Europe: Remembering Florence

Having maneuvered Rome and public transportation, Jay and I were ready to set out on our own adventure. It started when Joel dropped us off at the train station in Pisa. His family was heading back for another day at the beach. We were headed to Florence with the same enthusiasm as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping. They didn’t stamp our passports there, but as “Lucy” surely discovered on her honeymoon, there was much more to Florence than a passport stamp.

As we sat on the train platform in Pisa, eating our French (Italian?) pastry, I looked around and thought how very much it all looked just like the train station picture in my French 1 book.

The morning air felt cool, yet a little humid. Just sitting on the bench on the train platform made everything seem so different, so European. Jay had our day scheduled. I think I took his preparations way too much for granted. By the end of the day, I knew I had. With regional train tickets and Rick Steve’s guidebook in hand, we soon boarded our train for Florence. As Italian trains either zip or clickity-clack along from town to town, they all take in the great expanse of countryside.

Once we arrived, Jay, being the logical side of us, took his bearings so he’d know how to get us back to the station that evening. We had an appointment early to see David, the David. As others waited in long lines, Jay guided us around to the “reservation” entrance. (Thank you, Mr. Steves.) Butt naked and all, the statue is unbelievably incredible, right down to flexed tendons in his forearms and the veins in his legs. Art students were trying to sketch him and others just gazed in amazement. (We were in the “others” category.)

After David we explored a little known museum of De Vinci’s machines.  The mirrored closet, where you can see yourself from all angles was interesting…and revealing.

We ate lunch at a little outdoor café, toured the cathedral, decided against walking up the 400 tower stairs, and wandered forever through the art museum, by appointment, of course. We strolled over part of the covered bridge that houses establishments with lots of gold for sale and decided we were out of our element.

We hiked up a hill, a very steep hill in the heat of the day, to a parking lot that overlooks the town. On the way we passed an outdoor group watching the World Cup on a huge screen in a grassy area by the river. We just happened by when Italy scored. It was kind of infectious to see their enthusiasm, especially when people started stopping and getting out of their cars to join in the cheering.  

Later in the afternoon as we wandered the streets, the street venders seemed to materialize from nowhere. There I bought scarves for myself and the girls. If I’d only known what a good deal they were and how much I would love them, I’d have purchased more.

But, as the day came to a close and we sauntered back to the station, my favorite was the gift from Jay—a snow globe of Florence. And that will only have significance if you’ve seen While You Were Sleeping, and then you’ll also know why I keep it on the kitchen window seal to shake each day and to pronounce Florence as the Italians do—Fi REN ze.

on The Lake District and Poetry

As I was taking my morning walk today, I couldn't help thinking about nature and how inspiring it is. Some of my favorite poets, the Romantics in particular, were often kicking around the gorgeous outdoors and writing about it. A lot of my ideas for Journals for Christa spring forth from a walk. This morning I couldn't help thinking about the Lake District and going there this summer. I'm hoping to bring back a whole journal of poems. But even if not up to Wordsworth's style, I'm excited to gaze on his beloved nature...and hoping for a little inspiration myself.

Thought for Today

God makes no deals—

Oh, how often I wish He did: when Joel was in Iraq—the spiritual well-being of my family—a hedge from sickness, evil, disaster—immunity from discomfort, frustration, indecision.

But, God…being God…makes no deals and has no obligation to do so.

“I would be so good if...”  “I would work so hard if…” and on and on.

To know my own limitations—to know that it’s okay for God to be God—to know Him better and know He’s good.

To trust Him more—

A Day at the Beach

The first ocean I ever saw was the Mediterranean—at dusk, beneath antiquity’s ruins—. While standing amidst the marble strewn sands, the sun stretched out where the heavens meet the water’s curve and splashed its radiance on Poseidon’s wavy peaks.

More than 30 summers later, I gaze out again from a Mediterranean shore. What a day—our day at the beach. Playing in the sand, holding Helen above the waves, paddle boating with Jay to the buoys’ edge. Watching Joel bury Breck in the sand and Kim absorbing the sun—

Now, months later and miles away, I realize that one of life’s greatest gifts is memory.

When I look out into a starry night

With air so cold it cracks my darkened rhymes,

My soul in anguish longs for sorted flight

To distant shores of sands in ancient times.

So, take me back to Arthur’s dancing kingdom,

Where laughter blends with sunlit skies at noon.

And knights consort with poets' fabled freedom,

And all of Nature’s breath reflects his tune—

 To heroes lost except in classic lore,

Where proud the banners waved with deeds for good—

And supernaturals help defeat the foe,

When man or woman’s heart cried out in woe.

I long to see where strength and honor stood

And welcome forth the past to modern shores.  
Deb Borkert ‘11

Pondering

Pondering. I wish there were a clear cut way of knowing God's will...kind of like email.

Frankenstein

Frankenstein, written Aug. 9, 2010                                                           

I don’t re-read every novel that my students read each year. If I did there’d be no time for grading their papers, and other reading, as it’s not uncommon to have 4 of my 5 classes in different works at any given time. But, each year I peruse through any that I’m feeling a little rusty on. So, since I didn’t teach AP last year, and it had been awhile, I’ve given Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein a cursory look the last few days before I delve into the summer reading analyses sitting in my gmail inbox.

I always get more out of a classic with subsequent readings, but I think I enjoyed traipsing through Europe with Shelley’s overly ambitious student and his beast because I’d just been to so many of the tranquil, yet haunting, places she describes.

As Shelley describes the beauty of Lake Lucerne and how the Swiss Alps border the lakes, I had a vivid image in my mind, not from her description alone, but from my personal thrill of such breathtaking beauty. When Frankenstein and his father rest in peaceful Strasbourg, I realize that Shelley herself would have walked the same avenues, gazed on the same rivers, and perhaps ate under the same 350-year-old sycamore tree. And the narrow crooked buildings lining the old town streets were the same as well. Did she wander through the cathedral and ponder Paradise Lost from which she parallels the monster’s relationship with Frankenstein to man’s with God or even Satan with God?

For the ice packs of the far north, I still must solely rely on Shelley’s eye, and probably always will. I kind of wish I’d thought about Mary Shelley and her companions on their stormy night next to the lake where they made the pact to write a story of horror and wonder. Maybe I would have if the winds had whipped up a squall and lightning had shaken the mountains.

But, for me the lakes exuded feelings of joy and innocence as I watched Breck and Helen dip their sticks into the water’s edge. Perhaps I should have, but Mary Shelley’s and her monster’s unhappy lives never entered my mind.

I Have Been Sequestered

Today Jay trotted off to school. I’m at home…with the laundry, bathrooms upstairs to clean, and an inbox of 15 AP essays on my gmail account. Feeling pretty good for a change, I’d kind of like to go out, but I can’t—just like I couldn’t go to school. I am contagious. And so not to be a silent bearer of bad bugs, I have been sequestered.