The Next Best Thing after Italy

After my visit to Ground Zero, I made my way toward Mulberry Street, the heart of the Downtown Little Italy. (The Bronx also has its own version of Little Italy; apparently there is a heated debate as to which one is better.) On the way, I passed by some cool-looking buildings. I didn't go into Trinity Church because I didn't realize how historic it was. Whoops. I did, however, stop briefly inside St. Andrew's Church, which is a beautiful little church located right next to the United States Courthouse (now called the Thurgood Marshall U.S. Courthouse, according to Wikipedia) and Foley Square. I also did not realize the importance of any of these places; I was simply attracted to the church because it looked cool. And the rain was picking up. And because I felt pleased with myself for being able to translate the Latin on the frieze.

Beati qui ambulant in lege Domini - always true, but even more appropriate given its location practically on top of a huge courthouse.

Afterwards, I continued my walk to Mulberry Street. Nowadays, Little Italy is being gradually crowded out by Chinatown, which surrounds the old Italian neighborhood. (Sidenote: I want to spend some time in Chinatown at some point, but my mission this week was Italian, so I mostly ignored the Chinese cultural opportunities yesterday. My process did not allow for forays into Asian territory...) This week, however, the Italians are hogging the attention: Next Saturday is the Feast of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples, and Little Italy is now in the midst of its annual 10-day celebration of the feast.

Each year, in Naples, the saint's blood turns from solid to liquid on his feast day. Also, prayers to San Gennaro are said to have averted destruction from the nearby Mount Vesuvius in the past.

Mulberry Street was a giant fair. Along the street was stall after stall of vendors, and all of the street's restaurants had set up extra seating in forward tents. Despite the rain, it was crowded with tourists (and locals) who had come for the great food and festal atmosphere.

A festive-looking Mulberry Street with a surly-looking Empire State Building partially covered by clouds in the background

I love all things Italian. I especially love the food. Luckily, I had planned to have a late/large lunch that day because of the timing of traveling to and from Manhattan as well as going to Mass. The only problem was choosing where to eat; what in the world could I base my decision on? Since I knew nothing about the area other than the fact that the festival was happening (clearly, this was one of many instances in which I was not prepared for the day), I had no background knowledge or experience to guide me to the best restaurant. I started glancing at the posted menus as I ambled past the restaurants' tents, and then I hit solid gold: one restaurant was advertising a festival special of $13 for a two-course lunch, and my favorite Italian pasta was listed as one of the choices for a first course.

Penne all'arrabbiata: so simple, but sooo good

Without even knowing the name of the restaurant, I asked to be seated, and I was given a table inside the actual restaurant (not the outdoor tent). I was disappointed at first since I would not be able to people-watch, as I had planned, but it turned out to be a nice break from the crowds. I had excellent bread, penne all'arrabbiata, eggplant parmigiana, a glass of Chianti, and an after-dinner cappuccino. (Sidenote: I took home my extra bread and used it to make French toast this morning. It was delicious.) The indoors location allowed me to relax, enjoy my meal at length, and do a bit of writing.

The cinnamon on the cappuccino was an unexpectedly tasty addition.

With a few hours to spare before Mass began, I wandered through the festival some more, taking my time to browse the shops and simply enjoy the sights, smells, and sounds. At one point, a small band marched past playing "That's Amore."

I especially liked their hats.

I loved the feeling of being surrounded by Italian pride, but it was not simply that. It was Italian-American pride. The descendants of the Italian immigrants who made New York their home beginning in the late 1800s are clearly proud of their heritage, as can be seen in the excellent restaurants, cafes, and shops that still line the Little Italy area. However, I would be willing to bet that most are just as proud of their American heritage and would be unwilling to leave the city. (It's probably a fair assumption, given that most are several generations removed from the original immigrants, at this point.) Case in point:

I haven't counted, but it seems the American and Italian flags are nearly proportional. At any rate, it looks like Christmas.

The vendors were colorful both to the eye and to the ear. Many beckoned the festival-goers to buy their treats: "Get yer sausages!" "We got pina coladas! Free refills!" "Try the cannolis!"

How's this for colorful?

Of course, all of the food looked good, but I was more than full after my abundant lunch. I did consent to a small sample of cannoli, though. How could I not? The last time I had cannoli was in Catania -- in Sicily -- the night I found out I was accepted at Einstein, and it was delicious.

Clearly this shop knows what it's doing when it comes to cannoli.

The last thing that I did before leaving Little Italy -- and Manhattan as a whole -- was go to Mass at the church that claims San Gennaro as its patron. The Most Precious Blood Church was beautiful inside, full of paintings commissioned in memory of neighborhood families with extremely Italian names.

Church of the Most Precious Blood, referring both to Christ and Saint Januarius (as we call him in Anglicized language)

Mass was surprisingly short, only 30 minutes, adding on to my week of really short Masses. I guess that's what you get when there's no homily or music. It ended with a procession to the front to kiss the relic of San Gennaro, which I hadn't known about beforehand. I was moved by the reverance expressed by the crowd who had gathered there to celebrate Mass and the beginning of the saint's feast.

As I walked to the subway, I picked up a whopping pound and a half of nougat, the ubiquitous white treat being sold throughout the streets of the festival. Later that night, my friends and I labored to hack through its surprisingly hard core so that we could enjoy tasty morsels of nuts and sugar that had the taste of marshmallows. This was the perfect supplement to the popcorn that we ate while watching (and making fun of) a ridiculous B movie about genetically engineered killer sheep. It couldn't have been a better day.

A pound and a half of nougat -- that's amore!

9/11

Yesterday was the 8th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I know we all remember the same images of flame, smoke, and ash on a bright, sunny morning. Even those of us who were nowhere near New York City have those same images burned into our memories. For some, it was only the most recent of several of those age-defining moments, the events in which everyone old enough at the time can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when it happened. For some of us -- like me -- it was the first of such moments. I wasn't born yet when the Challenger exploded. I was too young to be aware of the beginning of the Gulf War. Likewise, I did not know about the first terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in the early 90s. September 11, 2001, was the first time when I shared a defining moment with the rest of the nation, and that day's images of destruction occurring hundreds of miles away are burned into my consciousness in a way that seems too vivid to be real.

But it was real.

Yesterday looked entirely different than the September 11 of 8 years ago. It was grey and rainy, with blustering wind turning umbrellas inside out. It was cold, too -- many of us wore jackets for the first time since we've been here. In the afternoon, as I gazed out my window at the Bronx, looking hazy in the rain, I reflected on 9/11. I felt compassion, of course, for the people affected by it, and especially the families and friends who lost loved ones, but a part of me wondered why we were still making such a big deal about it. Smaller disasters happen more frequently -- take, for example, the I-35W bridge collapse back in Minnesota -- and on top of that, any family who loses a loved one goes through the same anguish that the 9/11 survivors felt, but these don't receive national news coverage or presidential addresses. 9/11 was certainly a disaster and a tragedy, but why do we agonize over it year after year?


My perspective changed this morning, when I visited Ground Zero. All I could see at first was a vast fence surrounding the area; I was not high enough to see in.


It was another grey day, with rain sprinkling on and off, but I was not the only one there. The ceremonies and speeches happened yesterday, but there were plenty of people there today as well. I soon came upon The Firefighters' Monument, a bronze relief across from Ground Zero. Many people had left flowers and luminaries, and the monument itself was a beautiful tribute to the firefighters who lost their lives trying to save others.



As I walked around the entirety of Ground Zero, I was able to catch a few glimpses through the fence at the construction zone. It looked just like that -- a construction zone. Not a pile of rubble and ash, not the gleaming towers that used to be there, not the reflective memorial that it will be: something in between, something less ordered than a building or monument, something that still strikes the observer as being less than ideal, even undesirable.


But there is still patriotism at work. This is not just any construction project; it has a proud purpose, and we won't forget it.


And along the way, even those who could not help build could still contribute. As the ugly, gaping hole in the city is gradually filled with something shiny and new, those who have come to reflect can fill the stark construction zone with beauty, too.



My final stop was a small museum showcasing the plans for the monument. It looks like it will be a serene, reflective place. I know there has been controversy surrounding the designs for the monument, and I certainly do not know much about it. However, if it is a place of remembrance, reflection, and respect -- as it appears to be from the models -- then I cannot think of anything more appropriate.


That wasn't the only thing at the museum, though. Along the wall, there were pictures and a timeline of the events of 9/11. Seeing those pictures again -- the buildings with thick, black smoke pouring out, the looks of shock, fear, and numbness on the faces of the New Yorkers, all against the backdrop of a perfect blue sky --gave me chills. I was perfectly warm, but I had goosebumps. This is why we still remember, why we "never forget." It's because we unexpectedly experienced a sickening feeling of vulnerability that we've never felt before.

I never saw New York before the attacks. I don't know what it would have looked like if the Twin Towers had still been there. I can't even legitimately call myself a New Yorker (yet). But I can say this: New York is now my city, too. I will never know what it was like before 9/11, but I know what it is now, and what it means to me. I feel a profound connection with this place even with only a short time here so far. As an American, I feel proud of my country, and I hope we will always remember to have faith in it, and especially in its people. And that is why we never forget.

Taking a Sabbath

I've decided to do what many medical students would find unthinkable: Pending some kind of crisis or disaster, I'm going to take a day off every week. A day without studying -- no reading, no typing up notes, no cramming for quizzes, nothing. Happily, this allows me to do the other 2 things that I've been hoping to do as well: explore the city, and go to new churches.

There are several reasons why I'd do this. First, to keep my sanity -- there's no way I can possibly study every single day of the week without going crazy at some point. At St. Olaf, I found myself unable to take a day off, but I was much more involved with extra-curriculars that kept me occupied during the time when I would otherwise have been able to study. There was band, CSA, SPO, living in the house, TAing, and all those other little things that cropped up, and believe me, they were all worth it. Here, though, everything is much more medicine-related. Obviously, that's why I'm here, but I need to do other things to keep me focused.

That's the second reason for my day off -- to focus better. If I have a lot of time to get something done, I'm not productive. If, on the other hand, I have my day of relaxation and fun, then I'll be much more productive in the days surrounding it; it feels more like a reward and/or compensation for working hard.

The third and most important reason, however, has some interesting inspiration surrounding it. What I'm actually doing is taking a sabbath -- taking a day of rest, coinciding with the day of the week I go to Mass. We've always been taught from the Ten Commandments that the seventh day is holy, but for many people, all this means is that we go to church and maybe do something with our friends or family if we have time. More likely is that we use it to get caught up on whatever we fell behind in during the past week. I remember when Becca spoke at an SPO dinner about the importance of being committed to taking a sabbath -- not only for God, but also for ourselves, to allow God to rejuvenate us through our time of rest and reflection. I respected the message, but I thought, "No way, not possible, not for me. I have waaay too much going on to do that." But I saw through the following years how happy and peaceful she and my other housemates were throughout the week when they had their day of rest. Now I'm at a Jewish school. Many of my classmates are Orthodox Jews, and you'd better believe they take the Sabbath seriously. From what I understand, this means that they aren't even supposed to read books for studying (but leisure reading is all right). Well, if they can get through medical school -- and indeed, already got through college -- adhering to these kinds of practices, then why can't I? Why can't I have a day of rest as well, for reflection, relaxation, and rejuvenation?

The answer is that I can. I can and will have a sabbath. And I thank God for that.

A Good Birthday

It was my birthday on Tuesday, and it was definitely a good one. Some highlights:

Not only is September 8 my birthday, it is also the day we celebrate the birth of Mary. With this in mind, I decided to go to daily Mass instead of just doing my normal routine of reading the day's readings from my Bible at breakfast. I thought I'd head to St. Clare of Assisi, one of the two nearby churches. They offered services at both 7 and 8 a.m., so since I had class at 8:30, I went at 7:00.

Time spent walking to church: 15 minutes
Length of the actual Mass: 14 minutes

That was the shortest Mass I've ever been to. I didn't even think it was possible for it to be that short. In fact, I could have even made it to class (barely) on time if I had gone at 8:00! It's all right, though. I had a nice, leisurely walk back to the apartment, where I was able to sip some coffee and read a bit before going to class. I'd say all of that was an excellent start to the day.

Lectures that day weren't too spectacular, but we did get to talk about blood and hematopoiesis. I like blood. It is one of the few things that I was really looking forward to examining in histology lab.

I wasn't planning on doing anything that night, since we had (surprisingly) celebrated the night before. Two of my friends, Tristan and Adriane, hosted a dinner for my group of friends at their apartment. I was told not to worry about bringing anything because everything had already been covered. Well, I never put two and two together, but it was a birthday celebration, complete with funfetti cake. Yes, my friends had found out that I like funfetti, so they made a cake especially for me -- how sweet. What is even funnier is that later that night, after I went back to my apartment, there was another surprise: Shira, one of my roommates, had baked funfetti cupcakes for me, also because she had found out that I like funfetti. Funfetti all around!

It says "HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHELLE!" Thanks, Shira!

Anyway, after those fun celebrations, I had figured I should study on Tuesday night, since we had yet another histology quiz coming up on Thursday. At 9:00, though, my other roommate, Kendra, came back to the apartment and said that her plan to pick up a bottle of wine to share had been foiled by the store closing early. She suggested, however, that we go to Coals, a cute restaurant/bar/cafe across the street. So we did. We shared a bottle of pinot noir and a tasty pizza, and we were also joined by some more friends after a bit. It was fun to relax with friends, and I didn't even feel guilty about not studying! Wonderful.

I also had the pleasure throughout the day of being flooded with e-mails from facebook about friends writing on my wall and sending messages. All told, I received 52 happy birthday messages, which made me feel popular for a day. Of course, this is including messages like Jake's, which didn't technically wish happy birthday, but would not have been written if it hadn't been my birthday: "What a lame day." Thanks, Jake.

Operation Procrastination

I'm getting good at procrastinating. For example, yesterday I played church songs on my ukulele for an hour.

Who says procrastination can't be creative?

Motivation

At COT, I realized for the first time how important motivation is. We were instructed to decorate our flight room's bulletin board with things that motivated us. Most of us, with the help of Capt Frandsen, designed computer printouts with pictures of family, friends, vacations, sport team logos, etc., to post on the board. The idea was that we would be reminded of the people and things that have had positive impacts on our lives, and that we would then be motivated to work harder and to persevere even when we were exhausted or when it seemed impossible to accomplish everything we were given to do.

I have taken that to heart not only for medical school, but also for the rest of my life. I am eager to surround myself with reminders of the things that motivate me, because I know that they will at least give me the mental strength to persevere. In that vein, I have made it a habit to wear my Air Force PT uniform when I run. When I do that, I realize that I'm not just running for myself; I am a representative of the United States Air Force, and I must not look weak. When I come to a big hill, or when I get lost for the third day in a row and end up running almost 2 miles more than planned, potentially risking making it to class on time (true story), wearing the uniform is enough to keep me positive and keep me running, despite the challenges. For the 9/11 race, I wore my uniform. It motivated me, and as I already mentioned, I had my best 5K time ever. Motivation is truly important.

Not only the uniform, but also the bib: Running in Memory of All 9/11 Heroes

Ribosome Love with LOTS of Sprinkles

"You're not going to be responsible for anything on here except for love," said Dr. Warner, as he advanced the Power Point to a slide showing a 3D molecular view of a ribosome. It was nice to hear 163 medical students laughing together at 8:30 in the morning on the day of their first quiz. The quiz itself, which we took an hour later for histology, went just fine. It must have been because of the love and goodwill toward ribosomes that we all possessed in our hearts. Anyway, I suppose we're real medical students now because we've had our first test of any sort, so it's nice to have passed that particular milestone.

I have a confession to make: I probably haven't been as diligent in studying as I should have been. I certainly haven't been as diligent as I could have been. I just can't type out notes and read books and think about case conferences without needing some breaks, and when I get particularly bored or antsy, I turn to cooking. This week, much to the delight of my roommates and friends, I baked. Kendra's 7 rotting bananas had been tempting me for a while, so on Tuesday, I baked 2 batches of banana bread. It was supremely satisfying to mash 7 bananas to the sweet sounds of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. I half hoped my roommates would walk in and find out just how weird I am. Anyway, the baking was a success, and I ended up with a 3 loaves and 12 muffins of tasty banana-chocolate chip-walnut bread.

They were even more beautiful combined with the aroma...

I spent most of yesterday and today in the city. I know, I probably should have been studying, but it's nice to have a break and a change of scenery. Saturday was spent mostly walking around midtown, going into shops, taking in the busy city life. I also went to church at St. Patrick's Cathedral -- and I loved it! I don't think I would want to go there every week, but it was definitely a cool experience. There were people from all over; I would assume lots of tourists go there for Mass if they're visiting New York over a weekend. I am going to reiterate my somewhat ambitious desire: I would love to attend as many different churches in New York as possible. I don't know if I'd ever be able to make it to all of them, but I can certainly try.

Looking even more splendid in the afternoon sun

Afterwards, I met up with some of my Einstein friends in the Upper West Side for dinner and drinks. We had fantastic Thai food at a place called Land, and then we moseyed over to Crumbs, a cupcake shop. Yes, a cupcake shop. There were at least 2 dozen different kinds to choose from. I went for the Good Guy, a funfetti-inspired creation including cream filling, generous frosting, a white-chocolate drizzle, and LOTS of sprinkles:

How could you not love this?

My main excitement for the weekend, however, was this morning: I ran in the World Trade Center Run to Remember 5K race. This was the first year of the race, so I'm hoping that they'll continue to have it each year. It was on Governor's Island, which is a short ferry ride south of the tip of Manhattan. It was a gorgeous day for a race -- low 70s and sunny skies, with the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Manhattan itself shining in the sun. I (barely) got a PR with a time of 22:06 and was 72nd overall out of over 600 runners. I didn't stay for awards, but I later found out that I won my age category! Cool.

Manhattan gleams in the sunshine.

We were treated to views of Lady Liberty during the race...

...and the stretch coming to the finish line provided another view of Lower Manhattan, the Financial District, where the Twin Towers used to be. If that's not motivation for a 9/11 remembrance run, then I don't know what could be.

After getting back to the mainland, I spent a bit of time walking through Battery Park, which was full of people waiting to board ferries for the Statue of Liberty or Ellis Island. Someday, I must do that as well. I may live here now, but can still be tourist when I feel like it. Some parting shots from today:

These kids took their 100-meter dash REALLY seriously. They were fast!

The older buildings of the Financial District have so much character.

The best part about the race? The bagpipe brigade that played as we ran past. Classic.