Snow in Rome

I thought it was supposed to be warm? That's what the weather predictions said for all the months leading up to the trip. That gauze shirt I brought? Didn't see much wear. My sweater, though? My constant companion.

You know how, once in a while, you are in the right place at the right time? Who knew it would snow in Rome? The last time was in February 2012, six years ago. To be there for such a rare occurrence made me smile...no, it made me grin like a fool.

Now, some may bemoan the inconveniences, but we reveled in the uniqueness of the scene. Waking to the crackling of crispy white flakes falling on the roof and several inches of snow covering the terrace was a delicious treat. How exciting!

While I got dressed, my daughter went out to take take photos of Trevi Fountain while it was still snowing. When we set out for the Vatican to be on-time for our tour appointment (silly us), we found the taxi stand around the corner barren, the Spanish Steps almost deserted. Only a few people were gingerly ascending, and most everyone was walking in the center of the deserted streets.

We suspected that they were mostly tourists. Any sensible Roman would still be at home, sweaters on and a hot espresso between their hands. It has a lot to do with what you are used to, I guess. Being from New England, four to six inches of snow is not an crisis. But since our boots were in the closet in Massachusetts, our toes began to feel the icy effects of the snowy streets in short order. Still, we plodded on.

The tour had been canceled, St. Peter's was closed, as was the Vatican Museum. Hundreds of visitors walked the snowy streets trying to figure out what they were going to do with their day. Most probably didn't have the luxury of an extended stay. 'Wasting' the day was not an option for them. They were moving on or going home in short order. I am glad we had the time to linger.

As we left the tour check-in point and headed back across Piazza San Pietro, laughter and singing greeted us as priests, parishioners and students flung snowballs, slipping and sliding in the wet snow. It was glorious. Nuns created a snowman complete with a real clerical collar. After months of bad news and governmental strife at home, it felt like a cleansing breath to see and hear such carefree joy.

The third attempt was the charm and we took our special Necropolis tour the next day. It offered us a different view of Rome, one that was reverent, meaningful in a different way. Deep underneath the Vatican, we explored streets of the dead with two-thousand year old 'houses' built specifically to honor members of Roman families who had passed on. Rather than feeling macabre, it felt peaceful.

As history's events flow in a tidal wave of reminiscences, so do its people. We each have our place in the river of time with recollections and stories passed down the line until we are also included in the telling.

We are born into families whose history spans the millennia and beyond. Whether we know all the details is not important. The history is there regardless. We grow, we learn, we age, and we eventually die. Some will miss us, others might have cause not to be concerned. So be it. Perhaps our contributions make us seem remarkable beyond the family and honors are bestowed. A statue marks our spot and our story is told. We provide inspiration for generations to come. Over and over, people flow in and out of life's river. They grow our society, contribute to its welfare, and if we are lucky, impart their wisdom, art, and compassion for others to build on.

Finally, we blend back into the grains of sand of the universe. We are once again part of the realm of earth and sky. We are carried on the wind and find harbor in the hearts of those who loved us. Memories hold us dear. Stories keep us alive.

When I think of the works of the great writers I have enjoyed, I know that each have given me insights that have shaped my thinking. When I see the creations of nature and man, I am inspired. When I hear music, I am soothed. The embrace of God, the hands of craftsmen, the minds of the thoughtful, and the curiosity of the explorers are the silt that runs along the bottom of the river of man. They are our foundation.

They are our salvation. Learn or weep.