Snot Monster (reminicing)

(In the spirit of sickness and in sharing past memories of Italy, I thought I would share a post I wrote on our first blog that we started to keep our family and friends up to date with our lives in Italy. In the previous post, I shared about the time when Kyle was sick in Venice, but previous to that, I had been sick. I was just beggining to stretch my writing muscles and devlop my voice. I remember being really proud of this piece, but now as I read through it, I am tempted to edit and revamp it, but as it is a relic from another time, I am holding myself back and leaving it as is and accepting it as it is. Here is that moment:)

The Snot Monster
So it has come to that time in the season where everyone is getting sick, including me! Noses become red, everyone sneezes and coughs and tissues are a hot comodity. I have become a statistic in this common pattern. My body is no longer my own but now merely a shell for snot. I am afraid there will be an uprising soon and the snot will not only hold my body hostage but will become a snot monster and try and take over the world. It could happen and if it did, Italy would be doomed. The snot monster would be a force to be reckoned with and we would need the amazing powers of a superpower to fight this evil. Maybe spiderman, batman, superman or better yet superwoman. Even the incredibles might not be able to contain this gigantic mass of yellow goo.
I am very glad I am sick now though instead of in Venice and during fall break. I have been taking it easy, moving slowly and not changing out of p.js. So far I think that my home remedy is working. But yesterday we had to go do laundry in the cold. We do have a laudry service but we were advised in the begining not to wash anything in there that you are particularly attached to because they might ruin it, so we have to hand wash and hang dry the clothes we are attached to. The problem starts to occur when you feel that your clothes aren't very clean from swishing them around in a bucket full of soap. Also, winter here is cold and wet meaning clothes will start to freeze soon instead of dry. Everytime we hang things to dry it ineveitably rains. So the point I am coming to is that I had to wash clothes in the cold while sick yesterday and it didn't make me a happy camper. Don't you agree Kyle should have done it all himself. Most of the clothes were his anyways, but I am a good girlfriend and we split the labor.
Kyle is not sick and is showing no signs of being taken over by the snot monster but only time will tell.

(Ironic isn't it, that Kyle DID get sick in Venice!)

Here's Kyle's current snot trail. Enjoy!

P.S. If you are wondering if the strange, sickly looking plant in the back is growing from the pile of tisssues, no it's not. We are trying to grow a pineapple bush. So far it's not looking so good.

We are sickies

**Waaambulence alert***

After a long emotional weekend, spent in a conference room along with 100 plus others, all of us breathing the same recycled air, our immune systems puttered and sniffled their way to the snotty helldom. My throat feels as if some long-nailed critter has been living inside, and has been meticulously clawing his way out, piercing his long nails into my soft, sensitive flesh in his attempt to escape. Kyle on the other hand has a full-blown cough, and a waterfall of snot and the worst of the worst- loss of taste. Sick crazed tastebuds is something I rarely experience, but which happens to poor Kyle nearly every time he contracts a snotty illness and it is the bane of his existence. He LOVES food, he lives for each meal. When his tastebuds desert him, the look of despondency in his face is that of abandoned child, lost without his blankey even to warm him.

It reminds me of that time in Italy...

The last semester I was in college, we decided to study abroad in Italy. Through this program we visited many cities throughout the boot shaped country, including Venice, the self-proclaimed, "most romantic city" in the world. And it would have been, had it not been for Kyle's cold. Sitting in the outdoor patio, listening to the quartet play familiar romantic ballads, while the breeze twirled our hair and tickeled our neck, Kyle sat across from me, his nose Rudolf red from constant blowing with his tongue hanging out as he struggled to breath.
"Sweetheart what would you like to eat?" I asked trying to hide my disappointment at the lack of romanticism in his zombie eyes.
"It doesn'd matter, I can'd tasde anythingd." He said followed by a sneeze, and watering eyes, not from emotion, but from his illness.
"What about texture. You can still feel texture right?" I said trying to stay positive, but actually bemoaning our bad luck that this should have been one of our most amorous evenings of our relationship but instead of my sweet boyfriend, I was stuck with a snot-filled, bass-mouthed robot and he felt miserable.
"How aboud lasgnda?" He said dejectedly.

Later in the evening, he started to feel better and even regained some of his taste back, enough at least to share a gelato with me. As with everything unpleasant (most of the time), this too will pass.
Expect more exciting posts when the lava flow from our brains has dried.

Kyle's Italian Experience

So since I just posted my paper, I thought it would be fitting to post Kyle's as well. So enjoy... I know I did!

My Italian Experience
Beginning this journey was something of a Herculean task. Vanessa and I knew that we wanted to study abroad. The question was how in the world we were going to be able to afford it, academically as well as financially. She was in her last 2 semesters of school and I still had some major requirements to fulfill to graduate so it is nothing short of a miracle that we were able to come. That said, it was undoubtedly divine intervention that brought us here. I am increasingly grateful to have been given such a wonderful opportunity to have experienced such a place with such people as these. We all had our ups and downs but even the downs seemed somewhat higher than they are back home. There is so much here that I am going to miss but I will never forget so many things as they have hit a part of me that will never let go of them. It’s hard to put into words the feelings I have for this incredible journey. In a word this trip has been…enchanting. Italy has a magical way of making every care in the world seem somehow insignificant. Time continues and things keep growing and the best you can do is squeeze the grapes when they are ripe and enjoy the cheese when the milk goes bad. There will always be another season. As things wrap up I feel a sense of responsibility ominously hanging over my head and while I know that many more wonderful things lie ahead in my life, I can’t help but feel it would be easier in Italy. I will miss the streets with few cars and the innumerous trees that have spread like wildfire through the valley. The vespas, the truckcycles, the gelato, the trendy teenagers hanging out at the playground, the local drunks staring at us at Rogiro’s, the pizza, the pasta, Rome, Florence, Arrezzo and the jousting, Sienna, Cortona, Orvieto, Montepucciano, Piensa, Pisa, Cinque Terre, scarfs, sunglasses, illegal venders parading through the crowds. Wild boar, gnocchi, bruschetta, olive oil, balsamic, and of course Santa Chiara with it’s hard bread that badly needs salt, it’s stinky bathrooms that you can squeeze into on good days, the somewhat functioning internet, the ping pong table that sometimes has a ball lying around, the TV room that is seldom unoccupied, and the studios that are never unoccupied, and the dead tree that stole our courtyard from us for so long it hurt. The turtles stuck in their corner, the laundry that never gets dry, the wonderful cooks and cleaning ladies that never get mad to our faces. The ever helpful, all knowing RC’s, the incredibly gracious Paolo and Garnet, and the cool but sometimes moody Marco. Above all else, I will miss our people, my new familia. While we all are going back to the same place, I feel that things will never be the same as they were here. It will always be just short of Italy. I am taking with me broadened horizons, having been instilled with a new found appreciation for art and architecture that I may not have found with lesser gods than the ones that taught me here. Wink! I will always see things in a new light now that I know what has come before. There is nothing greater than to learn from those that love what they teach. If there is anything I would change it would be to have more time. It goes by so fast here. The trips were probably the best thing about the entire experience. It felt so nice to have experienced Italy enthusiasts as our guides. I feel that the most valuable difference this experience will have made in my life is to make me so much more receptive and infinitely more interested in other cultures and has made me stunningly more aware of how other fellow humans view us Americans and the importance of that perspective. I know feel compelled to spread this knowledge and instill in others the same since of unity that I experienced here. Am I a better citizen of the world because of this course? Undoubtedly, but not without a feeling of cynicism. I’m not very confident that other fellow Americans are capable of achieving the sense of responsibility that I have acquired. Call me crazy but I’m not quite sure we care enough. If nothing else I would hope that all who travel throughout the world will take back home with them a sense of caring about the rest of the world. Without that I truly fear for our future. Nothing in this world is worse than a society of apathetic ignorants. At least one American is coming home ready to take ‘em all on!

Italy paper

I have been thinking alot lately about Italy. It doesn't seem possible but a year has gone by since we were there. How did time fly by so quickly? There are days when my day seems to last an eternity yet, somehow those incredibly marathon long days have multiplied into the equivalent of a year. As I was reminiscing, I came across the final paper I wrote for the conclusion of our journey. It is a short culmination of the lessons I learned while in Italy. Reading the paper a year later touched my heart in a different way than how it did when I wrote it. The words fished out feelings and thoughts that had taken a siesta in the dark and small pools of my mind. It seems as if they were drowning and demanding for recovery. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

My Italian Experience
Italy, oh Italy, how I love thee. I am twenty-two years of age and my life up to this point has been a series of spectacular events. Italy has been amazing in so many ways that there aren’t even words to try to describe my emotions connected with this experience. Because there is so much to talk about, it is difficult to narrow down the selection, but I will save you the torture of reading a book. The topics I am addressing are my renewed faith in the kindness of others, and the new eyes I have acquired because of Italy.

Italy puts your brain into overactive mode. There are so many things to look at and so many places to rest your eyes. Italy is full of new and exciting sounds and sights. When I first arrived here, I didn’t think I would ever stop looking at the mountains. I wrote a question in my journal, “Do Italians know how blessed they are? They are surrounded by this beauty on a day to day basis. Do they take it for granted or do they marvel at its majesty and greatness on a daily basis? Does it go unappreciated by its own people?” I am always surprised when everything new and novel turns to everyday and ordinary. There were days that I would pass the view of the valley and not even look out at the many shades of green on the fairy inhabited hills. When I do look at the landscape, I find myself holding my breath, waiting to see if it will disappear as a figment of my imagination. But my imagination is not as brilliant as this beauty so I know it is real. The weather might have had some hand in my negligence as well, but it is not an excuse. It is so easy to take beauty for granted when it is no longer new. Appreciating life takes energy and I don’t always remember to fork over that energy into that category of my life.
The churches and ruins were absolutely amazing as well. I nearly squealed with a child’s vibrancy and gaiety at the sight of the first Florence church we pranced into. How could it be that a building hundreds of years old could create such ardor? I had never before seen a building so beautiful and so carefully crafted and loved. The simple, quickly constructed, American buildings we create for ourselves in comparison to the incredibly ornate and brilliantly architected Italian buildings are like comparing a McDonald’s Tonka truck toy with a Mercedes Monster truck at a Monster Rally. I cannot get over how much time, patience and love have been put into many of these buildings. The art adorning the walls is often amazing in itself, but when combined with the grandeur of the architecture and the overall emotional response the space creates, it is enough to give one the chills.

One other thing that has surprised me has been the kindness of others. I am going to tell you the story of how we got to Italy to help give a better understanding of this kindness that I speak of. We arrived in Florence late on the night of the 27th of August. We didn’t know how to get to Castiglion Fiorentino; in fact we thought we would have to take a bus. We went to ask in the information area and this wonderful woman who spoke English extremely well offered to show us how to get there. When I say that she was going to show us, I mean she rode on the train, got off where we had a connection and then said goodbye to take the train back to Florence. There had been some mix up with the trains and there were about 8 Americans who were very confused as to what to do, so she went way out of her call of duty to help some silly Americans tourists. Would I be that generous with my time? How many people are there out in the world who are so willing to lend a kind hand? I was in shock and, I couldn’t express enough gratitude. After she left, the fear of getting lost crept back into my body. We jumped on the next train (it was less jumping and more dragging our exhausted bodies and heavy luggage onto the train). The light of joviality that the woman’s charity had lit started to fade as we quickly realized not only did we not know where to get off, but we couldn’t see out the window. My stomach started to nervously dance and gurgle out of fear and anxiety, my head started to scream “What are you doing in a country where you can not even communicate a simple question?!” I had been anxious all day about this issue, but the bubble had risen to the top and was ready to burst. The only other people on the train were this older Italian couple who spoke English as well as I speak Italian. It turned out, that even without the use of language, we were able to communicate effectively enough. Once again, someone was charitable and kind to us. Every stop that the train made, they would stare out the window with us to help decipher the foreign Italian city names in the dark. They would call out the name at every stop and speak encouraging Italian words which I didn’t understand, but made me fell better nevertheless. Once we found the correct stop we said our goodbyes and departed ways. The fear gurgled to life again as I realized that we didn’t know how to get to Santa Chiara. We made our way up to the bar closest to the train station. We had been traveling since 6:00 am that morning and it was now close midnight and we had only eaten one meal that day, breakfast. I am not actually what time it was, but I do know it was very late, I was tired of lugging luggage around, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I sat down on one of the chairs at the bar, while Kyle attempted his broken Italian with the bar tender. He came back and said, “I have good news and bad news. Santa Chiara is only about a kilometer away, the bad news is it up hill all the way.” I wanted to cry. The exhaustion and hunger had taken over and I didn’t think I could make it up the hill. I think the man saw my desperation, and offered to give us, perfect strangers, a ride.
How many times were we offered help by perfect strangers in this country? It was a miracle we arrived in one piece and if hadn’t been for the help of the Italians, I don’t know what would have happened to us that night. My point with this story is this; I have always had faith in the goodness of people, but I had started to question that faith. Our introduction to Italy blew that faith into full force and I will never question it again. Italy is a country with good reason to dislike America at this moment in time, yet perfect strangers were able to see past our American accents and treat us as human beings. If only we could all learn to treat each other like these Italians treated us, this world would be in much better shape.

I am thankful for what Italy has given to me. It has given me new eyes to look through. My adventure side hasn’t lessened, but increased. I know feel a desperation because of the limited time and money I have in this life and the desire to explore the world to its limits. Italy has only given me a taste of what the rest of the world has to offer, and it was mighty flavorful. But not only has my desire for travels increased but it has given me new friends. The Santa Chiara family will always be with me in my heart for as long as I live. I will remember Italy with overabounding love. Thank you for giving us this opportunity to experience the magic of the Italian experience.