Skip to main content

Roma, day Four



We went shopping, and I spent way too much money on a coat and I will be eating nothing but porridge and soup till my next loan check comes in March because of it. But the Italian fashion is really intoxicating--they design with great freedom and individuality--and I was actually practicing a great deal of restraint. I bought some gifts for various people and Chaeli bought a blue dress. We also stopped off at a gallery in the Barberini Palace. I didn't mention that the first night in Rome we stumbled into this palace and happily rambled about on its grounds (it's in the middle of the city and the gates were wide open).



The gallery was not that impressive, except that it was in a way-cool building with way-cool marble stairs and ornate painted ceilings. I think someone should make a coffee table book of the floors and ceilings of Rome. They are among the more impressive aspects of the city's impressiveness. There was one painting in the gallery that was familiar (of course, I have no photo, but I will find an image online if I can) called "Sacred and Profane Love," by Giovanni Baglioni. It is a picture of an angel of light and a demon of great ugliness interacting with a regular person. We went to dinner that night and I had some kind of spaghetti-ish thing with mussels and it was yummy. We also drew pictures of what we thought angels looked like for real, and now I want to have an art exhibit with all sorts of depictions of angels in all manner of mediums from lots of different artists. The only requirement is that no chubby babies are allowed.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

window in the sub

Dear Nathaniel, I am microwaving pie that Mom bought up in Oak Glen this week on her way home from the orthodontist. As I put it in the microwave, I was full of sadness that I was not in Oak Glen with her. Why did I not go? I was working. I want to see the trees turn. I want to wander slowly through autumnal gift shops. Under the water, you cannot sense the approach of the seasons. Even here it is difficult because, after all, it's California. But I can still sense it. After three seasons in Illinois and one in Scotland, it must be with me for good. Or at least for a while. Because I am all abuzz with eagerness for fall and winter, for turkeys and dried leaves and Santa. I should start cooking again this fall. Fall foods are my favorite. Baked squash dripping with melted butter and brown sugar, pumpkin soup... this year, if I have enough money, I will put together a holiday dinner for my friends. And we will drink Scandinavian mulled wine, which is the most wonderful thing I have e...

Again in Gilead

I just finished reading this for the second time last week, thanks to the forever book group of Grace. It was equally as lovely the second time around, and while reading it, I wrote down a dozen more quotes from the incomparable Ames, who is both too beautiful a man to be real and too beautiful a man not to be real. (I'm grateful and amazed to know a few like him.) "It has been my experience that guilt can burst through the smallest breach and cover the landscape, and abide in it in pools and danknesses, just as native as water." (p.82) I have found this to be remarkably true. I see it in myself, and in many others as well. "I believe there are visions that come to us only in memory, in retrospect." (p.91) This seems to be about the only way I experience visions, but because memory is a rickety thing, I tend not to trust them much. Which makes me a poor prophet. "I know, too, that my own experience of the church has been, in many senses, shelte...

At the close of nine years

I'm moving to Texas in less than two months. I've lived in Long Beach now for nine years. Already I have stacks of books covering my dining room table that I'll be reading for my PhD program in the fall. I've quietly begun the tedious work of sorting and cleaning everything in my little apartment. I'm scheduling all of my last days with friends, moving through my calendar in reverse order from when I expect to slip into my car and drive away. This is the longest I've lived in one place, so I've never really experienced a leaving quite like this before. I remember the day I left Wheaton, closing the bedroom door on my best friend, walking down to Chaeli's car so she could drive me to the airport. (The greatest grace of Texas is that she will be there. Some friends we never lose completely.) I remember leaving California for Scotland—walking away from my mother in the Palm Springs airport. We leave people who have changed us, and we leave places that ha...