I fell down the rabbit hole, crawling through hell on Dante’s back, carried by him as he was by Virgil. I’ve been singing with the chorus of dear Oedipus’ fate and marveling at Ovid’s tree swaying in birth as its bark split open to give the world Adonis. I am battling seas with Homer and finding Utopia with More, to come.
To be a writer, I must read. Columbia University gave me my start, but as my life keeps moving forward, I realize there is no return to who I once had been. So to England, Goldsmiths college I went, by way of these keys, and into books I now surrender. In the spaces in-between, I am beginning to write my own stories, my own book of fateful tales.
I won’t be here much since I’ve gone back to the beginning. I will try and occasionally post something if I can find the time to ever look up, but Red Dirt Lattes will be a sleepier joint for now.
Posted in Uncategorized | 16 Comments »
I love how Italians eat lunch. The middle of the day is not just a stop to refuel, to grab something on the go, to get to the next point, it is literally in the Italian language a “pause.” You must pause, stop completely, rest.
It was the same in Uganda. Day after day I would marvel at the locals around me, no matter what their job: government official, housekeeper, garbage man; when it was lunch time it was lunch time. Everything stopped. Meals were lingered over in restaurants with those who could afford, or laps with packed meals from home. Each bite tasted and savored and always, ALWAYS followed with tea. Here in Rome it’s coffee, but the lingering is the same. I’ve watched many foreigners become impatient at the end of the meal because the check was not dropped off at the table. In Rome, as well as in Uganda, the meal is not done when the food has been finished, even the tea or coffee consumed, for there is always more pause. To drop a check in either of these places so quickly after a meal is culturally rude. You would never rush someone like that.
I think of back home where even in line at a check-out counter I felt like I was in a race to the end, what end I do not know, but stumbling with my wallet and trying to get bags together, I could feel the breath of frustration on my neck hurrying me along because the person behind me had to hurry along. Now every day I get to sit for lunch with pieces of Uganda in my heart, Italy holding me up and I say to myself when I start to feel those old feelings of unnecessary motion, “Sabrina, just pause.”
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged bread, culture, eating in italy, italy, photography, uganda | 9 Comments »
How is it my heart still beats red?
Whispering me back.
Settled into ancient passion, yes.
But, the place my skin crawled with life is haunting me.
Posted in photography | Tagged africa, children, passion, photography, uganda | 3 Comments »
It was beautiful.
I don’t believe in violence.
I understand rage.
Before it went bad:
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged day of rage, indignati, indignation, photography, rome | 6 Comments »
I sure hope it looks like the poster.
http://www.france24.com/en/20111013-indignant-protests-sweep-across-world-0
Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments »
So, I’ve started smoking again. You can’t live in Italy and not have the occasional cigarette, unless you choose to never open your mouth. Just today, as I was walking past a friendly face and opened up a hello, the man next to me exhaled and with a perfect flick of his head sent the smoke directly into my waiting smile and I actually blew out with him. Even when I try to play soccer on the streets, dogging everyone with a flame, they wait in doorways, huddled together under a cloud of doom that I must part and become part.
I must share though that the relief it has offered me, as a parent, has been enormous. I will never have to wonder when and if my daughter will have a first cigarette. That happened at 3.
And coffee. Oh, coffee. I love it. I want to sit in the cup and play in it for while. But it’s so small. No matter how little I sip, no matter how hard I try to not suck, it’s over in 3 tries. It’s why there are no chairs at the bars. Your ass would never hit that seat with liquid still in that cup. So, I order many cups and this is why I no longer sleep.
And the lovers. On every corner. These young Italians with hormones exploding all over the street. Hands and fingers and tongues and looks of longing that if I stare hard enough start to pull me in and I do worry about collisions. Must I be reminded every day that I didn’t get to be a teenager the Italian way? Yeah, that really sucks.
So, I guess the only thing to do is have another glass of wine, and love every minute of it.
Posted in Uncategorized | 14 Comments »
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