Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Me: Would you say we are in one boat, rowing together, or in two boats, rowing in the same direction?
Jesus: Two boats. Definitely two.
Me: Why do you say that? I mean, I agree, but why do you think that?
Jesus: First of all, you're trying to have this conversation while I'm playing a video game.
Me: ...And second?
Jesus: Second what? What were we talking about?

---

When I first read this post, I was grateful for its honesty. No two relationships are the same and that's okay. I've struggled (in my current and past relationships) to be comfortable with that truth. In the past 4.5 years of dating Jesus, I've tried to both climb into his boat or pull him over to mine. I've also assumed we were in the same boat, which meant I was rowing on "my" side, thinking he was rowing on his, and instead, I was rowing myself in circles while he patiently waited for me to look up and notice what I was doing.

It's taken time and the experience that comes with time to realize that it's best if Jesus and I stay in our own boats, so we don't end up in the water. That's not to say we don't rock our respective boats, or find a third boat to hang out in for an afternoon, or any other iterations of this boat metaphor, but our default is individual boats, floating along the river of life together.

Or wading in the ocean, whatever this metaphor is.

What I Know About...Biking vs Driving vs Public Transportation

While Quinn visits Bailey in South America, I'm taking care of his car. Having a car of my own (for two weeks) is a novelty for me and I'm learning all about the differences in how I transport myself places. I grew up in a very car-centric area (aka, the country), but transportation in the city is a whole different ball game.

I know...

1. There is no 100% stress-free way to commute when you are an anxious person in general, except maybe walking when it's viable.
1. Biking is the most laid back since I have control over most travel stressors (timing, traffic, parking) and the physical exertion gives me a nice outlet, but there's still weather and safety to think about.
2. Driving provides an alternative when the weather is too cold/slushy for biking, but (especially post-blizzard), parking can pose a problem.
3. Riding public transportation similarly helps when the roads aren't bikeable, and I don't have to worry about being alert or finding parking, but I do have to put my faith in public transit schedules.
2. I stay in better shape when I bike. For a girl who doesn't belong to a gym, 45 minutes of biking a day does wonders.
3. I get out of the house more with a car (at least more than what's normal in February). I can do multiple errands in one trip. I can drive to the suburbs to get out of the city. I can meet my boyfriend across the city after work without it taking an hour.
4. I read more when I take CTA. About an hour more each day, depending on how interesting other bus/train riders are.

In conclusion:

1. Biking is the cheapest and most versatile way to commute.
2. Driving is the most comfortable and the least smelly way to commute.
3. Public transportation is the most city slicker least predictable way to commute.

What I Know About...The Difference Between 0° and 20°

So far this year, Chicago has seen it's share of temperature changes. I know a lot of people think cold is cold, but a range of -7 to 37 encompasses several seasons. Living in Chicago has made me privy to these seasons and given me a particular wealth of weather knowledge, which I am sharing today. I'm obviously not a meteorologist; this information comes from experience only.

I know...

1. Anything below zero degrees is cold cold. At that point, it really doesn't matter how far below zero it is: snot will run and freeze, eyes will tear up, and I will wonder why I left the house.
2. Things start to warm up right around the 20° mark. You know the temperature is in the double digits and most likely in the late teens or higher when the air no longer hurts your face. While still not pleasant, the temperature is at least tolerable.
3. Once it hits the freezing point, pull out the rain boots. Yeah, it's still cold out there. But when the thermometer hovers between 31° and 33°, it's also gonna be real slushy. Better cold and dry than wet and anything.
4. Perspective is everything. All this being said, a 20-degree day really only feels amazing after a few days of negative wind chills.
5. My brain is good at tricking my body. If it's sunny out, I let myself believe it's spring. A little mood boost never hurts.
6. Cold habits die hard. On 20-degree and higher days, I'll feel foolish for taking the bus instead of biking to work. I did it in November; the only difference now is my Ventra card is loaded and I'm used to leaving 15 minutes early.

Chicken & Noodles: Relationship Observations and a Recipe

Isn't it funny how the books we read and meals we make inspire so many conversations? These simple touchstones can carry me through an evening of companionship--though sometimes the dialogue can get a little heated, as was the case Saturday night when Jesus and I made dinner and I discussed my current read, Cooked, by Michael Pollan. (Readers of this blog know I'm a fan--see here.)

The book has already brought up a myriad of life-thoughts for me, and I'm only 50 pages in. Especially as I (continue to) pontificate to Jesus while reading, it's clear that food (and where it comes from) is pretty important to me. I strive to eat food (not food-like products) and think about how it gets to my kitchen/table/mouth. Jesus's philosophy is quantity over quality, getting the most for the least, and protein above all.

These contradictory principles have worried me in the past, but so far haven't been an insurmountable point of contention. It helps that I do most all of the cooking when we're together, so I have control in that area. (By choice--I very much enjoy it. Plus, Jesus makes a great sous chef. Don't think he doesn't do his share or at least wash dishes!) And he'll eat whatever I make--if homemade/home-cooked/real food is offered to him, he definitely takes it over fast food. He just won't go out and search for these things on his own.

To illustrate our food logic: I love soup. I never/rarely order it at restaurants because I know I can make it cheaper and better at home. Soup is easy to make, hard to mess up, super comforting in the cold months, and can be as hearty as you want when you're the chef. Jesus hates soup. Or rather, he hates broth. Give him a rotisserie chicken and a side of veggies and he's happy. Put those ingredients in a bowl with some chicken stock and he's up in arms wondering where his sustenance is.

The meal that inspired this revelation? Chicken noodle soup from scratch. I used store-bought noodles, but balanced that out by using a whole chicken for the meat and stock. I roped Jesus into helping and heard all about how cutting up the chicken on our own, boiling it off the bone, using the bones for stock, and adding all that water was counter-intuitive to our his end goal: eating chicken. I listened, then watched as he devoured two bowls.

I still couldn't get him to see that the activity of cutting the chicken and knowing I wasn't wasting any part of it added to my eating experience, but I think he found new respect for me (if his "I love you. That's gross," as I dislocated the thigh bone means anything). Even if I don't go to the From Scratch Extreme every time, I like to challenge myself. I always learn something. Spending non-screen time with my boyfriend is always a positive, and we had a lovely meal at the end of it all. I guess until he refuses to eat what I serve (as if), we're doing okay.

Chicken and Noodles (from the Pioneer Woman)

This recipe isn't meant to be soup, but depending on how much broth you make/use and if you add the flour at the end (I didn't), it can range from soup to stew to...chicken and noodles. Enjoy!

1 whole cut up fryer chicken (YouTube "how to cut a whole chicken" for helpful walk throughs)
2 carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
1/2 medium onion, diced (I used almost a whole onion)
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp tumeric (I left this out)
1/4 tsp white pepper (I used black)
1/4 tsp ground thyme (I used an Italian seasoning mix)
2 tsp parsley flakes
16 oz egg noodles
3 tbsp flour (optional)

Cover chicken in 4 quarts water. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Simmer for 30 minutes. (Heads up, you're gonna need a huge pot. Or two medium sized ones at least.)

Remove chicken from pot to a cutting board. With two forks, remove as much meat from the bones as you can, slightly shredding meat in the process. Keep meat off to the side. Return bones to broth and continue simmering on low, covered, for 45 minutes.

Remove bones from broth. Add vegetables, herbs, and spices. Stir to combine and simmer for 10 minutes.

Increase heat and add egg noodles and chicken. Cook for 8-10 minutes. (I stopped here and served myself a bowl of hearty chicken noodle soup.)

Optional: mix flour and a little water. Stir until smooth. Pour into soup, stir to combine, and simmer for another 5 minutes, or until broth thickens a bit.

Hay Fever & Heritage Thoughts

I spent today in a Benadryl hangover--a totally real thing that happens the day after you take Benadryl--so I'm even more daydreamy than normal. I try to stay away from pharmaceuticals as much as possible, but my garbage can overflowing with snot-filled tissues and the bags under my eyes convinced me to say yes to drugs. I sneezed 97% less today (super scientific statistic) than I have all week, and my eye bags are more lavender than deep purple. Trade offs.

In any case, I don't know if it's the Benadryl haze, this gorgeous last week of summer, or just that I haven't finished with something until I've over-analyzed it, but I'm still thinking about the surveys Jesus and I did for Monday and yesterday.

Mostly I'm thinking about how differently we answered the questions. More specifically, I'm thinking about how Jesus never once mentioned his hair, eyes, or skin--the first three indicators I gave for my heritage and what I would consider some of the most obvious indicators for his. I also talked about food more than he did, which I didn't expect. (Although both of our families eat way more than just "traditional" foods, our childhood experiences with rice and beans couldn't be more different. In my family, rice is eaten with sugar and milk. And beans just means Bush's Baked.)

When it comes down to it, though, the way our families are similar or different has less to do with where our ancestors are from and more to do with how Crespos do things compared to how Kaisers do things. (Not to mention things like sibling order, hometown, hometown population, or hometown population as a ratio of people to cows.) If my own parents discussed their heritage/childhood, they'd appear similar: German-American, Catholic, rural. And still I have traits that are clearly Rachu or Kaiser.

Maybe this next month is for celebrating German or Hispanic heritages specifically, but the definition of heritage doesn't necessarily include race or ethnicity. It just means "things passed down"--whether that be traditions or objects. In that regard, Jesus and I will both celebrate by being grateful for the things passed down to us, especially snarky wit and strong wills. (In simpler terms, thanks for making us stubborn smart asses Moms and Dads!)

What Being Hispanic Means to Me (Guest Post!)

Yesterday was the beginning of Hispanic Heritage Month, which goes from mid-September to mid-October in order to encompass the independence days of many Hispanic countries (Mexico's is today). Since I already shared a bit about being German-American, I asked Jesus if he would answer the same questions about being Hispanic. I didn't coach him at all (as in, I simply asked the question and let him interpret it on his own) and he didn't see my answers before he shared his experience, so I did make a few changes/additions to questions for clarification. I think the differences in how we answered are interesting, and though I wasn't surprised by his answers, there were a few things I expected him to say that he didn't.

[Disclaimer] This is Jesus's personal experience and is in no way meant to speak for Hispanics/Latinos/Mexicans/Puerto Ricans/Mexican-Puerto Rican-Americans as a whole. I wanted to hear more about his views on ethnicity and I thought a guest post would be a fun way to start the conversation. If you want to learn more about Hispanic and/or Latino culture in general, talk to more people/read some books/travel. This blog is personal, and he can only speak for himself. [End Disclaimer]

Do you identify as Hispanic-American? No.

What do you identify as? Plain old Hispanic or Latino.

What's the difference? Saying that I'm Hispanic-American implies that I'm not whole unless I'm American [as well] and I don't feel I need to add the American to my Hispanic. I can be Hispanic without being American in that same way that I can identify as American [without being Hispanic]. I can identify as American or Hispanic. They can be separate. They don't have to be the same thing.

What parts of you/your personality do you attribute to being Hispanic? Having a mother who speaks Spanish and a father who is, well, 100% Puerto Rican...they raised me in a Hispanic fashion...with Hispanic customs and traditions. Living in America, I still picked up on "American" traditions on my own. They never tried to seclude me from American culture.

What does it mean (to you) to be raised in "a Hispanic fashion"? The food, the language, what was considered culturally acceptable (discipline-wise).

Is anything about you not Hispanic? My girlfriend. I fit Hispanic stereotypes pretty great, but I can fit American stereotypes as well. I'm also pretty weird in general, so...

How did you know you were Hispanic growing up? (Did you know?) Any family traditions? Things that set you apart from people you knew who were not Hispanic? Just the fact that I grew up among Spanish-speaking people and speaking Spanish with them. I was lucky enough to attend a pretty diverse school so I understood that there were differences between all the different kids and their families and upbringings.

What do you think people assume about you when they see you? Do you get tagged with Hispanic stereotypes? I've spent a lot of my grown up life having people be surprised to find out I was Hispanic. When I would say I was Mexican and Puerto Rican they would say, "What, really?" so I guess I didn't act/look Hispanic enough...I don't know what they thought I was.

Will you celebrate at all this month? If so, how? No, not at all. Not in the least bit. I actually hate the traffic and the parades.

The Leftovers: TV Adaptation Review

A year ago, I read a strange/interesting book called The Leftovers. Earlier this month, I started watching HBO's television adaptation of the book. My initial review: I'm impressed and hooked.

Is it different? Yes, of course. I love when movie/TV versions of books stray from the original--a different medium deserves a different telling. Besides, I don't have the best memory, so no matter what the TV show does, most of it is new (again) to me. I liked watching and remembering things just before or as they happened. I'm glad I can visualize the town and people of Mapleton, the inner workings of the Guilty Remnant (especially Lorrie and Meg, who we see a lot more of), and Tom's journey out west.

Other than all the little details, this show explores large, dark themes. What/who is good? Where do we go when we die--or disappear? The characters battle with these questions while I as the viewer stay perched on the edge of my seat, hoping they find the answers.

High Fidelity

I don't remember blogging about this book when I read it, so bear with me if I've already reviewed it. Today I watched the movie version of High Fidelity, starring John Cusack, Joan Cusack, and Jack Black (and a smattering of other more-or-less well known celebrities). It follows the book (by Nick Hornby) pretty closely, except one major difference (which I think leads to the other differences): setting.

Hornby's novel is set in London, England. His narrator, Rob Fleming, comes across as a okay bloke. A bit daft, a little underachieving, but likeable. In the movie version, Rob Gordon (I don't know why the name change) lives in Chicago. Here (or in movie world), he is kind of a jackass. He's self-centered and I totally got why his live-in girlfriend, Laura, leaves him (in both book and movie, pretty much right away).

For the rest of the book and movie, both Robs outline their Top Five Break Ups, in chronological order, leading up to the current Laura break up. Eventually the Robs get that they are the common denominators in all of their failed relationships, regardless of who dumped whom and why. Other ladies enter the scene, as do other men, but Rob(s) and Laura still have things to work through.

I liked the book because I like Nick Hornby's writing style. The story itself is okay. The movie works well because Rob, owner of a record shop, also lists many Top Five song lists, and these work their way into the soundtrack, which I thought did both book and movie justice.

Speak My Language

A notable quirk of my Valentine's Day this year was the lack of bitter status updates on facebook, you know, the "Rah rah rah, my name's Debbie Downer & I'm alone today/I hate corporate holidays" type. My only conclusions as to why the updates were either positive or just not there are that I'm at/near the age where, a) people I know are in steady relationships, so they have nothing to be bitter about, and/or b) people have matured and don't really care that Valentine's Day is a consumer holiday.

I pretty consistently fall into the indifferent to Valentine's Day camp, which leads people to sometimes view me as a Love Scrooge. In actuality, I have plenty to say on the subject. As of late, my big thing with capital "L" Love is Love Languages.

You may have heard of these five languages--words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, physical touch--but I challenge you to really consider them. These are the ways we know people care about us and how we reciprocate that care . Knowing your love language is knowing what makes you feel loved, appreciated, and overall a worthy human being. There are several quick and painless assessments here to learn the language in which you are most fluent.

An easy way to figure yours out is deciding which language put into action you prefer the majority of the time. Note, most people have several that apply and even though these are "love" languages, they apply to any significant relationship, not just romantic ones. I think it's also interesting that typically we express and receive love through the same language, but this doesn't have to be true. So maybe you feel loved when people write you nice letters, but you express love/care/concern by mowing their lawn or giving them a hug. Here's a quick overview (taken from the official website):

Words of Affirmation (I receive love this way, but struggle to show love in words unless I write them.)

Even though I'm a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words, it's hard to deny how nice it feels when someone tells me I'm awesome at everything I do compliments me. If you like to hear the three little words, "I love you," and like even more to hear the reasons, you're probably a word person. In contrast, insults leave a particularly nasty sting.

Quality Time (My top scorer for love reception, and I do pretty well reciprocating with it as well.)

Those of us labeled "attention whores" by friends and family (sometimes strangers) probably speak the language of Quality Time really well. We like people to be there for us--with no distractions. When those we care about don't reply to our texts or pretend not to see us when we stand on furniture ignore us, whether intentionally or not, we take great offense and often to go to greater attention-seeking lengths.

Gifts (I can receive love from gifts, but they definitely rank low. I'm not a great giver of gifts either, unless they come in limerick form.)

Gifts can mean a multitude of things, but for the receiver, "it's the thought that counts" really does count. Something simple that regardless took intentional effort is huge, and giraffe-themed items every day gestures go a long way to show Gift receivers that they mean something to the giver. Re-gifting not recommended.

Acts of Service (Another low scorer for me. I'm fairly independent & don't want to feel indebted. I like to think I'm decent at serving others, though, especially since I just spent a year focusing on doing just that.)

Think of this love language as doing favors for another: cooking, cleaning, fixing things, giving rides, running errands--all with a smile on your face expecting nothing in return. Leaving messes or general laziness says to Acts of Service receivers that you don't really care about their feelings.

Physical Touch (What's great about this one is it's hard to give love this way without receiving it right back. Unsurprisingly, it's the one I generally go to.)

This is more than just hugs and kisses. Touch is holding hands, playing with hair, sitting next to someone on the couch while you watch TV, and being in close proximity to another. It's easy to disregard people's personal bubbles go too far with touch (we have a word for it: touchy-feely), but the absence of it in a Touch receiver's life is destructive.

Again, these languages are useful in a variety of relationships in our lives. It's a great way to understand family and friends so you can best show them you care. If Grandma is clearly a Quality Time person, a gift basket does little for her. She'd more likely "feel the love," so to speak, if you went for a walk with her or called her on the phone.

And before any of you think/say it, yes, I absolutely made sure to let you know what my top love languages are to help you know how to GIVE ME ATTENTION show me I'm appreciated.

Chicago V Madison: Streets & Bikes

I don't mean this post to be a competition; Chicago and Madison both have pros and cons. I just love comparing cities, and since I recently spent a bunch of time in Madison, these differences/similarities are fresh. As far as city comparisons go, this one's fairly weak. I'm not going to get into the sports, food, music, politics, or any interesting stuff of either city. I just want to write about the streets and the biking. FYI, I didn't research any of these; I'm post-workout blog vomiting.

Streets
Okay, if this were a competition, Chicago is the winner hands down just by virtue of The Grid. Directions and maps don't confuse me; I'm actually a great navigator. Madison, though, always gets me turned around. I wonder if living in Chicago has spoiled me; maybe The Grid is a crutch of sorts. Or maybe I just haven't spent enough time in Madison. Either way, I love hearing an address and knowing almost exactly how to get there without googling it. Madison (and most of Wisconsin) operates on the some streets straight, some not so much system. It's super easy to get lost and you most likely need directions to get anywhere, unless you are already familiar with the area.

Bikes
Chicago is a huge bike city. Some neighborhoods more than others, but overall, biking in the city is a normal, popular thing to do. And yet, there are still very few protected bike lanes. In some areas, there aren't bike lanes at all, just the several feet between parked cars and traffic for bikes to maneuver through. A biker in Chicago needs to be super aware of his/her surroundings. Luckily, most drivers are also aware of their surroundings, even if they hate bikers. Madison also appears to be a bike city, and besides confusing streets has bike trails. Partially I'm guessing it's a college student thing, though I know Madison usually ranks as a healthy city. Still, I did see a lot of way protected bike lanes--like literally a separate area of the road just for bikes. So that's awesome for Madison bikers. Streets are confusing, but you can pay more attention to where you're going since you don't have to worry as much about being in traffic.

There you have it, for anyone wondering just how Madison and Chicago compare on two minor city details that actually come into play a lot in my own personal life, these are things I observed. I hope I've been super helpful.

Eternal City, Second City

Remember how obsessed I was with ancient Roman history when I studied abroad? (Refresh your memory in my archived posts.) Brit is probably just as obsessed with Chicago history and has quickly turned me on to it. She's got me reading books like Sin in the Second City by Karen Abbott and it's uncanny how similar the cities actually are.

Chicago is notorious for its crime and corruption, and much like Rome it has many mob connections. Both cities have rich traditions of underworlds, secret groups, and dark sides exploited in books and movies. In Rome, "que bordello!" is uttered to comment on something being wild (literally, a whorehouse). Chicago was home to one of the most illustrious bordellos in America at one point.

The Eternal City and the Second City of course share less corrupt things in common as well: an intense passion for food, varied and diverse neighborhoods, sports rivalries (Lazio v Roma soccer/Cubs v White Sox baseball), and funky street smells (hot garbage, piss, dog) for example.

My apartment reminds me of living in Rome as well. I stand on my front porch and watch traffic on my one-way street, I hear many conversations from the building next to me through my window, my downstairs neighbors are always smoking, and I'm only a little way from the train into or out of the city. My neighborhood is residential and has an old working-class feel. It makes me want to write a lot.

The biggest difference between my two lives is most likely having fairly efficient public transportation and streets on the grid. It's far less difficult to get lost or be late here. Sad day.

Regaining Confidence & Energy

I can't believe it's October--not only because I can't believe I've been here almost two months, but also because it's been so warm these past few days! Luckily I've been able to take advantage of the sun with long walks and outdoor activities.

On Monday we had Oklahoma Training (named so because it was developed at the University of Oklahoma), which basically amounted to a discussion of leadership styles, how to alleviate stress, and other practical things about working in a residential facility. It's a very useful training, and once I've completed all the sessions I will be a licensed youth care professional, so it's also resume-building.

I spent my day off on Wednesday boosting my confidence by making a dentist appointment, figuring out public transportation to get myself to the Museum of Science and Industry (two transfers for a total of three different L lines), and popping in to program to find out that the morning checklist I made for my advocatee the night before did indeed help get him out the door on time. Okay, so none of these things were really that challenging, but I'd been feeling a little incompetent at work so these little things helped.

There were tons of school groups at the Museum since it was a free day, and they reminded me just how different my childhood/education is from the youth I work with. I've been to the Museum before, on a family vacation when I was in third grade, but Chicago schoolkids go there for field trips (depending on what schools they attend). Sometimes at work I marvel at the opportunities the guys have--even just the opportunity to attend good schools.

I know I probably didn't appreciate my education while I was in school, but after learning about the education system in general in my different classes, I feel like a part of my job is pointing out the blessing of a basic education to the guys. In so many ways they tend to think day-to-day--homework, reading, assignments--instead of seeing the bigger picture--high school diploma, college, living independently. I know they have a lot on their plates besides school (past traumas, behavioral issues, family stressors), but because of where they are now, the hope is that they have the support and resources to better handle these things. At least that's how I understand it.

Processing all this stuff is overwhelming sometimes. That's why they preach self-care at all the trainings...it's hard to help someone else if you aren't taking care of yourself. That being said, I will feel no shame for watching Tremors and taking a nap on the couch today.

it's been awhile...

...but I've finally decided to get back on here and write. Since you've heard from me last:

-I moved into my apartment in De Pere with my lovely & engaged roommate, Andrea
-I started my senior year @ St. Norbert College
-I started work again @ the SNC Writing Center
-I got a haircut!

...and that's about it.

Just kidding.

The transition from Rome to South Carolina to home to school has definitely done something to me. I don't know if I have culture shock, reverse culture shock, senioritis or if I'm just getting old, but I have been feeling a tad out of sorts these past few weeks.

It took some time for me to get back into school mode, and I'm still not all the way there (although maybe I am because I'm definitely procrastinating like usual me). My classes are interesting for the most part, though, so that helps.

And as a co-senior consultant at the Writing Center I got the lovely job of creating the schedule, revising the schedule, and cutting hours from the schedule after realizing just how underfunded we are.

A lot of days I feel pretty stretched and if I don't write things down I forget them almost instantly, as if there are so many things and nothing for them to stick to inside my head. I've also developed a clumsiness that maybe I've always had and never before acknowledged, but either way it's kind of embarrassing. I run into things constantly--the futon, bookshelves at school...it's like I'm a little out of step with the world.

But despite always wondering where I am and how I got there (honestly, at least once a day I have to stop and think about these things), life is good right now. I don't want this to be a depressing return post--I really have little to complain about. I'm home-ish, I'm a senior, my hair is blond once again (and will be for some time...I promised Mom it would stay that way at least until next summer).

There are a billion other things I could mention now but my alarm is going to go off in about seven hours and I know it will be a much better Friday if I'm not wondering when nap time is. I'll be traveling to Madison this weekend to visit friends and the younger sister and I promise I'll be more specific about my life the next time I post.

Women/Time

Today on my morning walk around Rome I noticed an abundance of yellow flowers. Usually there are flower men walking around all the tourist areas, pretending to give away roses and then charging you when you accept them, but today I noticed just these small yellow flowers wrapped in pretty paper--and people were actually buying them, tourists and locals alike.

And then I remembered, today is International Women's Day. In Italia, it is an official holiday and celebrated like St. Valentine's Day plus Mother's Day, with the men showing love to the women around them. It also serves as a women's awareness day, so there are posters up about women's rights and things. The UN also sponsors International Women's Day, but it's not celebrated in the US.

What the US does have today is Daylight Savings Time...something Italy won't have until the last Sunday in March. So for a little while I am only six hours ahead of you. Dad e-mailed me last night and told me about DST and for a bit I was worried that I had missed it here, that I was an hour behind. A quick check on the world clock told me otherwise, though, and I looked up on the internet just when DST would start here. It's weird to me that some countries don't even observe it and the actual days differ among the ones that do.

In ancient Roman times, the day was divided into 12 equal parts, except those parts were longer or shorter depending on the time of the year--there was no standardized time. They didn't need standardized time then, though. The day started at sunrise, there was a meal at midday (the sixth "part"), then a resting time until the last three hours, when they went back to work.

I know. That sounds a lot like what they do today: disregard the standardization of time and instead let their biological clocks/the sun decide what "time" it actually is. Like I've been saying all along, these people are living in the past, in the good old days of the Roman Empire. (I'm getting used to it though...my clock is telling me it's about time for a nap.)

failure to communicate?

Shannon and I were in the kitchen last night when Marina opened the balcony door and whispered, "You guys have to come out here now."

We gave each other strange looks but joined her on the balcony facing the courtyard.

"What?"

She didn't say anything, just took a big breath and smiled. We breathed in as well. Oh, that's why we had to come out: one of our neighbors was cooking again.

This happens, well, pretty much every night I guess. If we go out on our balcony we can smell whatever is cooking in the apartments around us. And the smell is always heavenly. Last night it was steak, but other nights it's been fish or pasta or...whatever it is, we want some. If it weren't for the language barrier we could ask them what they are making and how to make it...or if we could have a taste.

Then again, if it wasn't for the language barrier we could do a lot of things. We've made the transition and gone through the culture shock period but language is the one hurdle we will never clear, at least not in one semester. I would say that's the toughest part about being here. When we make a cultural faux pas we can't just explain it away--because they don't understand our explanations. The language barrier also makes it harder to meet people here--especially since Rome is such an old city and they tend to reject anything foreign or new (even Francesca, the 16-yr. old Roman I tutor thinks so).

Eating out, getting groceries, riding the tram--we've figured out how to do all of these things, but it's still obvious that we're outsiders because of the language differences. When we ask if we should just sit down in a restaurant or wait to be seated we get blank looks or eye rolls. When the grocery cashiers realize we are American they simply point to the total on their screen instead of telling us what we owe.

It's gotten better since we've been here, don't get me wrong. People actually ask "scendi?" on the tram to ask if I'm getting off at the next stop and sometimes the cashiers tell me in Italian how much I owe--especially when they see my handful of change. (Italians love change and smaller bills. Have I mentioned that? Once I had a ten and two fives when my total came to nine something...I started to give her the ten but she shook her head and asked for the two fives instead...I don't know.)

So there are ups and downs. And if I sit and think about it, I know I wouldn't want to study abroad in a country where they spoke English. It really is fun listening to the Italians and learning a new language, especially when that language happens to be la bella lingua.

On another note: We are midway through the semester! Wow. And midway through midterms week, which is part of the reason I'm on here...as a break from studying ancient Roman history. Wish me luck on my test tomorrow!!

Back to School

Before I blog about my weekend in Barcelona, I wanted to write about Thursday. I found the high school (in Italy they are called liceo) without any trouble thanks to new directions, maps, and a phone number in case I got lost. The school, Liceo Farnesia, is in a nice, residential area of Rome but is hard to notice since it is gated. I had to press a call button for them to open the gate for me. I guess about 1,300 students go there, so that was a huge difference from what I'm used to. When I went in the front office and asked for the teacher I was going to shadow, they didn't even know who she was. That's how many people work there!!

There is a main building at the liceo with the gym, offices, a few classrooms, and the bar (sort of like a cafeteria, but the students buy their own food there--from panini to chips and other snacks, and even cappuccino and espresso--in mugs, not Styrofoam). Then there are separate buildings with the rest of the classrooms. These buildings are kind of like trailers and even the Italians know they aren't the prettiest things to have class in. There is graffiti on the metal walls and they get cold in the winter so the students mostly kept their jackets on. Another difference here is that the teachers switch classrooms while the students stay in the same rooms all day. Their day goes from 8-2 with breaks at 10 and noon and smaller breaks between classes, but other than that the students stay in their little trailer classrooms. According to the students themselves, this is because if they had to do the moving around, they would never get to class...they would be too busy hanging with their friends and walking too slowly to make it to class on time.

The classes I sat in on were all very interested in learning more about America. There were three different ones, an advanced history class and two English classes. The teacher worked with a few students in the corner of the classroom (I think individual assessment things) while I had the rest of the class to myself. They would ask me questions and I would answer plus I got to ask my own questions about growing up in Rome. A lot of their questions had to do with the economic crisis in America and how I felt about Obama--it was impressive how many political questions they had. They also wanted to know about colleges and how to apply, how to get scholarships, how it is different from high school, etc. And then in every class there were, of course, the usual high school questions: what kind of music do I listen to, do I eat a lot of hamburgers, do I watch The O. C., and they all wanted to know how I felt about Italian boys. I even got asked out by one of the students...but unfortunately he was 16.

It was a really interesting morning and the teacher asked me back, so I was happy about that. She also asked if I would be interested in tutoring her 16-year old daughter in English. I hope we can work that out somehow--then I'd be able to see an Italian home/family and make a little extra moneta (money) while I'm at it!


Hard to tell, but this is an Italian liceo from outside the gates.

a hella good supper, y'all.

I've talked a lot about differences between Americans and Italians, but after being here over a month (!) my roommates and I are starting to see the differences between Americans, more specifically, between the five of us.

I am the only Midwest girl in our apartment. Shannon and Marina are both from California, the Bay Area (San Francisco). Stephanie is from Nashville, Tennessee. Rosanna is from Scranton, Pennsylvania (yes, like in The Office).

The first difference we noticed was Stephanie's use of "y'all" which occurs multiple times each day. Stephanie also hates time and loves to stretch out her mornings with long showers and slowly getting ready for the day. If we go out, she would rather sit and talk to someone than go crazy with the drinks.

Rosanna doesn't have any catchphrases, but she does love to talk. She comes from a traditional Italian American family, which means there is always talking at her house, and she hates when it is quiet. When she is signed in on skype, she gets multiple calls at once. Her boyfriend, parents, brothers, friends and cousins all call her at the same time so she's always putting people on hold to take another call.

Marina and Shannon's catchphrase is hella. When the rest of us first heard that, we weren't sure what to think. Apparently it's a Bay Area thing that started out as "hell of a" as in "There were a hell of a lot of people there." Then it became "helluva" and now just "hella." So they'll say something like "That pasta is hella good." It's hilarious.

At first it seemed I didn't have a catchphrase either, but the other night my roommates all laughed after I said I was going to make my zucchini for supper. Not because of the zucchini...because I said supper.

I never realized "supper" was such a Midwest concept. Everywhere else everyone eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In the Midwest we have breakfast, dinner, and supper. I mean, at home dinner and supper are usually interchangeable and we say lunch, but when my grandparents or the residents at work say "dinner" I know they are talking about the meal they eat at noon and "supper" is the one they eat in the evening.

So now every time I say supper they laugh at me and tell me it's cute. They also laughed when I told them about cheese curds. One night we were talking about our favorite comfort foods at home and when I said cheese curds they all got disgusted looks on their faces. They have no idea what cheese curds are...I told them I felt bad for them since they had never experienced them.

I've been continually updating my photo albums online so check back when you can...I rearranged everything this weekend so the albums make more sense. Here is the link: http://picasaweb.google.com/rachel4kaiser/

shoes and fur coats

Grandma's comment on my last post made me think: church does start on time. Not only the American church we found, but the Italian ones too. And when we went to the Vatican they were quite punctual. So Italians might be relaxed for the most part, but when it comes to religion, they listen to those church bells.

For my Italian class we not only learn the grammar and vocabulary, we also do cultural activities. For our quiz next week we have to go to the grocery store and observe Italians there. I've been doing some of that, not only in the grocery store but on the street as well, and you've been hearing about all the differences, but there are more.

Some other differences between American and Italian men, besides how forward they are (last night when we went out an Italian put his arm around Rosanna and proceeded to tell her she was sexy and that he loved America), is how much they care about appearances. For example: the other night in my stats class the Italian kid sitting next to me (the one who walked in late like it was nothing) took out his laptop and proceeded to use its glossy black top as a mirror to fix his hair before opening it up to take notes.

Walking along the street you will notice not only stores with women's designer clothing, but men's too. They don't generally have department stores here at all, so there is a store for men to buy ties, another one for their dress shirts, another for pants, and of course one for shoes. They are big on their shoes here--the fine Italian leather and all. It's safe to say the majority of the men I see are dressed pretty spiffy. I think I've seen one Italian wearing a hooded sweatshirt and maybe a few wearing sneakers.

Differences between Italian and American women: Italian women get dressed up to go grocery shopping. In the States, most grocery shoppers wear whatever: jeans, sweats, etc. Today I saw a woman in a fur coat doing her grocery shopping. They go all out, even just to take the garbage to the curb.

It can be kind of tough being surrounded by beautiful people all the time, but it's been good too. I think I've grown a lot more comfortable in my own skin, even just being here one month. (I'll have been here for one month on Wednesday! Wow. That calls for a glass of vino.)

Il tempo è flessibile

I don't know if I've really talked about the concept of "time" in Italy yet. Here is what you need to know: there is no concept of time in Italy. This remains one of the biggest cultural adjustments for Americans abroad, most especially in Italy, because what we consider ineffectiveness, laziness, etc...to them is just business as usual.

If a business opens at 8 in the morning, it is perfectly acceptable for them to show up at 8:30, maybe even later. Then, when it is lunchtime, they may close from 12:30 until 2:30 or 3:00. What this actually means is they will close at noon and maybe they will be back by 4:00. And if the store closes at 7:00, you'd better get there at 6:30, which is most likely when they will start closing up for the day.

It is completely strange to all of us Americans and it can get frustrating when you want to run to the store for something only to find it will be closed for the next three hours. But the thing is, it's not just the stores and little shops--the banks, the post office, even restaurants close down for pranzo (lunch).

Today our Italian professor told us that when she went to the bank this morning she saw one of her friends who works there. When the friend saw her, he said (in Italian): "Gina, oh, let's go get some coffee!" (When our professor told us the story she included the ubiquitous Italian hand gestures.) And so they did. The guy just left work, left all of the people in line at the bank, and went for coffee with a friend. What's more important: this story is not unique in Italy. It's fairly normal actually.

It's not uncommon for my professors from Italy to come to class a few minutes late and when they end class depends mostly on if they've covered everything they wanted to--whether that means getting out 15 minutes early or staying in class late, until they finish what they want to say.

The buses are supposed to run on schedules so that every fifteen-twenty minutes a bus will be at each stop, but somehow they end up all bunching together so there are no buses for an hour and then suddenly there are three at one time.

When we called our housing service to let them know our washing machine was not hooked up, our oven did not work, our toilet wasn't flushing right, and that we had a leak in our kitchen, each time they would say they were sending someone over later that day. Two days later, the repairmen showed up. They never brought tools though. They came to check out the problem, and then they would come back again the next day to actually fix it. And we never have any idea when they are coming.

I'm slowly becoming accustomed to this nebulous idea of time, but I am a little worried about the danger of becoming too accustomed to it. I already don't wear a watch. If I'm always late when I get back to America at least you'll know why...

As the Romans Do: Eye Contact

Tuesdays are my long days, which is strange because they are usually boring as well. I think it's because I'm too busy rushing from one place to another...or not rushing and instead waiting for the tram and getting held up behind slow-moving Italians. I had three of my classes today, but my schedule is all spread out so I started at 9:30 this morning with my on-site art history class and didn't end until 8:00 tonight with stats. I think I rode the tram six different times today because I have such long breaks in between classes.

This morning the tram was packed full and I barely made it on. Once I was on, there was nothing to hang on to so I had to rely on the people around me to hold me up when the tram took off or slammed to a stop. I've been in that situation before, (and really, everyone on the tram at that time is in that situation, unless you are the lucky ones to have seats or be near the handrails) but I've been standing next to other students and it wasn't awkward at all. This morning I had the wonderful luck to be standing next to an elderly Italian woman.

Here is what I have learned about Italian women: they don't like American women. Or men, really, but mostly women. This is a generalization, because I have met a few nice Italian women, but as a rule Italian women avoid American women. I don't know if this is just a cultural thing and not personal, or if they generalize all American women, but whatever it is they are not afraid to show their disapproval.

This morning the Italian woman showed her disapproval of me by first looking me up and down (and this was quite obvious due to our close proximity to each other), then shaking her head, turning to her husband, mumbling something in Italian, and finally turning back to look at me with those piercing Italian eyes. Now, I wasn't wearing anything outrageous (especially not compared to what some girls here wear) nor did I have my music on loud (I don't think I even had my iPod on) but previous experience has led me to believe she just didn't like that I was American.

All of my roommates and other girls I've talked to have had similar things happen to them--on the tram, walking down the street, in stores--so we are pretty sure the women (especially those of the 40 and up age set) just don't like us.

Now if only we could get the men to feel that way. Because if there is anything more awkward than an Italian woman giving you the once-over in disgust on the tram, it's an Italian man (we're talking ANY age here, middle school on up) giving you the once-over in extreme approval on the tram (and on the street and at the grocery store...). Maybe that's why the women disapprove? Because the men so obviously approve and even feel compelled to voice their approval with shouts of "ciao, bella" and long-lingering uncomfortable looks.

Either way--approval or disgust, man or woman--it's safest to do as the Romans do and just don't make eye contact or smile. It feels super weird at first, especially coming from a town where you know everyone you pass on the street, but that's the culture here.

Oh, and I read that the groundhog saw his shadow yesterday meaning more winter in the States...I'd just like to say that it is usually 50 degrees during the day here and the worst weather we've had is some rainstorms. The locals (and everyone from not the Midwest) complain about it though, saying this is the worst "winter" they've had in years. Oh Italians, always so dramatic.