Though all these things will change the memories will remain

There's something about quiet Sundays, Ray Lamontagne, and coffee that makes me want to sit down and write. I realize how specific that is, but I find myself here on sundays listening to a lot of Ray and Bon Iver. It's beautiful out today. More than that, it's gorgeous. It seems appropriate for me to spend a religious holiday in my flat with a cup of coffee, listening to music, writing, and later drawing. My only forms of spirituality all crammed into Palm Sunday.

This morning Ingrid and her friends that are visiting - Katie and Jake, and I went to an American brunch at The Diner. We talked about what we missed. We miss coffee culture, and we miss big breakfasts. We laughed at how absurd Americans must look, getting pancakes and eggs and hashbrowns and coffee all for breakfast, when Europeans pretty much just have bread and coffee/espresso. One of the waitresses was american, and it's striking how different customer service is between Italy and America. She came over twice during our meal and asked if we wanted refills (unheard of), and then asked how everything tasted (unimaginable) and was right back when we needed the check. She was nice, polite, smiled at us. I didn't even realize I had missed those things until they occurred. 

I think that's what it's going to be like going back home. It will be difficult to adjust to not translating what I want to say in my head before I even open my mouth, but I think it will be most strange when I come upon things that I wasn't consciously missing. Things that were so ingrained into my daily routine that I didn't miss them until they're present again.

I find myself more and more thinking about going home. It's bad, and I will regret it as soon as I am home again, but it feels about time. I haven't even been gone that long (relatively speaking) but my heart (and my bank account) could really use a dose of home. I'm glad that 6 days after I come home, Megan will be home again. I'm glad the boys are staying in Minneapolis this summer, and I am excited to plan a trip to Boston to see my Mario with Micah. I'm excited to work again, despite my currently volatile feelings towards the Local. Last night I had a server dream. Which I haven't had since I was home. Those panicky dreams where I get in the weeds, and I just can't get out again. 

This is a sporadic entry, with no real purpose. I'm sorry for that. And I feel like since I'm here, I should only write about my experiences here, instead of what I'm missing from home. 

Ah so what I can I say? Florence is blossoming. People are sprouting from nowhere, flowers are in bloom, you can spell spring in the air, and thus my allergies are kicking in again. It's nice right now. I don't like how many people are constantly clogging the streets and buses, but I like that it feels more alive than when we arrived. I like that spring makes people smile (yes, even Italians), and I like this combination of feeling totally comfortable here, while also being content with how soon I will be home. 

The timing feels right. This experience has been so many things. It's renewed my friendship with Jen on a level that I didn't expect, and I am so eternally grateful for that. It's opened my eyes to so many different cultures, to so many new perspectives. I've always considered myself to be a pretty unbiased viewer of events - things that happen to people I love, I still tend to see from both sides of the equation, I can always see the opposing view. But this is the bigger picture. How other people see Americans. The stereotypes, and the unexpected generalizations that make me angry, and sad, even when they're true. 

Anyway. I have a final project for Drawing to start and finish today, and I want it to be good. Which means there is a lot of coffee and one late night ahead of me. 

Happy Palm Sunday. 

I love you.