Ironies of Grace

When I was a young woman, I went to Rome to study music. By a quirky set of circumstances, I ended up living in an apartment in the manse of the American Episcopal Church on Via Napoli and Via Nazionale, a dwelling generally reserved for visiting bishops. It was a wonderful spot for me, not only because of its central location, but also because there was a beautiful old library upstairs that held a nine-foot Steinway grand, and I had the privilege of practicing there on a daily basis. My roommate was studying flute and we had a great time studying our music and hanging out with other young American artists and students, with actors from the Living Theater, and with Italians we got to know. This was during a period when my drinking was working very well for me, keeping terrifying feelings under a lid, and allowing me to bubble up as an artistic and social being.