...Do as the Romans

Day Two was busy! We were up and out of the hotel by 8 a.m. and on the way to tour the Colosseum. While the architecture wasn't as glorious as what the Greek's produced, the engineering is a marvel. Taking two amphitheaters and putting them together to create the first arena, with a cover on top (domed arena), pulleys and elevators to bring animals and gladiators, and prisoners to the surface for battles of "sport," and the ability to seat 50,000 people who could all get out of the building at the end of the day within 15 minutes. Anyone who has sat in post-game traffic can appreciate that fete.

We then headed over to the Arch of Constantine and on to the Roman Forum. Lisa called the Forum the "Pit of Death" after she returned from visiting Rome in June several years ago. We were there on a lovely spring day with highs in the low 70's, but the lack of any shade and being in a bowl several feet below street level did make me appreciate how horrible it must have been for her and her companions. It was amazing to see the Rostrum, or "Speaker's Corner," and the Temple of Julius Caesar, where his body was cremated, along with the House of the Vestal Virgins and the remains of several other temples, but it was the Curia, or Roman Senate, that made this political geek's heart soar. I mean, here, in this spot, Julius Caesar, Marc Antony, Brutus, and Augustus, among so many others we know, debated, deliberated, and in many cases, plotted to overthrow by one means or another. Here also was the beginnings of a republican (little "R") form of government. I was overwhelmed again.

Next we were supposed to head to the Pantheon, stopping on the way to see a Michelangelo and a Bernini, not to mention getting a bite to eat. However, I decided to let Mom do a little of the guiding, and so handed over the map once we were in front of the Victor Emmanuel Monument, ready for her to take us a few blocks northwest. We headed down a quaint little roadway, farther south than I thought was necessary, but she was in charge. It was so lovely to walk through some back streets where you didn't worry about the traffic running you over. We enjoyed some street music, while still wandering back streets, and then we turned a corner and I knew exactly where we were. We were in the ghetto. Mom was horrified, quickly looking up from the map, thinking we were going to be mugged any moment. But it was a perfectly good neighborhood, and not what Americans think of when we use the word "ghetto." I meant the original meaning of the word. The Jewish Ghetto, that is. Every deli and restaurant sign declared Kosher food. It was fun to see, but having studied the map for a long time, I knew we were also several blocks south of where we wanted to be. That was the end of Mom's time as tour guide.

Finally we wound our way north and found some lunch, and some gelato. We also finally saw Bernini's elephant, which stole Mom's heart, along with our first of many Michelangelo's.

Then we were at the Pantheon. The oldest, continually used building in Rome. Originally a temple, turned into a Christian church, and the burial place of Raphael and two of Italy's first kings, it is another engineering marvel. And it was just lovely inside, lit up by the ocular "eye in the sky." We listened to a RS audioguide and enjoyed the cool air.

Afterwards we moved on to Piazza Navona, where we had an early dinner and enjoyed the Four Rivers Fountain and street art. We were still feeling pretty good, even after a long day of playing tourist, so we decided to try to follow Rick Steves's Night Walk Across Rome, from the Campo de Fiori to the Spanish Steps. We backtracked a bit, as Piazza Navona was the third stop on the walking tour, and visited the statue of the heretic Bruno, along with the remains of the old Pompey Theater, which was where Julius Caesar was assassinated while the Senate rented space in the building. We moved on through Piazza Navona and back to the Pantheon, where we ran into the beginning act of a mime. He was so good that we stayed and watched him for 45 minutes, by which time no one was willing to walk through the circle of spectators ringing around him for fear of unwittingly becoming part of the show.

We continued on, getting more gelato along the way and finally, finally making it as far as the Trevi Fountain, after a little confusion as to where we were. By that time the 13 hour day and the many miles walked were beginning to wear on us. We decided the Spanish Steps could wait for a different day, and Mom "encouraged" the idea of a taxi, which we gladly took back to our little hotel by the Colosseum.

This was the one and only day on our trip where we did not take a break from morning until night. We felt so good after a full night's sleep and we were so excited to be in Rome and with so much to see that we just kept going. And were exhausted by the end of the day. From then on, we spent just a little time every afternoon taking a break in our hotel room. All in all, I think there were only a few minor places that I had on our ambitious itinerary that we didn't get to, and the rest was well worth it. After all, I certainly intend to go back!

Just What the Doctor Ordered

So a few things have changed since July 27 (ahem). I packed, I moved, and I am slowly unpacking. I was so exhausted from the pre-move frenzy that I haven't forced myself to rush to get everything unpacked. And then I got distracted. Not long after the move my Mom went in for knee-replacement surgery. The surgery went fine, recovery not so much. Ten days after the original surgery they did a second surgery. Then she went back to the rehab facility. Finally, finally, just last Friday she was released to return home. Everything's going well now, but it's been a hectic three weeks that has left me getting home at 10 p.m. many nights. That wouldn't be so horrible if the alarm clock wasn't set for 5:15 a.m.

Friday night I joined two girlfriends for a little knitting and a lot of chatting. It was a great way to end the week. The rest of the weekend I spent holed up in my house. From Friday night through Sunday night, I didn't leave for one minute, and I loved it. I cooked chili, unpacked a bit, cleaned a bit, did a lot of laundry, and took care of a pet who was under the weather. I also watched football and read and knitted some more. It was just what I needed to recharge and refocus after several months of good but time-consuming distractions.

My Peeps

No, not these kinds of peeps - though I do so love me some marshmallow Peeps! (And thanks to Wikipedia for a Peep picture.)

I'm talking about the peeps I had lunch with after church on Sunday, the peeps that aren't family but might as well be, because I consider the older adults to be other parents of mine, and those that are my age are good, good friends. I've known these people my entire life. My mother joined a church when I was three months old and soon found a Sunday School class where she felt comfortable. One of my earliest church-related memories is standing outside of my mother's classroom, with other children, jumping as high as we could because our parents had ignored the bell that told them Sunday School was over and we were beginning to wonder if they were ever going to come out so we could go to worship service. Talk about reversal of roles.

The "fathers" have helped me move, gone with me to court when a man assaulted my car and I pressed charges, offered advice on how to fix things, and generally have played the role of father that my own father didn't. The "mothers" have consoled me when I found out I had diabetes, told me how to get stains out of clothes and quilts, given me ideas on substitutes when I was half-way through a recipe and realized I was missing a key ingredient, and share recipes and homemaking tips. I've gone on trips with these lovely people, taken "retreats" with some just we so could go play cards, eat food, and talk. I've babysat some of their children. I remember a childhood full of times spent at their houses, during adult parties and play dates.

Their daughters (and oddly enough, they almost all had daughters) are dear friends. We weren't always that way, but thankfully we are now. I go on trips and retreats with them, too, and dinner parties, back yard barbecues, movie nights, game nights, and on and on. They hold me accountable to my values, and are always willing to listen when I'm whiny or down. They lift my spirits and support me.

Having this group of people who have known me my whole life, who love me, sometimes in spite of myself, who laugh at and with me, and who will be there no matter what, is such a great blessing. I've come to realize that more and more these past few years, as I've seen some of them less and less. You see, for some very messy reasons, I no longer attend the same church they do. It was a hard decision to move on and find a new church, but I don't regret it. What I do regret is that not being in the same pew as they are week after week means that I don't see some of them for months at a time. I miss them. It had been a long time between visits when we were finally able to get together this past Sunday. I'm so glad we did! In fact, I was enjoying myself so much that it didn't even occur to me to get my camera out and take a picture or two!

Honor Thy Father

If he had lived, my father would be 66 today. He died less than one month short of his 60th birthday, the week before Christmas in 2002.

He's been on my mind lately because I have such crystal-clear memories of the days surrounding his death. How I was obsessed with wrapping Christmas gifts and so went to Target at about 10 p.m. on December 23 and came home with everything I would need to wrap gifts because the idea of digging out the wrapping paper I already owned was more than I could contemplate. I used up the last of that paper this past Christmas (I really loved that paper, so it was used sparingly after that initial year).

I remember how I drove back to Louisville on the afternoon of his funeral and collapsed into bed, exhausted. And how I was still just lying there 45 minutes later, unable to sleep. A friend from law school called me all the way from Russia, having just heard the news. How dear of her - I needed that distraction. The call made me realize that sleep wasn't coming, so I got into my car and drove to the movie theater and watched one of the Harry Potter movies, hoping to get lost from my life in the darkness of the movie theater. I started falling asleep half way through the movie and could only laugh at the irony.

Organizing my paperwork (again) a few weeks ago reminded me of the disaster my apartment had become during the six weeks he was in the hospital, and how I came home and realized how horrible it would be for my mother if I were to suddenly die because all of my documents were a total mess and she'd never know where anything was. I started organizing right then and there. Of course, that realization wore off over time, but it shouldn't. It would be horrible for her, and I would hate to burden her like that.

The odd thing about all of these ruminations is that my father and I weren't particularly close, and as horrible as it sounds, I don't miss him. He was an alcoholic, which ultimately led to his death and made it difficult at times growing up. Also, I am very much like my mother, and very not like him. The only thing we ever had in common was education and watching sports. He was very proud to be the first in his family to graduate from college, and was supremely proud of my academic achievements. And he, along with my mother, taught me to love and understand basketball, football, and even baseball (which I understand but don't really appreciate). But you can only have so many conversations about grades and basketball games. Unfortunately, by the time of his death, his drinking was so heavy in the evenings when I would stop by to see him and have dinner that it wasn't a particularly useful few hours, and so I avoided going. My last visit with him, about two weeks before he went into the hospital, was particularly unpleasant.

I never doubted that my father loved me. He told me that every time we saw each other or talked. It was important for him to say that to me, because that was something his Catholic, hard-working, farming parents never said to him. But he didn't "get" me and really didn't understand what I needed him to be as a father. I loved him, too, and resolved my feelings about him years ago. I just wish I could say I missed him.

Instead, I miss what I never had.

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Okay ... I promise we'll get back to regularly scheduled programming now, with no more "deep thoughts" posts for awhile! It must be a holdover from the new year contemplations, but I'm done now. Truly. I'm working on a Noro two-stripe scarf for myself and will show you WIP pictures shortly. And there's sewing planned for this weekend, so maybe I'll show some of that too. I'm a little intimidated still by the sewing machine, being a novice, but I'm determined to conquer my fears.