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Florence, Firenze, on a Thursday. the day, like all the others before, had been maddeningly hot. wherever we went, thousands of tourists were crammed into whatever shade whatever giant cathedral or baptistery or museum provided, leaving half of a plaza desolate.
i was sweaty with the weight of a backpack filled with the unnecessary weight of the trusty old D200 Lauren was letting me use for the trip. i had stopped looking for good shots hours ago–too hot, too crowded, too rushed: the theme of a European tour via Mediterranean cruise. in my head, i was already crashed out on my cabin’s bed. no more weight on my feet, my sweaty tanktop on the floor, the balcony door sealed shut to trap in the cool, conditioned air. then back to reality. Ponte Vecchio and Piazza Signoria rolled past in a wave of fluttering heat like you see emanate off the hood of a hot car. we trudged on.
i hated that it was happening, but Florence was becoming just another old city with pretty old places. i’d have traded it in a second for a gallon of ice water and a massage.
we entered the Basilica di Santa Croce to see the tombs of Michelangelo and Macchiaveli (how’d the birther of lie-laced, ruthless ambition get buried in a church?). while Ignazio, our tour guide, was asking if any of us could sing, i could only think about how i had to cover my shoulders with a scarf, raising the temperature of my body another few unbearable degrees, so as to not offend God, or something.
get me out of this city.
our last stop of the day was at Cappella dei Pazzi, the chapel at Santa Croce–another cavernous space adorned with prophets and columns with a dome on top. Ignazio went on to explain the geometric perfection of the structure which made the chapel an acoustic wonder. to illustrate, he walked away from us to the other side of the huge space and whispered, “can you hear me?” his voice rolled across the curve of the dome and floated into my ears like he was telling me a secret, but everyone was nodding their heads.
“where’s my singer?” Ignazio asked. a stout African American woman from Austin stepped out from the crowd, only a little shyly. her eyes scanned the space, maybe a little nervously, but mostly with a glint full of wonder.
“will you sing a line or two?” Ignazio asked.
“what should i sing?”
“anything you want.”
the woman nodded her head just slightly, looked around the chapel once more, then closed her eyes and took in a breath.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…
Florence went silent as her sad, deep gospel voice slowly filled the marble room. i swear i saw the walls shiver just slightly as they inhaled the sound, and then they exhaled together returning her voice to us in thick, rolling waves. i closed my eyes, and i felt the entire world tiptoe inside the chapel to hear what was happening. we all held our breath together.
the singer whispered, more shyly than when she started, “should i keep going?”
“please…” Ignazio whispered back.
That saved a wretch like me…
the sweat on my arms went cold as the waves of her song seeped into my skin. suddenly, we all weren’t just in Florence. Florence was there, but so was Austin and Mumbai and La Paz. the world turned inside out, without boundaries, a breeze across our faces.
I once was lost, but now I’m found…
the painted prophets were there, too, holding breath i didn’t know they had, straining their ancient ears as to not miss a note. then the moon and all the stars arrived. time crumbled and the heat together with any cold in the world vanished. we were suspended, all of us, hanging there together inside the cupped hands of some vast, unfathomable…
Was blind, but now I see.
this is me tapping my fingers before heading to New Jersey to catch a plane. then Europe. i have my pre-judgments. but i’m trying to stay open-minded. i won’t worry about what i wear. i’ll smile at everyone i see.
i’m so lucky. blessed. happy.
see you when i get back. or maybe you’ll see me first.
this is one of maybe five pictures i took in Key West last week,
and it’s my favorite.
it’s my favorite because the meal was great and
Lauren let me use her new camera.
cross-posted from facebook. (i know, i’m a huge slacker these days.)
the rules per fb land: Think of 15 albums, that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life. Dug into your soul. Music that brought you to life when you heard it. FIGURATIVELY socked you in the gut, is what I mean.
here are mine, chronologically, sort of. (defining song from album in parentheses.)
Pearl Jam – Ten (Porch)
in junior high, i fell asleep to this album on high volume in my chunky headphones every night. i could program my discman in the pitch dark to play six songs, culminating in Release. for some reason, i’d always wake up during Garden, a little petrified from the darkness of the music and a little awed by the depth of it. this was the first album i fell teenage sloppy in love with.
Toad the Wet Sprocket – Fear (Something to Say)
this was the first cd i owned. my dad bought it for me for Christmas, and it was sort of his nod/wink to me that we could be on the same page. this was the album of my adolescent’s discontent. i’d listen to Something to Say (he drops hints but he won’t tell you what’s really on his mind / but you know if you look it’s easy to find) a thousand times, trying to figure out this one girl and why she was on my mind so much. i’d fall asleep to Pray the Gods, waking up during the dreamy round of angel voices at the end.
Tori Amos – Little Earthquakes (Tear in Your Hand)
my own revolution. i learned how to hear music when i heard this album. Katie Swingle played Silent All These Years on my stereo at home, and i was hypnotized for the next ten years. i could pull out every layer out of every song and play it alone in my head. i knew the harmonies and tended to like them more than the melody. my love affair with Tori grew stronger with the next three albums, but this was my gateway drug.
Violent Femmes – Add It Up (Kiss Off)
i drank in high school like a freshman fratboy, and this was the soundtrack of every illegal drop that went down my throat. this album went the way of my party nights–from a slow, slightly off-balance bus song to building sloppily and with many mistakes to the desperate end until you pass out during the loud, live stuff. there’s not a better alcohol poisoning anthem than “eight, eight, i forget what eight was for! nine, nine, nice, oh and i lost count!”
Dave Matthews Band – Under the Table and Dreaming (Satellite)
in high school, Dave Matthews somehow reassured me that better things were to come. i felt mature when i listened to it for some reason. maybe it was how so many uncool instruments–a fiddle with a saxophone?!–fit together so purposefully. it was what we listened to in Jason’s car, and Jason’s car was one of the only places i felt at home in that goddamned Wyoming town. every song had its place over the course of the day. Rhyme and Reason when we were escaping for lunch, Ants Marching on the way to soccer practice, #34 just before bed.
Miles Davis – Kind of Blue (the whole damn album)
at Wax Trax in Denver, i asked Jason to pick out two cds for me to buy. Kind of Blue, he told me, was essential. when i thought jazz, i thought that cheesy smooth jazz you heard in waiting rooms or on the local access channel. Miles assured me otherwise. i’d buy red wine because i knew we’d be listening to Miles at dinner. i’d lie on the couch at dusk with my eyes closed for the entire album and feel the light fading through the music. it might be my deserted island pick. maybe.
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which means change! hope! and financial opportunism!
are you one of the lucky few thousand who actually got a ticket? did the Inauguration Committee actually pick you after you made your donation of $25 or more and told your inspirational story?
preserve your memories of this historic event in this hand-made, heavy-duty license plate photo album.
or maybe you’re one of the less lucky but still fortunate who will be enjoying the inauguration festivities cramped in a 1′x1′ space on the National Mall.
you can use this album to display all the shots you get of people’s heads clouded over by the fog of visible breath in the cold along with your indecipherable photos of the big screen simulcasting the swearing-in.
you’re going to need an album. it’ll be a really cool experience in retrospect.
as passionate as i get about certain issues, i’ve never marched, shouted or carried homemade signs. i’m glad last Friday’s rally to celebrate marriage equality in Connecticut was my first.
click here for more on that over at Lauren’s place.
smiling so big my eyes won't open
listen–i’m sick. my evenings have been spent in and out of consciousness under a thick blanket with the Red Sox game on low. so forgive my lack of update since i returned from Old Wyo. to tide you over, i’ll refer you (as i often do) to my pants’s place where you can see…
the cutest puppy in the universe and…
a giant rock.
i promise a real, Radiohead-inspired post as soon as i can breathe through my nose again.
Lauren and i are headed for Wyoming today (via a crazy zig-zag across the country, and hopefully that will be uneventful enough not to be a later post). i’m really looking forward to it. i’m looking forward to seeing my mom and dad, to meeting their new wiener dog Missy, to my sister incessantly calling me Sare-bear, to my cousin Chris giving me some sort of shit, and even to running into some annoying ex-classmate or soccer coach (the latter is an inevitability).
Casper changes every time i go there. new roads with new box stores, a cleaned-up riverside, the Beacon remodeled to look more like a restaurant and less like a brothel. i hear they’re building a new version of my high school, even though the old one was newer than the other high school in town.
i’m changing, too. i used to go home with a wall around me, and a look on my face that shouted I’M HERE BECAUSE I HAVE TO BE–THIS ISN’T MY HOME. i tried to disown my Wyoming roots as often as possible. i’d see old classmates and secretly gloat that they were still stuck in that slow town that they thought fast, and that i had escaped. i’d roll my eyes when my family got excited to eat at Red Lobster–out East, Red Lobster is the fast food of seafood. i’d study faces when i told people i settled “Back East,” hoping they’d think that was exciting.
the East always betrayed me, though. people here could always tell that i wasn’t a native New Englander. even still, i meet new people and they say, “you’re not from Connecticut, are you? you’re too…” and words like “patient” or “nice” or “trusting” would always follow. it took me awhile to figure out that those were qualities i picked up in the open spaces out West.
out East, we’re all anonymous in a way the military teaches boot-campers that the enemy is anonymous. we cut each other off in traffic and talk loudly on our cell phones in the library. we seethe when someone doesn’t fill the empty space in front of them in line at Starbucks. out East, the philosophy is usually, “i don’t know you and i’ll never see you again, so i’ll treat you like shit.”
this anonymity worked for me for a long time while i was trying to figure myself out. i sunk into myself and nobody asked why, if they even noticed.
in Wyoming, you will inevitably see that stranger from the road or coffee line again. you’ll have to be cordial because you’ll likely see them again somewhere else. you learn to get along because it sucks to live in a place where everyone hates each other for stupid reasons.
in Wyoming, people notice when something’s up with you–whether it’s out of concern or curiosity. they may not say anything to you, but they’ll say something to your parents. they’ll always treat you well, even though they’re not always sure what to say.
for awhile, that strange brand of concern just felt uncomfortable for me. now i’m learning to appreciate that, whether people out there like what i’m doing or not, they’ll always treat me kindly. people will always recognize me at the mall and say hi, and they’ll genuinely want to know what’s going on in my life. and i’ve learned to not mind telling them.
Connecticut is definitely the place i’ll always return to–i like the pace, the diversity and, yes, even the anonymity sometimes, but i’m finally starting to realize that Wyoming will always be home.
[cue Depeche Mode]
i can’t put it nearly as dorkily as Lauren, so i’ll just send you over to her place.
yes, that’s me in a two-piece. i got no shame.
