A memorable moment, in Rome, a few months ago. This wonderful group of musicians performed for the public a block down from St. Peter’s Square, right beside the Castel San Angelo, which houses the Mausoleo di Adriano. It was April 21, 2018, and the Romans were celebrating the birthday of Rome. Romulus is said to have founded the city on this day in 753 BC. Everyone loves Rome, but no one loves Rome, more than the Romans do.
Sky is Blue, breeze in the air, not too hot. Weather patterns fluctuate, reminds us of another season. Summer with Autumn is in the air!
Jesus Christ Superstar, last night. Brought me back to 1973. Revolutionary for young people. Religious education, a Catholic one. Jesus as a real man, with hopes, desires and dreams. Judas scorned Mary Magdalene, Christ defended her and said, “So what if she is different?”
Jesus was mobbed by the blind, the cripples, and the beggars, asking for a cure. Frustrated he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Heal yourselves!”
Scenes sculpted like baroque art, capture the height of emotion. Characters feel what we feel and show it in lyrics, tempo and intensity of the music. Action through dance. Transformation evolves.
Thoughts, reactions, remembering, on this halcyon day of summer, when Autumn stopped by and said, “Hello” The sad story of Jesus reminded me of the good, the bad and the ugly of every day. Christ died for our sins, a metaphor for life and death, our imperfect selves. Christ wanted better, from his fold, to have faith, hope, and be giving. Sinful existence of human beings, the dark side, of who we are.
Be favorable to bold beginnings.
Virgil
Almost 2 months ago, we arrived in Palermo, Sicily, via Rome. During our three days there we walked the streets. Morning, day and night! The first night we went to the opera “Figaro” by Mozart, at the famous Theatre of Palermo. Seated in a balcony, on the 5th floor, I found myself enclosed in one of those fancy theatre boxes. The only thing separating us, and 5 stories below, was a short railing, which barely came up to my waist, when sitting down. My fear of heights kicked in the entire 3 hours of the evening. I tried to be distracted by the fanfare of the opera itself. At times the mind wandered. Subtitles in English flashed in the air, but after intermission they disappeared. We already knew enough of the story to know what would happen, and by not reading subtitles I was able to relax, take in the colors, sound and movements on stage. An opera? What the heck! We were in a world capitol for opera, and it would have been a missed opportunity not to go. Watching the Italian couples dressed in their fineries was almost as fascinating as the show. Overall, Palermo, today, may be remembered for its Mafia violence in the 90’s. Today, it has a relaxed atmosphere. My sense about many people in Sicily, is that they would like to forget about the black past of the Mafia, but they are still vigilant.
A few childhood memories of Lake Wapogasset-Bear Lake – I always had a burning desire to go there. Little cottages, built by my grandfather, dotted the scenic shore. One was left to my grandma. We sometimes went there, but there were so many of us. My mother had to keep an eye that we didn’t misbehave, especially the little ones. A vivid memory, only of an instant, comes to mind, like deja vu. I was sitting inside the cottage, and lamenting I could not make myself at home. We would leave, soon.
My Grandpa sold the lots, on Bear Lake. My Dad thought about buying one, but it didn’t happen. Years later, home with my own kids, my mom and and I went to the lake to see Uncle John and Jeanne. They acquired Grandma’s cottage when she died. John had his garage filled with his films, and movies, and assorted projects. He was an entertainer, of sorts. Francisco was along. John proudly took us for a ride in his boat, across the lake. There are photos, somewhere, tucked away in a box.
There’s no place like Rome, until you get home
Segesta is a magical archaeological site, located in the high hills of Northwestern Sicily. A visit in the late afternoon, when other tourists were heading out, allowed a mystical impression of a very special place.
Apparent facts escape me at this moment. Only that Segesta was occupied by various peoples, over thousands of years. The Greeks, of these parts, built the unfinished Doric Temple. The city, eventually conquered by other Greeks from Syracuse, was given another name, but was later won back, and returned to its old name of Segesta. In time, the Romans conquered Segesta, and because it was associated with Troy, they lifted the tributes most cities needed to pay, and gave it vast expansive lands. Segesta turned into the most powerful city state, in all the Mediterranean basin. In later centuries it was occupied by the Normans. There are even traces that Muslims resided this land.
Mainly, I was left with the exhilarating sensation, from climbing the high mountain to the Amphi-theater. The sun, lowering on the horizon cast a soft light on the many shades of lavender, white, red, and yellow flowers that swayed in the breeze, and lined the pathway. The arduous walk up the mountain afforded beautiful views of the surrounding valleys, and looking back, the splendid Temple, rose up to the sky.
A final walk down the hill and back up to the Temple, completed the experience. I stood in front of the golden structure, of thirty-six pillars, and walked around all four sides, with less than six other straggling tourists. The sun was even lower, and soft shadows rested against the golden colored stones. An un-explicable feeling of lost time, lingered in the air. It was then time to venture back, and leave the park.
There are gifts that stay with you, for as long as you live. I still remember the surprise I felt for dolls I unwrapped for Christmas. Will never forget when my brother and his girlfriend showered me with small gifts for my golden birthday. There was a colorful piggy bank, wicker nested suitcases, and candy sticks with stripes.
Many special gifts color my memory, in time. Last year, someone surprised me with a picture of flowers on Mother’s Day. Here they are!
Friday afternoon on a plaza of a working class neighborhood in Rome. The recorded history of Testaccio goes back to 2BC. On the south side of Rome, early on it was a place to store discarded remnants from imports. In the nineteenth century it was industrial and lacked adequate sanitation, electricity, and water. Living conditions were abhorrent.
During the 20 century fascist regime of Mussolini, it became the home of middle class office workers.
Today it is becoming gentrified. Attracting a few tourists it is still untouched by crowds of people, and retains a pure Italian culture, and lifestyle.
In this neighborhood are the non catholic Cemetery, and the Faculty of Architecture of Roma Tre.
On Tiffany Creek 