Simple Wishes

While I always have my camera with me, there are certain times that I keep it down, fully knowing that I can't do justice to what I am seeing... a full moon through the trees, a laughing child, a candle being lit... My heart remembers more accurately than my camera lens...

As daylight began to dim, we rounded the corner entering the Piazza di Trevi. I dropped my camera, letting the strap anchor it uselessly at my back and I absorbed the scene before me. The smell of water-soaked change mingled with the mustiness of old buildings and the aroma of a thousand dinners being cooked. The sounds of street musicians competed with the conversations of a hundred voices, flowing water and the clicking of high heels on the stone square. The Trevi Fountain, in all of it's beautiful 17th century grandeur, filled my vision as my walking companion slipped a coin into my hand. We stood for a few moments quietly observing the crush of people surrounding the 85 foot fountain before I made my way down the stone steps to the water's edge. As tradition required, I turned my back to the water, raised the coin to my lips, made a wish in my heart and flicked the coin over my shoulder. I don't remember if I used the right hand or if I tossed the coin over the proper shoulder. I don't even know if my borrowed coin landed in the water.. perhaps I flicked it badly and it ricochetted off of one of Neptune's incredibly chiseled stone pecks. Perhaps my borrowed coin tangled with my fingers before landing uselessly at my feet, thus negating my wish. I don't know.. I will never know as my eyes were occupied elsewhere.

*****

The Earth is currently passing through the Perseids and the night sky is fancifully lit by multitudes of shooting stars... or as those less romantically inclined souls like to call them.. Meteors.. Life back in Chicago has been difficult since leaving my Saint Peter behind.  Yesterday was rough, today is no picnic and unfortunately, tomorrow has the capacity to be even worse. There are choices to make and changes to survive but for tonight, there are stars to see. The other side of the world is already presently tucked into the night and as tradition requires, millions of wishes are being heaped on hapless stars burning at the edge of the atmosphere. By the time night falls in Chicago, the stars will be burdened by the heaviness of the wishes of the world. However, I will look for one star, a single star, perhaps lightly carrying Italian wishes. I will place my wish on top like a blanket and I will watch diligently as this star streaks through the night sky into oblivion..

"Jen, what will you be wishing for?" Peters asks.
"Oh, I don't know.. maybe for enough skill to finally stop overcooking my pasta..?"

"It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are still alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them." 

George Eliot

Table Wine

Each day as a pilgrim walks, she follows signs to her saint. To visit with Saint James,  a pilgrim follows little yellow painted scallop shells all across Spain. And to wander in Peter's general direction, she follows little red and white painted flags which are usually, though not always, pointed towards Rome.  Sometimes a pilgrim will be faced with two paths; one will be going steeply uphill and of course will be marked towards Peter, and the other path will lead down a gentle decline to a picturesque village with smiling people and cheerful flowers. In this moment, our pilgrim will shake her fist and rail against the heavens before grudgingly stomping up the difficult path, leaving the seemingly lovely path behind for another to take.

As I stumbled across Spain, Saint James and I had long chats about letting go of the paths I have not chosen to take, but Peter, the sadistic taskmaster he is, is feeling the need to test my resolve...

We have become lazy pilgrims, allowing Lorenzo to pick our church hostels as well as call ahead for us. However,  as we tripped after him uphill,  past chicken coops, about a kilometer above Aquapendente, I am ashamed to admit that we questioned our favorite Italian pilgrim and his ability to lead us effortlessly to our beds. 

Despite our unfounded doubts, a couple hours later found us all freshly showered with our laundry drying in the breeze. While seated on top of the world around a large table with a canopy of green bean vines, we watched a pumpkin sun sink below the western horizon as a full moon gracefully rose in the east. Our usual cast of six was joined by our host, the large jovial smiling Enzo, his sweet wife Alessandra who talked so lovely that I nearly understood her, and Marco and Angelo, two pilgrims cycling from Rome to Siena.  

An extremely large bottle of Lambrusco acted as a delicious centerpiece, surrounded by flickering candles, salad from the garden ten meters away, and arancini, an irresistible concoction of risotto, cheese and vegetables, breaded and deep fried (Italian food which is already freakishly tasty, becomes manna direct from God's hands, when deep fried..) And as I had agreed to pay  for recipes with songs, my ukulele rested near my dinner plate.  Sated on good food and wine, we passed the quiet Tuscan evening trading songs, jokes, proverbs, advice and restoring amounts of laughter.  

Throughout the night, Gilles shared hilarious stories of his and Nicoline's adventures ringing doorbells across Italy to find places to sleep. As Gilles talked,  Marco, with his slight resemblance to Robert Downey Jr. and his Hemingway-esque artistic aura, sat back in his chair with his legs carelessly crossed while Angelo leaned forward to listen, his elbows on the table and a smile on his face. While warm chatter filled the air, I found myself frequently meeting Angelo's lovely eyes across the table and as we all wandered off to find our beds, I felt nervous at discovering mine next to his. I slept terribly, keenly aware of his every rustle and move. 

The next morning I woke long before everyone else, in order to have a chat with Saint Peter. From the second story bathroom, I watched a beautiful sun peek daintily over the mountain and I questioned. 

"Peter, I don't understand. What is the lesson in this?"

    Seriously Peter? Where is that arrow pointing?!

"Jen, what did you think of the wine last night?"

"I thought it was delicious, but I think you are going 
a bit off topic?"

"Jen, here they drink that wine every night and while they enjoy it, it has become merely table wine. But to you, it tasted fresh and new and intoxicating. Your problem is that you already have a fine vintage waiting at home, but as you have tasted it many times, to you, it has become simple table wine. Perhaps you need to go home and have another taste to remind yourself of the delicious fullness of that very first sip. "

"Peter, I think I need more time to walk.  Rome seems too near."

"Just remember what James taught you. Will you follow the signs up the difficult hill or will you forever stand at the crossroad wondering about that pretty path?"

I returned to my bed, hiding under the covers until the sounds of everyone else shuffling and packing their backpacks became too difficult to ignore. Before breakfast, I let Angelo know that I thought he was attractive.  I told him, not because I had any motive or intent to run off with an attractive italian man, But rather because I hoped it made him feel good to know.  He said with a sweet smile, "it's the same for me."  As we all gathered to say goodbye before heading our separate ways, Angelo and I hugged, momentarily savoring the intoxicating feeling of being desired. And with a soft kiss on the cheek, we were off, he and Marco to Siena, and the six of us chasing Peter to Rome. 

*****

"Dammit Peter!!! My eyelids are sweating!!! I didn't even know they could do that!"

"Hah!" Saint Peter laughed, slapping me on the back...hard. "If you think this is tough, you should try being crucified upside down!" 

I rolled my sweaty eyes and trudged uphill.