arrivederci italia

In my head I can hear "the final countdown" playing.

I am not a very organized person, and I haven't been able to bring myself to pack my belongings. This is not because I do not want to go home--I want to go home--I just do not want to leave Italy. Unfortunately, I cannot have both. And even more unfortunately, the time has come to pack, and I must fit all of my worldly possessions into two suitcases, and I do not have the patience for playing tetris with my books and socks.

And my packing has given me a little headache. And I am not prone to headaches.

However, having all of my clothing untidily shoved into a suitcase that is sitting on the foot of my bed the realization that I am going home has dawned full-force. I am really excited. It will be so good to see everybody.

But, man I am going to miss this place.

Cute Kids

When I first spent a Saturday morning at Casa San Michele, the hours dragged by. I was so worried I would do something wrong, and I could not remember anyone's name. I assumed that I would have to get by with the Italian equivalent of "Hey you" when I needed to get the attention of someone specific.

I never thought the kids would really like me. I figured I would just watch to make sure they did not swallow any marbles or hit each other.

I never thought they would actually run over to me with their arms outstretched, wanting my attention, or insist on giving me good-bye kisses before I left.

But now that it is almost over I think, what will these kids grow up to be? Will I ever see them again? Would I recognize them if I did? I don't expect three-year-olds to remember a girl who spent four hours with them on Saturdays for 8 months, but am I going to search the faces of any Iris, Michele, Fabbian, Luna I meetfor a glimpse of the kids I played with in Florence?

Probably.

***Buona Pasqua***

Easter Bunny Cake 2008--We didn't buy all the appropriate decorations beforehand and had to improvise Easter Sunday.

I have not been a diligent blogger. I attribute this to my life being a little mundane. I know, I know, I am in Italy, life should not be mundane. Everyday of my life I am living this exotic adventure (well, exotic may be a bit of a stretch, it is not like I'm in the jungles of the Amazon), la dolce vita. And it is the sweet life, but after a while living in Florence just feels a lot like living anywhere else, which makes me want to more fully appreciate the beauty and significance of any place I reside.

But, I do things besides attempt to research (attempt because I am lured from legitimate study by the wiles of the internet too often). I should elaborate on the amazing adventure I had with my grandma and her siblings and their significant others over spring break and my trip to Lucca with my church chum the lovely Liz, but my fingers only have the tenacity to write about one event at a time. Hence, I have chosen Easter.

It rained a lot. April Showers, eh?

I had a lovely dinner with some of my fellow Master's students.

And for the dinner, I made this fantastic cake, modelled after the traditional Scheidler Family Easter Bunny Cake. It doesn't seem like Easter without this masterwork of cake-making. It would perhaps be more indulgent of the spiritual side of Easter if we made a nice cross cake, or if we were really ambitious, we coud recreate Christ emerging from the tomb. However, I can imagine I'd be less comfortable eating that. (But such a cake would put an interesting apin on historical debate on whether communion is symbolically or literally the body of Christ). All cake discussion aside, I do appreciate the spiritual side of Easter and love that typically we celebrate the resurrection of Christ and the hope that it brings just as spring is dawning after winter's bleakness.

I just love hope.

Now...for a picture of the Bunny Cake 2010--Its Italian Debut

2010 was another year for improvising. The bowtie is frosted with nutella, the eyes are made from cookies, where I might have used pink frosting I used strawberries, and I thought some white chocoate buck teeth would be a nice touch. And it didn't taste too bad either (and if you're dying to know...I made the cake from scratch...without a recipe. I just may be amazing.)

My apartment has a smell

After seven nights in hotels, I have come to recognize the distinct scent of my Florentine home. If I were to describe the odor, I would say it smells like overripe fruit. But not in a disconcerting way, like there's something rotting somewhere, its just an oddly sweet yet natural smell.

Now that I have identified this scent, whenever my nose catches a whiff of it, I will think of Via Doni. Just like I can recognize that St. George-y smell of my Grandma Jodie's house.

At last, a very rudimentary translation

Translation, especially of poetry, truly is an art...one that I can't say I've mastered. Do you preserve the syntax, do you adapt it to a more colloquial tone, or does that rob the poeticness? Gah. But here's a go:


Vita by Davide Ceccione

Have you haver seen how fleeting is the life
of a droplet?
Has one ever told you with how much love and joy it battles for
its independence? It forces with divinity to liberate itself
from the yoke of the edge.
It falls and rejoices, dying.
Have you never seen and understood this?
And don't come to me to speak of life.

I may have taken slight liberties, and I'm not 100% sure of the best way to translate the last line, but I love the droplet; it sort of causes me to reflect on the eternities and how are lives are short and precious. But I won't elaborate on all my musings about the poem and enter into a lengthy and self-indulgent memoir-style composition on why I love this poem. You can enjoy it and take from it what you will.

Vita
Hai mai visto quanto breve e'
la vita di una goccia?
Ti ha mai detto con quanto amore e gioia lotta per
l'indipendenza? Sforzo divino il
suo, per liberarsi dal giogo del bordo.
Cade e gioisce morendo.
Hai mai visto e capito cio'?
E non venirmi a parlare di vita

Davide Ceccione

when i have time, i'll translate it.

La Cucina Italiana...Roni Style.

I thought I looked like a pretty classy cook, so I took a picture of what has become my typical fare: a handful of some cheap pasta (I get a 500 gram bag for 37 cents) and some red onion, garlic, and basil (fresh basil in this pic...I stole some off of Angela's basil plant on the terazza. Oh, no. I'm the moochy roommmate) sauteed over olive oil and then mixed with some tomato sauce and spiced up with a little pepperoncino. Sounds tasty, and it is incredibly cheap to make. But after months of this entree, pasta in tomato sauce has become almost as unappetizing as mushrooms smothered in bleu cheese dressing (that is about the grossest sounding thing I can personally think of). So, I've been venturing beyond.
Tonight, I made a little stir fry thing! Mmmm, looking at this picure makes me want to whip-up another helping.

Just for the world's information: I can cook rice! I remember hearing my Aunt Cindy lamenting the sad state of domesticity by complaining that girls these days don't even know how to cook rice. I thought to myself, "Pshaw, I can cook that non-glutenous grain. You just read the directions on the MinuteRice box." Ha! overconfident past-self, it's not so easy! I've scalded rice to the bottom of the pan many times here in Italy (and still do occasionally) but through trial and error I have become a rice-cooking woman. (Marry me!) In fact, rice pudding is my new favorite treat.

Today, I ventured out into entirely new terrain and tried some cupcakes from scratch. I've actually never made a cake without a Betty Crocker mix, so this really was trail-blazing for me. You can tell from the pics above I was less-than pleased with the result. Aestetically, these cupcakes are not appealing, but I assure you they taste delicious. It's just hard to cook things here because the ingredients have different names, I don't have the appropriate measuring tools, and, the big one, my oven does not have any markings to tell me how hot it is. So I just guess where 350 degrees Fahrenheit (or 180 degrees Celcius) and I think I guessed to high because my cupcake tops were browning while the inside was still a very gelatinous mass.

And besides cooking and eating, I do go to school, but who wants to hear about that?