bests of the summer

the loops // PROCIDA // gianna // accidentally biking the entire east bay bike path // homemade sourdough pizza // rosemary tornelli with apertivo // bolsena, again // spike ball with teigue and john at india point park // india point park every single day // mark doty // cape cod // biking with heather // the ripest cantaloupe // go-karting for dad's 60th // grad formal // fleabag // alligator anxiety // craigslist rug // thunder in florida, that deeply familiar sound // briley's enthusiastic sea turtle lecture // sea turtles in the moonlight on the beach // aly & shona, their laughter // manatees and green flies // heavy palms, almost as heavy as the air itself // homemade strawberry granita // "the heart is a repository of vanished things" // the scent of orvieto – old stone, jasmine and overly-perfumed italians // my tower apartment, all to myself // un cappuccino e due biscotti // catherine's head at san domenico // focaccia con pomodoro in foligno // breakfast with emma in munich // HELFTA // sister pauline and sister christiane // els' eyes, the spirit of god // bored afternoon trips to intimissimi // frantumaglia in one weekend alone // "to tolerate existence we lie, and we lie above all to ourselves" // evenings at barcaro with austin // prosciutto tortellini with arugula made on our hotplate, over and over again // discovering the upstairs patio at febo // meeting austin at the orvieto train station // getting to share somewhere i love with someone i love // how i always feel most beautiful in italy, sun-kissed and sweaty // the nuns outside of buon gésu: your face, a sacrament // the patio at freni e frizioni in trastevere and all the free food // and rome, a city i barely know and deeply love // the blue glasses at cassetta nonna maria in procida // aperol spritz // the velvet green of the ocean in procida // riding the waves // cat's eye blue // ludovica and insalata di limone // seeing donato sarratore // a carafe of rosé with melissa // scraping together coins for the church carnival down the street // train to philly // jia tolentino // buck meek // how this could go on and on

such a strange summer of such overwhelming joy and also a turn of despair – but it's too much, all of this. i do not know where it ends. i could keep listing good things – and keep thinking: it's too much.

[our kitchen at cassetta nonna maria, mamiya 7]

just this side of anger, and on the other side of sadness

Somewhere near San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome on one of the most recent happiest days of my life – I was traveling alone, so this is the only picture I have of myself from that day of wandering.

I am particularly grateful today for mentors and friends who speak so clearly into my life, just when I need it. If you saw me weeping yesterday, it was probably because I just received this:

Prayer for Jessina

Father, I pray for Your child, as if she were my child: but I dare to ask - that if I am actually addressing her - through You - that You are the One doing the talking. Or at least getting a Word in.

And so I ask this:
That You not set her faithfulness against her hopes.
That - in Your very gentle way - You are unsparing in Your claim - on her - 

on all the things You’ve given her; to attend to.
That’s a hard prayer. And You are not a hard master.
She knows - better than I - what those things are.
So may she find, in her circumstances, en famille, in the Circle of her loves - and Yours: 

may she find support: not that support that shuts down, that “pacifies," that places her at the bottom of a deep, dark pool: but the support that stirs up, like the salt spray, the tang and the splash of her deepest yearnings.

Those desires are there for a purpose: not just to anchor her: but to set her free.

It is has been a strange new season of life these past few months – I hate using the word 'season,' and always have, as it seems to indicate some sense of 'this is what was meant to be,' or waiting circumstances out rather than taking active steps or problem-solving – but I can't think of a more fitting word right now. I feel like I am coming into myself, that for so long I talked up a big game – told myself that I was strong and intelligent and beautiful, etc. – without actually believing it. 

I think we all do that in our own way, hoping that if we say it enough maybe we'll inch towards believing it. It seems like in any career you have to be able talk bigger about yourself in order to get anywhere. It is that sense of talking 'bigger,' but more than that, not only taking up space but feeling like it is your space, that you belong there – that is what I am trying to get at. 

That I belong here – I know it more now than I ever have before.

There is a new expression on your face: more determined, but not (yet?) hard. I pray you can stay there, just this side of anger, and on the other side of sadness: and right in the middle of strength: real strength.

signore fa di me uno strumento

Assorted images from this summer in Italy: Orvieto, and Convento dei Cappuccini.

we are always in medias res

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From Karl Rahner: "Flesh means that person who is on the one hand the frailty, the threatenedness, the inexplicableness, the weakness, the obscurity of this individual, concrete, specific entity, and who at the same time knows this and is afraid.”

Also, this lecture from Professor Samuelson, which I return to again and again. Especially, this: the difference between seeking transformation and seeking escape. And this question: what is your feast?

And these poems.

[photograph from the Basilica of Saint Francis, Assisi, Italy]

pace e bene

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"Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places." 

(Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities)

Some photographs from that first day to myself in Rome: the Pantheon, Giolliti, Piazza Navona, wine and bruschetta in Campo Dei Fiori, San Luigi dei Francesi (Caravaggio's The Calling of Saint Matthew), Sant'Agostino (Caravaggio's Madonna di Loreto), sitting on the steps of the Capitoline Museum, etc. Those first few impressions from wandering into a new city are always somehow unique and wonderful.

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we think of you when we look at him

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Around Italy recently: the streets of Orvieto, San Damiano (the convent of the Poor Clares), the Duomo in Orvieto, the Basilica of San Francesco d'Assisi (where Giotto's frescoes of the Life of St. Francis are located, as well as St. Francis' grave), Eremo delle Carceri (Saint Francis' hermitage), and Monte Subasio (the slope where Francis first retreated).

"Be praised, my Lord, for all your creation
and especially for our Brother Sun,
who brings us the day and the light;
he is strong and shines magnificently.
O Lord, we think of you when we look at him.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon 

and the stars; in the heavens.

You have made them 

bright, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord,
for our Brothers Wind and Air
and every kind of weather
by which you, Lord,
uphold life in all your creatures."

(St. Francis, The Canticle of Creation)

not to grasp

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This is the convent in Orvieto that I have the privilege of staying in this month. It seems like a dream living in such a beautiful space and walking past this little guy every day, and all I can think to say is that I am grateful.

A few other things:

Agnes Martin at the Tate.

Italy has changed my perspective on eggplant. Sliced thinly, grilled, and topped with balsamic, fresh mozzarella, and basil—few things are better.

Also, these words from Father Martin, which I scribbled down awhile back, and which are necessary words today as I meet with certain disappointments:

"We are not to grasp at that which we desire, rather to extend open hands, the palms turned upwards in prayer."
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