An Overwhelming Moment...An Eternity of Peace

Today was one of the longest days I can remember having in medical school.  It was long in both hours and mental drain.  This morning, we  had four -- FOUR -- lectures, about bone tumors, radiology of rheumatology, thalassemias, and sickle cell anemia.  After a very short lunch, we had a small-group case conference on monoarticular arthritis and its various causes.  Hours-wise, I'm sure 6 hours of class doesn't sound like that much, but let me assure you: it was exhausting.

Despite that, I was having a good time.  The bone tumor lecture was fast-paced and to the point.  The radiology lecture was hilarious, because the doctor teaching it happens to be a sarcastic physician who also works as the Bronx Zoo radiologist in his spare time.  (Yes, he x-rays animals.  In his free time.)  The thalassemia lecture was potentially confusing, yes, but I was on fire and ready to give my full attention, and so it made sense to me.  Unfortunately, this wasn't true for many of my friends, who complained about the complexity and lack of teaching quality immediately afterward.  On top of that, some of them started talking about Boards, and about study strategies, and about how stressed they were, and about scores -- and I started to panic.  I couldn't be there.  I couldn't hear it.  I needed to leave.

So I did.  I left the auditorium and walked out into the courtyard.  It was surprisingly warm, and I spied some chairs in the sun, so I walked over to them and sat down.  I'm an optimistic person, a happy person, and I don't generally get too stressed when it comes to school.  I've always been that way.  Sure, I'll have moments of panic when I realize that assignments and responsibilities are building up, or if I don't feel prepared for a test, but typically my view is that I know what I know, I can do what I can do, and at a certain point, that's got to be enough.  There may be a time to stress about Boards, but for me, it is not now.  With my heart beating fast from the claustrophobia of being surrounded by stressed classmates, I sat in the chair in the sun and closed my eyes.  I knew that I needed to do something, some kind of meditation or song or anything, to calm myself down enough to go back into that auditorium.  All that could come to my mind was the following song:

Jesus, all for Jesus
All I am and have, and ever long to be.
Jesus, all for Jesus
All I am and have, and ever long to be.


All of my ambitions, hopes, and plans
I surrender these into your hands.
All of my ambitions, hopes, and plans
I surrender these into your hands.


For it's only in your will that I am free.
For it's only in your will that I am free.


Jesus, all for Jesus
All I am and have, and ever long to be.


And I was calm.  And I was refreshed.  And I was ready to go back.  That peace pervades me still, as it always does.  This is why I am calm: because I know I've got nothing to fear.

Ireland: Tour and the End

My last full day in Ireland was our Cliffs of Moher tour, which included much more than just the cliffs.  Despite it snowing the previous night, and despite a heavy fog over Galway, we were blessed with beautiful, clear weather for our tour.  Pictures tell it best.

 Beautiful countryside of the Burren

The Burren is known for its vast limestone fields 

The Cliffs of Moher in shadow 

An ancient grave 

As the afternoon wore on, the clouds began to come back. 

During the tour, we became friends with Rachel from Australia. 

The tour ended the same way it began: in heavy fog.

That night, we went to Mass at the Galway cathedral.  Before it began, the priest came over to chat with us, asking where we were from.  Then he asked me if I would like to light the Advent candle, as it was the first Sunday of Advent.  Of course, I said yes!  I was so honored to light the first candle in Galway; what a blessing.  The next day, I had to leave the beautiful country.  My last view of Galway was of the snow-covered countryside, as it had snowed again that night.  I was sad to leave.  Ireland was beautiful, welcoming, and I could have stayed for days and days and days.

Unexpected, but beautiful, snow

Capital, Again

Last weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Washington, D.C., again. This time, there was a special occasion: it was Caitlin's birthday, so I, along with several other Oles, descended upon her city to help her celebrate. This required, of course, visits to museums and the Mall and all that Washington-y stuff that you'd expect of a trip to the capital. For example, we stopped in the National Archives to see the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and of course, the Constitution -- all 4 pages of it. That's right; ever since the building was remodeled less than a decade ago, all 4 pages have been on display, whereas only the first and last pages were displayed before. It was remarkable how much better preserved the Constitution was than the other 2 documents. It was interesting to note how much more legible the Constitution was compared to the badly faded documents to its sides. We have no theories as to why that is. I'm sure it's on Wikipedia somewhere.

The azaleas seemed to be EVERYWHERE.

After the National Archives, we spent the rest of the afternoon at the National Gallery of Art, which of course had far too much to see in one afternoon. We triaged and ended up seeing paintings from the Impressionists, Renaissance Italy, and 19th-century Germany, as well as some sculptures. It was wonderful to see the likes of Raphael, Van Gogh, Monet, Picasso, Rodin, and countless other famous artists all in our nation's capital. We really have so much to be thankful for.

How can I not love Mercury? Wings on his feet, caduceus in his hand, and a finger pointing up toward the stars. My kind of guy.

Another highlight of the weekend was my excursion to the National Basilica, which is apparently the largest Catholic church in the Americas (yes, ALL of them). It was, as would be expected, incredibly beautiful. It was filled with mosaics and beautiful statues, not to mention a gigantic pipe organ. At the same time, the white walls lent a feeling of openness and airiness which helped counteract the feeling of being very small in a very big space. It was much lighter and more welcoming than St. Patrick in Manhattan, which to me feels dark and closed in, comparatively. The celebrating priest was from Chicago. I got the feeling that there are frequently visiting priests (after all, why not?), so it was interesting to have someone from the Midwest.

BIG church

Pretty on the inside, too

After Mass, I was able to meet up with my friends one last time on the Mall. There was a climate change rally going on that afternoon, which, as environmentally conscious Oles, we dutifully attended. And got free stuff. Yes, as noble as it sounds to go to a rally in the nation's capital, I have to admit that the overriding motivation was to get free stuff. Here's how I think of it: a rally is kind of like a museum. There are tents and exhibits set up by different people and organizations, and they're interesting to look at and learn about, and sometimes to even interact. For example, I got to pose in an EVA suit at the NASA tent! And we all got to sign a space shuttle tire -- one that's been into space! Even better, though, were the handouts: I now have a holographic NASA ruler, a DVD about the earth's changing climate (video taken by satellites), NASA hand sanitizer, little flashlights, a bright-green reusable bag with the NASA logo (that was my favorite), and sycamore seeds. Good haul, I'd say. And then I got on the bus back to New York. What a great weekend!

Yeah...I'd say it fits me pretty well.

Norway: The Rest

Yes, it's taken me a while, but I'm finally ready to finish off my Norway adventure. (In my defense, we've had 4 tests over the past week, and I've knitted approximately half of the body of a Norwegian sweater in that time. Be impressed.)

I left off with our return from Sognefjord. The rest of my time in Norway was spent in Bergen. In general, the city was quite quiet, because Holy Week is a holiday for Norwegians as well. In this spirit, most had vacated the city in order to stay in their cabins on the fjords or in the mountains, leaving the city (and its shops) deserted, to some degree. However, we still found plenty to do. For example:

We visited Edvard Grieg's house. This is the inside of his "composer's hut," which was behind the house, down a small hill, next to the water. Notice that he frequently sat on Beethoven's sonatas in the hopes that inspiration and greatness would transfer via osmosis.

We hiked up Ulriken, Bergen's tallest mountain. The day started clear...and then it began to rain...and then a thick cloud descended on us, making it impossible to see more than 20 feet ahead. At the top, we could see nothing, but then -- miracle! -- the cloud cleared for 5 minutes, giving us a spectacular view of the city.

We browsed the tourist shops in Bryggen, the old port area. Norwegian sweaters abounded.

We went to church at St. Paul on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Here, on Easter, the crucifix has been uncovered, the Easter candle has been lit, and simple bouquets of daffodils adorn the altar. Beautiful.

Speaking of Easter, we had quite the Easter celebration. Becca invited several of her friends (almost all of whom were also international students who, unlike the Norwegians, were still in Bergen for the holiday) to come to the apartment for sweets, games, and Easter activities. All day Saturday, we shopped, cleaned, and baked in preparation for the big gathering.

All in a day's work: 8 dozen cookies, 2 bowls of pasta salad, 2 dozen scrambled eggs, 30 hard-boiled eggs, 2 coffee cakes...

...and 2 pies!

The party was a huge success. We ate until we could eat no more, and then we decorated eggs, played Uno, played charades, and tried a mystery-whodunnit type game that one of Becca's friends taught us. (Because it obviously matters, here was the outcome: Becca and Erlend were both arrested for a crime that I actually committed. I used my botanical research to buy a potent poison in Brussels from a time-traveler from the future. I slipped the poison into William Shakespeare's drink at a party I was hosting, because I couldn't stand his misogynistic ideals after hearing of the fabulous notions of women's equality from my time-traveling friend. And that is how Shakespeare was murdered.)

Finally! A clear view of Bergen from Fløyen. This is the Sentrum, where we spent most of our time.

On my final day, we climbed another mountain, Fløyen, with Raanan and Erlend. This one was much tamer, with a paved path the whole way up. There were so many people out enjoying the holiday and the on-and-off sun, just like us. I flew home the next day, slightly delayed but otherwise smooth. After becoming used to the rain, snow, and clouds in Bergen, I was caught slightly off-guard by the sunshine, blooming flowers, and 80-degree days that greeted me back in New York. I can't believe the trip went so quickly; I am so lucky to have such an incredible friend in Becca. I truly felt at home with her, and we had a wonderful time spending time with each other, catching up, and having a few adventures. What a wonderful way to spend Easter!

The smiles say it all.

Norway: The Beginning

I think I'll break up the trip into three parts. No particular reason, really, except that it is easier to think of things in blocks. So it begins...

One major difference between my trip to Norway and all of my previous trips overseas was the lack of traveling I did once I got there. After I made it to Bergen, Rebecca and I stayed in the city except for one brief sojourn to a nearby fjord. I have to say, it was actually quite a relief not to have to think about packing, unpacking, repacking, hauling luggage, and doing it all over again every few days. Sure, I didn't "see" as much of the country, but I really got to know Bergen and had a wonderful experience spending time with Becca, getting to know her friends, and avoiding the stress of constantly being on the move. This unquestionable lack of traveling had to be made up for somehow, though, and it certainly was on either end of the journey: bus from apartment to subway station, subway to Penn Station, train to Newark, airtrain to international terminal, plane to Copenhagen, final plane to Bergen. Luggage lost between Copenhagen and Bergen. It didn't matter: I was in Bergen, and there was Becca to meet me!

My first view of Norway: Endless mountains covered in snow, broken up only by the shining blue of fjords reaching their spindly fingers into the mainland

The luggage was expected to come to the airport that afternoon, and then it would be delivered to the apartment. I was not concerned. I was staying in an apartment with Becca and her roommates; I knew that they would be able to lend me anything that I needed in the meantime. So what did we do on my very first day in Norway? We did what the Norwegians do: we climbed a mountain! Bergen is surrounded by seven mountains (a surprising feature, given that it is also a port city). Løvstakken, the second-highest, was our goal for the afternoon, despite rain and a persistent fog. I borrowed some waterproof clothes and shoes (seeing as mine were somewhere between Denmark and Norway), and up we hiked, along with Becca's roommates and some of their other friends. The rain and fog meant that we didn't have any view of the city at the top, but we still rewarded ourselves with hot chocolate and candy.

The trek up Løvstakken

Just as I expected, the luggage arrived perfectly fine at the apartment just as we were coming back from our hike, so I was able to join everyone else in changing into some warm, clean, dry clothes. Inga cooked Norwegian pancakes for us, and then we all watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Partway through the movie, I began feeling really drowsy, but I was glad that Becca and her friends had kept me so active throughout the day. It's so much easier to get over jet lag when everyone else is pulling you into their "normal" schedule.

The next day, Becca and I explored Bergen. We went to the morning service at DELK, the church which she and many of her friends attend (and which is conveniently located downstairs and on the other side of her apartment building). Of course I didn't understand the readings and sermon in Norwegian, but we followed the readings in Becca's Bible, and I tried my best to attempt correct pronunciations for the songs. (In fact, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and I still don't. Which vowels sound like what? Do you pronounce the J's and K's? What about the vowels with little lines and circles through them? A fun guessing game...) I had never thought about this before, but the hymns that we sing at church -- even the old ones with melodies from the 1800s or earlier -- are not necessarily common throughout the world. All of the hymns that we sang had melodies that came from Norwegian folk songs. They had a haunting, lonely quality that was at the same time mesmerizing and incredibly beautiful, evoking images of mountains and hard work and simple living.

During the afternoon, we walked around the Sentrum of Bergen. Becca is lucky enough to live within this area, which is among the oldest sections of the city. All of the houses are extremely well kept, cozy, and, for lack of better word, cute. They are. They're all cute. It's what every little cutesy tourist area in America aspires to be, but it's authentic, and it's old, and it's how these Norwegians actually live.

Cozy.

Later that evening, we went to Mass at St. Paul Church. It was the weekly English Mass, and it was packed. Apparently every Mass there is packed, since it's the only Catholic church in the city, but it was even more so because it was Palm Sunday. It was so good to have our palms and hear the readings in English, but it was certainly different than at home. The music was contemporary, but thankfully, as Becca put it, it was done in a "non-distracting" way. We even sang one song that I recognized from our old SPO songbooks, so that was a pleasant surprise. Bergen has a surprisingly diverse immigrant population, especially at the Catholic church, so it was also a powerful testament to see so many people of different cultures worshiping together.

Exploring Bergen in our skirts and rain boots

The next day was the beginning of our fjord experience, so I will save that for my next post. Two final pictures:

Bergen houses with Løvstakken in the background

Ahh, a familiar face at St. Paul's!

Multiplying the Loaves

...or in my case, Valentine's Day cookies. As has been pointed out previously, I enjoy baking. Cookies are especially fun because they are easy to give away (convenient; I don't want to think how much weight my roommates and I would gain if we were to keep all the stuff that I bake). This week, I was keen on baking Valentine's cut-outs. I decided to verge from the typical sugar cookie cut-outs and instead try my hand at gingerbread. I used the old, reliable Betty Crocker, which stated that I should expect approximately 2 1/2 dozen, 2 1/2-inch cookies. Now, my heart-shaped cookie cutter was smaller, about 2 inches, so I expected maybe 3 1/2 to 4 dozen, max.

Does this look like 4 dozen to you?!

I did not get 4 dozen. I got 11 1/2 dozen. What in the world...? I was dumbfounded. Appropriately, the daily Gospel for Saturday was Mark's account of Jesus feeding the 4,000 with just seven loaves and a few fish. I was pleased to be able to decorate and give away these cookies to my friends (and even announced to an elevator full of my classmates that they were all welcome to stop by my apartment on their way back to their rooms after class to get some cookies), but I'm still astounded with the vast misjudgment of the cookbook (or of me). How in the world did this happen? At any rate, I am still stuck with 2 dozen or so cookies. I'm hoping I can pawn them off on someone tomorrow. We'll see.

At least they look nice...?

Italian Surprise!

Another comparison of this year to last: December 8, Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Last year, it was on a Monday, which happened to be my busiest day of classes every week. With the exception of chapel time and a brief hour between anatomy lab and band, I had no free time from 6:45 a.m. until after the Norseman hayride (and dinner and bonfire). Masses at St. Dominic were all during my classes and activities, so a contingent of us Norseman Catholics discovered that our only option was to leave the hayride early to go to Annunciation (how appropriate!), a small church a few miles outside of Northfield. Normally there would be nothing wrong with this; I had been to Annunciation before and didn't mind driving there. Last year, however, there was a snowstorm on December 8. By the time we left the hayride, the gravel roads back to Olaf were slippery under 2-3 inches. After picking up more churchgoers at St. Olaf, for a total of 8 (yes, 8!) of us in my tiny Saturn, I drove slooooowwwwwllyyyyyy through the quickly accumulating snow to the little church on the hill. Mass was warm and beautiful, and you could feel the little-kid excitement throughout the congregation because of the snow. As we left church, the snow was still falling quietly, peacefully -- and had deposited several inches on the vehicles. There was an attitude of congeniality despite the difficult driving conditions, and everyone helped each other clear the white powder from the cars. Everything about it -- the feast day, the people, the church, the weather -- was beautiful.

This year on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, I followed the Minnesota blizzard with interest, mostly because I wanted to be there myself. There's something about extreme weather that's exciting to me. Here in the Bronx, though, it was a sunny, warm day (although most of my classmates would skewer me for saying 40 degrees is warm). I decided to go to Mass at St. Clare, and I assumed the schedule would be the same as a typical weekday schedule, with Mass at both 7:00 and 8:00 a.m. I also assumed that, with the typical 15-minute daily Masses, I'd be able to make it to my 8:45 class on time. My assumptions were only marginally correct. I arrived at 7:55, heard the priest greet an old couple with a quiet, "Buon giorno," and thought nothing of it. We are, after all, in a very Italian neighborhood. Turns out I should have thought something of it. Since it was a feast day, the church was on its Sunday schedule, in which the 8:00 Mass is in Italian. And there was music. Music in Italian. After an initial moment of confusion, I realized what was happening, and then I started beaming. Mass in Italian! It was wonderful. I ended up being 10 minutes late for lecture, but it doesn't matter. It was a beautiful morning, with a joyous service, a sunny walk, and an Italian surprise.

May I Just Say...

...that the Fordham church is beautiful? As is the rest of the campus. Fordham University's Rose Hill campus is only 2 miles down the road from Einstein, so I spent the last two weekends at their library for studying. The campus reminds me so much of St. Olaf -- stately buildings, majestic trees, and the "college" feel which I've found helps me be more productive in my studying. Plus, the library is huge and relatively new, so it actually feels fun to go study (shocking). Also, it's a Catholic university, so I was able to go to Mass when I went there to study.

The center painting indoors depicts all of the patron saints of the subjects that Fordham offers for study. What a great idea!

I'm looking forward to seeing the campus over the next few weeks as the trees begin to turn!

Better than Coincidence

Last Saturday, after my tiring but exciting day at ECHO (learning how to draw blood), I decided to go into Manhattan to do some shopping. Even the rain did not discourage me, and it soon stopped. I took it as a good sign. Before I left Einstein, I looked up churches near the area where I was going (Empire State Building area). There were two very close together, so I picked which one to go to based on the ease of finding Mass times online. I arrived around 5:00, perfect for the 5:15 Mass at St. Francis of Assisi. In I went.

Yet another church nestled between tall, shiny buildings. It's the kind of surprise that always makes me smile.

It's the best Mass I've been to so far in New York, I have to say. It felt like home. I'm not just saying that because it had the same name as my home church, or even because it happened to be the feast of St. Francis of Assisi (seemingly two coincidences which are at least interesting, if not more). It was also the feeling of community. The realness of the people. The thick New York accent of the lector. The soulful music shared by the whole congregation. The radiating warmth of genuineness. I felt at home there, even though it was only my first time there. I would like to go back.

The building itself was beautiful as well.

Later, I was also treated to my first nighttime view of the Empire State Building. I had not realized that they lit the tower in different colors each night until I read an article about a recent controversy: The tower had been lit in red one night to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the communist revolution in China. Obviously, not everyone was pleased about this, so there were protests and disgruntled New Yorkers. Anyway, the article also said that the tower is usually lit in white, but that different colors are used especially for holidays or other special celebrations. On Saturday night, don't ask me why, it was blue. I took a picture of the tower glowing in the nighttime mist...

...and then I went home.

Things That Made This Week Interesting

All throughout the week, I kept having experiences that made me think, wow, that was really cool/interesting/different. Being a busy little medical student, I didn't have a chance to write about any of them at the time, but here is a list of the things that I've done or the things that have happened that contributed toward this week being a good one:

- Interviewing my first "patient": Okay, the patient was an actor, but it was still an exciting challenge. On my turn, he decided to be irritated that I was just a student, rather than the real doctor; he was incredibly curt and sarcastic, but everyone told me I handled the situation well. I was able to get the information that I needed without getting flustered or frustrated, myself. Awesome!

- Einstein photo op: After a long class session, my friend Cat and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon and go take pictures of the campus. We're really lucky to have such a beautiful haven here in the middle of the Bronx.

Maybe later I'll post more pictures, but this is a taste of our surprisingly green, spacious campus.

- A successful case conference: Each week, we break into smaller groups to discuss a particular disease or case that relates to what we've learned in our Molecular and Cellular Foundations of Medicine (MCFM) course. This week, I felt really confident about my understanding of the interferon-gamma receptor and its relation to unusual sickness from mycobacteria. I even was complimented on my explanation of restriction digest results to the rest of the group -- score 1 for my summers at Mayo preparing me to understand the basic science of medical research!

- Making apple crisp: After a trip to the farmer's market during lunch hour, I was armed with some tasty Cortlands for my first apple crisp of the fall. New York has some decent apples, but I have to say I prefer Minnesota's selection. My roommates had never even heard of baking apples like Wealthy and Harralson before. Also, the Honeycrisps just aren't as flavorful out here. There's something to be said about the cold Minnesota winters and our spectacular apples.

Mmmm...combined with the banana bread from earlier, this apple crisp has solidified my reputation among my roommates and friends as the one who bakes -- and shares.

- First medical school final: Yes, final. We have officially finished the Genetics unit of MCFM. Next up: Immunology. But first, there's still the Histology midterm coming up this week.

- Playing the piano for the first time since leaving home over a month ago. I've missed it so much. It was a little weird playing the grand piano in Robbins Auditorium all by myself, but I got over it and stayed for an hour and a half.

- Preparing peaches for more crisp: The peaches that I had bought at the farmer's market were getting ripe, so I cut them up. They are now in the freezer awaiting their turn to bake. Something that is so beautiful about peaches is that not only is the skin colored, but underneath is also multi-toned.

So juicy, so ripe, and so pretty, even without the skin -- I love peaches.

- A tale of two Little Italies: Last night, my friends and I went to the famed Little Italy of the Bronx. We ate at Emilia's, a fantastic little restaurant on Arthur Avenue. It was across the street from Mario's, the restaurant where the famous scene with the gun-behind-the-toilet-with-the-chain-thing in The Godfather takes place. Then, today, I made my way back to the Little Italy of Manhattan for the San Gennaro procession. Since it was a perfectly warm and sunny fall day, the streets were packed with people. It was worth it for the zeppole and cannoli.

The statue of San Gennaro was brought through the streets, stopping at each stall so a blessing could be said.

As I mentioned earlier, the Histology midterm exam is coming up. I have not allowed that to stop me from taking my day off. Today has been filled with such excitement as making French toast for breakfast, shopping/browsing in Manhattan, meeting Andrea for the San Gennaro festival, going to Mass at the Most Precious Blood Church again, and watching some quality Arrested Development. I'm determined that tomorrow and Monday will be full of productive studying!

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!

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.

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.