Straight from the heart of Rome

Am I so in my element here?

This post is dedicated to my same Caroline Craven and my lover (mistress?) and object of my affection/birthday girl Rachael James Mulder. Also known as Ms. Gorgeous/fashionista/beauty.

So I still love pasta. Even pasta bianca (olive oil and parmigiana) is so good to me. But the boiled object I love most is gnocchi. So soft and chewy like a starburst candy for the dinner plate. No, not that they are sweet, but that the texture is gluttonously inviting.

I recently had a gnocchi lesson from a very Italian cook named Marilena. I met her because Landon Hansen from Rupert, ID told me to look her up. I moved into her ward and I mentioned his name and got VIP service. Her food makes me cry sometimes (not just because of the taste but because sometimes I am so full that I have to chase a bus with my belt unbuckled after we eat at her house and it makes me cry because if I laugh I will throw up). She thought we (me, my roommate, and two girls--Cami and Janise who I met who also know Landon--they were on a European tour but have gone home) were so strange for wanting to make gnocchi instead of an amazing fish pasta, but we were adamant. And I knew I would be here long enough to learn all her fish or pasta secrets (I PRAY).

Step 1- Boil potatoes. The metric system ratio is 1 kilo of potatoes with 400 (more or less)grams of semolina flour. I think that serves 3 or 4 or 5 or something like that.

Step 2- Find a way to get potatoes (without skins) squished out so that you can stir in flour. I think you can just use a masher, but mash them really well.

Step 3- Stir in flour a little at a time. When it gets too hard to stir, knead the mass of starches like you would bread dough. Knead it for 10 minutes or so. The difference between bread and the gnocchi dough is that the gnocchi will not be as elastic. But aim to make it less sticky like you would bread dough.

Keep your hands really floured and rub off the dough stuck to them.

Step 4- Take a chunk of dough and roll into "snakes" about 1/2-3/4 inch diameter. Cut about 1 inch rectangles.
At this point it is completely aesthetic. You can roll them into little balls. You can make them into shapes like red blood cells (always thought they were a cool shape). You can mark them with a fork or something. Marilena had me push them in a quick motion on the back side of a cheese grater. The holes make bumps that look cool. It took me about 15 minutes to get one to look right . . . but I got a "brava" from her in the end. Make sure to put shaped gnocchi on a floured surface, don't let them touch, and sprinkle flour on top of them.

Step 5- Ok. At this point you should have some water boiling. You want to try to get all the gnocchi in together as quickly as possible (I mean that they should go in at the same time). But don't freak out and dump them everywhere. Just GENTLY drop them into the water. Once they go in don't stir them. Don't touch them. When they float to the top they are finished. It takes about 5 minutes or so. Then use a slotted spoon or a strainer to get them out of the pot. She had us put them in a strainer and then dump them into another to really get the water off. Then put them in a big bowl or something and dress them with the sauce you desire. And really, just enjoy. They are such the food to make me say "mamma mia".

love

m.jean gnocchi making machine

here are some pics

reminds me of home for some reason


Piazza Venezia for Unification day

My first glimpse of the Colosseum a few weeks ago


Just another great view of the setting sun

I'll Always Come Back to You

Caveat:
We are not professional recording artists. All we had was my Mac, Bernie Mac. We didn't have Scott Carter. Hopefully Gramps won't notice when we get off-key.






Happy Birthday! Love you. Apologies for the end. Bernie decided to stop recording.

Thinking of Tahir Square

I have felt and continue to feel compelled to write about the things catching fire in Africa and the Middle East (yes, the Suzanne Collins' title seemed most appropriate). I have been reading, or devouring, BBC news on Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt. I have since seen headlines alluding to protests in Yemen and Saudi Arabia. I have begun to drink from the well of fuel and flame that is the history, the present, and the future of this area of the world. This is a doomed task as the thirst is not quenched and the contagion of knowledge spreads even to my fingertips with so much energy that I must dip the bucket into the well again and again.

Though I urge to parrot all the things I have heard and read I will try to limit myself to discussing three poignant factors that I can't ignore.

1. We are all Khaled Said. This was the title of a facebook page that became a stage for videos and photos of policemen doing illegal acts justified by the "emergency law", a law created after the Six Day War. It has allowed activist to be "dealt with" in any imaginable way without consequence. Khaled Said was a young buisness man who was dragged out of an Internet cafe by police. He was beaten to death. The report of his death said that he had suffocated while swallowing a packet of drugs. Family members said that he had a video that implicated police officers in a drug deal. His death sparked the facebook page that was an unstoppable tool in organizing the revolution. In reality, it did the only thing it was ever meant to do--to build connections.

2. The role that social networking has played in the Egyptian revolution is incomprehensible. Does Mark Zuckerburg lie in bed each night, eyes wide open, as he realizes that his creation has ventured into areas he never once considered? He has discussed the idea that the nature of facebook would change communication, but did any of us foresee the role of it in places like Egypt? Did he imagine it in time of war? Do the words "We are all Khaled Said" flash through his mind? Think about everything you know about other wars and how the availability of information was limited by book burnings, controlled newspapers, or monitored telephone calls. Think of the secret radio stations, code words, curfews, and whispers spoken in musty places in the dark. Wael Ghonim, administrator of the facebook page, said that the regime couldn't control it that way in his interview with 60 minutes. The only way to control it would to be to cut off the Internet--which would only tell "4 million people that they are scared like hell from the revolution." He said that the regime made the mistake of blocking facebook and it only forced people to the streets to get connected. (P.S. google search how facebook will end March 15)

3. I don't know much about politics. In fact, I know so very little about my own government, let alone government in the rest of the world. However, I do know some things about religion so it is natural that this last topic is what I notice. Muslims and Christians united to stand for the rights they deserve. They protected each other from harm. This is one picture of Coptic Christians surrounding Muslims as they pray in Tahir square, protecting them from anti-revolutionary forces. Remember that one month before, 23 Christians were killed by an Islamic extremist suicide bomber.



Connections.

The Secret

CTEFL Certification: Check
Job Interview: Check
Job Offer: Check
Training: Check
First lesson: Pending

This means that I passed my grammar test and got certified. This means that I moved to Rome to find a job. This means that I found one. This means that tomorrow I start making money again!

Fortuitous: happening by accident or chance rather than design
Design: purpose, planning, or intention that exists behind an action, fact, or material object

So much that has happened has been both fortuitous and designed. Both have been amazing. I can't describe all of the events that I have witnessed in a matter of days. They would be meaningless to you. However, maybe I will just sum up how much I am meant to be here in one picture. I had just read my mom's email (remember her name is Kathleen) welcoming me to Rome when I stepped off the train and saw this:



I am meant to be here.

Fortuitous: finding common names in uncommon places
Design: living with Alison, who is able to understand me and able to encourage me. My, my do we laugh

Today I believe in the power of positive thinking, leaving the past behind, following Buddha's words and being in this moment. I believe in love, miracles, God, and truth. I believe in intrapersonal intelligence and the use of it to guide one's life. I believe in family. I believe in friends. I believe in not worrying. I have worried enough to last a lifetime. One man said "If the problem can be solved there is no need to worry. If it can't be solved worrying does no good."

Megan is back and better than ever. I really missed her.

love
m.jean

Look again. and again. and again.

I took up a habit in January. Many of you won't think it is any different from my normal behavior, but I assure this is a whole new level. I walk on the cobble-stone streets singing at a completely audible level. If you think I am singing along to an ipod, you are wrong. This is one of the Italy Megan antics. I still sometimes forget the words conveniently when someone walks too close, but don't doubt my dedication nor my passion.

After the internet research on the "how to . . . " she shut the laptop. With resolution, she walked with a step that said it all: I am doing it.


I have been told that I don't give enough detail in my blog reports. I have no wish to deny this. I have chosen a solitary path and with that comes an amount of reservation, something I didn't have much of before. It changes you. I look at portraits of my character of now and I look at the ones of then and I find myself much altered. And when I look, I smile. However, you all deserve a little sweet life for being such dedicated lovers and readers. I couldn't ask for a better group to send me warm thoughts and the occasional bank deposit every now and then (you know who you are--if you don't know, you could consider learning -wink-).

With a few passing words to her roommates, she went into the bathroom. Unsure of being heard, she giggled as she thought about the advantage of taking them by surprise. The water ran over her with a pulsing voice that could only say one thing: Do it. Do it.


Every morning I wake up to the sound of shop doors opening. There is always some kind of horn honking, whether it is a Vespa, a bicycle, a Fiat, or a bicycle. I open my shutters and check out the weather. Outfit determined I get dressed, eat, and do my hair as fast as I can so I can get to class on time. There is one minute I can't wait to experience every single morning. I am so fortunate to live on the other side of the river from my school. If I didn't, I wouldn't get my 60 seconds of euphoria every day. Blog audience: Welcome to the bridge walks.

The methodical motion of her arm combing her hair only added to the manic look on her face. This is how it works with her. Deep consideration and vacillation. Repeat. Then a sudden resolution, followed by sudden action. There is no stopping her when she gets to this point.

The bridge walks don't even last that long. I don't expand them often. I don't take a different bridge on a different day. No. I prefer to walk across my bridge with my eyes on Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge) long enough to smile uncontrollably. The water below moves like it knows it is in Florence. There is no need rush through it. At this point I am halfway across when I stop for 2 seconds. Smile. Deep breath. I carry on, dodging the other admirers, painters, tourists, dogs, and cute old people. I step off the magic bricks and return to walking fast. My feet head toward the school but my mind remains on the bridge remembering the same words that come to me every day: I am so happy.



Snip. Snip. Snip. Maybe sawing at the really thick spots. There is no thought of failure. There is no Plan B.

I will skip the description of school. Summed up, I have met some really great people. It is fun. I love grammar, even though I don't understand it all. I am working hard so there truly isn't a lot of time to melt into this city, but it almost doesn't matter. I just feel so--here. I make my own meals here, I am on a great pasta diet. Light on the wallet. :) So I eat lunch. I study. This usually continues until evening. Then my beautiful Dutch roommate will sometimes ask what I am doing for dinner. Then we get our fantastic Brasilian roommate to come out and eat with us. We eat for 10 minutes and laugh, talk, narrate, and story tell for another 50 minutes. I am the only person in my program who isn't living with someone from the program. Which means I am the only American who is not living with another American. And I love it. One of the greatest things about traveling is to meet all of these other people who are here. The idea that you both chose the same place makes you look at them with wonder, anxious to understand.

After 30 minutes of snipping, sawing, guessing, combing, and brushing off the cut hair she declared herself finished. More likely, she realized that if she didn't stop there she would end up with chin length hair--something she was not in support of. She walked into the kitchen with a length of hair 5 inches fewer. After a second her lovely Daniela cried, "Seriously, you cut your hair!" (if you could only hear the latin flavor on that first word you would want to take her home she is so cute). Sanne agreed and couldn't believe it. Yes she had. She cut off 5 inches of dead, unhappy hair. A feeling of elation came. Beyond the physical benefits, she felt so empowered. She had a problem. The solution cost money. The grandiose emotions that take over when she solves a problem for herself heightens her faith in life--and she didn't pay a dime. This, good friends, is power.

I feel so able here. I am almost finished with my program and I will be moving on soon. I only have good memories. The past of dark shadows fades every day and I am reminded why I did it all in the first place.

This is the power of Firenze.

yes, that is the shadow of my chandelier in my bedroom.


Love always,

m.jean
P.S. I don't know if anyone cares to know the name that I lovingly gave this outfit: Almost black and white. I know you are all wondering, it is my big black bow clipped onto a chain.

Year 24- Purple Time Capsule

Bday outfit: Tradition- wear purple on my birthday. and all my favorite things (forever21 necklace, m. jean designer pants, great big bow, cash cardi, best brown flats ever)

Words/things I Want to Remember:

1. The plan
2. Sofia
3. Please bless that we can have a pillow fight.
4. Mom
5. Yearn
6. TED talks
7. Burning beacon in the night. Can't feel its heat or see its light. That single solitary guide--It must get lonely there sometimes.
8. Hungry little bunny
9. Failure can sometimes be the best path to freedom.
10. Culture- create your own definition
11. Firenze.
12. I don't need you like I did before. But I still want you.

As of right now, these are some of the things I want to become/do:

Become a Religious Ambassador- for all of the major religions. Free from the stereotypes, free from undervaluing other people's way of life--or way of dedication. Only holding one thing for each one. Respect.

Audition for a singing competition.

Great loves of year 23:

Some dreams come true in the strangest circumstances.


Love her.

Bown Crossing. still think of you.


One of the greatest gifts in life is the opportunity to be an adult and to meet your mom as one.


Bridge walks

Greatest friends of 23: Megan. Malia. Kelissa. Helen. Leslie. Siobhan. Marie-Claude. TEFL Group. 113. best ever. sisters- can't get enough.

Best friends: Mom. Dad. Linsvor.

Feb 3=gone. 23=gone.

My school group got together for my birthday--one rose, cheeseburger, 5 pictures, 1 monkey card, 1 scroll card, and one big "tanti auguri" later-- I am 24
Ciao Tutti. 24. better than before.
love, m. jean





p.s.

did you think i could possibly forget this? Trevor is jealous. Though we're not sure of whom.

Chapter 2

Trains are like friends. You never sit still with trains. You are either moving on or going back. You come and go into each other’s lives. Stopping in when life allows. People either take you places or bring you back. Neither one is bad. Sometimes you need people to bring you back. But you also need them to have your mind, your hand, your purpose and take them somewhere.

I boarded the train with the heaviest purple 62 linear-inch suitcase in tow. A beautiful French woman handed me the lunch she bought for the ride. We said goodbye. The last task to accomplish before departing to Florence was complete, though not without tears.

One chapter closes (sent out with a boost from peanut butter m&m's), another begins.

The snow I saw from the train window scared me a little. The last thing I wanted to deal with in Florence was snow. The express train charged through the seasons with the same exigency as a spring day in Idaho. It left the rain, passed through snow, and arrived in the sun within a matter of hours. Just breathe.

I was the first in line to exit the train. Imagine a small gray carry-on suitcase, a blue vinyl messenger bag on one shoulder, a giant net bag on the other. The purple monster suitcase, hand crafted with the purpose of transporting 4 pig-sized items (My Whitlock grandparents sponsored sending an American pig to Africa once--the organization probably used a suitcase as big as mine to transport it). One door. Three steps. 20 Italians waiting behind me. If anyone can imagine the reason horns are honking the millisecond that a stop-light turns green, then one can imagine that holding up a line is a No-No. Nervous, I fidgeted by the doors waiting for the moment they slid open.

In my mind: I effortlessly lifted the pig-appropriate, purple monster in one hand while simultaneously stepping down the three steps with my burdened shoulders and other hand filled with the carry on and made "contact" with the cement below.

In reality: I tried to step over all three stairs at once to the platform with the monster. The net bag on my shoulder slid off, as it always does. The monster barely begrudge itself to leave the ground in my attempts to lift it by the handle, as it always does. My leg that was left behind on the top step fumbled a little causing me to lose any graciousness, as it always does. The carry-on was in the way, as it always is, for a moment on the stair only to be handed down by the next person in line. What gives?

But, my room is beautiful. I live in city-center, which is amazing. I have the most adorable roommates (one is dutch, one is brazilian) who are 18. We love to eat together at night. It is the best part of the day. I started school on Monday so today is end of week 1 of 4. I cross a fantastic bridge every day which I will take a picture of later. I successfully avoid death in the narrow roads. Don't walk two by two, you might get hit by a vehicle. Which could, of course, be a bicyclist, or a rickshaw. Ok, not a rickshaw, but smart cars might as well be one.

Peace and Love

and present simple/present continuous tenses of speech

m. jean