Thank you for your letter. Sounds like you are busy--especially with all the language studies you're into. But, why don't you study a real language--Italian? Then when we go to an Italian joint you can do the ordering for all of us not too smart ones.
I was married to an Italian and therby was exposed to many aunts and uncles that spoke the language. Course, I only learned a couple of Italian words. Probably "cuss ones" at that.
Haven't been doing much down here. Now and then, if my back will cooperate, I go over to the ocean and walk along the boardwalk. Mostly I look at all the pretty girls. Sometimes I go down to the inlet and watch the boats going in and out of the ocean. Watch the gils there too. For the most part I'm just sitting around and reading sexy novels.
Will be leaving in a couple of weeks. My nieces want me to stay for Easter but I think I'll leave April 1st.
Want to get back home now and make some real meat tomato sauce. If you guys can "find the time" we'll have some pasta, OK??
Be seeing you.
Love,
John
whalewatching
we celebrated my cousin's third birthday at the zoo. i love watching the whales and monkeys. i'm learning to move as the animals do. i remember the day i found my toes--i can still harldy believe they were there all along. as it happens, i am something. i see whales, and the whales see me. i am connected. i control these--these parts. i touch my toes, and i feel it. the big one fits perfectly into my grubby fist.
the fence is a great way for me to get up and around. i learn more everyday. papa practices the stairs with me at night. he looks funny in his suit and tie. he must be jealous of my soft flannel pajammas. he works awfully hard. i will thank him by helping him untangle the christmas tree lights.
waiting for iffin
a package of value
will arrive soon
branches anticipate
our good fortune
sing her a song
of the rainbow
whisper all the joy.
from hers to ours
she emerges
seven pounds
fourteen ounces
sunlit
beautiful
sweetly smelling
new life.
if i were to write you a letter, i'd write it in black ink. i'd use the pen i can never seem to find--the one whose mark is just bold enough to tell my story, but just thin enough to be unobtrusive. the paper would be heavy--not stiff, but substantial, nonetheless. it would probably be a bit smudged, for a variety of reasons, and i'd probably send it to you in a recycled envelope. you'd open it and smile. you'd sit on the curbside and read it at the mailbox.
i'd write you the most beautiful letter in the world. i'd use words that match your eyes--everything painted a pale blue with a hint of sadness behind a resevoir of love and kindness. my greeting would reach your ears like a symphony...but you'd know to listen carefully for my greatest secret, which would undoubtedly be revealed when everyone else had lost interest. you'd hear me when everyone had stopped listening.
i'd write something incredible about your heart. i'd tell you how much you mean to me and why i admire you so. i'd struggle through a few german phrases just because i know you'd read the letter aloud to oma, and your german is so beautiful to listen to.
i'd want to be there when you read it. i'd watch you watch me speak through the evenelope, the dark ink, and the heavy paper. i'd make it a black and white memory instead of just a dream.
(if i were to write you a letter)
the life of a day
like people or dogs, each day is unique and has
its own personality quirks which can easily be seen
if you look closely. But there are so few days as
compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it
would be surprising if a day were not a hundred
times more interesting than most people. But
usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless
they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red
maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they ar grimly
awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost
traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason
we like to see days pass, even though most of us
claim we don't want to reach our last one for a
long time. We examine each day before us with
barely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been
looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for
the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will
start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by per-
fectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the
right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light
breeze scented with a perfume made from the
mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak
leaves, and the faint odor of last night's meander-
ing skunk.
-tom hennen
the peace of wild things
when despair for the world grows in me
and i wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
i go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
i come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
and I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. for a time
i rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
-wendell berry
My roommate just informed me that her METRONOME went off in German class today. Sigh. Music majors.
Second semester is underway. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays aren't quite as early as they were last semester, but they seem much busier. I start at 9:05 with a long walk to Old Main--or at least as long as long walks get here at stolaf, provided you aren't going in circles :) German cinema has been interesting. We're studying German history through films produced before and after Hitler's reign. So far we've seen Caligari and a few different versions of Nosferatu. I'm a bit tired of the Dracula story--I'm looking forward to moving on to "The Blue Angel" and "M", our next two movies. The class is interesting but time consuming. In addition to our MWF time slot, we also meet two evenings a week. On Monday nights we meet in Viking Theater to watch the week's movie, and on Wednesdays six of us meet to discuss the film in German (the class itself is in English).
My German language class is more difficult than the one I had last semester. We're reading nonfiction essays about Martin Luther, the Berlin wall, the economy, etc. and writing essays on a regular basis. I have the same professor I had last semester--he comes to class everyday looking like an airplane pilot. He has these big sunglasses and a black leather beret--but I think it's the way he carries himself that makes me smile. He's always late, because he stops to get a cup of tea on his way to class...he walks in so coolly, with a wide smile that just screams "here I am!" He's a funny guy, that Professor Fink. I'm a fan.
From there, I have ten minutes to stop speaking German and start speaking Spanish. I still slip up and get made fun of for answering "ja" to Profesora Olson's questions. I started taking Spanish because my Norwegian Literature class wasn't all I had hoped for. I had planned on doing it on my own--my brother, Noah, got me some materials from his high school Spanish teacher. I'm glad I'm in the class, though. We're moving a lot faster than I ever would have on my own. I love languages...I love words. Studying Spanish has been great for me this semester. My friend Stephen (from interim--he taught second graders with me) and I meet every Tuesday afternoon for an Espanman (Spanish/German) study session. He's going to Germany over Spring Break, so I'm teaching him some helpful phrases in exchange for some free Spanish tutoring (he's fluent).
My last class, first year writing, is at 8am on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I remember signing up for this class...I preregistered for it...I don't know what I was thinking. It always feels way too early, and I'm finding that I definitely prefer the hour long MWF classes to the 90 minute T/Th classes. The class itself is interesting. It's called Cases of Conscience, so we're reading about the origin/role of conscience as defined by Kant and Freud, but we're also reading plays and short stories. There's something incredibly intriguing about conscience--I'm drawn to the subject.
In other news, I'm learning to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. However trivial this may seem, learning to love two pieces of wheat bread with something in between has been no small feat--take it from a girl who'd eat nothing but ketchup on a bun everyday in second grade. For the past month, I've eaten peanut butter and jelly at least three times a week in an attempt to develop a taste for what was previously nauseating. My evil plan worked. I want to write a letter--a letter to peanut butter and jelly sandwich makers everywhere--a letter of thanks. I'm hooked.
All this talk about pb & j is making me hungry. On that note, I'm off to dinner. I hope you're all doing well.
Take care. love anna
pastoral
the little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
but we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we thinkg good
or evil.
meanwhile,
the old man who goes about
gathering dog-lime
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a sunday.
these things
astonish me beyond words.
-william carlos williams