06T07:51:00.000-07:00

Life abroad is more than an emotional rollercoaster- really it's more of a pendulum. Every roller coaster, no matter how many hills or plunges or loop-the-loops, eventually comes to a stop on level ground. Here, my mood seems to oscillate by the hour, swinging back and forth with no sign of finding equilibrium. I don't know of another time in my life when I've felt so incredibly blessed and utterly miserable in such rapid succession. It's exhausting, all these ups and downs, but i have faith that they will level out with time.

Moving on from the emotional update, let me fill you in on the past few days in la citta eterna. Our first week in Rome, a few of my roommates went out one night and met a few Italian men who invited them over for some 3 am "funny pasta." They turned out to be funny, sweet, of completely unclear sexual orientation, and more than happy to be our hosts for some authentic Roman experiences. Last night Carlo, probably the most sexually confusing of the lot, invited us to his apartment for a "mozarella di buffala tasting party." After an hour's griping about how late the Italians eat, we made it out to his apartment around 10:20. Like the vast majority of Italians under 35, Carlo lives in his parent's apartment, enjoying the bachelor life while they spend most of their time traveling or in their country house. A true anomaly in Europe, the apartment had air conditioning, which as far as I'm concerned, would have made the trip worthwhile even if the evening's menu had consisted of coors light and cheetos. Of course, since our dear Carlo is a sommelier (in his free time, when he's not practicing with his painfully scene-tastic band) and self-described hedonist, we were far from underfed.

As we sat on the couch, enjoying beers and admiring knick knacks, Carlo set the table (tablecloth and all) and proceeded to bring out two enormous bowls, filled with huge, creamy white orbs of cheese, half submerged in milky water. Smaller bowls of sliced hot peppers and a jar of hot pepper, porcini, and andouille pesto were brought to the table, followed by wine glasses and several bottles of red. By now it was around 12, and we were still waiting for our friend Federico to get off his shift at the gelato shop and join us for "dinner." Carlo kept bustling around the kitchen and living room, but after a few minutes of waiting for some other food to appear, I asked in timid Italian- "but... are we just eating cheese?" Carlo affected horror. "Ma certo! You have to taste the mozarella! It is the best I have ever eaten! If you are hungry after, I can make you some funny pasta."

In the end, once Federico arrived (12:30, 1 am?) there were slices of bread to slather with pesto and top with cheese, but only after each of us had eaten the better part of two fist sized balls of mozarella each. I have to say, it truly was incredible cheese. Combined with the peppers, which were so spicy my lips and tongue were numb for most of the evening, the sensory effect was like fire and silk. My favorite was the smoke mozarella, slightly firmer with a carmel colored outer rind that tastes subtly like a wood-burning campfire. After many glasses of wine, we were driven to our doorstep around 3:30 am, and fell into bed, full to bursting, to squeeze in a good 4 hours of sleep (in my case) before heading out for the next day's exploration.

Next on my to do list: Federico's gelato shop, where supposedly there are 18 flavors of chocolate alone.

Synagogues and Stone Latrines

2008-06-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

It has been almost a year since this picture was taken, but seeing it brings such a smile to my face that it seems like yesterday. Saturday evening and I've officially survived my first week of Italian school. So far it's all just review, but it's so hard to keep everything together in the moment when you're trying to have a conversation. The Romans speak so quickly, especially as soon as you say a phrase in Italian and they assume you can understand. The days are beginning to blur together in a hazy flurry of sightseeing and oppressive heat, but I'll try to remember the choiciest bits for you.

On Wednesday we had our first "class excursion" (one of many activities planned by the school to enhance our knowledge of Italian culture). We met at an un-obtrusive restaurant in the Trastevere district of Rome* called "Spirito di Vino." **Inside, we were taken past the white tablecloths and sparkling flatware, down worn stone steps into the wine cellar. According to the restaurant's owner, the building was actually home to the oldest Synagogue on record. In Roman times, the Jews weren't allowed to build any new synagogues, so old buildings were reclaimed as sites of worship (Naomi probably knows all this- expert on Judaism that she is becoming). The wine cellar was still home to remnants of a mikvah (for any non-Jews who might be reading: a ritual bath) and prayer room, and some lovely examples of Roman architecture. Back upstairs, we were treated to a long discussion (in Italian!) on Roman cuisine, including a mouth watering description of the restaurant's menu, which I'm sure was miles out of my price range, but tempting nonetheless. At the end, the head cook (and wife of the proprietor) asked if anyone was interested in going into the kitchen. Of course, I immediately said "Io!!" and sure enough she led me back into the narrow kitchen, where a pot was bubbling on the stove, filling the room with one of the most intoxicating scents imaginable: freshly made pasta sauce. She also treated me to peeks of homemade chicken liver pate (formed into elegant cylinders with a single cranberry in the center) and Italian creme brulee (more like flan, lacking the traditional crispy burnt sugar top). We chatted a bit (in Italian!) and when I left she suggested I come back to work for her when I learn the language better. I might just take her up on it someday.

Last night I went out with my roommates to meet up with some Italian men they met on a night out in Trastevere. We were treated to a breakneck drive through the streets of Rome, squeezed into the backseat of a rickety Honda, clutching desperately onto anything within reach. We were taken to a very trendy restaurant for an aperetivo.*** The girls' friend turned out to be a sommelier in training, and picked us out a very nice white wine to go with our fantastic Italian pizza (cherry tomato, radicchio, zucchini, gorgonzola... oh my) and was patient with our halting attempts at conversation. We were later joined by two more Italian men and went down to the river for Sangria. The night was nice enough, but I found myself far more interested in the view of Rome I was treated to from Carlo's speeding car as we wove through the nighttime traffic from one end of the city to the other. It's funny how little taste I have for going out these days. At night all I really want to do is mull over the adventures of the day, write, and try to do some Italian reading (I bought "A Little Princess" in Italian and am stumbling through it one heavily underlined page at a time).

We made it home around 1 o'clock, just in time to get a few hours of sleep before waking up for today's planned excursion to Ostia Antica, about 45 minutes away on the beach. Ostia Antica is a fantastically well preserved Roman port town, comprable to Pompeii in its perfection. The site is enormous, we only covered half of it in about three hours. You can walk into houses (apartment buildings with shops below), bath houses with incredible mosaics and pools, a statium, a temple, and on and on and on. Our guide apologized for the overgrown paths, apparently abnormal for the usually well groomed site, but the wildflowers growing on the floors of apartments and along roads only added to the poignant beauty of the ruins. Our guide was fantastically knowledgeable and filled with the sort of daily-life trivia that can bring ancient sites to life more effectively than any documentary. All I wanted to do when I got home was watch the second season of Rome, but I guess that will have to wait until I'm back in the Berk (oh the irony...).

I can't imagine anyone has time to read much more than this, so I'll leave you here and go attempt to understand some Italian television. I miss everyone so much- if there's anything that is lessening the wonder of this city it is the feeling of isolation. Sometimes living surrounded by people you have little in common with is more lonely than being alone. I think it will be good for me to learn to be on my own, to find my own way, but it's hard without anyone to talk to. All the love in Italy is being sent your way.

*Once a seedy, lower-class neighborhood by the banks of the Tiber, Trastevere is now an up-and-coming hipster neighborhood filled with bars, cafes, and restaurants frequented by the young and beautiful of Rome (as well as the decidedly inelegant herds of American tourists). In the summer, the banks of the Tiber are lined with make-shift bars, shops, hookah lounges, and food-stalls and the center island is home to an outdoor film festival projected on a giant screen. Very hip, very touristy, and quite fun on a hot summer night.
**Spirito di Vino is a very cute play on words- it could mean either, the "Spirit of the Vine" or the "Divine Spirit"
***By far my favorite Italian custom. Italians usually eat dinner late, around 8 or 9, but before dinner (7-9), most bars and some restaurants serve an aperetivo, a kind of pre-dinner buffet. All you have to do is buy an alcoholic drink and you can eat as much as you want! Of course, many Italians take advantage of this, treating the aperetivo as a free all-you-can-eat-buffet dinner.

Arrival

2008-06-19T13:00:00.000-07:00

I have arrived in Rome at long last-
The flight wasn't so bad, but I barely slept at all out of nerves and sadness. I sat next to two kind Italian women, who tolerated my jerky attempts at conversation and politely looked away when the sun went down and I began to weep quietly into my complimentary pillow. But the tears did stop, and the sun came up and we touched down bumpily into Leonardo da Vinci Aereoporto. When we landed the first thing i noticed was the red ceramic rooftops, and after that the soft green and gold of the hills that stretch from the airstrip all the way out into the countryside. rome itself is a chaotic blend of packed roadways (lanes are largely irrelevant here, traffic moves in a liquid ebb and flow, constantly threatening to overrun its banks and sweep up cyclists, cafes, and unsuspecting pedestrians in its swell), stunning architecture, and ever-relaxed Italians. As if in contrast to the frenzied mobs of tourists, buzzing from Basilica to Parthanon, the Romans all seem to exude calm contentment from their very pores. They sit in cafes, sipping espresso, outside shops, eyeing potential customers, and on their stoops, just watching the world come to life around them. The slogan of every cafe in Rome is not only "take your time," but "you have all the time in the world."
My apartment is in a district with the loveliest name I've ever heard: Aurelia. My whole address is like a little poem- 41 (quarantuno) Via dei Gozzadini, Aurelia, Roma. (I don't think I can receive any mail here, I think it has to be mailed to the study center- I'll get back to you on that). The place is big, 4 rooms and six girls, and by a stroke of luck I was assigned to a single room (pictures to follow). I haven't had a chance to explore my own neighborhood yet, but I am close to a metro and bus stop as well as various shops and cafes once I work up the courage to cross the street (truly a matter of taking one's life in one's hands). After the ideal Italian dinner- prosciutto, fresh buffalo mozzarella, and cherry tomatoes as sweet as plums followed by chocolate and vanilla/pine nut gelato- I am finally ready to close my eyes. I am worried that the tears will come again once the light goes out, but they can't stay forever and there are wonders here whose brilliance won't let itself be blurred by glassy eyes. I miss you, more to come.

2008-06-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

It's official. The first of my closest childhood friends is engaged. I called her yesterday to wish her a happy 21st birthday, and she announced glowingly that her boyfriend, now fiance, had come up from LA to surprise her on her birthday and proposed. They're planning a December/January wedding, so she'll have one semester of college as Mrs. Something Else.

It's crazy. It feels like a big marker. Other girls I grew up with have gotten engaged/married, but this is the first of my best friends. But this is one of my best friends. And I think the scariest thing of all is that I'm actually really excited for her. There is no gnawing pit of my stomach wanting to cry out, "No! Don't do it!" I really think she's making the right choice for her and that she will be really happy. It's scary to think that one of my best friends getting married is normal.

I guess I'm in one of those big relationship markers myself, the first live-in boyfriend, but because it's Dave it just doesn't feel that weird or different. Because it's set up as kind of temporary it doesn't stress me out. Living with him works really well.

I've been thinking a lot about Hegel's specific altruism of the family when I think about why I get along so well living with David. I don't stress out with him about certain roommate things the way I have with other roommates, even when said roommates were close friends who I had known for a long period of time. I think even close friends don't always get the specific altruism like family members and romantic partners get. Maybe some people greater than I can afford the energy of this kind of total altruism with everyone they care about, but I've found my self kind of limited in that capacity. It's nice to live with someone I feel totally altruistic towards. It makes cooking and dishes and laundry and sitting around doing nothing a joy.

The coldest winter I ever spent...

2008-06-14T11:02:00.000-07:00

...was a summer in San Francisco.

Actually, it's been amazingly beautiful here, up until today. Today it is overcast, with ripples of blue dotted here and there.

The summer is dripping by. Working every day makes the days blend in together. This is the first day I have had the opportunity to lounge in bed past 8 a.m., so I am taking the opportunity to do so. David is by my side, on his matching laptop. We're listening to the birthday mix Tessa made for me and I couldn't be happier. Unless I was in this picture:

All week I have had the craving to write. I should just set myself down in some coffee shop with my pretentious black MacBook and get it over with. John is calling to me. He wants me to write about Goulash.

That is all for now.

Pre-Departure Information

2008-05-25T09:16:00.001-07:00

So, I leave for Italy in less than a month, but my departure from Berkeley is scheduled for this Saturday the 1st. I can't believe it's only been and already been one year in the Grand Apartment. I've watched love blossom between two of my best friends, been on incredible Jew-y adventures in Israel, gotten a tattoo, and even found some fusion-y romance of my own. It's hard leaving town when everything is going so well, but I'm glad that the memories I'll be taking with me are all so lovely to look back on. It's crazy to think that one year from now I'll probably be feeling just as conflicted about leaving Italy. Since this post isn't too exciting- seeing as it takes place from my bed on Ashby Avenue rather than some exotic European locale- I'll keep things brief. The adventure is about to begin.

Fresh Ink

2008-05-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

Susan and I got new tats. So we decided to start this blog off with a vaguely awkward picture of me naked with Susan kind of humping me. Because that's what we like to do in our spare time and we wanted this blog to reflect that.

So here we are, with our new tattoos courtesy of Alex at Industrial Tattoo. We're quite happy with them, so happy in fact, that we simply had to hump.

So, if this is any indication of how this blog will turn out, you are quite in luck.