Tommia's Tablet

(Reflections on the photo from column one, second down in the Roman Holiday collection).

It is amazing how many churches can be found in a city the size of Rome. Many of them tower above the squares, the domes acting as a protective cover to those seeking refuge. Others with their many columns and covered walkways do not seem to slow down a bit in the changing times.

Of this church found – one of many toured and passed – the bells called out and folks all around gathered, be they practioners of the faith, curious souls or those who take to the peel the way a moth does to a flame. Amazing to see the saints atop the rows, looking out into the distance, daring the wandering eye to do the same. Are they looking towards Heaven or towards the enclosing chaotic future crowding out the habits of old?

Not many churches can be found like that here in the states. If they are here, they are hidden behind hightowers and skyscrapers bearing company and corporate names, not those of saints. If the bells do toll, it struggles to break through the day-to-day sounds of the hustle and bustle of the ruts of routine, through good times and bad.

As magnificant as the interior is of the churches there, one must remember to stop and see the intricate details on the outside as well.

before one sleeps…..

For some reason, the line from the Robert Frost poem briefly came to mind although it does not even come close to the scene of the photo of the street (Roman Holiday, column 3, photo 2).

Some of the streets were closed off to motor traffic and that was perfectly fine. Then again, how is it that we have become so dependent on motor vehicles – more to the point, the personal automobile? My aunt did not believe in driving while in Rome. The bus and subway were the safest way to travel. One took their chances when getting into a taxi.

One evening, while making our way to a theatre that happened to be showing “Born on the Fourth of July,” we took a taxi and made an interesting discovery in the fearlessness of some drivers creating their own lanes on the road – even if that included the sidewalk. Now one can understand why pedestrians were always alert and quick on their feet.

Getting back to the streets seen empty of cars – it was a nice scene to take in, and realizing that most all who had traveled along there had done so on foot, maybe by horse and a few with a cart. To see the pathways of the past still present, persevering from the contributions of the current creations in terms of pollution, etcetra, one can only wonder how long those roads will last.

(Musings on the third photo of the second column of the Roman Holiday collection)

We walked everywhere, my aunt and I. On rare occasions, we would take a bus, or in a bold, desperate move, a taxi. In seeing the grand structures of the past still standing, one can’t help but wonder what the designers and builders thought as they set each stone in place, as each word was etched in at the top.

What do passersby such as myself take from that moment? Reflections of the past, the events surrounding the need for this structure, this message that has had the sun rise and fall above it day in and day out?

Do the same dreams then, now, help in shaping a better future or is it just a matter of Time taking down the lofty goals stone by stone until only dust remains? Will we ever learn what truly needs to be learned or are we destined to repeat the mistakes of the past, mistakes that will probably be repeated in the future?

How much time do we really have left to reflect?

(Reflections on the second photo of the second column in the Roman Holiday collection)

How is that humanity can be drawn to pieces of clay and chunks of stone, for many centuries, decades have not taken part of their original place forever in a day, silent is their tone? If one could indeed collect all the relics and piece them together like a jigsawy puzzle, would the assembly of artifacts be worth it? Or is it in seeing that final piece of an artist’s design or an architect’s dream that provides much to the imagination that cannot be seen?

So begins the “Roman Holiday” project. Twenty years ago, I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation from my aunt: complete your finals and then fly on over for the week. Literally trading book bag for travel bag, I did just that, with an eventful layover stop in NYC along the way.

Dismissing the time difference, the anxiety of one’s first travels overseas, let alone out of the country, I had the bare minimum of sleep possible. My aunt allowed me time to nap before telling me of a boys’ choir we would see at one of the nearby churches. It was still daylight and I recall a stroll we took through the cloisters.

The idea of finding some place as beautiful as Rome was breathtaking. Seeing the gardens in such meticulous detail was outstanding. Looking at the pillars up close, one could only imagine the story that went with them. The sun was setting, allowing for a new perspective to the artifacts on the wall opposite the garden square.

The choir sounded angelic, even if I knew not what they sang specifically, Italian only having so many similiarities to Spanish. The stained glass within the building illuminated stories well known to those raised on them from childhood on. The holiday was off to a glorious start!