Some of you have been kind enough to tell me that you enjoy my blogs – quite a motivator, really. And all the more reason why I feel so remiss that it’s been so long since I wrote.
On Thursday, April 29, I returned from a fabulous Mediterranean cruise. As I took a few days to do the things one does to get back to normal after a long time away, I kept writing the blog in my head. I had so many things to say, I thought I might have to break it into two. Then I got hit with something very akin to the flu, except without gastro-intestinal involvement. Since “I never get sick,” it came as a shock. All I could do was cough, sneeze, use up boxes of Kleenex, sleep, and occasionally, when energy was really high, stare into space, or maybe even watch TV. Unfortunately it did nothing to reduce my appetite. By the time I was recovered enough to go grocery shopping I was pretty much down to black olives and ice cream bars. I’m happy to say I was able on Sunday, May 9, to see M. Butterfly at a Guthrie matinee. It was fabulous. Not one wink of nap was I tempted to take.
So now, about the cruise. We were fortunate to have a direct flight from Atlanta to the Rome airport, but even at the last minute it looked like we might not be able to do it with Iceland sending its ash over Europe. Even when we arrived at the airport in Minneapolis, we were told we wouldn’t be able to get to Europe. It took insistence and 20 minutes of consultation for the woman at the desk to discover that Rome would probably be opened. Still, even as we flew to Atlanta, we were planning alternatives – maybe John C. Campbell folk school. Meeting Atlanta friends at the airport, we found only Jeff and Max. Val was home preparing the house for our visit, which she was sure would happen. The fact is, we made it to Rome right on schedule.
But lots of people didn’t make it. Holland America kept the ship in port an extra day for passengers held up by the ash situation, and, depending on which rumor you go with, 200 or more people never did make it. And some others had their cruise inadvertently extended as they were invited back on board when they couldn’t fly home. Our schedule was modified to make up for that extra day in port (which we, of course, spent sleeping -- jet lag recovery.) I can’t tell you anything about Corfu. We never did get to do that stop. I can tell you we were lucky in Athens, being there before the strikes that closed down the acropolis. Well, I guess I was lucky. My acrophobia really kicked in there. All the while as I made my way halfway up, I was rehearsing, “What goes up must come down.” I found myself a piece of something to sit on/cling to, while Doug went mountain goating above me. But here I am. A survivor.
I’ll try not to get boring with detail, but I do want to mention the half hour we had in the Acropolis museum. It’s the best visit I’ve ever had to a museum. Our guide took us on a quick tour of the development of statuary art, from the stylized Roman statues to the more detailed and realistic Greek works – mostly marble, because bronze statues had a tendency to get melted down for ammunition. The one we did see had come from a sunken ship. Particularly intriguing was the – probably competitive -- development of grave markers. Engravings to honor the dead or their gods gradually emerged from the marble, finally becoming separate statues.
Marble in the art; marble in the streets - old and a bit uncomfortable to walk on in Ephesus, flat and beautiful in Santorini. Apparently that seismic area produces marble in quantity. That area also had me in awe of the smallness and yet significance of each of us. Civilization after civilization was built on top of the ruins of its predecessor – earthquakes, volcanoes, and the human desire to invade, possess and destroy. With apologies to those who hear this too often from me, all I could think of on seeing the statue of a famous conqueror, “And now he’s a pile of bones.” Makes one think about the meaning of our own existence, and what we’ll leave behind. And time! I wonder whether it affects the sense of individual significance to live on the remnants of so many previous civilizations.
More travel is planned for Italy in November. I’ve ordered Pimsleur “Quick and Simple Italian.” After all, people will see my last name and expect me to understand Italian. I sort of agree that I should have picked up something in my years in New Haven. Unfortunately my in-laws discouraged learning Italian from them. They wanted me to know only “proper” Italian. My parents, on the other hand, didn’t want me to learn Swedish after all the harassment my father had experienced as an immigrant. So here I am, reminded how very difficult it is to learn another language after the age of 4 or so. We’ve become so accustomed to people in other places speaking English as if it weren’t a second language that we tend to take it for granted. Well, I do, anyway. Then I hear someone delivering a major speech, or even a lengthy interview, in basically perfect English, and I am amazed. I do wish I’d been taught foreign languages in grammar school. German wasn’t so bad in High School – so much in common with English, and with the word order I heard in church as a child.
Ho hum, I have gone on. I’ve got some other stuff I want to talk about. Maybe I won’t be so slow to write the next blog. Just one last word. Mrs. Job is now available in Kindle format -- $6.00.
