Roma, Caput Mundi

From the brothel in Pompeii

I was fortunate enough to go to Rome for two weeks, let alone take a class there with some of the most amazing people I've ever met. It's crazy to think that such a short amount of time brings you closer with people. The setbacks are overruled by the amazing sixteen days I spent there.

Rome had me thinking a lot about nostalgia, specifically the objects and places we associate with it. Things that trigger memories. I have a card from a restaurant my friend Aimee brought a few of us to, and I found it in my planner  a couple of days ago. Turning it over, the images of the checkered tables came back to life, the cold, frigid air of the night felt harsh in my lungs. I remembered that I didn't have gloves on me, considering it had been in the fifties the entire time we were there, why would I need to carry them around? We went to a gelato place in the Pantheon neighborhood before (Soy gelato, soy gelato, soy gelato--it was amazing), who cares about spoiling dinner? It was our last night there. That's the worst part of any trip, realizing you're about to leave.

For the first time while I was there, I felt homesick. For my apartment, where I'm sitting now. I missed looking out onto the park across the road,  I missed walking up three flights of stairs after work, fingers frozen and mail tucked under my arm. That feeling somehow enhanced my experience. Rome is overstimulating in some ways, so much is going on. I hate to be a tourist that looks up at the buildings, but the architecture is layer upon layer. Culture on top of culture. I feel like I didn't take in enough, didn't step into the corners where I could have. I never made it to Trastevere, and I wish I had. The miles I walked are printed on the warn down treads and heels of my shoes. There's an entire journal full of writing and tickets used from museums and metro passes. Roma was well loved.

( I want to go back. )

So:

1. Three inches of my hair have been trimmed off and now it's layered again and looks like a normal person's hair instead of a crazy moor-roaming woman's. I don't live anywhere near a moor, but that's what I'd like to imagine how it looked at the time.
2. I'm behind in all of my reading! What else is new?
3. Today consists of making a raw blueberry tart with a pretty lattice covering, as well as a Christmas-eve-eve dinner with my mother's family and a lovely lunch with Meg.
4. Have I mentioned how much food I've eaten since I've returned? Even though they don't like to openly admit that they're extremely Italian in their ways, my mother's family force feeds you if you look skinny. "Oh, you look so good! Eat this entire shovel full of vegetables and bread--it's gluten free, I bought it just for you, honey--and oh my, look I guess I made some dessert!" Or, in my aunt's case, "Look, no one's around," and commence pouring a very healthy glass of wine. Not that anyone cares, we just pretend it's like sneaking around. As much as I love cooking, I do enjoy having meals prepared for me.
5. I need to go on a run after lunch.
6. And also take photos because this is getting ridiculous.
7. There's a lot of snow outside, finally. And I heard of that storm in the midwest that I missed. Really?

Author's note: This was from awhile ago, I guess rereading it brought some laughter to my empty apartment. I'll post an update from Rome in a little while. Meaning tomorrow, most likely, or later today. --Fallon

Hearthside Singing

My aunt is the singer of the family; everyone else likes to join in but unbeknownst, she's the best. We don't really have a set group of traditions for the holiday, other than waking up at six o'clock am, opening presents at half past the hour. It takes a lot of coffee and quite a bit of food for us to finish. This year, only my grandparents are going to be here for Christmas Eve and the next day. Sadly, I won't be able to stay up late with my aunt and help her cook French onion soup until one in the morning, watching Rick Steves' "Christmas in Europe" on PBS (don't judge). She's going to her fiancé's family's home. So, no half out of tune carols this year. I'll have to make due with the playlist that's on repeat on a cassette deck my father's had since he was probably about twenty-five. I'm going to be twenty in February, that's a bit terrifying to think about. Not the age, just the time gone by.

It's nice being in Vermont despite the damp, freezing, ridiculously chilling weather. It wasn't this bad when I left Chicago. Different state, different climate, right? This year, definitely, feels more like a vacation than coming back into my past. Even though I've only officially lived in the mid-west for a little under a year and a half, but most days it feels like longer. Well, off to eat. I'm always off to eat. I wonder why I make food after I write these. Drive/travel safely. Hope it's snowing where you are, or sunny, if that's what you prefer.

Short Term Happenings

Well, I lied just a bit. I'm still in Chicago at the moment; I'm leaving at three o'clock today, or a little before. It depends on whether or not the bus I have to catch to the Blue Line comes every fifteen minutes or three. Why? It's snowing finally, on the day I leave, of course. Laugh. I'm a little reluctant to leave for so long, I don't like being away from my apartment, or the city for that matter. But at least I get to breathe fresh air and see the stars for the first time in about a year.

Anyway, here's a short list of things I'm working on over the short few weeks I'll be away; most of them happening before I leave for Rome. xx.

• Book review
• Writing and editing at least a chapter/short story a week with my reading girls
• Running five days a week
• Getting back on a normal sleep schedule (the end of the semester always has me up until three and up at five or six)
• Cooking and baking more gluten + dairy free recipes
• Taking better care of my skin
• Drinking more water

(I'm sure there's more, there always is)
ps--> What happened with the Gossip Girl series finale. I mean, really? Come on. The part with Kristen Bell was hilarious, though, I'll admit that.

Here's a picture of Ben Whishaw because I've been re-watching The Hour for the third time because I have nothing better to do apparently.

Before I Leave

Finals are over (they have been since Wednesday the 12th)! I say this at the end of every semester, but literally, this has been the most stressful one yet. Everyone I've had class with, and all my friends and people I know haven't had the best. Maybe it's because summer dragged on for so long. We got out early last May because the NATO conference was downtown and they closed everything for precaution. Along with it being the hardest, I think I've grown more as a person and as a writer over the course of the past few months. It's so insane to think that in September I didn't even know what to expect.

So I'm already packed. Considering how superb my procrastination skills are when it comes to course work, when I'm getting ready to leave I make sure I'm well ahead of schedule. I guess it's the fear of leaving anything behind. I've already checked my carry on to make sure my passport is with me. Did I mention, I'm going to Rome? That was meant to sound over pretentious--it's an inside joke from one of my classes. We were talking about revising our "manuscripts" for our final grade, since we all turned in about 20-40 pages of a personal narrative. And then got on the sidebar conversation of sounding like dicks talking about having a lot of writing we've created. Crazy, right? But yeah, I'm excited to be heading off to Italy. I always feel ashamed admitting that I've never been out of North America. But, well, I haven't.

Revlon Lip Butter in Peach Parfait (I love it)

Catching up on The Hour

But yes; I'm done for the night. I need to go make some food before it spoils. I've watched Take this Waltz and am currently on The Producers (I've always had a thing for Matthew Broderick, it all started with Ferris). Off to make some rice pilaf and eat some of that salad that's been in my fridge for a while. I'll be back in Vermont the next time I write.