A Brief Article on a Providence Landmark

Here's a rare peek inside one of Providence's most spectacular and mysterious buildings, written for Quahog.org and currently hosted on an external site as Quahog undergoes renovation.  Enjoy the link below!

Inside the Cranston Street Armory

Geocaching and Mindfulness

Since I've gotten a new smartphone, I've been finding all sorts of ways to get the most use out of it, improving both my productivity and fun.  The GPS function on the phone has been amazing for on-the-fly directions, whether walking or driving, and lately for geocaching. 

For those who don't know, geocaching is an outdoor adventure game/treasure hunt that's played all over the world.  After obtaining coordinates and hints here, the idea is to go out into the world and find what other people have hidden.  The way the game is played, you're expected to sign a cache's log book and then record your find online.  Some caches have 'treasure' (aka swag) inside, typically some tiny, virtually worthless trinkets or toys.  The swag is secondary to the hunt, and the idea is that these items are for finders to take, as long as they leave something in trade. 

Having outlined the bare basics of the game, I can now write about what geocaching has meant for me.  I know it sounds trite, but it's really changed the way I interact with the world.  It's an activity that requires mindfulness, patience, and concentration.  Geocaching forces me to push through obstacles in order to meet the goal at the other end, and to take things in stride when the effort falls flat. 

This weekend, I found myself frustrated after finding a cache that was supposed to have coordinates to another cache with a treasure box.  After at least an hour of tracking it down, ducking under fallen trees, swatting mosquitoes, bleeding from thorn scratches, and sweating like a beast, we finally found the container, only to discover it was empty!  I started to grumble.  I was annoyed; I mean, who wouldn't be?  All that work, and no payoff?  What a bummer!

But then...I realized that the prize was secondary to the effort.  We'd put forth our best effort and did the hard work, succeeding until we hit that brick wall.  There was teamwork, laughter, and a renewed effort at finding any other caches in the area.  Along the trail, I was quite mindful of the joy I'd experienced from having a good friend along, of the wonders of nature to be seen along the way, and the challenge of the puzzle itself.  Of course, for good measure, I did email the person who hid the cache, asking them to help me check this one off my list.

I've discovered that geocaching is an amazing tool for bonding with my three-year-old son Caleb, as well.  His mom is really into pirates, which means he is, too, so for him the idea of gathering treasure is just about the most exciting thing possible.  I've been able to take him to places outside of his normal urban/suburban environment, showing him the wonders of his world.  It's given me the chance to see things through his eyes, and everything I show him feels as fresh and new to me as it must feel for him.  He and I have examined spiders, ferns, swans, and interesting rocks, just to name a few things.  He's learned that there's a lot of amazing stuff out there, and I think I've impressed upon him a love of discovery.

I've been so much more in-tune with the small details of the world around me, thanks to him, and to see him discover a cache on his own (with a little gentle hinting from Daddy, of course..."Honey, try moving that pile of sticks over there....hey!  You found it!") is to see him burst with confidence and glee.  Teaching him how to trade for swag has made me mindful of the thrill others must feel when they find a cache, and I've tried, whenever possible, to trade up.  That is, I've tried to improve others' experience when possible, leaving something of greater value that what was taken.  Through this, I've been teaching Caleb generosity and kindness, as well.  At the end of the day, we'll sit down at the dinner table and talk about what we found, how we found it, and what sort of treasure to hunt next. 

As a solo activity, geocaching has been remarkably therapeutic.  It's let me get out of the house, process my thoughts, and breathe deeply.  I find myself at a point in my life where I don't have too many answers, but caching fills that void at least a little.  I know that I can follow a few clues to a final destination, and add some certainty to uncertain times just by solving a few puzzles.  Geocaching has finally given me incentive to exercise, as well.  I've been wanting to get in better shape for a long time now, and I've found that hiking through the woods or the city has been remarkably satisfying.

Geocaching has improved my life in other ways I'm just beginning to discover.  Having made my 100th find yesterday, I foresee a lot more coming in my future.  I've even got some plans to hide a few of my own; if you find them, let me know, and drop me a line to let me know what geocaching has meant for you.  Happy (and mindful) caching!

An apology and an explanation

Hello all,

I know I haven't put anything up here in some time, or at least it looks that way.  In fact, I have been very busy with real-life issues, and I've taken down a few pieces that weren't really appropriate for this blog.  They've been moved to a separate, disconnected blog.  Keep watching this space for updates; I promise something good soon!

A Note to My Son

My darling boy,

Last weekend as you took a nap on the couch, I was struck by how peacefully you lay there, how sweet and calm and innocent.  I watched you breathing softly and uttered a silent prayer that you'd always know such peace.  Inspired, I lay on the floor to do some breathing meditation, and as I slowly opened my eyes, there you were, peering at me over the edge of the couch.  You had the most amazing look on your face, full of love, curiosity, and happiness.  I've seen all of those things from you before, but this time was special.  This time, you were radiant in a way I've never seen before.

Silently, you climbed off the couch and put your pillow next to mine.  You snuggled right in next to me, and as we shared a blanket, you kept looking at me with that silent, luminous smile.  I can't begin to express the depth of peace and happiness this small but prolonged moment brought me.  I've said that you're the greatest teacher I've ever had, and learning to experience your joy has made me a better, happier person. The impression of this moment will sit with me for a long time, and for that, and so much more, I thank you.

I love you, little boy.  I love you more than you could ever imagine.

--Your Daddy

The Death of bin-Laden, and Reflections on the Lessons of 9/11

I'm embarrassed to admit it's been some time since I've written here.  Not only has my life become significantly busier, but I've been stalled out on the piece below.  I'd started it in the wake of Osama bin-Laden's death, as a  comprehensive memoir of my experiences of that day, and the lessons I'd learned from being in New York when the towers fell.  It's a piece that proved a little too hard to write comfortably, and I have a lot of ambivalence still about sharing everything I felt on that day.  I did learn several important lessons, though, three of which I've decided to share.

* Never Lose Faith in Humanity: As the towers fell, and before anyone knew just what was needed in terms of medical resources, lines had already begun to form at all of Manhattan's hospitals.  The people in these lines were there to give blood, and there were so many at St. Vincent's on 12th Street that the line wrapped all the way around the block and on to the next.  There was a sort of peace to the line, as we knew that we were doing the best thing possible in the wake of a tragedy whose scope wasn't yet known.
     What struck me, though, wasn't just the line of blood donors.  There were also people moving up and down the line, handing out water, juice, and bagels.  These amazing people weren't from the hospital; they were there on their own, helping people keep their energy up, with refreshments both donated by local businesses, or paid for out-of-pocket.
     This outpouring of spontaneous support, and the solidarity of people wanting to help their neighbors, as well as strangers, really spoke to me.  In those early hours of the day, no one had put out a call for blood or nutritional support; people came together individually, and with the kindest and most generous of motives.  I realized then, that even as it only took a handful of evil men to cause such destruction, that at its core, humanity is ultimately kind and supportive, that we are capable of tremendous acts of kindness towards each other, and that this truth is one that is all too often forgotten.  Please, don't forget.

* Live!:  Sadly, St. Vincent's didn't have the manpower or supplies to handle the crowds that wanted to donate blood, so we were given the names and addresses of other hospitals in the city that might be able to take our blood.  As I headed uptown to St. Clare's, the streets were virtually empty; Manhattan had become almost a ghost town.  By this point, the military had sent fighters to patrol the skies above Manhattan, and every time one flew far overhead, anyone who was out in the street stopped moving and listened carefully, everyone with the same look on their faces.  It was a look of combined fear and sickness, a look of "oh, God, no, what now?"
     Even now, some ten years later, I remember that feeling, and it brings back a deep, visceral response.  At the time, I was terrified; there was no accurate news at that point, no one knew exactly what was happening.  There had been rumors of as many as eight hijacked planes wreaking havoc across the country, and cell phone service was almost nonexistent, as the most powerful signal towers in the city had been destroyed.  Walking uptown, I kept expecting the other shoe to drop, for some additional awful event that would make things so much worse, and then 'it' came to me, an epiphany that took away all that fear.
     I suddenly understood that there's only so much within my control, and that if there are terrorists or anyone else who wants me dead, there's very little I can do to stop them.  With that reminder of my mortality and the fragility of my existence, I realized that there was no sense in living in fear, that I should focus on what I could control, and not worry about the rest.  It's been a hard lesson to learn, and it's one that I haven't always been good at keeping close to my heart, but it's there, and it's something I try to practice as often as possible.

* Smile!:  Having made it to St. Clare's, the small knot of us that had made it uptown were disappointed once again as that hospital's representative told us that they couldn't take our blood, either.  Feeling thoroughly unhelpful and walking back downtown on Madison Ave., I saw a young woman walking towards me.  She looked vaguely familiar, and as I looked at her, she flashed me the most beautiful smile.  It was bright, friendly, and warm, and I was floored.  I asked her, "Do I know you?"  She smiled again, and before continuing on her way simply said, "No, but you looked like you needed a smile."
     Wow.  I can't begin to describe how that affected me, but I had to take a moment to sit down  and think about what had just happened.  In the wake of feeling scared and useless, a simple smile from a stranger brought a lightness into my day that was more powerful and surprising than anything I could have imagined.
     The lesson I took from this is the easiest of the three that I've described, and perhaps the most important.  In my mind, it's the one that ties the other two lessons neatly together, and, simply put, the lesson is to smile.  Smile at yourself in the mirror, smile at your friends, smile at strangers.  Smile because it's a beautiful day, or because it's raining.  Smile because of its power to bring happiness to someone else.  Smile because you're here.

A short bit of fantasy writing

“…and so Te’or said, ‘I told you, that’s no banshee, that’s my sister!’”

The court erupted in raucous, drunken laughter.  “I tell you, Carus, no matter how many times I hear that story, it gets me every time!  Banshee…hah!”

Carus grinned and saluted with his cup, “Thank you, dear Prince.  I’ve got a new one for you, about a busty tavern girl and a dimwitted dwa-“

His words were cut off as the enormous oak doors flew open, their iron bands ringing off the stone walls.  Standing at the doors with dusk gathering behind her was a disheveled, panting young woman holding a gleaming sword in her hand.  Struggling to raise the blade above her head, she breathed, “Prince Ekor, this is for you!”  Staggering weakly, sword in the air, she stumbled and was caught by the palace guard.  The last thing she heard before passing out was the clatter of the sword hitting the floor.

*****

Ekor stared at the woman’s prone form.  She was obviously a Westerner, with dark hair shot through with strands of silver, her skin the color of iron-rich desert sands.  The patterns of scars on her shoulders and arms marked her as a member of the ruling class of Kidhan.  Ekor wondered what she was doing in his lands; after all, Kidhan was a two-week ride across hostile terrain.  He’d been studying her for two days now, ever since she’d burst into his court with the sword.  ‘Two days,’ he thought, ‘and she hasn’t even opened her eyes once.  Gods, who is she?’  Perturbed, he walked to the window.  As he watched the sun fall below the horizon, Ekor barely noticed the lightning clouds in the far distance.

*****

“Aaahhh!!  Wh…Wha…Where am I?”

Ekor started from his chair, blinking as the woman sat bolt upright in bed, screaming.  “Easy, girl.  You’ve been unconscious for days.  You’re safe.  Who are you and what are you doing here?” 

Before she could open her mouth to answer, a trio of guards burst into the room.  “My liege!  We heard screaming.  Are you safe?”  Ekor waved them off with a nod and a slight smile, and turned back to the woman.

“Well?”

Gathering the covers around her, the woman began, “P…Prince Ekor, my name is Te’ara.  I’m from the West, from Kidhan.  My father sent me; he said you could help us.  He said that now was the time to call on the ages-old friendship between our lands.  He is certain that Ladrys will come to our aid.  Please, Prince Ekor, you must help, we will die otherwise.  We’re in dire need.  You must…”

Ekor held up his hand, “Hold on, girl.  Te’ara.  Slow down, you’re panicked.  Now, take a breath and explain what you’re saying.  First tell me, why did you burst into my court with that sword?”

Trembling, Te’ara began, “The sword, Prince, is a gift from my father.  It was presented to his grandfather by Prince Ralan of Ladrys after the Battle at Seven Elms, as a token of alliance and friendship.  We return it to you in kind, with the hopes that you will aid us in our time of need.”

Ekor leapt up, “By the hells!  You’re from the House of Te’or!  Long have we recounted the stories of Seven Elms.  What is the trouble that brings you to us?

A tear trickled down Te’ara’s cheek and she shuddered, “The dead…they, they came from the South.  Horrible, rotting creatures of flesh, marching in armies across our lands.  They’ve slaughtered our people and added them to their armies.  Our fields are burned, our army is shattered.  We have no one else to turn to…please, I beg you, help us…”  She broke down sobbing, her body trembling with each cry.

The guards burst in again but Ekor again raised his hand and stopped them.  “Fetch the doctor and tell him to bring a calming draught, then tell my chamberlain to assemble the Council.  We’re going to war.”

*****

A little bit of spooky fiction

Just a bit of raw fiction below...first draft, unedited, and a nice little vignette, I think.

Twelve years.  It had been twelve years since Aaron had been home, twelve long years since he’d felt the warmth of his family’s love, the warmth of a home-cooked meal, any warmth at all.  He didn’t even register the heat of the sirocco moving through the air as the desert surrendered the day’s swelter.

Night came fast in the desert; it was one thing Aaron was grateful for.  The sun was too hot, too bright, too oppressive.  It obscured details that the moon’s glow seemed to highlight.  Even on a moonless night, the galaxy of stars above provided enough light to navigate by.  Travelling by night and sleeping by day, Aaron kept mostly to himself.  He’d occasionally cross paths with a caravan, stopping to appreciate their hospitality.  The company was nice sometimes, Aaron thought, but he also knew he was safer on his own.  As much as there was safety in numbers, there were monsters that stalked the caravans.  A single traveler didn’t attract much attention; no braying donkeys, no large and smoky fires.

Whenever Aaron met a caravan, the Bedouins would invariably urge him in, offering one cup after another of strong, sweet mint tea, sticky dates, and morsels of the ubiquitous roast goat.  After a show of feigned humility on both sides, Aaron would at least sit down for some tea and conversation, trading gossip about the other tribes in the area, and intently listening to stories about the monsters that came in the night, the monsters that stole life from the tribesfolk, leaving them sickly and weak.  It was valuable information to Aaron; even as a lone traveler, it was important to stay abreast of the troubles of the tribes.  Being able to share news between the various families and tribes made Aaron a valuable visitor, and he never left hungry.

On this night, though, Aaron sat alone once again.  At the top of a dune, he stared off into the vast field of stars, remembering that night twelve years ago when he left home to explore the desert, and his decision shortly thereafter to never go home again.  He remembered every fright he’d had out in the desert, every death of a friend, every near miss.  He was roused from his reverie by the faint scent of incense wafting across the air, followed minutes later by the sight of a caravan some two miles distant.  Peering intently across the night-time sands, Aaron hungrily flicked his tongue over his needle-sharp fangs.  Yes, Aaron mused as he began hiking towards the flickering torches, there certainly were monsters in the desert.

Good Morning, Tehran!

I see that my blog's had a lot of visits from Iran.  Welcome and khosh amadid!  What brings you all here? 

A favorite recipe, and some seasonal musings

The advent of spring always excites me. It represents a renewal after the dead of winter, and anyone who's made it through at least one New England winter knows just how welcome spring is.  In the last week or so, the yards and tree-wells on my street have begun to explode with color, daffodils heralding the grape hyacinths, which in turn have announced the return of the tulips.  Petunias are beginning to poke through the mulch, and other, less identifiable flowers have returned as well.  The whites and greys of winter can only last so long, and they invariably give way to this incredible, bright natural palette.  The trees, which have lain dormant for so long, are now budding again.  There are so many metaphors for all this, the renewal of spirit, the rebirth of life, and so on, that I could write entire volumes about the turning of the seasons.  Instead, gentle readers, I'll leave it to you to draw your own, personal connections about the return of spring, while I talk about food for a little while.

The recipe below isn't necessarily spring-y, but if you like, I can certainly make something up about the vibrant colors, and the symbolism of the ingredients.  Again, I leave that to you.  I just wanted to share a personal favorite and invite you all to leave comments on your experiences with it.  Now, on to the cooking!

Warm Beet, Chicken, & Walnut Salad
 Ingredients:
* 1 bunch of beets, preferably with greens.  If you can't get greens, spinach or turnip greens can substitute
* Walnut or pecan halves
* 1 small roll chevre goat cheese
* Boneless, skinless chicken breast
* Brown sugar
* Olive oil
* Rosemary
* Mango chutney
(NB: This is very much a 'to taste' recipe, hence the absence of ingredient amounts/quantities.  By all means, feel free to play around to find what works for you)

Procedure:
1. Wash and peel the beets, removing and reserving the greens.  Cube the beets into bite-sized pieces and roast at 375°F for about 20 minutes.  The goal here is to get the beets to soften without becoming mushy.

2. When the beets are cooked, place them in the bottom of a large, flat-bottomed bowl.  A glass bowl is wonderful for this, as it gives a great visual when the dish is complete.  Layer the washed beet greens over the cubed beets.  Crumble the goat cheese over the greens, making sure the crumbles are evenly distributed.

3. In a saucepan, heat a tablespoon or two of olive oil, and add the nuts and some brown sugar.  Toss the nuts until they just start to caramelize.  I usually take them out of the pan when they've just started to brown/blacken on the edges.  Make sure you don't use too much oil, or you'll wind up with greasy nuts, and, well, ick!  Once the nuts are done, sprinkle them into the bowl, over the cheese.

4. In the same pan you cooked the nuts, saute strips of chicken breast with some rosemary (fresh is always better, but there's nothing wrong with dried for this recipe) and a few healthy spoonfuls of mango chutney.  Once the chicken's cooked through, place it in the serving bowl on top of the nuts.

5. That's it!  You're ready to serve.

Although it'd work equally well as an appetizer or an entree, this is really a one-dish meal.  There's no need to serve anything else, although some nice, crusty bread is a nice accompaniment.  The flavors and textures work on a number of levels, and I've never received anything but rave reviews when I've served this dish.

The variations on this dish are endless...instead of using just beets, a mix of root veggies could add a new dimension of flavor and color.  Imagine the gorgeous confetti effect from a mix of beets, carrots, and parsnips!  The sweetness of the chutney and the tartness of the goat cheese could be highlighted with dried cherries or cranberries, and slivered almonds in place of walnuts or pecans would change the nature of the entire dish, in a wonderful way.  Play around with my recipe, make it your own, and let me know how it turns out!


Bon appetit!

Cooking is love

I love to cook, but I don't do it often enough.  Not seriously, at least.  It feels like too much trouble to bang around my pots and pans and get really involved in it if it's just for me.  When there's someone to cook for, though, I leap into action.  For me, cooking's not only fun, but one of the best ways I can show someone I care.  Cooking is an act of love and friendship, it's me saying "Here, I made this for you.  I gave all my attention to this task so that you might enjoy it, because I care about you."

I've cooked for friends, family, and lovers, but the one person I love cooking for most is my son.  He's a couple of months shy of his third birthday, and he loves spending time in the kitchen with Daddy, helping him cook.  His enthusiasm is so contagious, and he insists on being put up on the counter to watch what's going on.  He helps sometimes where he can, stirring a pot (with careful supervision!) or pouring ingredients together.  I've gotten him stated on spices recently; cinnamon sugar and curry powder are hits, Tabasco isn't too popular.  He loves minced garlic straight from the spoon, and he's adept at stealing pinches of salt from the bowl.

Caleb's pretty much fearless, and the fact that he's so willing to try new foods makes me eager to keep experimenting in the kitchen.  Sure, I'll occasionally take the easy way out and drop a few chicken nuggets on his plate, or take him out for pizza, but more often, I'm there at the stove, tossing ingredients around while he asks me what I'm doing.  The other night I made a makeshift Pad Thai for him; first time he'd eaten it, first time I'd made it.  It turned out great!  Caleb helped grate the ginger, and he put the shrimp in the pan.  Later, he helped make chocolate pudding for dessert (his choice!)

In the past, he's helped me dredge fish for frying, and he's made hand-rolled meatballs. He's seasoned the hamburgers and requested tomatoes in his grilled cheese.  He knows that we have to wait for the butter to bubble before starting the scrambled eggs.  Despite his distaste for Tabasco, he does alright with heat.  I underestimate the boy sometimes when I give him something 'kid friendly,' when all he wants is my grown-up spiced food.

Spending time in the kitchen is a fantastic bonding experience for us; he puts so much attention into watching what I'm doing, and I focus my attention on him, explaining everything and watching his reactions.  We laugh and we learn, we watch heat transform raw ingredients into finished food, and we create memories to last a lifetime.  When dinner is ready, we sit, talk about dinosaurs and Elmo, and practice our manners.  The act of pouring my heart into dinner, of creating 'art' to nourish my son, is only one way I show the boundless love I have for him, but it's a special way, one that's uniquely ours, and one I look forward to at every possible opportunity.

Truly, cooking is love.

So, Either I Get the Job, or I'm Getting Locked Away

April 6, 2011

Yelp darling,

Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s going to work out between us.  I can’t just sit around in this relationship any more, reading reviews while you ignore me.  I need more, Yelp, and if you can’t give it to me, I’m leaving you.  I mean, Urbanspoon’s asked me out like eight times already, and Hotpot keeps looking at my OkCupid profile.  I love you, Yelp, but you’ve got to either make me your new Providence Community Manager or get off the pot. 

Sure, our relationship has been one of convenience; after all, I’ve been using you for years now.  I think it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.  We can’t be passive partners anymore, we’ve got to work together for our mutual benefit.  I’ve got to admit that all this time I’ve been keeping secrets from you; I haven’t told you where to find five duck heads for $2.00, or how to get cheap tickets for Trinity Rep.  I’ve been holding out on so many things, but I’ve got to be open with you.  It’s time for full disclosure.

You see, I’ve been seeing other people.  Lots of other people.  Now, I know what you’re thinking, “how could he?”  But let me tell you, Yelp, it’s the only way I’ve been able to expand my social network.  My people know people who know people, and I’m getting to know them all.  Don’t look at me like that; I’m no whore, just a flirt.  I know artists, accountants, chefs, and students.  I know the local kinksters, hipsters, and coffee-shop owners.  I can tell you who to speak to if you’re looking for a recipe for giant Thai waterbugs, or a private, in-home hair salon.  I’ve got so many options, Yelp, so you either put a ring on this finger or get walking.

I’m a college graduate, goddammit, and I need, no, deserve more than this.  I can work a room and plan awesome events, but are you ever there to see them?  No.  That’s because you sit there on the internet all day, and never get out of the house.  Come on, baby, let me take you out; let me show you what I know, and what I can do.  You know you want to.  Just trust me, Yelp, and we can make this work.  We need each other, we were meant to be together, can’t you see that? 

Call me, baby, I need to hear from you.  I need to know if I should keep you in my heart, or if it’s time to move on and see if those other websites can take care of the me way I deserve to be treated.  Whatever happens between us, you’ll be in my heart, always.

--Michael

PS – I can’t find my cell phone charger anywhere.  Did I leave it at your place the last time I spent the night?

A Roman Honeymoon, part 1

The travelogue below is the first entry in my account of honeymooning in Rome.  Re-reading it brings up some wonderful, if bittersweet memories.  I hope it gives some sense of the flavor of the Eternal City.
-----------------------

8/17/06
Day two in Rome.  We arrived yesterday morning after a too-long plane trip and quickly found our home during our honeymoon, Hotel Raganelli, a charming little hotel on Via Aurelia.  We napped until early evening, then set out to explore this wonderful city, simultaneously old and moderns, familiar and foreign, strange but wonderful, and absolutely charming.

I've never spoken Italian before, but I've learned a few phrases that have been quite useful in getting around.  During last night's explorations, we walked from our hotel down to near the Vatican, to get a feel for the city and its people.  We had a lovely time, stopping for dinner at an hosteria, Ristorante da Vittorio il Ciociaro on Via Barletta.  Our first real Italian meal comprised of a lovely bottle of Italian shiraz, along with a plate of prosciutto and mozzarella di bufala.  It was followed with my spaghetti alla vongole and Debbie's dish, a heavy but excellent dish of penne with sausage and guanciale in a cheese and cream sauce.  We followed this with a light salad and some tiny cookies, then returned to the hotel.

Our plan for today was to first see the Colosseum and then find Bernini's Ecstasy of Saint Theresa of Avila.  With some help from our hotel's concierge, Sandro, we figured out the basics of getting around by bus and metro, and off we went.  We took the bus to the end of the line at Piazza Venezia, right by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, an impressive monument by anyone's standards.  Near the tomb, we encountered the ruins of the Foro di Nerva and continued on toward the Colosseum.

I'd wanted to see the Colosseum since I was a little boy, and I wasn't disappointed.  The exterior is just like every picture I've ever seen, but to see it first-hand and up-close was incredible.  To think that it was build almost 2000 years ago, by hand and with non-machined tools, is amazing.  Even more amazing is that is regularly hosted capacity crows of about 50,000 people, whose admission to these events was comped by the Empire.  Being modern tourists, however, Debbie and I paid €11 each for admission. 

Inside, as out, the building is in various stages of, hmm, what's a better word than "decay?"  To walk the same stones trod by Emperor and commoner alike was an experience not soon to be forgotten, and the views from every angle, looking both inwards and out, were quite stunning. 

From the Colosseum we took the metro up to Termini Station and had a brief lunch before setting out to find St. Theresa.  To get our bearings, we set out to find Piazza della Repubblica, which had a stunning fountain and a beautiful backdrop of buildings.  It's also worth noting that we passed by Diocletian's baths, but chose not to go in after taking some great photo opportunities, instead.  

P. della Repubblica was also home to Santa Maria degli Angeli, a basilica with an entry so impressive that I was struck breathless on walking in.  It opens on a huge dome, lit on top by windows that cast rainbows of light around the entry.  As pretty as the "standard" marble inlays on the floor were, Debbie was struck by the astronomical calendar and astrological signs also inlaid there.  The basilica also hosts the largest pipe organ I've ever seen.  After exploring for a bit, we exited via the sacristy, which is on the other side of Dicoletian's baths, and began to search for St. Theresa's home, Santa Maria della Vittoria.


S. Maria d. Vittoria was hard to find, since our directions to it were sketchy at best, and it wasn't on our map.  When we did finally find the place, it was very small, but with decorations inside absolutely deserving of the term "baroque."  There were putti and angels everywhere, along with paintings and carvings galore.  I'd been wanting to see St. Theresa since I first learned of it, and when it finally came into view, I was surprised at how small it seemed, but also immediately awed by its beauty and workmanship.  Before now, I had never noticed the roughly carve, cloud-like stone that St. Theresa laid upon. 

After admiring the art for a good time, I joined Debbie in the small gift shop, presided over by an old Carmelite(?) monk.  Somehow I was able to convey to him that we had just been married, and he gifted us with a rosary that he blessed for us.  Thanking him profusely, we took our leave and first made our way to Il Fontina del Tritone, then happened to chance upon Via delle Quattro Fontane.  On the way, we also chanced upon Palazzo Barberini, but chose not to enter due to the fact that the would soon be closing.  I do very much hope to return to this museum during our trip, as our guidebook describes an outstanding collection of art. 

As amazing as these fountains were, we were determined to make it to the Trevi Fountain.  We did a little shopping along the way, picking up a few bottles of absinthe and some delicious fruit (grapes and strawberries, whose bag, later soaked through at Trevi, split open and ruined Debbie's clothes, much to her chagrin), and looking at Murano glass.  There was a glass chess set that amused us to no end - delicate and amusing figures, with the sides being represented by "Ashkenaziditi" and "Sefarditi." 

The Trevi Fountan was just amazingly gorgeous, and we arrived just moments before they lit it for the night.  Debbie'd been accosted by a high-pressure rose salesman, but I was able to talk him down to €1 for a single rose.  We hung out at the fountain for a while before throwing coins in, hoping for a return to Rome at some point.  The atmosphere there was incredible, tourists and Roman s alike out for the evening and in high spirits, enjoying both the beauty of the fountain and the jovial moods of all present. 

As we moved on, we stumbled upon the Piazza del Sant'Ignacio, whose construction was again touched by Bernini, and then the HQ of the Carabinieri, where we were able to see some recovered artifacts.  At this point we chose to go home, and made it back to where we started, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, lit beautifully for the night. 

Coming back to V. Aurelia, we wanted dinner, but we sat at a restaurant for 30+ minutes, having receive nothing but menus.  We went elsewhere, and were served almost immediately.  Returning to the hotel, we were exhausted after an amazing day.  Tomorrow we hope to see the Vatican, if we have the energy. 

Oh, also: Nocciolo (hazelnut) gelato = SO GOOD!

A Eulogy for My Grandfather

My grandfather died seven years ago this week (4/2/04); we miss him terribly.  What follows below is the eulogy I delivered at his funeral.  I nearly lost my handwritten copy in a house fire; I transcribe it here for posterity.
-----------------------------------

In the few minutes I have to speak to you all, it would be impossible to adequately honor my grandfather's life.  He was many things to many people; to some, he was all things.  Burton leaves behind a large and loving family who already miss him dearly.  From the three generations of family here today, to his adopted children from all corners of the globe, to friends both old and new, Burton was a rock, an island of stability in a changing world.  He was temperate, loving, patient.  He was always ready for a conversation or a few off-key bars of "Old Man River."  The rock that was Burton Bronsther has been taken from us.  We now must look to each other for support and to honor his life, deeds, and accomplishments.

Burton was an incredible father, husband, grandfather, brother, and uncle.  He loved and fretted over each and every one of us, and looks to ensure that we we all doing well.  To see him smile, hear his deep bass laugh and have his approval was a blessing beyond compare.

Burt's kind nature and his strength of character can be seen not only in the presence today of people who knew him as a young man, but also in his ability to foster new friendships worldwide.  He touched so many lives around the world, and his appearance, his personality, were so magnetic that they drew even more to him.  Children often mistook him for Santa Claus; adults thought he was Raymond Burr.  He was such an amazing man that for decades people would approach him in the most unlikely places, remembering that he operated on their sons and daughters in years far removed.

As a surgeon, he had no equal.  His mentor, Dr. Willis Potts, would send out recommendation letters telling people that while Burt had the largest hands he'd ever seen on a doctor. each finger was a gift from God.  His surgical precision, ease, and speed were such that med students would place bets with each other on how quickly he could complete a given operation.  As a founder of SACOW along with my grandmother and as a professor of medicine, he instructed generations of doctors and saved countless lives.  He cared deeply for his patients, a fact I learned early on as he recounted the day's cases at the dinner table.

Now that he is gone, we must cherish our memories of Dr. Burton Bronsther, MD, PhD, FACS, etc.  His most important designations were father, husband, and friend.

I remember him not only as my grandfather, but as the man who raised me as his own son.  I looked to him and learned from him as a father.  He taught me all the things a boy needed to know: how to ride a bike, how to root for the home team, how to catch and hit and throw a ball.  He also taught me what is was to be a man, how to be patient, strong, loving, and compassionate.  He taught me to be unafraid, to face a problem head-on.  He taught me kindness and charity, and he taught me to believe in the strength and wonderment of humanity.  On a lighter note, those of you who were ever in a car with him can rest easy knowing that he wasn't the one who taught me to drive.

Please, take time today to share your memories of Burton with the rest of us.

Goodbye, Pop-Pop, and godspeed.

A Writer's Creative Resume

Satire (săt’īr’) A form of communication using wit and irony to expose the ridiculous.  See: this resume.

Scaramouche (skăr’ǝ-mōōsh’).  Will you do the fandango?

Schemaille (shǝ-mā’), Michael  (1975-  )  Skilled writer and creative professional.  After a career as an English teacher, he changed fields to craft outstanding ad copy and produce inspired, compelling, and engaging writing.  He is noted for his way with words, sharp sense of humor, and creative approach to problem solving.

School (skōōl) A training ground for aspiring creatives.  Much as prisons prepare criminals to be better at what they do, schools do the same for teachers.   It’s all about stating your case, sticking by it, and bringing a skeptical audience around to your way of thinking.  You’ve got to be quick enough to anticipate emerging needs, and clever enough to meet those needs without anyone knowing they had them to begin with.  As it turns out, you learn more in school as an adult than you ever did as an awkward teenager.

Schmuck (shmŭk) What not to call the client.  At least, not while they’re listening.

Seduction (sĭ-dŭk-shǝn) A deliberate dance where one party tries to entice the other.  Examples include advertising and entreaties to join the Dark Side. Seduction is like flirting, but more goal-oriented.

Seuss (sōōs), Dr.      I can write, yes it’s true.  Let’s talk jobs, me and you.

                                    I am bright, I am keen.  You need me on your team.

Sex (sĕks) sells.  See: seduction

Skills (skĭls) Writing, editing, speaking, problem solving, teaching, project development, cooking, diaper changing, juggling (poorly)

Soul (sōl) An intangible, critical quality; deep feeling or emotion.  Something to stir, to inspire, to elevate and to speak to.

Strengths (strĕngkths) Intelligence, humor, compassion, persistence, attnetion ot dteail, cultural competency, extensive travel experience, word play.  Background in Art History and critical analysis.

Stop (stŏp) Not on your life; I’m just getting started!

Sushi (sōō’shē) An expensive and addictive habit that can only be curbed by those sweet, sweet writing dollars.

Hardly a Gangsta Rap

The following dates back to my days in the classroom.  It was for a 'rap battle' between teachers and was very  well-received.
-----------------

Yo, yo, Mister Bo!
I've had it up to here with this silly rap battle
You've got us in here, prattlin' like we're cattle
Now I don't mean to tattle, but you're foggier than Seattle

And while we're on cattle, we're talkin' 'bout a bovine
But I don't mean your wife, cuz' man she's lookin' fine
I've written fifty lines, I'm done with chapter nine, the plot lines intertwine,
What's the next thing you'll assign?

You can't stop these poetic waxes,
I'll school you on the Praxis
The IRS is sendin' faxes, about your last years' taxes.

Now, you're starin' at the class with your coke-bottle lenses,
But we know our verb tenses, our whats, whys, and whences.
Hence, we're not so dense from the knowledge you dispense.
Now listen up, Bo, and hear my two cents, don't take offense,
But on a teacher's salary, you'll never drive a Benz.

Now I've got to rhyme with salary, my rhyming burns up calories.
Teach us Thomas Mallory, or O'Connor, Flannery.
You're shorter than a story, your words need weight like Giles Corey.
Ask my man Coleridge, whose mariner was hoary, his rime colder than my rhymes, I'm out to win glory. Teach us something gory, like a tale from Polidori.

Now, yo, yo, Mister Bo, I'll tell you what I know 'bout Edgar A. Poe, or that poet Homer, d'oh!
I let my rhymes flow, rap on Odysseus and his bow, or a plot's plateau.
You want a quid pro quo, but your rhymes are slow, you're crazier than van Gogh. Don't talk, be like Marcel Marceau, my cup doth overflow.

So let me be clear, the end is drawing near. This is why I'm here, tell me 'bout Shakespeare, Edward Lear, and Chaucer's cavalier.

I'm done for the day, finished Miller's play, made impressions like Monet.
So tell me, Mister B, do I get my A?

The first in a long line of "Awful Roommate" posts

This is something I dug out of my archives.  After my wife and I separated, I found a new apartment in Providence, but I needed someone to share the rent.  The landlord suggested I meet with D*****, who'd been one of his tenants the year before.  I was hesitant, because D was 21 and a student, where I was a 30-something dad.  However, D promised to keep the apartment relatively clean, and to refrain from smoking pot indoors, so I agreed to make him my roommate.  As you'll read below, he was a less-than-ideal human being.  Sadly, his replacement was worse.  What follows is the text of a frustrated posting I made to Craigslist.  Enjoy!
------------
$1 Idiot Roommate for Sale - ideal housepet (Providence, RI)

Yes, idiot boy is in Providence, but I'm posting in the hopes that someone will take him far, far, away. He deserves a good home that I can no longer provide.

I like to privately call him "douchetard" or "idiot boy," but you can rename him to your liking. Idiot boy has a great number of positive qualities, which are outlined below. He'd make a great indoor or outdoor pet, or perhaps a medical test subject. Whatever; do with him what you'd like, just as long as you take him.

Positive qualities:
* Excellent fire starter - idiot boy is skilled at creating flames, as evidenced tonight by his profound ability to create a grease fire in the kitchen. Even better, he sustained the flames by blowing on them. This is a key survival skill.

* Economically and ecologically sound - idiot boy will save you money on hot water and soap, since he doesn't seem to use either.  He also saves water by declining to flush his solids. This is another good thing - ecological awareness.

* Abstract thinking - idiot boy is fond of randomly rearranging furniture that he doesn't use. This shows an ability to think outside the box, and can be cultivated into a career in modern art.

* Powerful lungs - idiot boy's lungs are strong enough to take in, and then put out, copious amounts of marijuana smoke, which will perfume your living area with sweet herbal essences. No more needing to use air sprays; just let him do all the work!

* Ability to justify behaviors - idiot boy may ignore your instructions to him, but not for very long. He will use your good kitchen knives "just for a second" to saw through food boxes. This shows surprising self-awareness and higher-level thinking.

* Animal Husbandry - by allowing his food to rot on the stovetop, idiot boy has encouraged visitation by small rodents, which he will no doubt husband into a significant swarm of soft, cuddly creatures. Perfect for the kids! Idiot boy has also encouraged the growth of microfauna by leaving dish sponges to soak in filthy chili-water.

* Quiet - idiot boy is generally pretty quiet, particularly during his frequent vomiting episodes. These episodes are typically followed by comments such as "sorry, dude, Kool-Aid and bbq burritos aren't a good match." As a further point of clarification on "Ability to justify behaviors," above, he's also used the phrase, "sorry, I was going to clean the puke off the toilet seat in a little while."

* Innovative - when his phone died, idiot boy found a way to use mine, saying he was calling his grandfather. His grandfather is apparently a 20-something drug dealer, which in some part speaks to genetic superiority. If his grandfather looks that good, idiot boy is sure to age well, too.

* Resourceful - idiot boy managed to locate and transport a loveseat to our back porch, a loveseat he described as "in pretty good shape." By this, I assume he meant 'still vaguely shaped like a loveseat.' Still, he managed it all on his own.

Please inquire immediately; idiot boy really deserves a nice home or kennel to call his own. Act now and I'll throw the loveseat in free of charge.

* Location: Providence, RI
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

The Beginning...

So...here I am, with a brand new blog, a blank page, and no idea what to write.  The last time I did any sort of blogging, it was Christmas, 2001, on a rather embarrassing LiveJournal account.  Well...here's to a new start.

I've long thought about writing a journal of some sort, and honestly, I'm not sure what's held me back.  There are so many things I'd like to process out, and so many ideas that I want to write about; hopefully this will be a productive space for me.  As a career-changer to the world of writing, I've got to write, right?  A man I respect and to whom I am very grateful reminded me of that not too long ago, and it's time to follow that advice.

I plan on using this space for a variety of work, largely consisting of stories about interesting people I've known, as well as some deeper and more meaningful work, with a fair bit of silliness.  This is all very new to me, and I've got a lot of work ahead of me.  I hope you'll stick around to see where the road goes.  If you like what you see, drop me a line!