Confessions of a Temporary Insomniac

After a few-month hiatus filled with exciting appellate briefs, oral arguments, upper level rough drafts, the Immigration and Naturalization Act, and happy afternoons in court, it's time to revisit my neglected creative writing outlet. Actually, it's time that I should be in soundly asleep in bed, having been lulled softly by the light rain falling outside the window I left open to dispel the stuffiness of my bedroom. Unfortunately, after slogging away on a three hour final (too) early this morning and a full day of stuffing more statues into my head than I care to think about, the rain already worked its magic earlier this afternoon. It was one of those cloudy-but-pleasant days; breezy and cool and mostly overcast but with spots of sunlight, perfect for sitting on the porch enjoying a non-legal read and Mozart's Don Giovanni on iTunes. Until I woke up well into dinnertime, book on the floor, cat on my leg, computer battery dead and a crick in my neck from passing out propped up on the wooden arm of the loveseat for well over three hours. So here I am, four in the morning, serenaded by the dulcet tones of some guys yelling in the street, watching Buffy do battle with what appears to be... yep, that's a giant praying mantis disguised as a high school biology teacher.

No offense to Buffy, but tv shows like this have been making me think lately about the mindless things I spend my time on. Take Bejeweled Blitz, for example. I did the math...yes, math. Sleepless nights make people do weird things. Anyway, I added it all up and I've apparently played enough minute-long games to add up to a total of 5.43 days' worth of play. FIVE DAYS. OF MY LIFE. I can't figure it out, why I like playing so much. Except I've noticed that I tend to go on longer streaks when I'm stressed out and needing something else to concentrate on that's not the thing stressing me out. I think it's the simplicity. If I'm exhausted or studied out, I don't want to read, or play Scrabble, or try to digest a subtitled movie or any of my other ordinary recreational activities. No, I want to stare and tiny little colored shapes and rearrange them into patterns as fast as possible, for points. It's lovely. I love the shapes, lining them all up according to color and making them explode in little flashes of light.

Shapes, colors, patterns. So.............why am I not a kindergarten teacher???

James Herriot

Speaking of simple pleasures, I've suspended my bookshelf ambitions temporarily; most notably in favor of the Hunger Games trilogy (against my better judgment I actually liked them a lot) and, currently, I'm revisiting an author to whom I was introduced to in college: James Herriot. If you don't know who that is, sad for you, because you could read one chapter of All Creatures Great and Small and feel so much happier and at peace with the world than you do right now. I'm in the second book of the Creatures series, All Things Bright and Beautiful. The whole series is just a bunch of stories narrated by Herriot himself, from when he was a country vet in rural Yorkshire in the early/mid 20th century. And it's just so damned genuine. I love Herriot because he loves his life. He loves animals, he loves his work, he loves the countryside and everyone in it; he sees it all with a honest but kind eye and is able to put it all into words. He's so heartfelt and real. It's the only book in a long time that's made be choke up and laugh out loud in one sitting. In Herriot's eyes, all things really are bright and beautiful, even the painful things, and reading his tales, you actually believe it.

I have one more thing I want to confess, because I'm sort of proud of it. However, it's also embarrassing and I'm not so wasted on lack of sleep that I'm willing to come quite that clean, so suffice it to say that I'm on my way to finally shaking loose of a long-held, pesky little bad habit. I've heard (maybe it's a myth, but even so it's good place to start I think) that it takes 21 days to break a habit, and I am on day 3 of a perfect record. No, it's not smoking. It's an annoying, insignificant little thing that I've mostly-unconsciously allowed to tag along with me from my childhood, and I'm finally setting my full willpower of conquering it once and for all. So hurray for that, raise a toast, three cheers and whatnot. Why, thank you. You're too kind. : )

Announcements

Two (three?) announcements this week:

1. If you haven't noticed, I changed the title and layout of the blog. If you read my post explaining the original title, well...I changed my mind. It happens.

"The Weight" comes from Allen Ginsberg's Song, my favorite poem not written by Billy Collins.

1.5. The new layout is partly due to the fact that I'm launching a new project blog! I've been following (stalking) similar blogs via facebook and Pinterest, and, as I've been trying my hand at a number of different activities lately, I thought they would be fun to document and share. So stay tuned for Idle Hands, coming soon! I'll include a link and soon as I start posting.

2. Re: my resolution! I've finally finished Book #1, Watership Down, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Turns out the book was "written" originally when the author began making up a story for his daughters on a long car trip. It's mostly a children's story, but with enough substance that I had no trouble getting through it. For the most part, it's relatively light subject matter: a group of rabbits decides to leave their home warren and make a perilous journey to build a new one; the action is spiced up by the fact that one of the rabbits is clairvoyant (of sorts) and they meet all sorts of interesting challenges, traps, elil (enemies: fox, stoats, etc.), and the insurmountable General Woundwort of the militant Efrafra Warren nearby. Delicious.

I had a few favorite parts: first, that the rabbits were anthropomorphic in a unique way. They weren't human animals like Redwall or Disney; they didn't do anything that normal rabbits can't. They don't wear clothes, or talk to humans, or understand basic concepts like how a boat floats. However, they do have their own language (Lapine), customs, and folklore: every few chapters included a story featuring the rabbit folk hero El-ahraiarah and his mischievous and brave exploits. El-ahrairah is actually the perfect example of both the Lapine language and culture: his name is a combination of the words elil (enemy), hrair (a thousand, or "any number over four" because that's how high rabbits can count. Five or more is simply "hrair" or "many") and rah (the suffix attached to the end of the name of the Chief Rabbit, or "prince"). So, he is, in effect, elil-hrair-rah (enemy-many-prince) or the Prince of a Thousand Enemies. From his portrayal in the rabbits' tales he reminded me very much of a Loki, Anansi or Coyote-type "trickster" character (depending on which tradition you're more familiar with), except as a hero to his people (stealing lettuce from the cruel king, etc.) instead of an agent of chaos. I enjoyed these stories very much.

The second thing that really struck me was a very brief emotional moment. For the most part, dealing with rabbits, it was hard to be emotionally invested. I liked the characters, certainly, and was pulling for their ultimate success. But I wasn't intimately affected by their troubles. Except for one part. The main rabbits establish their new warren on Watership Down, but realize that the don't have any does (women!) in order to reproduce. They decide to visit a nearby overcrowded warren to see if they can turn on the charm and persuade some of the lovely ladies to come home with them. Unfortunately for Hazel-rah and his fellows, the nearby warren is Efrafra, run by the power-hungry control freak General Woundwort. His warren is run with military precision in order to avoid detection by humans or elil; despite the overcrowding he refuses to let neither his does nor the Watership Down ambassadors to leave. At one point, one of the Watership rabbits comes across an Efrafran doe in the oppressed warren. In an overcrowded warren, the tension affects the does first, rendering them aggressive and even infertile. She sings a song about the sadness of her infertility, a mourning song.  What struck me about this passage is that it's communicated with such an acute sense of true despair---this lost motherhood---from a rabbit.

"The frost is falling, the frost falls into my body.

My nostrils, my ears are torpid under the frost.

The swift will come in the spring, crying "News! News!

Does, dig new holes and flow with milk for your litters."

I shall not hear. The embryos return

Into my dulled body. Across my sleep

There runs a wire fence to imprison the wind.

I shall never feel the wind blowing again." (p. 319-20)

Yes, I experienced an emotional reaction to that. Weird, right? 

Anyway. I recommend it, especially if you're looking for something light and fun. Endearing. That's probably the best word.

The actually is such a thing as a person being
"too good." Or a whole family of people.

Next up: well, it should have been Little Women. I picked it up again last night and tried to read a few chapters; I just can't. I fell asleep. Here is my summary (from memory!) of the book:

   1. Jo and Laurie are the only two remotely

       interesting characters. 

   2. Beth is the nicest.

   3. Amy is annoying.
   4. Meg isn't really worth mentioning.

   5. Beth dies.

   6. Laurie and Amy (still annoying!) end up
        together.

   7. Jo ends up with some old guy with a beard.

          Conclusion: LETDOWN.

Save some time, just go watch the movie starring Winona Ryder as Jo and a young (and extremely good-looking) Christian Bale as Laurie (why? WHY, Louisa May Alcott? It was meant to be! Freaking Transcendentalist.)

Moving on.

Thus, my next book is:

Sufficiently creepy.

The House of the Spirits 
Isabel Allende

I have high hopes. 

   

Do It For teh Kittehs!

Well. The blackout today certainly got some attention. Some of it was stupid (see @herpderpedia on Twitter for additional amusing and depressing details.) BUT it also showed up on the evening news, and President Obama issued an official statement that the White House will not support any such bill: should SOPA/PIPA pass, they're going to meet a big, fat veto. 

This makes me even more happy today than yesterday, because I have JUST DISCOVERED that my favorite youtube video of all time has apparently met the tragic end that we all fear should censorship laws pass: THIS. 

So here's to you, Literal Version Parody Music Videos Non-Cat-Framed Version to Avoid Automatic Detection. Parody on. 

Interestingly enough, this is a prime example of how censorship laws won't necessarily stop piracy or copyright infringement: it's pretty easy to get around. If no one picked up on how clever Wikipedia is, they also demonstrated this with their blackout. Denied access to a "censored" wikipedia today caused outrage all over the country (mostly, apparently, from students with assignments due...I again refer to you the herpderpedia link above.) However, anyone remotely tech-savvy (as are most hackers and pirates) quickly discovered that wikipedia was easily accessible through Google cache, by disabling javascript or by using the Wiki mobile app. Confusing headache from the masses, easy avoidance by those with the know-how to commit piracy on a large scale? Likely result of SOPA! Hmmmm. 

Anyway, this post is to applaud the vast well of Internet creativity displayed today in favor of free speech and information, and to pay special homage to two of my favorites:

THE DAY THE LOLCATS DIED

(Really, I just love embedding videos. But I also really like this particular video.)

The Oatmeal's DO IT FOR THE KITTENS

I'm pretty sure I've just pirated basically everything on this post.

IF YOU HAVE NOT YET CONTACTED YOUR LOCAL CONGRESSPERSON, DO IT NOW!!

**TITLE CENSORED**

Hey, Internet.

Today, Jan. 18, 2012, is Stop Internet Censorship Day. [SIC] Ha.

This is in response to the pending Protect IP Act (PIPA) and its House sister, the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA).

From their titles alone, these two pieces of legislation appear a benign and necessary response to a growing problem: piracy and copyright infringement via le Intarwebz. Well. We've all heard that famous old adage: "You can't judge a bill by its pretty title." No, my friends, you must judge a bill by its language.

And the language in PIPA and SOPA is, frankly, dangerous. They are riddled with loose, ambiguous definitions that will enforce new, harsh regulations; the poorly-written nature of the new laws will fail to stop their targeted criminal action and instead stall tech innovation, negatively impact small online businesses and startups, and drastically reverse the free and open nature of the internet and the flow of information and online communication as we know it.

I've been perusing a number of articles the past few days; as of some time today (or recently, at least) the vote on SOPA scheduled for later this month has been "postponed until a consensus is reached." This does not mean the bill is dead.  The entertainment industry has spent many years and millions of dollars lobbying for legislation of this sort. And PIPA is still very much alive in the Senate.

I'd love to discuss all of the intricate details of the implications of these two bills, but plenty of people have already done that for me.

There's an in-depth breakdown of the language from reddit, and you can find more information AND contact your local congresspersons (DO IT!) at http://americancensorship.org/.

One more thing. This isn't the paranoia of some random high-school pirates and unemployed hackers who are pissed that they will no longer be able to access free DVDs online. And organized protest of the Acts isn't a campaign against protecting copyrights, or anything like that. Copyrights protect artists and their work. I love artists! I love art! It needs to be protected. But SOPA and PIPA are not the answer. They are flawed pieces of legislation written with little input by experts in the field and that are ripe for abuse and overbroad interpretation; they will have a highly disproportional impact on Internet culture and freedom without having a significant impact on the problem they try to eliminate. Sites across the Internet from new, startup or small online businesses to blogs to search engines, including many well-known, well-loved, highly successful sites, will be greatly affected should these bills be voted into law.

We can combat piracy. But any new bills need to contain (here I'm quoting the reddit article, just in case you didn't read it for yourself. But seriously, go read it):

1. Airtight, technically sound definitions.
2. Heavy input from the technology sector. Complex technology legislation should not be drafted by someone who barely has a working knowledge of the internet.
3. Checks and balances ensuring that due-process can be invoked before, during, and after any action is taken.
4. Clear repercussions for entities utilizing the legislation in an abusive manner.


Don't believe me that the Internet community is taking this threat seriously?

Trying going to Wikipedia today. or Google. or craigslist.

Yeah.

Walking Into Mordor

I just posted my New Year's Resolution for 2012.

I'm pleased; I jumped on it right away. I'll tell you about it in a sec. Buuuuuut...it's also only taken a few days to reevaluate my goal.

Here it is (the Reevaluation): it's not going to happen. I can't read my bookshelf this year. I mean, maybe if I never read any of my assignments. And never watch Psych or the X Files in the afternoons. And not go outside, ever.  Especially not to the library. (I like the library!) And maybe not eat.

THEREFORE, I'm modifying. I'm going to make a start on my bookshelf. I'm removing any semblance of a time limit; otherwise I'll fall back in to the speed game, and thus defeat my own purpose. I shall embark upon my quest, if you will. And it may not be complete by January 1, 2013. (It won't.) In fact, it may evolve into a twelve-hour extended edition trilogy and lead directly to Mordor.  I just don't know. So there's that.

Additionally, I committed to reading all of my books, including those already read. Wellllll...I don't really want to do that. To explain this, I have to explain something else first. It went unstated in the original post, but all of my books are organized alphabetically by author's last name. To help me avoid Reader's Choice Anxiety, I am just going to read them in order. Ok, or I just want to read them in order. But that means that Little Women is Book #2. And I'm going to be honest: I tried to reread Little Women, just a few weeks ago. It's a classic, haven't read it properly since 5th grade. You know...I couldn't do it. I just don't like it. I'm sorry. I don't want to read it again.

Then, Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale is Book #5. I read it in August. It was good enough, I enjoyed it. But I don't want to read it again, not this soon. It's no Pride and Prejudice. Which brings me to Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen). It's Book #7. I read it in September. In July I read the ebook version. I also read it at the end of April, when I needed a finals reprieve. Also last winter break. You get the idea.

An aside: as I'm writing this, I'm also watching Portlandia. If you like sketch comedy and hipsters/Oregon/organic free-range chicken/birds in general, you should watch it too. It's funny. Appropriately, this clip played:

I do not want to be this person. Although I do sort of like her sweater.

My point: in this, its inception, the purpose of this resolution is threefold:

(1) Material: it's to make sure I've gotten my money's worth from the fruits of all of my Amazon/Barnes&Noble/Babbit's Books buying binges. Seriously. My hard-earned dollars are sitting in alcoves in my wall, gathering dust and looking impressively intellectual. I did not buy intellectual wall adornments. I bought books.

(2) Educational: it's about discovery! I want to read new things, learn new things. Maybe that sounds cliche? I don't know. I'm expanding my horizons. I'm questing. I'm seeking wisdom and beauty and suffering and redemption and all of those wonderful things. Along with exciting plot twists and endearing and painful characters and lots of new vocabulary words.

(3) Recreational: I want to enjoy myself. I like to read! And I've fallen out of the habit.  I read textbooks now. I don't enjoy textbooks. Plus, I just bought some new rocking chairs for my porch, so naturally I need to sit in them, perhaps in a patch of sunshine, definitely with a good book, and preferably a glass of wine. It's going to be lovely.

All of that being said, I might fudge on the "alphabetical" rule. I might also fudge on the "all books" rule. Just a little. Full disclosure.

NOW THE EXCITING PART: BOOK #1

Watership Down

Richard Adams

This book is the one that made me realize I'll never do it all in a year. I've been reading a little bit, a few chapters, every night before I go to bed, since my last post (Jan. 9--one week). I'm on page 58. Page 58 of 474. Granted, one evening I skipped my reading and instead watched 7 episodes of Parks and Recreation before they expired on hulu. It's still slow going, at least, it's much slower than I'm used to. But I like it. "It" referring to either the pace or the book. Both. I don't have much to say about it (the book), having not gotten very far. It's about rabbits. But I'm enjoying myself. Mission accomplished.

Resolved: 2012

There are a great many things I would like to accomplish in the New Year. Keep up with my blog more, for one. Lose a few pounds. Completely balance my budget. Exercise at least twice a week. Find a job. Learn how to sew.

Yet, reviewing these, none are quite satisfactory as a New Year's Resolution.

Some (budget, job) are too obvious. I'm an adult. (Sometimes. I do try.) That sort of crap needs to be done anyway, and I can't wait for the New Year every several months to kick-start me into behaving like one; I'd be consistently broke by my birthday.

Others (lose weight, exercise) are too common. EVERYBODY goes on a new diet/exercise plan on January 1. The first two weeks of the year, the YMCA population triples and Jenny Craig makes 45% of her annual profit. I don't want to be one of those 800 new members waiting in line for the treadmill, stuffing my freezer with Lean Cuisine and stocking up on celery. In hipster, it's too M  A  I  N S  T  R  e  a  m . . . . lol. Not that I'm not going to make the attempt to be healthier.


Learning to sew or do something new would be fun, I think, but ultimately, it's superfluous. Not a priority. I realize that that's often the point of a New Year's Resolution; to make time for something that one would like to do but wouldn't ordinarily prioritize. However, I've come up with something better, or at least something I want more.

As I was considering and discarding the above ideas, I was also in the process of shelving a number of cheap (but quality!) paperbacks I'd picked up at a used bookstore over the break. I evaluated the number of (pardon my immodesty) high-quality pieces of literature adorning my bookcase, purchased over the course of years with an earnest, good-faith intent to read every one; an astonishing number of which have never left the shelf except during my brief relocation this fall.

THEREFORE, I hereby resolve, in this year two thousand and twelve, to read my bookshelf.
This is it:

It's built into my bedroom wall. Cool, right? It's one of my favorite features of my new apartment. Along with the stained glass window. And the porch/sunroom. And the massive pantry! Ok, the new apartment is just all-around terrific. Ahem.

It (bookshelf) contains 110 novels, give or take two shelves of poetry compilations, plays, short stories, Icelandic sagas, theological works and Saints' biographies. I want to read them all, even the ones already read. The ratio is about half and half, but of the ones I've read the ones that I truly remember and still affect me are much a much smaller percentage. For this reason, I am not reading for speed. What I really want to do is internalize, think about and remember everything I'm reading, not just browsing words for the sake of putting them into my head just to leak out my ears.

THEREFORE, I further resolve to write about everything I'm reading. This will also help me keep up on my blogging. I'll write at least once about each book. To recommend it one way or the other, or to vocalize whatever comes to my mind when wrestling with the text. My purpose, ultimately, is to constantly seek the answer to the question, why? Why pursue literature? Why do words tantalize me so, draw me in and strike me? Why set a resolution in the first place? Why am I bothering with all this reading, anyway? Why do I want to do it? Maybe I'll know by this time next year.

Signed this day the 9th of January, 2012

I forgot to add, I'll update when I'm reading a new book, anyone that wants to follow along with me, I love discussion!

...who am I kidding, who has time for that??

The Weekend Without Trains, Pt. II

To round off my birthday weekend (for Parte I, see this post), the following day I and a few others accompanied Chris and Hannah to Castel Gondolfo, the papal summer residence, where the Pope gives a brief address and prays the Angelus with the faithful every Sunday in July at noon. Since there was only one train out that would get us there in time, we left early and arrived with a few hours to explore the area before heading up to the papal residence. Castel Gondolfo and its surrounding small town sits on top of a huge hill (a mountain, really) overlooking a large, beautiful, impossibly aquamarine-blue lake. The Castel Gondolfo train station is situated exactly halfway up the mountain between the lake and the castle, roughly a 15-minute hike along the "road," nearly as impossibly windy and dangerous as the lake is blue, and along which the locals whizzed by at speeds better suited for an Interstate highway. 

Since we had so much time, we decided to go down and enjoy the lake before heading to the castle. Other than desperately hugging the guardrail in order to avoid becoming grease spots on the side of a mountain, the walk down was gorgeous. The weather was lovely, the olive groves lining the hillside were waving silver-green in the light breeze, wildflowers were plentiful and the lake glittered and begged for photos. 

The state of the beach, frankly, (to paraphrase Randy) would have caused a riot in Minnesota. The scrubby grass and patches of black volcanic sand were not remotely improved by the amount of litter and dog poop. However, Hannah and Chris assured us that the coves on the other side were away from town were much nicer; anyway, the water was the perfect temperature and skipping stones were plentiful. We splashed around, laid out in the sun, chatted, and made friends with a couple of the nearby locals before putting our shoes back on and beginning our ascent to see il Papa.

Hundreds (thousands?) of the faithful gathered to
participate in the noon Angelus.

The problem with going down to the lake from the train station was that now we had to go all of the way back up. And up. And then up just a little more. Bearing in mind that just yesterday our little beach crew (made up of an entirely different group of people than today's, excluding myself) had trudged a grand total of over 6 miles. In sandals. With sand in them. It was tough going. However, we finally made it to the top and waited in line for entrance to the papal residence, or at least became part of the unruly mob that passes for a queue in Italy. They finally allowed us all in to the covered courtyard inside the residence, where we were herded along until we found a nice little open spot near the back with a perfect view of the balcony where the Pope was to appear. We still had half an hour of standing around before the actual audience, but that was easily spent observing everyone around us. We were surrounded by people of all ages and nationalities; the group directly behind me was an Italian family saying afternoon prayer together, and the young couple in traditional African dress asked Hannah in heavily-accented English if she wouldn't mind taking a picture of them with the Pope's balcony in the background. People were waving American, Italian, Slavic, Brasilian, Canadian and Vatican flags; at one point a group of women (we discovered later that they were a group of super-enthusiastic young nuns) broke into a song, soon accompanied by all of the Italian voices in the room and ultimately all of the voices in the room when they switched to the chorus of the Ave Maria. It was quite beautiful. 

Finally, amid deafening cheers, shouts, chants, songs and applause, B16 finally appeared. He waved to the crowd, greeted everyone in Italian, then began the Angelus. It was in Latin, and the prayer was displayed on the large screen at the front so everyone (everyone who knew how to pronounce Latin, anyway) could participate. The prayer was followed by a papal blessing (I got my camera, among other things, blessed--hopefully from now on it will only take perfect pictures) and a brief address to those gathered in six or seven different languages, each tailored specifically to its own native speakers and each ending with a cheerful "Happy Sunday!" 

Pope Benedict XVI greeting everyone below.

After giving everyone a final wave, he turned around and went back inside. The whole thing lasted about 15 minutes. 

Vatican Papal Audience
April 2009
(Not a bad description, no?)

Setting narration aside for the moment: seeing the Pope is a powerful thing. This wasn't my first audience. The first time, I expected to be over-awed; blown away by the sheer force of Holiness radiating from his person as he blazed out of St. Peter's, white garments billowing majestically, waving from the backseat of his white drop top Popemobile and surrounded by a legion of what looked like hardcore, badass Secret Service agents capable of stopping an assailant cold with only their eyes. It was cool, definitely. But I didn't sustain the spiritual mind-blowing by his appearance that I'd expected. Instead, most striking (both that time and this) was the reaction of all of those uncounted individuals from all over the world attracted into his presence. It's easy to brush off the excitement and high energy of a gathering like that; that it's similar to people meeting their favorite celebrity. People are always wildly excited about meeting someone famous, fantasizing that they know the personal details of their lives or believing that they've got some sort of intimate connection with a person they've never met. I've definitely heard the all concerns about Catholic allegiance to the Pope, from both non-Catholic Christians and non-religious alike: why do people blindly follow him? Doesn't that ignore the authority of Jesus? Isn't that politically dangerous? Why don't Catholics encourage followers to think for themselves? Is he really infallible? Isn't he just a man? Should we place so much importance on some guy whose "divine appointment" (election by other men...) was probably politically (Church-political) motivated anyway? The objections are endless. 

Yet the experience is different. Something unites all of these people in this room. Something greater than them, greater than the Pope. It's the Church, the manifestation of the Church as a people, represented by a man. For all of us here, this is an encounter with Christ. And the people feel it; they know it. As he slowly walks out onto the balcony, and he waves at the thousands gathered below him, they wave back. Not like those people on the today show who wave frantically at the cameras looking for some notice, or recognition, or 30 seconds of fame. They wave personally. They greet him as individuals; as people greeting a friend. They love him, and they know that love is returned by a true Person, by one through whom we are all united. It is a palpable thing. And that is why it's worth waiting years, or worth the hour-long train ride, worth the walk up a freaking mountain. And it is something only someone who has shared the experience can know. And the "experience" doesn't have to be a Papal audience. It is the experience of the Church, of divinity made manifest in the human, the Incarnation: it is the experience of Christ. However we meet it. Anyway. If that's a little too much for anybody, sorry. Back to the narration.

"This is very French. The French love picnics
 like Asian tourists love taking pictures!"
--Hannah : )

After we surged out of the courtyard with the rest of the crowd (passing that group of rambunctious nuns, now clapping and chanting, on the way) we found a place to buy return train tickets and grabbed a perfect picnic lunch of fresh bread, salami, cheese, tomatoes, cookies and wine on a grassy spot a little ways down the hill. Once we were fed we traipsed back to the train station just in time to catch the 13:54 back to Rome, ready to be home by three and have the rest of the afternoon to catch up on some outlining for next week's finals. Unfortunately, this post is not called "The Weekend Without Trains, Pt. II" for nothing.

We boarded the train just fine; it was almost too small to accommodate the influx of pilgrims heading back to Rome, but it was on time and we eventually found seats in the front. We hadn't been moving for more than 10 minutes, however, when we unexpectedly stopped moving. This is not an uncommon occurrence in Italy and no one was much concerned. The concerning part was when we stopped at a little nowhere station called San Marino with no one in sight and didn't start again. 

San Marino, looking up

After sitting around for awhile wondering why the woman who appeared to be our driver kept leaving the train, she finally came back and announced (in my limited Italian reproduction), "C'e` una problema con il treno, con la macchina. Non funzione. [...] Il treno prossimo (or some synonym for 'next/following') arriva alla diecisei." Basically, it broke. The next train comes at 4 pm. Get off. Awesome. It's 2:15. 

So we all get out of the train. The broken f***ing train. 

San Marino, looking down

To our relief, we see a sign that reads, "Osteria della Stazione" (restaurant!). To our dismay, it's pointing uphill. *expletive.* So we climb, again. After climbing and climbing and then climbing just a little bit more, we reach the restaurant. It's Sunday, just after 2:30 in the afternoon. Of course it's closed. So we keep walking, until we're in the middle of the town, on top of another mountain.

We finally stumble upon a small bar with coffee, water, BEER and pastries; also a few other stranded travelers from our train. They're walnut and cherry farmers from California, in Italy seeking the ancestral towns and homes of their great-grandparents. We spend about an hour chatting with them, swapping stories about farming and law school, learning how walnuts are harvested (tree-shaking machine...no joke) and how rain on ripe cherries ruins the whole crop. (Apparently nitrogen in rainwater causes the skins to split.) At 3:30, we head for the station. 

We arrive only to find that the "broken" train has been repaired and departed with the less-adventurous pilgrims aboard 5 minutes ago. So we sit down to wait for the next train, due to arrive in less than a quarter of an hour anyway. It's on time, and we all make it back home after another slightly unusual Italian detour. 

Fine. (Fine as in fin, end. [fin-eI, if you know IPA] Not ok, sure, fine. Though it was that too.)