I have been rereading all my journals (at a snail's pace), searching for material for poems. So far the search has been quite fruitful. Along the way, I have revisited the journey of my reversion to the Church and subsequent call to the monastery. Though I've reread my journals a couple of times in the past, each revisit reveals something new about the path God laid out for me. Since I wrote about my actual reversion only quite generally in this blog, I will in future be posting some of those pertinent journal entries, a much more detailed account, to be included in the page "My Monastic Vocation Story" (link above).
But today I'm just posting a "nostalgia" piece! In 2002, Halloween fell on a Thursday, as it does this year. This is what I wrote in my journal on that day. I was still living in Houston at the time.
Thursday, Halloween, 2002 There's a slight autumn nip in the air today, very welcome after long heat and rain. I'm in Panini now; just finished my cold pasta primavera w/chicken, and Vittorio has brought my espresso. There was the usual sudden tidal wave of customers at noon, and now, just 15 minutes later, the place is nearly empty. At 12.30, there should be another wave and a third, smaller, one at 1.00. Wonderful thing, this tunnel system, particularly when it's unbearably hot outside or raining. One can go from building to building, have lunch, get coffee and a bagel, without ever having to step foot outdoors. A lot of lawyers come in to Panini. One day, one of them asked Vittorio if he had any avocadoes, and Vittorio replied, "Yes, we get too many lawyers in here." The lawyer, not knowing that the Italian for "lawyer" is avvocato, took offense.
Most people really like Vittorio. They find him funny and irrepressibly Italian. I suppose he's what they imagine all Italians are like, the ones they see in movies and in pasta commercials. They like being called "signor" and "signora" and hearing his lilting English. Nothing is as charming as an Italian accent, unless it's a French or British one.
I still have on my answering machine __'s message from New York, thanking me for remembering his birthday. I replay it from time to time, just to hear the voice I love so much.
Vittorio has just asked one of the customers, "Ehi—what are you doing, where have you been? It's been a long time!" She laughed and told him she took some time off to be with her new baby. "Oh! I forgot you had a baby." If I haven't come in for a while, he greets me with, "Letì!!! Ehi, dove sei stata?" The only people outside my family that I let call me anything but Leticia are Italians. I love it when they call me "Letì", with the accent on the second syllable. So much more musical than "Letti," which I hate.
I see Scotti (my therapist) tomorrow. Last time, she asked me, "What would be useful to talk about today?" And I was stumped for an answer. If she asks the same thing tomorrow, I'd like to be prepared—but right now I can't think of anything except my recent searching for a spiritual center. Why am I so curious about monastic life, when I'm still struggling to believe in something?
I've resumed work on the Praga translation (La Moglie Ideale) with the intent of finishing it this weekend; but wouldn't you know it—I've run into some passages that have me a bit stumped. Up until now, it's been the easiest play I've translated. Teach me to be complacent.
After the Praga is done, I'd really like to return to older literature. I don't know why, but old Italian appeals to me very much—all those archaic and extinct forms, all the variants in spelling. Fascinating stuff. As for reading, I think I should go back to Dante, Petrarch, and Tasso. Maybe I'll even shake the dust off my aborted Rinaldo translation and see if it'll come any easier, now that some time has passed since my first attempt. I don't know if I'll finish the complete Svevo comedies any time soon, but I will someday. also Alfieri and Manzoni.
I made a reservation at the downtown Hyatt for my birthday. Yea! I think everyone, single or married, should treat himself/herself to a birthday hotel retreat, even if it's in the same town they live in. Amazing what even the smallest change of environment and routine can do in the way of reviving oneself.
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