We’re getting the cold weather in Chicago. I knew it would happen. Luckily, I went home to Iowa last weekend (6 hour drive; 5.5 for me) and got a winter coat so I will be ready for the season. Lower temperatures calls for longer times indoors accompanied, of course, by warm and scrumptious meals!
Last night I made a dish I thought impossible. I thought it was impossible the first time I saw it in Italy only to find out it was impossibly good once I tried it. Before last night I thought it impossible for me to re-create.
Luca, my baker in Italy had a type of pizza I’d written about (see the journal entry from 10/11/2005, the e-mail on patronage, or my e-mail highlighting specifically this pizza). It was bizarre: Gorgonzola cheese, pears, and walnuts. Last night I did the impossible. I recreated it. While not quite maintaining the crust consistency of Luca’s (his dough was softer with a harder bottom — if you’re reading this Luca — any tips?), my pizza had the blend of flavors almost perfect. The walnuts were plentiful, the pears had given their juices to the entire pie, and the gorgonzola melted to wrap all off the flavor into the texture.
Living in Chicago is much like Florence. Little pieces of Chicago trigger the memories. One of my favorite views in Florence was an everyday sight of looking through my bathroom window into the courtyard below. The bathroom was all tile and marble, which made it very easy to clean but incredibly slippery when wet. My bathroom in Chicago is like that. Standing on the tile and leaning over the radiator I look out into an alley three stories below. When I peer my head out to the left, I don’t see the elderly couple who would recline in warm nights smoking cigars or cigarettes as they drank wine and folded laundry and talked. I see an alley leading behind several of the fraternities towards 56th street. When I look out to the right, I do see the busy sidewalk and the frequent pedestrians remind me that it’s class time. My habit in Florence was to watch the streets as I tied my shoes or packed my bag before walking the mile to class. My curiosity wondered what was in the people’s stories, such the employee at the bike shop I lived above who shaved his head and talked on the cell phone more than most American teenagers; or, the daughter in her mid-thirties who walked hand in hand with her grandfather to the il Centro grocery store at the end of the street. What were their lives like?
It’s amusing now how much one successful recipe can bring back those moments. The ingredients are simple, but the method is crucial.
This week is full of transitional moments. Ryan Motter, one of my TCU classmates, is visiting the University of Chicago and the Disciples Divinity House to get a feel as he does his application. His presence alone brings back memories. His updates on everything Ft. Worth makes me miss it and also look at my current situation in a new light:
Several classmates and cohort members at Chicago have expressed their unease with the program and that they face constant identity and content-practicality issues. Ryan’s presence blessedly reminds me that my preparation was great for this environment. And it’s not just the shaping from the TCU Religion Department; my churches, my living situations, and my social circles have all enabled me to ward off exterior pressures that wrangle others into states of despair.
The previous paragraph portrays my friends’ reactions in too harsh a light. They do enjoy their situations and the challenges of school. However, they flounder in something I don’t.
On a side-topic: this summer I received a fellowship from the Fund for Theological Education. They give the Ministry fellows $5000 each to use for a ministry exploration activity the following summer that each fellow designs. I’m finally working on the foundation of my design and hope by the end of the month to have a cloudy idea of what events, people and places will fill my summer. I can already guarantee two things: any reading it involves will be casual and intentionally specific to my future ministries; also, I will force myself to keep some semblance of sabbath in the constant running-around. Reflecting on this summer I didn’t even voice lip-service to taking time off from the constant camp and programming schedule.
The pizza above represents by best attempt at sabbath-keeping in my University of Chicago lifestyle. I could eat the pizza on the run, but the laughter and stories with my friends would leave me hollow. Ironically, this pizza, when experienced in Italy, was always eaten on the run; until my last day there, that is. My last day I made a point to get a picture with Luca and I; I stayed in his bakery and savored the flavors while watching him serve his customers who were even more constant patrons than I. It was the first time I ate the pizza while in his bakery instead of grabbing the bag and hustling back to the apartment.
Like the previously impossible re-creation of the pizza, my non-existent (some would say impossible) sabbath practices will hopefully re-member the compartmentalized sections of my life in the coming months and summer.
What’s the most creative sabbath discipline you either practice or have heard of someone practicing (which, of course, probably spurned jealousy on your part!)? I’m curious on what works beyond the busy Sunday morning worships at churches or the morning coffee and paper routine. Who knows, I might even trade recipes for disciplines!
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