Face-to-Face as Life Adjusts

 'While the pandemic has created a bubble of semi-solitude that, for some, has allowed for clarity of introspection, it has also fostered an increased dependency on technology. As we reached out to friends near and far over email, phones and Zoom, we have connected but have also reinforced our isolation. And we have become comfortable with it. Like donning a too-small sweater, we stretched its sleeves to make it seem more comfortable.'

I wrote this today in response to Diana Baur's post on Medium.com, Romance and Privacy in Overexposed Times. 

Cell phones travel with us, keeping company with the ubiquitous water bottle we never seem to be able to leave at home. They tether us to a form of human contact that has nothing at all to do with companionship. 

We 'touch base' and 'check in'. We scroll through Instagram and Facebook for snippets of someone's day, pleased that they had a good time, but not entirely happy, in comparison, with how we spent ours even though we did exactly what we wanted to do.

I have become fascinated with the psychological effects of the pandemic that has been with us for more than a year and a half. In setting out to discover the changes to my own habits, I fear that some may have become permanent and that aspects of my pre-pandemic mindset have altered in ways that will restrict my future desires much as the mandates and precautions have changed my present actions.

The desire to travel, something I consider one of the important aspects of my life, has been tamped down by virus restrictions and slow recovery around the world. I still add to my planning book for the next adventure, soak up words in books written in and about Italy and keep my meager language skills alive with dubbed documentaries and Duolingo. I am hopeful that I can return to the part of the world that holds half my soul in its hands.

My reality, right now, is very different than it was when I returned from Rome on March 1, 2020. I stepped off the plane looking forward to a return to Europe in mid-March. Then the world started tipping on its axis and what seemed a minor inconvenience became a major upheaval. It seems so long ago and where have we gone since then?

Inward.

That is a good thing but also what I fear. That time ticked away in semi-isolation will forever change my outlook and that of others. Vaccinations have eased concerns a little, but I still see the hesitation on both sides of an anticipated hug. My small weekly group of girlfriends went to extraordinary effort to see each other last winter when we gave up on Zoom and sat huddled under blankets around an outdoor fire on blistering cold nights just so we could see each other face-to-face (or partially face-to-face, as it were).

We adjusted. We stocked up on scarce things. We stopped shopping as a means of entertainment, concerned that stagnated jobs might dry up reserves altogether. Libraries were closed and online services stepped up as books were downloaded to pass the time. Stores closed. Restaurants, too. Even parks and museums. 

Since then, we have become accustomed to doing without extraneous things, and that money we feared would dissipate, actually stuck around. 

Habits altered to fit the circumstances. Many cleaned and purged, going from selling clutter on Facebook to offering it on FB Buy Nothing pages. Charitable mindsets strengthened. As I explore the aspects of my altered life, I will discover more nuances, some that I like and a few I will miss. My travel bug? Well, circumstances being what they are in my life, I am tied to home for the foreseeable future. But I will nurture it carefully so that I am ready when the next chapter begins.

Italian Vision

Travel affords us a unique perspective. At least it does for me. Travel keeps me in the moment, without cares and concerns to distract me from soaking in my surroundings.

I am drawn to Italy, as are so many others, by one's immersion in its history. Antiquity rubs shoulders with the modern world. Here, unlike anywhere else, present and past meld together. There is a sense of rightness to it that transcends analysis. In fact, it is best to avoid thinking too much and just savor its blend.

There is no 'before and after'. No chapters. No division. It feels as if history is one continuous flow and that you are part of it all, no matter where you came from or where you are going.

The wavy glass in the windows of Palazzo Altemps enhances the view. Old and new blend under its spell.
Rome's cobblestone streets are adaptable. Repairs are easy. Pile up a heap of cobblestones, repair or level what is underneath, put them back into place. Dig deeper and you find remnants of a previous community, one that sidles up to you and caresses your thoughts with the possibility that all flows continuously through your veins. Between the stones, reminders of a party, a gathering of revelers.

Wish you were here.

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.

Passionate Serenity

Cozy and warm, restorative and peaceful

One can find peace in so many places if open to it. Sometimes, the right place falls in your lap unbidden and you take up the reins to embrace it. When they stay with you as an integral part of your being, you know you have found a piece of your soul’s place of rest.

Borgo di Vagli, high in the mountains east of Cortona in Tuscany, has a quiet serenity than soothes and uplifts. How fortunate we are that, this time, there was no room at the inn and it was recommended to us as an alternative.

Our terrace - with a 10th century castle ruins in the distance

Only two places in my life have caused me distress. The home I thought I’d grow old at in Ohio and Borgo di Vagli. After we packed the car on that last day before heading to Spoleto for lunch and Rome for the airplane home, we sat on the terrace, drinking in the view. Reluctant to leave, we relaxed into the sensations and sounds enveloping us until tears formed and hearts welled with exquisite pain.

Driving away, traversing the two km of winding dirt roads with heavy hearts filled with longing, we said arrivederci. 

Till we meet again.

Under the Eaves

In all homes, there are hidey-holes where the treasures of our lives reside.  Mine have several homes, the most notable is under the eaves where boxes (plural) of photos and mementos lie in wait.  Albums fill most of a bookcase beside my desk chronicling special events, trips and the growth of our family's history.  What is not yet in the albums is under the eaves. And there is a lot of it.

Saturday was the perfect day for me to sort thru the mementos and see what should be kept and what should go.  The pictures are wonderful reminders of happy times but do I really need ticket stubs and playbills?  I don't think my decendents need quite that much detail of my everyday life!

Caffe Florian, Venice

I found treasures and photos of some events which would have slipped my mind forever without the visual jog.  In the bottom of one box I found a packet of sugar from the Caffe Florian in Venice where Bob and I swooned as we listened to the musicians play.  Not something I consciously saved but something which slipped to the bottom of the box unnoticed until I found it the other day and I could hear the music once again and feel the vast darkness of Piazza San Marco surround us like a velvet cape. I remember the soft coo and rustling feathers of pigeons settling in for the night knowing that another feast will await them in the morning when the tourists wake up and explore.

Moments in time - my time - sometimes shared with others, sometimes experienced alone.  Savored.  I think I will make a cup of tea now and sprinkle some sugar slowly over the brew.

Italian Dreams

Frances Mayes wrote a new book recently and I have been savoring it. Like her other books, Every Day in Tuscany gives me a glimpse into what it would be like to live in Italy. What bliss!  What food!  What wine!

I love to travel and Italy has a special place in my heart. A sense of dolce vita pervades my mind just thinking about sun-drenched hillsides and I am transported to a region of the world where family and relationships are more important than things. My connection with Italy is intimate. I feel it in my soul. I would move there in a heartbeat if I didn't need to make a living. What struck me as amazing as we poured over our photos from the last trip is that we have only been on Italian soil twice. Twice.

Then why does it feel like we have been there countless times?

Rainy Mondays

I wonder if 2010 will be the year of extreme weather. So much rain! House has stayed blessedly dry, but the dehumidifier is chugging along out in the studio. No paper curling yet, but I think the paper towel roll may have gained weight this past month.

In my quest to finish what I start (a novel thought), I am adding a few decorative borders to the olive branch design I started awhile back. I am toying with finishing it as a box cover if I can find one in the right shape or perhaps simply frame it. I need to check and see if Sudberry House's jewelry box will work. I love its elongated, almost William Morris style design and textural stitches. The silvery green leaves remind me of peaceful hillsides in Italy where the wind once gifted us with a symphony as its breath rustled the leaves in the olive trees on its pathway from hilltop to valley floor.

I have many other works in progress (WIPS) as I tend to move from one craft to another on a whim. I am easily taken in by shiny new threads and a painted canvas. It is all about the design. I could stitch for the rest of my days and still want to do more.

Now, with Spring officially here, the earth is calling to me so my fingers are flying to get the most out of my cozy inside stitching time. I can see a few plants in the front garden which need to be separated and moved so the blue hydrangea doesn't shadow them this summer. Almost time to split the irises again. I love the scent of freshly turned soil.