My parents are in Rome. They left for Atlanta Friday night in order to get out of Augusta before the ice storm. I am now tortured with jealousy. I wasn’t jealous, I was perfectly content with being left out of this trip – after all, I am going to Steamboat on Wednesday.
But then this morning I started looking at a large map of Rome that my dad blew up. And I turned on the television and began watching My House in Umbria – the Maggie Smith movie. I have seen it before, so I didn’t mind that I only caught the last part of it. Although it is a rather upsetting movie, I adore the depiction of life in the Italian countryside.
When I was looking at the map, a flood of memories rushed back to me. The streets all means something different, I have a distinct mental picture for each. The fountains on the corner, the orange buses, the enormous ads on the buildings, the ruins that seem to grow in ever crack and cranny of the modern city, the vespas flying by carrying well dressed Italians to their high profile jobs, the hills, the gardens, the stores, the stores, the stores! Not to mention the food.
While watching the movie I flashback to a weekend trip that Catherine Anne, Suz, Beth and I took to Assis. The mid-June heat of Rome was becoming oppressive, and we had been in the city long enough to miss the county. As we emerged onto the platform at the foot of the hill the refreshing breath of summer overpowered the exhaust of the train moving on to the next town. Our lodging were situated directly below the town on the winding path that cut up the hillside and consisted of a rambling country house of terraces and shuttered windows amid flowers, cats, and dogs.
Initially disappointed with the inn’s distance from the town and the realization that walking would be our only option for travel, it wasn’t long before we came to the conclusion that nowhere in the town could have been as pleasant. Saturday afternoon we sat in the windows of our room and looked out onto the valley as the most tremendous summer thunderstorm rolled in and frightened and delighted us as it lit up the sky and tore into the sunbaked ground as we told secrets and stories.
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the thin line between optimism and delusion... 