Ok, One More

As Allison mentioned, we took the bus up to Fiesole, and here is a shot we got of Florence. Through the haze, you can just make out the Duomo, campanile, and the Palazzo Vecchio.

And Speaking of the Baptistery

Here is the panel of the 'Sacrifice of Isaac' from one set of Ghiberti's doors to Florence's Baptistery, the doors which Michelangelo called the 'Gates of Paradise' (these are copies; the real doors are now in a museum).

Under the Tuscan Sun

We took a side trip from Florence last weekend to Fiesole. We picked up bus number 7 in Piazza San Marco and journeyed 5 miles outside of the city. It is hard to believe that you could find such a place, so different from Florence, just 30 minutes away. This airy town has the beautiful views that I have always imagined of Tuscany.

Our Belated Thanksgiving

Eric and I attempted our first large gathering this past weekend. It was no substitute for a stateside Thanksgiving celebration, as there was no turkey, pumpkin pie, or cranberry sauce. We were joined by some our friends from the Academy plus our friend David (front right) from church. Both Norm and Eric are absent from the picture, Norm, because he needed to get home, and Eric because he is taking the photo. I mention Norm in particular because he is the one who brought two chickens for the meal. Yes, two chickens. So here you have a whole bunch of great people, all looking for a good time, and something to substitute for their family traditions. I don’t think that my mashed potatoes did it, but we were thankful for such a great time in any case.



The photo of Eric and Ryan highlights the only significant mishap of the occasion; our bathroom sink stopped draining. So here we have Mr. and Mr. Bob Vila pouring over the instructions of Mr. Muscolo two hours before guests arrive.

The Storm Departs

Allison's planning to post something on the Thanksgiving weekend soon, during which a good time was had by all. Parts of the weekend were rather overcast and rainy, but on Sunday afternoon the clouds began to clear away. Here is what the sky looked like from our bedroom window:

One More on Dante

We also had the opportunity to visit the Baptistery last weekend, where Dante (and, obviously, lots and lots of other folks) was baptised. Here is the font:


And the oculus in the mosaic ceiling:

For All Those Dante Lovers Out There

And I know there are at least a few of you. Allison and I went to Florence last weekend, as I mentioned a few days ago, and I'm just getting around to getting some of the pictures up. It was a great time; they were starting to put up Christmas decorations in the city, though for the most part the lights hadn't been turned on yet.

But back to Dante. We've been reading his Inferno lately, and we had the opportunity to see some of the old haunts of the Florentine poet.

Here is what is thought to have been his house while he resided in Florence, now a museum (which we had hoped to see on Monday, but it was closed):


His bust on the outside of the building:


An adjacent street now named after him:


And the tomb of Beatrice, in the tiny neighborhood church where Dante is said first to have seen her:

Back to the Archives

Sorry this hasn't been updated too much lately. I haven't uploaded the Florence pictures from last weekend yet, but when I do, there should be some more posts. Thus, it's back to the archives today. This is a shot I grabbed of St. Peter's from behind Villa Doria Pamphilj (the one pictured in Allison's post about the park). I had just visited a columbarium, a Roman structure with vaults to hold cinerary urns, on the grounds of the villa. The morning had been extremely foggy, but when the group came out, the sky had cleared and allowed us to see the church off in the distance.

Happiness in the Shape of Gelato in the Shape of My Head

We haven't put up any photos of us eating recently, so, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, here's one. Please ignore whatever is in my teeth.

Angel of Grief

I also wanted to share this photo from the 'Protestant' cemetery mentioned previously in these pages. The sculpture of the grieving angel was carved by American sculptor William W. Story to cover the grave of his wife, Emelyn Story. This was his final work.

Viale di Villa Pamphili

Here is Viale di Villa Pamphili 40, our new little home sweet home. We are the top floor window on the left. Three flights above the motorino fix-it man. The next picture is what greets us when we open the door. Foyer/ dining room/ hallway/ third bedroom. The door straight ahead is to our bedroom, while the doorway on the left is the kitchen. See picture #3. This above all things is the reason (for me) that we picked this apartment. Although the oven is tiny, see picture #4, at least we have one Many don’t, which was a big surprise for me. I thought that the reason Italy was so slow moving was because everyone was in their kitchen fixing (or eating) monstrous 5 course meals for (or with) their family of 26. As it turns out, Rome is different, as I imagine most urban places are from their surrounding country. No ovens, and a birthrate of 1.46 children.

The balcony you see on the front is connected to the third large living space–the living room/ guest bedroom And for kicks, please notice me playing in the fount of the bidet in our bathroom. Before you get too grossed out and never let me cook for you again, please know that we haven’t used it.

When You've Got a Headache THIS BIG...

Ok, so this isn't an Advil commercial, but Allison and I were both a little disturbed by the placement of this piece of furniture in Santa Maria del Popolo.



But perhaps we shouldn't have been, if his situation is the same as that described by the Latin phrase underneath this skeleton sculpture, which reads neque illic mortuus: 'not dead yonder (i.e. in heaven)'. If he's 'yonder', then I suppose our worry as to his comfort is neither here (since he's not) nor there (since that's where he is and therefore not underneath furniture, taking away the cause for alarm). Anyway.



If that's not enough skeletons for you, here's a floor-piece by Bernini in the Chigi Chapel of the same church:

Here's What Rome Thinks of Your Little 'Reformation'!!!

Ok, maybe not, but I still thought this was funny. This is a shot of a doorway to a building adjoining Santa Maria del Popolo. The building was formerly an Augustinian convent and is where Martin Luther stayed during his mission to Rome in 1511, and it is now apparently being used (and whether this is a subliminal message to the reformer, I know not!) as some sort of soccer museum, with a gian FIFA poster over the doorway, containing a picture of, I believe, Pele.

Ostia

Dan: Your Latin teacher friend is right on the money. Ostia IS like a playground if you like old bizness. To whet your appetite (and anyone else's who might be visiting), here are some pictures of it. Sweeter still, you can get there and back from Rome for about 2 Euro, round-trip. And if the ladies don't want to go, perhaps we just go while they shop for 6 Euro shoes?

Via Ostiense

Porta Romana

Fragments of the inscription once adorning Porta Romana. Notice 'P. Clodius...', and I believe the 'M' may be from Marcus Tullius Cicero

Neptune mosaic from baths

Theater

The 'Protestant' Cemetery

Today Allison and I went on a tour of Rome's 'Protestant' Cemetery. Our guide pointed out that this is actually a misnomer: the cemetery is for foreign non-(Roman) Catholics of all stripes--Protestant, Jew, atheist, Eastern Orthodox. Americans make up the single largest people-group in the cemetery. In addition to painters, sculptors, musicians, and academics of one sort or another, there are also several writers buried here. The first two shots are of the grave of John Keats. His epitaph, 'Here lies one whose name was writ in water', was all that he wanted on his stone (though that wish was undone by those who had the stone made), and is a poignant reminder of the pathos caused by young death (Keats lived from 1795-1821). According to the story, when Oscar Wilde visited this grave he prostrated himself before it for several minutes.



These next two are of Shelley's grave. Shelley died by drowning, and according to this story, when his body washed up on shore a little while later to be burnt immediately, his friend snatched Shelley's heart out of the fire, and it is buried here along with his ashes. Our guide checked on the likelihood of this with a forensic scientist, and he said one wouldn't be able to distinguish the heart after the amount of time Shelley's body had spent in the water. But it is fairly certain that Shelley's friend grabbed something out of the fire, and that is what is buried here. Shelley's son is also supposedly buried in this cemetery--but the grave has since been exhumed, and whatever is in there are not the bones of a child Shelley's son's age. So they put it back in the ground and left the stone over it--but even to this day the grave of the father and that of the 'son' are in two separate places of the cemetery.



Finally, here is a shot of the gravestone of Beat poet Gregory Corso, who just died in 2001. According to our guide, there was another grave in this same spot up to that time, which was moved to make room for Corso. Corso's grave is right in front of Shelley's, and one possible reason for this is that Corso wrote a poem in tribute to Shelley called 'I Held a Shelley Manuscript', which I reproduce below his stone.

My hands did numb to beauty
as they reached into Death and tightened!

O sovereign was my touch
upon the tan-inks's fragile page!

Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!

I would have taken the page
breathing in the crime!
For no evidence have I wrung from dreams--
yet what triumph is there in private credence?

Often, in some steep ancestral book,
when I find myself entangled with leopard-apples
and torched-skin mushrooms,
my cypressean skein outreaches the recorded age
and I, as though tipping a pitcher of milk,
pour secrecy upon the dying page.

UPDATE: I've posted a few more pictures from the cemetery here.

This bud's for you

Here is the current progress on my Victorian bouquet. So the pink is a little hotter than I was expecting. But then again, who can't use a little hotness?

Please note, as a favor to Kelley, she would like to be disassociated with my previous accusation that she helped my mom and me pick this out. She was not raised in Little House on the Prairie as I was--and would not encourage needlepoint.

(Not) Raining

Today has been overcast and rainy. But last Sunday wasn't! I had read that the Vatican Museum was free on the last Sunday of the month until 1:45 p.m. or so, so after church I nipped down there, huffing and puffing, and navigated my way through gargantuan seas of people, only to find the museum closed. According to the sign, they only admit people till 12:20 or something on Sunday. So then I walked at a much more leisurely pace over to St. Peter's Square. On the various strolling and power-walking legs of the journey I got these two digital delights:

The Price of Stupidity

Ok, so Allison mentioned that we got a ticket on the train last weekend for not having the proper ticketing materials. That is true. Here is the ticket, followed by each of our mug-shots.* In case you're wondering why Allison has that look on her face, it is because her conscience is eating at her. Fine. I wish she would have shown some of that distress to the conductor, though. I am still convinced that if she had only burst into tears on the train, we would have been off the hook. But it was all our own fault, anyway. Furthermore, I believe that our experience was one of justice mingled with mercy, as they say. I don't know whether you can tell, but the fine (soprattassa/penalita) is 25 Euros on the ticket, and I'm fairly certain that that is the charge for only one offender--so I think he only penalized us half of what he could have.





On another and quite unrelated note, if anyone wants to send us care packages (hint, hint!), I would love it if I could get a hold of a P.G. Wodehouse novel besides Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves--the closest thing I've found here so far is one of his books in Italian translation, and, well, I can't read Italian; and plus, the humor is just so English, anyway. Vanessa, I'm counting on you for this. Or anyone else who enjoys a shameless plea. But if anyone does want to do it, I'll buy you a glass of wine if you come visit. Or I'll try to get you an audience with the Pope, but I'm not making any promises. And Allison would like a puppy, if you can fit that in the box too. A pug.

Ok, that's all for now. The Italian train-ticket judge gave us community service requirements to fulfill.

*For any worried family members, no, those aren't real mug-shots. We're just really good actors!