Arrivederci Roma

According to our cab driver, there are eight thousand taxi cabs in Rome.  Each one may tell a story, as they say in Cash Cab, but the story is in Italian.

Rome, the Eternal City, has a history that spans twenty-five hundred years.  Whether as the capital city of the Roman Kingdom, the Roman Republic, the Roman Empire, the Papal States, the Kingdom of Italy or the Italian Republic, it has been a dominant power in Western Europe and the lands bordering the Mediterranean and is commonly regarded as one of the birthplaces of western civilization.

Imagine New York City or Los Angeles as cities that are thousands of years old, rather than hundreds of years old.  Keep the current traffic and population but add in ruins from previous civilizations.  Keep the current visitor load and add in skillful yet erratic drivers, all in cars half the size of the typical American vehicle.  Keep the public transportation and add in more scooters than you will find motorcycles in Sturgis in August.  Keep the modern skyscrapers and add in both ancient and modern monuments towering far above the ground.

We spent the better part of three days touring Rome, by foot and by subway, by bus and by guided tour.  We could have spent three weeks and would still have barely scratched the surface.  As the English scholar Richard Le Gallienne put it, all roads indeed lead to Rome, but theirs also is a more mystical destination, some bourne of which no traveller knows the name, some city, they all seem to hint, even more eternal.

Travelin' Man

What seemed like so far away is upon me.  Today I get on the flying tube and cross America, the Atlantic Ocean and a good portion of Europe as I head to Italy, the land of my fore-bearers.  Armed with the Italian version of "Speak in a Week" on my iPod, I boldly go where my grandparents came from, the Veneto province in northeastern Italy.

Where is the American consulate?  Dove si trova il consolato Americano?  Hmmm...that might be handy.

It will be the first trip for the generations that were born in the US, and we look forward to finding more of our distant cousins, seeing where our ancestors lived and finding out more about ourselves.  Nothing like a cramped airplane, sleep deprivation and the potential lack of the comforts of home to really show your mettle.

Waiter, my napkin has been soiled. Cameriere, il tovagliolo è stato sporcato.  Somehow I don't think I will need that one, but you never know.

Today is also a celebration of summer, friends and hiding in plain sight.  If you are watching the Summer solstice parade in Santa Barbara, look for something that resembles a wedge of cheese.  If you have an extra bottle of water, find the small slit in the side about eye level and press the bottle through (they'll thank you for it, trust me). Clap when they go by and tell them I love each and every one of them.

The Summer Solstice parade is a celebration to manifest your wildest dreams.  I dream of Santa Barbara, my family and friends who are there, the times of my life spent there and the times yet to be, as well as the adventure before me, the undiscovered country I will visit and the extended family members I have yet to meet.  Today, as with many days, my past meets my future, and I, much like the parade, will go with the flow.

My friends, we've come home.  Amici miei, siamo arrivati ​​a casa.

Everyone I Meet Is From California

Sun.  Family.  Smog.  Family.  Traffic.  Family.  Graduation.  Family.  In-N-Out Burger animal style and a chocolate shake.

Need I say more?  

Cold Wind to Valhalla

In Norse mythology, Valhalla is a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the god Odin, where those that die in combat travel to upon death.  It was the heaven of the Vikings, much like Sto'Vo'Kor is to the Klingons or Aman is to the Elves of Middle-Earth. 

You don't expect a true cold wind in June.  Yet, here in the Pacific Northwest, I continue to be surprised by the rapid changes in the weather, the fluctuation in temperature, the fleeting sun even during summer.  Today is no exception.  The bright warm-ish sun of yesterday has given way to a continuous cold blast, an oppressively gray sky, chilling to the bone.

In Ray Bradbury’s “The Cold Wind and the Warm,” the Royal Hibernian Hotel in Dublin is having a dull winter, until a group of “Martians” checks in.  As the story continues, you realize the “Martians” are not aliens at all, but instead homosexuals, whose very presence shocks the locals.  The locals discover an unexpected affinity and both groups move towards understanding each other.

Bradbury, along with Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein and countless other authors, created stories that expanded my vocabulary, exercised my mind, exposed to to science fiction and, the greatest gift of all, gave me an appreciation of the written word.  For that, I am forever thankful.

And while the weather may not cooperate, the mind can imagine the brilliance of a summer day, the colors of the Martian landscape or a robotic grandmother, and the heart warms.

Till It Shines

Sun.  When it arrived, we all moved outside, working in the yard, digging and edging and cutting and planting.  We redesigned the yard, moving plants from here to there, taking in an abandoned rhododendron we found along the street, sculpting the straight lines into smooth curves, all the time synthesizing Vitamin D from the sunlight we strain to capture.

And now, the rain...light but persistent, watering in the newly planted items, keeping us at bay from tinkering with plants and bark mulch.

Not yet summer, we wait for drier days, for more sun, for time in the vegetable garden.  We wait...till it shines.