Convictions from the Colloseum

It is hard to grasp the ancient quality of such a place. Former history classes reviewing ancient civilizations now swirl in my head while the actual remains surround me. The feeling is one of awe at first and then the actual history of this place begins to flood my mind – so many lives and souls lost: the gladiators and martyrs who shed their blood on the arena floor and the spectators, who reveled in and cheered on their deaths, in turn, shed their humanity in the stands.

Knowing that so many innocent people died for their faith makes me evaluate my own. Do I have their unwavering faith? Do I truly have the knowledge they possessed, knowing that as they faced public and brutal execution, their next breath would be before The King? If I do, why do I allow the everyday trivialities get in the way? Why do I feel I need to be in the lion’s den in order to have extraordinary faith?

Dying in "glory" is one thing and probably unlikely for me in suburban life, so I need to learn (and relearn and relearn) to die to myself daily. I need to learn how to bookend my day with God and fill the spaces in between by putting Him first, by putting others before myself. To truly know God is to love God, and to love God is to love selflessly. I need to live such a life as to be convicted a Christian when the time comes.

A break from Italy

This is a bit of a vulnerable entry, but hey, I did plan on risking a bit of audacity, right? This is from a personal journal...

I am at a loss as to change this state [of being single]. I’ve thought about doing the whole internet dating site thing, but my original misgivings are still there: it’s so forced. I didn’t like the idea before, so why would I like it now? But then again, where else am I supposed to meet someone? There’s work, but no possibilities. And I do not want to meet someone at a bar. I know that I will go to the Harp for the music, so it is plausible that I could meet someone with the same morals and attitude, but I don’t think I will hold my breath.

I am trying to keep my focus however, so as to not forget about all the amazing things God has blessed me with already. I am employed for another year. I have an awesome apartment. I am blessed with good friends. I recently went on an international adventure (woo hoo Italia!). I have actually seen physical improvement with my eating/working out regime. So, you know, good things, good things…and yet,and yet...something is missing.

But once this void is filled, won’t another take it’s place? As I was reminded with a reread of my March entry, when I feel uncreative I pick up a brush or a camera. It satisfies for a moment, but then I feel it again, that void, that reminder that my apartment is my sanctuary because I am the only one who is here. I am alone. I am alone with no end in sight. Humph. So where is my real void then?

Perhaps I am overlooking a brilliant opportunity to write about this. I need to write. I wonder what it is that drives me, writing or the mere thought of being a writer. Am I romanticizing this as I do everything else? Am I keeping it in mind to have something to look forward to or because I really believe it is something that I must do. Isn’t that the true mark of a writer: obsession? I have ideas floating, but nothing too structured or screaming to get out. Hmmm…well, well, it is a quandary.

Musing #4

Staying in a hotel, EcoHotel, outside of the main center of Rome, in a typical neighborhood – busy, loud, a little dirty – in a typical city. I like the city center, but when relaxing, waiting to feel inspired, I find that I prefer (and am currently missing) being in the country. I am currently plugged into my ipod, listening to Ray LaMontagne tell me he could “hold me in his arms forever” – a loud motorbike momentarily drowning out his serenade. The busyness of the city, the rapid movement of business, cars, and life creates a busyness in my head. I am once again worrying about my responsibilities back home: financial shortcomings and what to do about my car…

Of course, as Damien Rice now takes over for Ray and begins his lament about "floating like a cannonball”, I am able to get lost in his melancholy and feel that I will also get lost in the history and surreal beauty that is Rome. I am sure an inspiration separate from Florence will by my muse for a season. Perhaps I’ll think back to Rome and feel the need to create or improve my mind- expand my philosophical and historical knowledge, as I currently fall short.

It may sound weird, but this is a shortcoming that I embrace. How awful it would be to find that I felt I had nothing left to learn or experience, no area in which I am challenged enough to grow. And right now, I need to learn to find inspiration in the middle of a typical neighborhood, in a typical city.

Musing #3

The Sistine Chapel and School of Athens: images I have seen in print, but to stand beneath the originals, the actual masterpieces, is breathtaking. To describe the feeling would fall short - it makes me think of the apostles' inability to describe Heaven with human words. It gives me this incredible sense of expectation: if I am having trouble describing something created by man, how much more incredible Heaven will be. How much beauty and (for lack of a better word) magic must Heaven hold? Heaven, an ineffable creation. Then, to think of the Creator - how beyond imagination, let alone words.

Musings on...Convenience

In Venezia (Venice), on a water bus, we met a misplaced valley girl who recently married an Italian man. Through conversation, she brought up the idea of getting used to the pace of life and the few things that she still finds irritating (even after two years). One of the things was the lack of convenience of store hours – early closing hours and the fact most (in some towns, all) of the stores closed completely on Sundays.

I am mulling this over on a Sunday as we are relaxing at the hotel, partly because we need to and partly because nothing is open – no stores, no museums, not even the laundry mat. We had to make sure we went to the grocery store yesterday (before eight o’clock) so that we would have food to eat today. We were forced to have at “home” family meals, and it was wonderful. It was just a couple meals, but they had purpose.


The picture is of our family meal by chef Josh.

I have heard it said that while the rest of the world works to live, Americans tend to live to work; this seems to be a sad reality. Could the stores make more money if they were open 24 hours, 7 days a week? No doubt there would be early morning Sunday proprietors who would attract early morning patrons and would earn a few more Euros each week. They could increase their profits, but it would come at a very steep price: purpose.

Purpose would have to be sacrificed. I know that I rarely plan ahead because I can jot to the store at almost any hour, seven days a week. If I am actually cooking at home, and I find I am missing an ingredient, no worries, VON’S is just around the corner, ready to sell me what I lack. This type of instant gratification has led to instant entitlement – and how this has seeped into all the nooks and crannies of life.

I wonder, could I start a one woman revolution? Help bring back the simpler ways of living – leave a little convenience behind for a truly better way of life?

I have already made baby steps – painting and reading more instead of owning a cable box – but I need to go beyond this beginning superficiality and make this slower pace a part of who I am. Become deliberate, purposeful in things as simply as dinner and as grand as relationships with friends, family, coworkers, students.

Musing #1

There is a symphony for all the senses: the vibrancy of the blue skies against the lush landscape, the breeze that carries with it the slight fragrance stemming from the lavender bushes, that same breeze swooshing through the trees, rustling the leaves in waves to perfectly complement the choir of birds. Had I been given the opportunity to create such a place, my imagination would have fallen short of this reality.

Reflections outside of Florence

Anyone who sees this place would love our hotel – really it’s a small house – kitchenette and all. The grounds are stunning and so peaceful; I love the constant sounds of birds and insects going about their business – it’s given me a renewed sense of appreciation for the quiet, peaceful ease of the country: a breathing pastoral.

I think I am going to show my students pictures of the lake when we review Emerson and Thoreau. This must be the type of setting that encouraged these great thinkers’ attempts at putting the beauty of nature in verse. Their desire to step back from the bustling world and absorb all that God has created– truly, “transcendental” is an apt description. This place, this feeling, truly transcends anticipation, defies accurate explanation – I am encouraged not to try to explain or capture (though I obviously am), instead I feel encouraged to simply be.

I am enjoying letting my thoughts wonder, not over-analyzing anything, simply drifting from one idea to another, from appreciation of my surroundings to meditating on a few lines of poetry from “George Grey”: “Put meaning in one’s life and it may end in madness, but life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire.”



To think, I could have missed all this if I had let the idea of bills and financial responsibilities get in the way of this adventure: meaning is found in experience, not a savings account. To have bypassed this experience, this life adventure, would have been the truly regrettable, even irresponsible thing to do. How often the idea of checking off boxes on my “to do” lists outweigh the desire to sit, reflect, and enjoy the beauty that surrounds me, waiting to inspire those that will let it. How often I have blurred the distinction between productivity and true accomplishment.

I heart Monterosso!

The Cinque Terre is magic! L'amore! The old streets, crammed houses, laundry lines outside windows and across streets - straight out of a story this town, Monterosso, breathes. The street cafes, gelato shops (oh the gelato shops), all are even more alive during the World Cup - especially last night while Italy played Ghana. And even though Italy (sadly) lost 2-3, the interest in the cup has not wavered in the least. Kids were running through town, soccer ball passing between each yelling boy, nearly missing the man who gave a disapproving look, a look that didn't faze a single boy.

This town has an energy that fascinates and invites me. Perhaps part of this feeling comes from its remote location that can be reached by a long, narrow, windy road, by train, or boat. I am so use to the openness of Southern California beach cities like Huntington that can be seen from the very wide and busy PCH. Getting from one Cinque Terre city to another is almost the same, except for the trail that can be walked from the first to the last with pit stops at each along the way.

We ended up hiking to three other Terre cities, a hike that was not to be rushed. It was too beautiful and too difficult to do so. Walkways and steep stone stairs led us from Monterosso to Vernazza (my favorite stretch of the hike). The trail contained great views that defy description or picture (though I took plenty) - flowers and lush greens, occasional peeks to the city we left and the deep blue ocean, finally opening up just enough to see Vernazza tucked away in a cove filled with boats and sun bathers. For something so inspiring, I am at a loss for words...

Vernazza is said to be the prettiest of the five cities, but, lovely though it is, my favorite is Monterosso - the eclectic houses with painted details and old town charm simply won my heart. And the people we came across in Monterosso were no small part of the town's beauty.

Our waiter that night, a perfect example of the spirit of Monterosso, was so warm - he proudly told us about the Basil leaves that are grown two hills over that are essential to "the best pesto in Italy. In the world". Apparently these basil plants have "smaller leaves but they are smelly." I have to say, coupled with spinach ravioli, it was indeed wonderful pesto, this pesto made with tradition and pride, so reflective of this small Italian town.

Amidst the hustling tourists and taxis tearing through the city, the slower pace of many of the locals becomes a welcome contrast. Settings are placed on tables, patios are swept of last night's dinner, dogs are walked: things are done, not hurried. A lesson I hope to take home with me - especially when I have guests. I realize how contagious an attitude can be, either relaxed or stressed. I am, therefore, determined to have an attitude that allows those around me to feel relaxed and free to leave anxieties behind.