Getting Reacquainted With Rome

Journal Entry from 6/13/19 – Rome, Italy

I woke up this morning after 5 1/2 hours of sleep in the last 36 as you would expect – begrudgingly.  It was only 5:15 a.m., but a seagull, sounding both determined and desperate in equal measure, had perched outside on the terrace.  Maybe it was from hunger, or trying to feed her young, or wanting to find her way back to the sea, but her calls were clear and haunting.  Later, she was joined by a cacophony of other birds beginning their morning rounds – some more pleasant than others.  So, I wearily joined them in their greeting of the day, a strange role reversal since Mitch was still asleep.

I have always been puzzled with Mitch’s preoccupation with Rome, having only visited once over 20 years ago, and being a Florence man myself.  Rome seemed too big, too unorganized, too unsure of how to be both ancient and modern with grace.  It seemed clunky and overly proud, gilded with a religious smugness that flew in the face of the pious religion I respected.  It was also more harsh and barren terrain than I expected for an Eternal City.  So I came back expecting to enjoy the food and wine – and especially the gelato – and trying to go in with an open mind in letting Mitch attempt unfolding his favorite city’s mysteries before me, all the while knowing I’m a Florence man and always will be.  But, seeing him be giddy and inspired would ensure that it was all time well spent.

My first surprise happened on the drive in from the airport.  There were copious amounts of oleander, both white and pink, all along the highway into the city.  It was like a carpet laid down the center median ushering us in (and when it was time, out) of this grand place.  Later, when walking through the city, it dawned on me that I was last here in November, not June, and so I saw a very different place.  The Rome of summer is vibrant with color.  Green ivy crawls up the sides of posh hotels and ancient columns.  Bright red and pink flowers can be found throughout the city decorating window boxes of third floors, hanging off of black wrought iron terraces.  Yellow flowers punctuate the walk along the ancient Forum roads.

Rome is alive in a way I didn’t remember from before, or maybe I am alive at 40 in a way I wasn’t at 19, and so I can now appreciate her.  At 19, her winding streets felt untidy, like the inner workings of a messy mind – unplanned, unkempt, not ready for company.  Now, they seem charming and adaptive as I watch the subtle dance between pedestrians and traffic, cobble stones and smooth pavement, old and new.

I now understand that Rome held secrets I wasn’t ready for at 19.  Life can’t be planned like the gridded layout of a flat Oklahoma town.  Having a rich history means sometimes tearing down or building around the old, appreciating the ruins from your life that serve as reminders of better times to inspire hope, or of darker times to keep you from repeating past mistakes.

As we looked over ruins where Julius Caesar was murdered, I wonder what my ruins are, left as they were in the past?  As we looked at modern construction built on and around the ancient, I wondered where I’ve mended and rebuilt the broken places, instead of tearing them all down.

Rome merely winked as she continued whispering her secrets into my ear.  She knew that to truly understand her was to see her through the eyes of age and experience, and that is why she is eternal.

It’s Magic, Harry

When you’re a little kid, the world is full of magic.  A rainbow in the sky.  A Jack-in-the-box.  Bubbles.

Then, something happens along the way, and most of that tends to go away.  Science explains the rainbow.  Jack gets kind of creepy.  You can make bubbles from soap if you want, but you never do any more.  You see behind the curtain in Oz, and the magic begins to fade.

Last week, I went with my five nephews and nieces to Universal Studios.  In my mind, it was going to be about lots of walking, long lines, and swampy Florida heat.  While all of that was there – and I realized I’m now of the age where I buy Neutrogena Age-Defying 70 spf specialty face sunscreen – there was something else waiting for me, as well.  Magic.  Sometimes, it takes hanging out with kids to bring back the magic in the world around us.

As a Harry Potter nerds, my family was most excited about visiting Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.  My oldest nephew wanted a wand so badly, he about had a meltdown over it.  “But we have to get it before we get on the Hogwart’s Express or I won’t be able to fend off the Death Eaters!  What if they run out of wands before we get there?”  Kid, it’s an overpriced plastic stick.  Universal is basically printing money with those things and will never run out.  We’ll be okay.

Then he got the wand.  The special wand (for $5 more) that “works” throughout the two villages.  He stood in front of a fountain and made water run out of it by waving his wand.  He stood in front of a shop window and made a quill write by waving his wand.  And I stood next to his siblings with their mouths agape and couldn’t help but smile while I silently stopped judging my brother so much for buying himself a wand.  I sort of wished I had, too.  But at that point, it was still a waste of money.

We continued on, and I watched my oldest niece, a worldly and wise four, be terrified of animatronic characters who were too real for her.  As I tried to explain that they weren’t real to help assuage her fear, I started to wonder if I should even be doing that.  Maybe I should just let her experience it like a kid, so I decided to join in on her version instead.  I had forgotten what it was like to be able to suspend belief and just lean in to the magic around you.

The first real example for me happened in Jurassic Park.  Two of my nephews wanted to visit the Raptor Encounter, despite not really being sure what that entailed.  We waited in line as the “park scientist” talked to us about Blue, the raptor we’d be meeting shortly.  I could see the battle in their minds as they tried to remain calm and convince themselves that none of it was real.  But when Blue came out and we began to get closer and closer to getting our picture with her, the magic took over.  And it took over for me, too.  That thing was super realistic!  I let myself believe we were in Jurassic Park and reacted how I would’ve reacted with a real dinosaur.  And you know what?  It might have been my favorite thing we did the whole time.

From then on, I was really in.  I excitedly joined in having my picture taken with the Scooby Doo gang and Branch from Trolls.  I yelled alongside the kids when we were dodging King Kong’s swings, on an out-of-control roller coaster in Krustyland from The Simpsons, or shooting at aliens to help the Men in Black.  I gulped down butterbeer and helped pick out a chocolate frog.  I danced to the music playing throughout the park as we walked along in the summer heat.  I ooohed and aaahed at my niece after she got princessed up at the Bibbidy Bobbidy Boutique at Disney Springs where Tinker Bell made her pixie dust nail polish.  Then we twirled.

And I experienced the magic with all of them.

It made me a bit sad to be coming home from it, like the magic was about to die.  Then, I was told about my youngest nephew throwing a coin in a fountain at Disney World this week and wishing for a camping trip in his own back yard.  It reminded me, Dorothy-style, that the magic never dies if you continue to create it for yourself, even at home, and simply choose to believe in it.