Ruminating on Italy

I am home, still and quiet in the morning heat. The awareness that this is not all there is in the world overwhelms me. Just a few days ago, I was hoofing it all over Italy with the Carrollton Wind Ensemble, sweat pouring off me like a faucet. I swore that when I got home I would jump up every day and beat a path around the block, since I'd become accustomed to that in Europe. But alas, I've been in a zombie state since we returned -- I picked up a strange cough over there and my stomach is revolting. I was almost out the door to church on Sunday when the comfy couch and wise husband persuaded me back. 

When two years of planning finally became reality, you would think that the amazing history, buildings and people would be what stands out. There was lots of shuffling of schedules and places, extraordinary feats of physicality needed to make the timeline occur, and the depravity of man to flesh it all out. We fat Americans love our comfort and air conditioning, and by all means don't mess with our acquisition of food. Bathrooms are another problem but I won't go there today. Suffice it to say, even the air in Italy seems to sing. The close proximity of the ocean and the atmosphere brought on by structures that are thousands of years old brings out the artiste in all but the most cynical. We got off the plane in Venice to the sound of water taxis. I saw my life pass before my eyes as both the dock and the boat swayed to the wake of oblivious barges pushing through the canal. No one seemed to worry that we didn't have our sea legs yet. By the third day, we began to figure out the importance of strong thighs and timing. And walking. 

I was immediately struck with not just the beauty of the place, but the beauty of the people. They walked on cobblestones everywhere with ease, lightly dressed and relaxed. In America, even thin people seem to have cellulite. Not the Italians, with their olive, smooth skin and candle-lit complexions. Must be all the fresh food and the walking. No GMO-infused produce here. There was definitely some eye-rolling at our silliness. How could we not be silly, when we had passed into a portal that defied time, culture, proximity? The oldest things we have in the U.S. are the chimneys left over from a couple of centuries ago. 

The wonders that we were seeing on our frantic, much-overbooked tour (if it were up to me, I'd stay for a few weeks in a single town, soak up the aura and shops and cafes and then make occasional day-trips to the various places) were striking awe into all of us. What I didn't expect was what would go on in me internally. In this awe-inspiring place, and with our bevy of musicians trying to scurry to where we were supposed to be...I found myself invisible. I was struggling valiantly to keep up with the necessities, walking with a bum knee that's anticipating surgery next month and scolding myself for not having lost a hundred pounds over the last two years. Or at least twenty. I knew we were planning on doing this thing, but somehow floated in the ether, practicing my flute diligently but vacillating with the Oreos. They are such good dance partners. 

But me, invisible. Being humbled is a good thing, but is never a welcome thing. We might even say, "Humble me, Lord" but we don't really mean it. With my diminished physical capacity, combined with the tour's hurry-on-up-or-you-get-left-behind mantra, I sweated like a stuck pig and tried to look at the marvels while not tripping on the cobblestones. Sounds miserable, yes? Yes, it was. And then it was wonderful. 

We played five concerts over there, arriving to each place with our clothes plastered to our bodies. How would we possibly play with any skill, since we'd already depleted all our strength? But each time, we settled into our seats with music and instruments in hand, breathing in the magnificence of the places we found ourselves in. As Maestro tested the rooms with the music during warm-up, the notes floating above us like gossamer threads, something took over and magic was made. Italians who attended held their hands over their hearts, some of them weeping. We wept too. 

I thought about life, so brief. We believe we are so important, so necessary to the universe. How often do I poke my head beyond my own cossetted, protected little world to think about someone outside my comfort zone? There's a great, big planet rotating out there and it's not dependent on me for the gravity. I might be chewing on this for a long while...