Lose excess, except Less.

Now…it’s time to clean.

I guess pictures are the way to communicate on this site, so I will attempt to visually convey what my summer goals are:

I just arrived home from a weekend in Seattle, interviewing for graduate school and seeing the city with a good family friend.  Two interview weekends down, one to go. Once rejected, twice hopeful. 

Plane rides are always interesting.  Tons of people are squished into one powerful cylindrical transportation vehicle, to come across and possible converse with mostly perfect strangers you’ll never see again after several hours of quality time together.  At least, that’s what ends up happening to me. I inherited my mother and grandmother’s small-talking tendencies. (Yes, I am “that person” on plane rides.)

And, let us not forget that in the event of a water landing (?!?!?!?!!!), there’s always the fun blow-up slides and life-vests found conveniently under your seat. Heck, use the seat cushion too.  To my disappointment, there were recorded instructions instead of the expected highlight of every flight: the attendants’ choreographed seat-belt buckling and oxygen mask wearing tutorials.  Gives me chills every time.  (Not joking.)

I did, however, find some unexpected characters.  I sat next to a woman who recoiled dramatically when I nudged to let her know there were drinks available.  The flight attendant said, “OOooooo, she gave us a look that could kill us ALL.” Truer words were never spoken.

On the way back, there was an older man sitting with his much older mother, making completely unnecessary contributions to the plane’s sound environment.  I was reading Tina Fey’s “Bossypants” (and chuckling quietly - and not so quietly - to myself) when the captain announced we had progressed halfway towards our destination.  Not even 2 seconds after he was done, this older man (with white hair and a nearly-impressive mustache) man announced “WE’RE HALFWAY TO THE REST OF YOUR LIFE” and proceeded to explain to absolutely no one in particular what he meant.  It must have been too profound for my (sane) mortal mind to comprehend.

Again, when the captain announced we would be arriving in 10 minutes, this man said “FINAL APPROACH,” followed by some crazed laughter.  At this point, I think a baby started crying. 

And…let us also not forget the angry Russian (I know this because he had a loud phone conversation post-landing where the only English words I heard were “internship” and “bagel, sesame seed”) who was playing some sword video game without headphones for about 2 hours.  From the sound effects I could make out, he was not successful.

But, I was successful. “Bossypants” = hilarious and finished in one day. And THAT, my friends, does not happen too often. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qO0Bn_H4C3M

remind me of around the same time last year when I was feeling a similar pang:

For a Love, Still(ed)

I’m getting used to the empty chair

you left: the one you never bought.

At least my feet are restful; my legs lie

parallel, still(ed), unsuspecting

suspension’s transfixed gaze.

Is all that’s left, my dear, dissolving,

or was the land mine

the reason, the suspect waiting for a touch

to ignite just enough dust and shrapnel

to tear and pull and disconnect

your body suddenly from a limb,

unneeded and even more useless.

 ___________________________________________

So suddenly exceeding, how I could see

only with my fingers, all expectations,

you, my dear, have found me, still(ed) only

to come closer to compress almost one

yearn into two incompatible hands

shaking: one, the eager greeter,

the other, retracting and moving

forth along an axis lined with

sure implications.  Needed maps

to guide are all but present.

 ___________________________________________

But His hands, first still(ed),

twice pierced and then restored,

touch every itch and inch and inkling

as my face turns towards what

I hope to be the fixed viewpoint.

And I must keep my eyes closed, for

far above me, I know where I stand.

 ___________________________________________

At least my eyes are restful; my heart lies

parallel to yours, still(ed), but on what

grounds can my hands move out of tight fists,

too clenched, to wave you goodbye until

the next time you come?  I will know

it’s time to arise and keep my head

straight.  As an arrow flies seeking

His target, you seek before all things

only now, only after your taught and true release

from my bow, severely bent into a shape

I’m getting used to: the empty chair. 

You left the one you never bought.

There is too much to say.  After a month of blog neglect, I will try and go slowly with communicating past events worth mentioning.

While my roommates were emotional about the leave from Italy, I felt more surface-level, inevitable change.  Perhaps it was a way to leave mental room for the series of cram sessions that defined my finals week.  There was a strange alternate reality to the experience of studying abroad, as the old “when in Italy” mentality became the reason for that extra pastry, that next trip, or all too often, the Nth shot of hard liquor. People, myself included, spoke of returning home as “returning to reality,” returning to responsibilities and life plans.  I could not allow such a mentality; Florence was my home for some time, and like any home, it is worn and loved through just as ordinary routines spotted with glimmers of weekend plans. 

The phrase “To each his own” was filled with context over the course of this trip, that’s for sure.  Learning to truly observe others without pity or contempt has been an important learning experience, from 3 am apartment door buzzes to the closed Florentines I did not even begin to know personally.  On the other hand, the phrase applied to MY “own” was harder to conceptualize.  It took me all too long to realize that attempting to create my own scale of enjoyment as a function of my own successes only added anxiety to my work and tainted my fun. 

But to add some joy into a mildly dreary post, I have been thoroughly blessed by the overall experience.  In the following catch-up posts, I hope to highlight the memorable moments of the last leg of my trip.

Traveling was smooth, without a hitch.  I caught up on my media exposure, as I watched Harry Potter 7 (pt. 1), The Tourist (absolutely terrible), and a 4 hour Western “epic” I forgot the name of (I was half asleep during most of it) on the plane. Lufthansa was seriously the best airline I have ever flown with, down to the cup holder on the right side of the television that just happened to fit the labeled plastic cups I wanted to save and bring home to use on a daily basis.

I am unpacked from Italy, but not organized.  My summer plans are in the making, and I am finding myself in a strange limbo between Spring and Summer.  For now, I already feel rested and ready to face my final year of undergraduate study.  I will see my sweet Minneapolis friends and home soon; there will be much rejoicing.  Donuts, here I come.

Today is Saturday, a slow day of the week, so extra time was spent getting ready for the day. 

I listened to Fr. John Corapi’s talk on Good Friday (thanks, Paul) this morning.  Full of mental noise, I was checking my email while listening and drinking the morning cup of espresso, but felt embarrassed when I realized I had completely forgotten the last 3 minutes of the talk I had surely heard.  Lately and too often, I have had the experience of blanking during conversation; listening has been difficult.  In paying attention, zoning in instead of out, I have been far too frugal. 

This talk deserves attention: sharp, focused attention.  Speaking of his seminarian friend who suffered from lyme disease and then melanoma, which lead to his death, Fr. Corapi provides beautiful imagery uniting his suffering to Calvary.  I will let Fr. Corapi speak for himself, which he does so brilliantly, and spare a concise version.  Please find this talk, and the surrounding Triduum talks, here: http://catholicipod.stblogs.com/category/fr-john-corapi/

I have been struck by the sweetness of mortality lately, which sounds morbid and slightly insane, but having that ultimate end in mind helps when making decisions even on a day-to-day basis.  Life on this earth is capped, and we can all count on that.  When my Renaissance Art History class took an excursion to the church of Santa Croce for Masaccio’s Trinity, a fresco, the momento mori (a reminder of one’s eventual death) below the altarpiece made me smile more than anything.  Above the skeleton, the inscription reads: “I was once what you are, and I am what you will become.”  … BAM.

I’ll give some background to the fresco: The fresco, painted in 1428, was covered up by a Giorgio Vasari altarpiece in 1570 effort to “modernize” the church, and then discovered later (“by pure chance,” says my professor) in 1860 when an effort was made to re-establish the church’s Gothic roots.  Interestingly, this fresco was one of Masaccio’s last works, which makes the momento mori all the more effective.  The Trinity is represented by God the Father, the dove of the Holy Spirit (which looks like a white collar around God the Father’s robes), and Christ on the Cross, under a triumphant arch.  Masaccio utilizes one-point linear perspective, a new convention at the time, to emphasize the pilgrim’s journey to Christ by leading the viewer’s eye from the kneeling patrons in the foreground, through the middle-ground of the steps, and then to the foot of the Cross, which provides the vanishing point of the composition. Christ is portrayed suffering, with dramatically shadowed physiognomy, which would have been a newer depiction of the Crucifixion for the average viewer of Masaccio’s time. 

The momemto mori below was discovered in the 20th century (Surprise!), and completes the didactic message of the fresco, relating and fusing Christ’s Crucifixion and ultimate glory through suffering to man’s mortality.  The skeleton and inscription remains at eye-level, calling the viewer to take their finite life into consideration before looking upwards to the Route of salvation.  The inscription, written in “vulgare” Italian, was obviously meant for the common folk’s understanding, and emphasizes the universality of salvation. 

All that being said, everything comes back to the Cross.  Masaccio creates an “X” in the composition, from the viewer’s gazes and the surrounding architecture, with the Heart of Christ at its center.  (That was just my own observation, the exact point of convergence may be someplace else, but I see it at the Heart.)  The intermingling of suffering and love is a topic so vastly discussed and expounded upon by far greater mouths and minds than mine, but much is to be learned in meditation in front of great works of art visually depicting this mystery. 

I’ll end this longer post with a quote given by Fr. Corapi and a definition:

“Suffering endears men to Me.” - Christ, through St. Paul of the Cross

endear: verb(trans.), cause to be loved