Author: TiffanyCreek

Along the Aurelian Wall

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While the streets of Rome were packed with tourists, buzzing here and there, taking selfies at the Spanish Steps, or the Fontana di Trevi, my thoughts were set in motion by the many people over the centuries that have made a pilgrimage to this unbelievable landscape.  A visit to see The Keats Shelley house is a case in point, of all the many reasons people come to Rome.  Keats came because he knew he was going to die of TB and he didn’t want that to happen in his cold damp land, of England, so he said goodbye to his sister named Fanny and another love of his life also named Fanny, a woman he was never able to marry, because he could never provide for her.

At the end of the day, back in my safe place, I decided to set out on an early evening walk.  With my camera I walked along the Aurelian wall and took this picture of these flowers bathed in sunlight.  They seemed a perfect ending to celebrate the life of a great poet, named John Keats.

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“Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art” John Keats

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“Miles From Nowhere”
“Peace”

Home of Keats and Shelley, with views of the Non-Catholic Cemetery in Rome.

Epitaph
A comforting epitaph, found at the Non-Catholic Cemetery in Rome.
Posing
Silhouette of a Cat
John Keats Plaque
Non Catholic Cemetery
Graveside
Keats alongside his friend Joseph Severin, who nursed Keats to his death.
Shelley's Memorial
Covered with flowers
Keats Shelley House
On the Piazza di Spagna, beside the Spanish Steps.
Keats Bedroom
Small Narrow Room overlooking the Piazza
Library
Filled with books that have been inspired by Keats life and writing.

Library View

Poets, as far as far as Argentina revered and were inspired by the writing of Keats. For example, a manuscript by Jorge Luis Borges, from Argentina. Borges, blind had all his work transcribed by his mother. He was known for his appreciation of classical literature and housed a huge library in his apartment in Buenos Aires.

Words by Keats

Words written on Keats Grave

Oggi

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Time is flying.  It is already ‘Oggi’.  Today!  Tomorrow will be “Domani’.  Oggi é giovedì, domani, venerdì.

Oggi sono andata in Testaccio.  Today I walked in Testaccio, visiting places I’ve never been, and others I know, from before. I have walked through a few neighborhoods in Rome, and Testaccio, in my mind is, most authentically Italian.  A working class place in its origin, it is the home of a huge slaughterhouse, being gentrified, to some extent.  For example, there is a museum there, that wouldn’t be open for awhile.  The buildings of ‘Il Mattatoio’ are huge and cover a large area of land on the fringe of the neighborhood.

The first place I stopped today was the Porta San Paolo.  This structure sits on the edge of a roundabout called Ostiense.  It looks like a little castle and served as the gateway through the 3rd century Aurelian wall.  I am guessing that Aurelian comes from Aurelius, as in Marcus, or better known as Emperor Caracalla, the terrible, who built the baths of Caracalla.  It is the home to the small free Museo di via Ostiense.  A cool little place where you can walk up to the upper story open air bridge and peer out at the busy street below through the crenelations.  There is a huge map inside indicating the roads of  Rome.  Since I was so engrossed in the building itself I did not study the map, but will do so on another occasion.  When I first got to the museum I was at one of the gates and met a couple from the Czech Republic.  We were all confused about how to get in from the inside but we figured it out together.  Three heads are better than one.

After the Porta, I continued down Via Marmorata and took a left onto Via Caio Cestio, (named for a magistrate) so I could stop at my favorite place, the Cimitero Acattolico, sometimes called the Cimitero protestante (a misnomer*, according to Marlena, my Italian teacher)  I had told the Czech Rep. couple about this place and said they must go.  They followed my advice and got there before me.  At the cemetery we had a nice conversation and got to know each other a little.  Susana had orangish red hair and steely blue eyes.  She was missing her toddler she left home with Grandma and Grandpa for a couple days.  John (in English) was a policemen back in a small city in Moravia, where they live. They let me take their picture.  I took three.  They even kissed each other, in one of them. I gave them my email so they could write to me to send a picture back.  I hope they do.

After taking my usual stroll around the Non Catholic Cemetery, behind the great Pyramid for Caio Cestio, I departed and took a left down Via Caio Cestio, for a change.  I usually take a right.  I went to the end and found a familiar place I had seen while taking a city bus that I told myself at the time, I wanted to visit.  It’s neat to come across a familiar landmark, on an unfamiliar walk.  For awhile you’re lost and then you realize where you are.  The place I happened upon is sacred.  It is called the Rome War Cemetery, or the Cimitero Britanico.  Here are buried the British solders that lost their lives between 1939 and 1945, in WWII.  It is more than emotive.  There is a plaque at the cemetery that tells the story of the role of the British in Italy.  Inside a good sized rotunda, at the entry, there is a saying about how the English fought for the Freedom of Italy to preserve the Ancient Friendship they have always shared.   I was so impressed by this small place.  Did I take pictures?  Of course!

After the military cemetery, I meandered down a busy street, which I can’t find on the map at this moment.  A couple blocks, I happened upon another place of historic importance called Monte Testaccio.  It gets 2 stars in my Frommer’s “Rome Day by Day” book.  It was closed, but seems to be a place to go back to.  It is the sight of ancient Rome’s ‘remarkable creations the “Monte dei Cocci”, (hill of shards).  According to Frommer’s, the hill, 100 feet high is made entirely of broken amphorei, or in other words, tall slender vessels used to transport oil and wine.  They were discarded there over the centuries of importations.  A kind of landfill, if you will.  Apparently you have to call a number to get inside the gates.

In general, Italy is a country of contrasts.   They love their cuts of meats, their sausages, prosciutto, salami.  Not common in the United States,  a huge truck stopped at the local butcher and meat stand and men were unloading carcasses of parts of animals, bigger than themselves. (Sorry vegetarians).  Lined on these same streets are boutique stores specializing in whole foods where all the labels look the same and it’s hard to figure out exactly what’s for sale.  The prices are usually triple what is found at my favorite little  corner verdura and fruit stand.

Eventually I ended back up at the Piazza Testaccio and closer to Via Marmorata.  Did some shopping before I headed back to the apartment around 2 o’clock.  As they say, the rest is history.  Not sure if that saying fits here.  You get the idea.

* Marlena is roman and very knowledgable of her culture and language, so I trust there is reason for her correction, though we did not get into any details.  The word protestant is attached to this place on Google and in my Frommer Guide Book of Rome in a Day.

 

 

 

Halcyon

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A fabled bird, identified with the kingfisher. It was supposed to have had the power to calm the wind and the waves during the winter solstice while it rested on the sea. Halcyon has come to mean, days of fine weather seven days before and seven days after the winter solstice. Attributed by legend to the magical powers of halcyon. A period of peace and tranquility. A prosperous and golden halcyon years.

Middle English: alceon

Latin: (h) alcyon

Greek (h) alkuont

Philadelphia, Frozen in Time

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Time has a way of playing tricks on the mind.  It was only three weeks ago that I passed through the City of Brotherly Love on a frigid day in January.  It seems like ages.

Inspired by the solid steel and concrete, of the urban landscape, I took the photo quickly, from moving traffic.  I was on my way to visit the new  Museum of the American Revolution.

The image sits in contrast, with the idea of fleeting time.  It is symbolic of the ongoing Revolution, in the U.S.A.

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What goes around, comes around…

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This year for Christmas, my daughter gave me a book called “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert. It’s about creativity.

With this book in mind, a revelation was bestowed upon me today, when I looked back to a journal I received  from my friend Isabel, about 3 years ago.  Lo and behold, on the first page, of the journal, I had jotted down the title, “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert. I have no recollection of doing so. Yet, because of my daughter’s insight to gift me this book, the generosity of ‘mi amiga’, Isabel, and my compulsion to write things down, the past and present merged in meaningful connections between things, and important people in my life.  It reminded me that what goes around comes around, and whatever else matters keeps blowing in the wind.

This experience eroded my healthy skeptical tendencies.  For a second, I almost have to believe Elizabeth when she says, ‘creativity is magic, and ideas float around in the air waiting to be snatched up by innovative people’.  I’m almost done reading “Big Magic” now, and might add, have been pleasantly enlightened in the process.  I do recommend Elizabeth’s book.  She encourages you to pursue ALL creative endeavors.  With that said, as an artist it is a challenge to convey the feeling of surprise, and that aha! moment, we are fortunate to have.  It may be irrelevant whether or not others feel the sense of awe I wanted to convey .  What is relevant however, is I tried.

In the dark forest…

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…the moon is the guiding light.  The air is crisp, birds are none to be found. Autumn hangs on, like the last leaves to fall. Muted green of olive bushes, alone reflect golden beams.  The clock has spent its time. Alas! the days are longer, the light is stronger, and winter won’t be far.  Sleep deeply under the evening stars.26930768309_bb2b393c95_o

Gathering Together

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On the Ground

People gather together – Friends, family and maybe strangers, too, like autumn leaves, on the ground. Behind each visage, within each beating heart, lie dreams, fears in life and death – and loss. Loved ones are reminisced, and tears fall, while the void of loneliness is filled. Time stands still, like it does, for fallen leaves, and each person, surrounded by love, forgets, for a moment, who they are, or want to be.

Open for Trick or Treaters

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For me, Halloween is a special celebration. My son was born on the 24th of October, 1989. I remember his first. An infant, he was sitting on my lap, in the living room of Pudding Lane, waiting for trick or treaters to come. My husband had taken our 3 year old daughter out around the neighborhood, with friends. She didn’t want to miss out on the fun. Every year after, our children donned homemade costumes, (until they could make their own) and walked around the neighborhood, knocking on doors. “Trick or Treat!”

Even more fun was had when we moved to a different neighborhood. With 28 kids living on the street, there was never a loss for little taps on our door, followed by the thunderous roar of monsters, princesses, and goblins, in packs, screaming in unison, “Trick or Treat”! The same, year after year! Little kids, with silly parents standing by their side, big kids, high school kids, all showed up. I couldn’t wait to see their costumes.

Yesterday was another Halloween. I went out to buy groceries. A clerk with a beautiful green face checked me out. Then I thought, “Forgot to get candy”, so I parked my cart of purchases at the front of the store, and ran and grabbed a couple of bags. Arriving home, I turned on the outside lights, and made dinner. When we finished eating, it dawned on me that no-one had come. It wasn’t a surprise, as it’s been a couple of years now. Our street is dark, and the street off of it is also dark, winding and hilly. No more kids live on this dead end street, more glamorously called a “cul-de-sac.”  Dead-End is more fitting for Halloween.

Looking at the candy on the counter, reality set in.  Un-opened, I hadn’t put them in a basket by the door, like before. Thoughtlessly, I ripped into a bag, and ate a Mr. Good Bar. My favorite! Relishing the sweet chocolate flavor in my mouth, I said, “Too many left for my own good.”

Chalking up another Halloween; Could this year’s be a latent phase of the ‘Empty Nest Syndrome?’ – A hard knock on the door of Time.  A reminder of how to stay forever young! Next year calls for a costume, with a green face, and a sign up at the end of the street. “Open for trick or treaters!”