take me away to tuscany

^^gianni berengo gardin, "toscana," 1965

You set me and my thoughts a-wandering

along the path to the eternal void;

and then

this wretched time flees, and with it

the throng of woes afflicting it and me;

and while I behold your peacefulness,

that warlike spirit that rages within me sleeps.

-Ugo Foscolo "To Evening" 1803

I took an art history class my freshman year of college. I'd never seen a classic work of art, let alone could I discern meaning and symbolism from one. The only creative bone I had in my body was a love of writing. I dabbled in poetry, but mostly I knew prose. I talked to my RA (resident assistant) about it in my dorm. We had a funny relationship - best friends, but sometimes something more that lingered so far under the surface I feel that funny tickle of uncertainty even typing it now, so many years later. But there was always something between us that clicked. We often talked until five in the morning - him laying on his bunk, me on his couch that he typically used for mediation and to make residents feel comfortable with a glass of tea or water while he helped them work out a problem. On one of those late nights, we talked about art. He liked art, appreciated it, had some exposure to it. I wistfully wondered what it'd be like to know more about it, to be versed in it, to look at something and know, with clarity in your soul, that it was good, moving, touching. In true RA fashion, he encouraged me to register for a course the following semester. Art History 101. He even told me which professor was best. I laughed. I really laughed at it. I could barely afford to stay at school - I'd narrowly escaped having to pack my bags and dejectedly move back to Georgia because I didn't have the financial aid I needed. To tack on a class that wasn't necessary to graduate felt frivolous, ridiculous even. I registered for that course anyway. 

I loved most of my classes in college. I loved learning. But this art class is one of my favorites I took. I got lost every day in the giant auditorium, felt exhilarated walking into the art building on campus, surrounded by poetry and photographs on the walls, pottery and sculptures around me, murals hanging from the ceiling. I pretended to fit in, melded into the scene around me, felt like, I could be an artist in another life. The mix of Bohemian joy attached so freely to the idea of "artist" and the East Coast education and cultured upbringing that seems to imbibe every collection of art filled me with a desire to be something I wasn't, had never been, but could be? Maybe? It was the possibility of a world I'd never known and where it could take me that transfixed me. 

I learned a lot in my single art history class. I found that I studied more for it than the English classes I lived for, and the foreign policy classes that breathed new life into me. Because it was so new to me, so different and unnatural, I worked harder at it. I left the class with an "A," and an appreciation for works of art where none had been before. 

But in all the years since then, I've stepped foot into a gallery less than a handful of times. I've forgotten how easily a work of art can take me somewhere I've never been and make me feel like I've lived there all my life. I've forgotten that art can be a time machine and a transporter, an emotional outlet, and an intellectual pursuit. 

This weekend, I let photographs take me to Italy, and I didn't want to leave. I visited the Phillips Collection - a beautiful, astounding collection of modern art in D.C., specifically to see the "Next Stop: Italy," an exhibit of 12 photos by Italian photographers, each paired with words from an Italian poet. 

I dilly-dallied in Italy, forlorn for places I've never been, uplifted by trails that mirror my path - winding and blazed, faded and walked, brand new and untarnished. I went to Italy this weekend for the cost of $12 and a willingness to let my mind wander. It won't be so long, this time, until I let my novice enjoyment of art take me somewhere new.

if you go... 

phillips collection

next stop italy exhibit runs through 4/28/13

admission: $12

tryst coffee is served on the bottom level; i recommend a good book and a chai tea

also by me

what are you reading (offline, that is?) equals record 

dreaming big

I saw a girlfriend this weekend who's actively pursuing her dreams. She wants to own her own restaurant. She has been tweaking her business plan for years, worked in the industry, knows the ins and outs of the financial side as well as the front of house. She's ready to do this. I asked her about her timeline; I think I still expected it to be a pipe dream - maybe 5 years or 10 years down the road. She said six months. She's my age, mid-late 20s.

Two different social media acquaintances blogged in the past week about chasing their dreams. One dreams of being a writer, the other an artist. They're dropping their day jobs, bidding see you laters to their friends, and running into the unknown for the chance to say, at the very least, "I tried."

I've been so inspired hearing these stories. And at the core of my inspiration has been unease (doesn't inspiration always feel slightly uncomfortable?). What would I risk everything to do? To achieve? To be?

It infuriated me that I don't have a career answer. I don't. I don't know for what I would give up everything to do with my life. Write? Be a travel writer? I don't have a perfect answer for a dream career path. But if I could risk it all, I do know that I'd move somewhere abroad again - not as a tourist but as a local.

I know that I'd rent someplace small, and I'd eat like a local and live like one for a month, to start. I don't know the details, but I know that I'm at the start of something. At the start of figuring out a dream that I can chase, that I've wanted to chase since I set my feet back down on American soil. I've wanted to live abroad again since I came back from it.

Where would I live for short or long-term? Nepal, Italy, somewhere in Central or South America immediately come to mind. I'd live nearly anywhere.

I've been so inspired lately that all I can think about is that it's time. It's time to stop wanting and stop daydreaming and to start acting again. I'm happiest when I'm uncomfortable, uncertain, passionate, excited. Now that this idea has planted itself in my head as real, a thing that if I put my mind to it, I can make happen, it's not going away. It's only going to get bigger.

I don't know how I would earn a living for a lifetime in my dream world, but I do know that I wake up with thoughts of countrysides I've never seen, trails leading me into the unknown, food I can't pronounce. I dream in cities I've never seen. It's time to see one of them, to live in one of them again.

A month living in another country. I want to do that this year. 

italy called and wants its homemade bolognese sauce back

I don't like not knowing the right answer. It harkens back to my days of being a teacher's pet. I like to always be right, and I like to be the first one to be right. My brother gave me the ever-charming moniker, "Know it All" when I was a kid. Oh man, how I hated it. Oh man, how I loathed it. And oh man, how I loved it. You gotta be some kind of smartypants to get that kind of accolade. (Thank god I got nerdier cooler with age. ;)) 

So you can imagine the extreme torture it is to be asked a question, especially a simple one, and not know the answer. Oh, how it destroys me! Go ahead, stick your hand in and twist my vitals! It's the worst. And that sickening torture happens every time someone asks, "What's your favorite food?" 

...

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? 

You might as well ask me if I prefer semicolons or colons, or to choose between To Kill a Mockingbird and The Invisible Man (the nerd level in this post is damn-near reaching unreadable!). I am twitching even typing this, even THINKING of these absurd, irresponsible, rude, mean, cruel, torturous, impossible questions. 

There's pizza. Jesus, my love for pizza is truly worthy of invoking the name of a deity. 

Ham. OH HAVE MERCY, how much I love ham - honey ham, spiral cut ham, off the bone ham. I'm sloshing about in a drool-covered keyboard now. 

A perfectly cooked steak. 

Duck boob.

Roasted broccoli.

Edamame.

Hummus.

Edamame hummus.

Cajun french fries. 

Shut the front effing door, I hate this question and everyone who has ever asked it.

But if we're all six years old again (have I even aged past that, really?), and someone has a gun to my head and I have to choose (what kind of mind games do most killers really play, really?), I say... my answer is... are you ready? Sitting down? Reading this on your mobile device trying not to run into a light pole? I got distracted. 

My answer is sausage. 

Yep. Sausage. Homemade, preferably, from your local favorite Italian grocer or deli. Or in your kitchen, if you're so ambitious. Sausage. Hot Italian sausage. 

It is the best pizza topping. The best sammie filling. The best pasta protein. Hell, you could probably make hummus out of it, what do I know? (......New goal.) 

I love sausage. And I really, really adore fresh spinach pasta. So it was only a matter of time until I caved in and made homemade Bolognese sauce. I do a simplified version of this like bi-nightly (please don't judge my extreme pasta intake too harshly!), but this is big 'ole pot worth, worthy of freezing if you can keep it around that long, and it's truly homemade. 

Don't even get me started on my favorite dessert or spice. I'll be yammering for weeks. 

Recipe adapted from Sugar Free Mom's traditional Italian Bolognese sauce

ingredients

4 links Italian sausage of your choosing (i use vace's hot - located in d.c.)

1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1/2 large onion chopped

4 large cloves garlic, minced + more because there's never enough garlic tip: i use a cheese grater to mince!

1 cup water

2 28oz cans of crushed tomatoes (i didn't have this much so my pictures may appear slightly more "soupy" than you will with the full two cans! i'll use the full amount next time.)

1 28oz can diced tomatoes (taste of italy from vace in d.c.)

2 tsp dried fennel seed (lovelove)

2 tsp dried basil (who am i kidding? i don't measure anything. pinch + pinch + pinch)

2 tsp salt 

2 tsp pepper

2 tsp parsley

2 tsp oregano

2 tsp thyme 

2 tsp parsley 

crushed red pepper to taste (i loaded it up)

i.e. EVERYTHING IN YOUR SPICE CABINET

pasta of your choosing (for me: fresh spinach fettucini, also from vace!)

steps 

heat your oil in a large pot on medium heat

add sausage and cook until brown (pink is okay - it will cook through while it simmers!)

add onion and garlic and saute until your house smells like heaven (/until translucent)

add crushed tomato, water, and all 100 seasonings. bring to a boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for one hour, or until you're mouth is watering too much to wait any longer. 

bring a separate pot of water to boil and add your pasta of choice. cook for 7-9 minutes and drain. 

if the sauce is too thick, you can add more water. if it's too thin, try adding some tomato paste. i thought the consistency was great.