Guarda Mamma!

Two posts in two days wow!

Don't get used to it.



Tonight the groceries came. My family here in Italy usually buys their food that they will cook for dinner that night the same day, but for other smaller things, they buy everything in bulk and the groceries are delivered.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really, except that they delivered at 9 pm. And also, I could have sworn we jumped ahead 3 months to Christmas.

"GUARDA MAMMA, TANTI YOGURT! MAMMA, BABBO, JOHNJOHN, GUARDA, SUGO DELLE MELE!"

I had never seen anyone so excited about groceries. Giaccomo is my little "brother", so to speak, the 3 1/2 year old commandant of the house. Today was also his first full day of school. (9:00 to 4:00!), and he had just finished his nightly dinner-time tantrum, was brushing his teeth at the umpteenth appeal from Babbo(daddy), when the bell rang and I hear "LE COSE!"

No one could touch anything in the bags. Giaccomo had to inspect first, show everyone what he took out of the bag, and then put it in its place if he could reach (he knows everything's place better than Babbo.) The eggs came in bubble wrap, and Giaccomo, unaware of the wrapped container's contents, let gravity unravel the eggs and all 36 fell to the floor, sparing maybe 2. Mamma was not amused. Christmas in October ended there, Giaccomo threw a spectacular tantrum, and fell asleep when his head hit the pillow.

I am going to try as hard as I can to get as excited as that about anything today.

To Hear Bells

It is easy to think oneself an island, without knowing so.

What shall I do next? Where do I go after this? How can I have time for that?

At home, this is a habit of thinking into which I fall far too easily, as I'm certain we can all attest to.

At home there are few things to distract me from my express line to Nextville. I get onboard and ride until I grow tired.

Its hard for me to recognize others while onboard this train, and indeed, it must be hard for others to recognize me. It would simply take too much time to worry about such things.

But here in Italy, there is still that one remaining reminder, that one rumore that has called attention for thousands of years.

I walk down Via dei Servi on my way home for dinner each night around 6:30, usually briskly, dodging wide-eyed tourists and vespas on my way, watching my feet repeat themselves.

Then I hear the bells.

All at once a symphony of awakening sound erupts. Bells from three or four churches can be heard where I usually hear them. Calling out to other campanile across town, above the rooftops, calling us all. They cannot be ignored.

Whether we choose to dismiss the bells is one thing, but they simply cannot be ignored. What they are calling for is something to be decided on ones own, but they call. In the past, it was for holy men to come to prayer, reminding them to return to community with their brothers. Now, in an almost Godless society, they seem to echo and fade into the past where they would be more appreciated.

For me, it is an awakening. I do not have to ask for whom the bell tolls, I already know. It is a bridge to everyone else. It is my bridge off my island to the mainland. The mainland we are all reminded of at 6:30 each night. We are not islands, as Mr. Donne tells us, but all on this mainland. The next time the express train comes by, I will let it pass and remain on the mainland, though many will laugh, glance downward, and continue toward their islands. Someday a bell will ring for them, and they will hear it like I do now.