Speak to Me Sunday:

A few weeks ago, I came across the photos from Simon Roberts’ exhibition, Beneath the Pilgrim Moon (2021), featuring sculptures that were wrapped in plastic during the refurbishment of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum. The fact that the photographs were taken during the second Covid-19 lockdown (while the museum was closed to the public) makes the images reflective of a world that stood still during a pandemic.

A world trapped by fear and ignorance, hemmed in by borders, trapped by the unknown.

The images are haunting, beautiful, sad.

Life as we know it can change in an instant, casting us onto unchartered waters in a rowboat that heaves to and fro with the current. There is so much that can bring us to our knees — grief, addiction, unemployment, death, self-doubt, illness, divorce, disability—all of which, like the plastic covering those statues, can leave us feeling trapped.

And yet … the images are also hopeful.

I look at those trapped images encased in transparent plastic and realize all those things that can paralyze us do NOT prevent God’s light and grace from shining through to us. And when we dig deep to our faith, we can see through the circumstance, whatever it may be, to see beyond to that light and grace. To receive it.

And to find the hope.

in the morning i faced the day

in the morning i faced the day

buoyed with a quest

to find poetry

in the ordinary

and extraordinary

to embrace wonderment

face-to-face

mesmerized in the now

chocolate swirls in a puddle

and rain plip-plopping on a roof

rainbow wings on a fly

caterpillar eyebrows

graffiti street art

and plants in terracotta pots

the cuddle of a crying baby

or the cry of rusty door hinges

slides that go down, down, down

and balloons that float away

a snoring dog and a purring kitten

croissant flakes and coffee dregs

wordless poetry

highlighting and celebrating

observing and shadowing

thought seeds planted

for later reflection

life poetry, lived

savored

at night i fell asleep

on pillow clouds of

poetry swirling in my dreams

and in the morning …

a poem in my notebook

-from the files of very bad poetry by bia

I love ...

 I love Swiss uniforms 

and sweet signs 

and striped pots 

and words on stairs.

Left Foot, Right Foot

Last Thursday I drove to Athens to pick up Timothy (and his friend, Nathan) to bring them home for Fall Break. It was late afternoon when I arrived, and before hitting the road we decided to have dinner at O House. So there I was, clearly NOT a student, sitting in a college dining hall surrounded by Timothy’s friends who went out of their way to keep me entertained. The stories, the joking, the teasing … I laughed so much and was, quite honestly, flattered by their attention. Mrs. Novajosky listen to this, Mrs. Novajosky did Timothy tell you about what happened, Mrs. Novajosky tell me about your trip to Italy. At the end, I got hugs from EVERYONE. What a great group!

With Jonathan and his fiancée, Caroline, also in town, we had a full house (minus Nicholas and Lauren). And just like that, I was in my happy place. Golfing for Jonathan and Joe, hanging out with Augusta friends for the college guys, lunch at Manuel’s Café for Caroline and me. Then, of course, there was football. Timothy and Nathan watched the Penn State game from the kitchen table as they did their homework (physics and calculus, BLECK) and for Saturday night Mass they both wore Georgia red and black. When we got home, the two of them made a beeline for the television to catch the last quarter of the game.

(Let me pause to acknowledge this Saturday’s game between #1 ranked Georgia and #2 ranked Tennessee. Timothy said the campus is in a frenzy. He and his buddies will be up at the crack of dawn to catch all the festivities leading up to the game, and during the game their goal is to be featured on the jumbotron. Yeah, so there’s that.)  

Saturday evening, as Timothy and Nathan were packing (Jonathan and Caroline graciously agreed to drive them back to campus), they came into our room and showed us Nathan’s purchase from earlier that day: a pair of shoes, BOTH for the right foot. After the laughter, I promised Nathan that I would go to the store this week, get a LEFT shoe, and mail everything to him.

And that’s what I did today: mailed a care package with cookies, Kinder treats, football silly putty, a baby sloth (Timothy’s sloth, Marvin, has a following at UGA, so this is the baby?), AND a pair of shoes.

I also included Dr. Seuss’ book, The Foot Book, because for all their physics, calculus, and engineering classes, I think they are forgetting basic life skills such as knowing the RIGHT foot from the LEFT.

Left foot, Right foot.

Feet, Feet, Feet.

How many, many

feet you meet.

A Sense of Wonder

It’s been a week since I returned from Italy and I am still not fully unpacked, something I tend to do after any big trip, mainly because I am still reliving the experience and my bags, bundles, and souvenirs keep it all tangible.

Currently our dining table looks like an Italian mercato due to all the wrapped packages and souvenirs. Last night I was looking over everything when I came across a stack of receipts in my travel wallet. There were receipts for food (gelato, espresso), souvenirs (jewelry, linens, art), and entrance fees (the Abbey of Monreale, the Royal Palace in Caserta).

Those receipts filled me with wonder: Last week I ate a margherita pizza outside the Galleria in Naples! Purchased a painting from a street vendor in Taormina! Ate an arancina with seppia (cuttlefish)! Drank an Aperol Sprtiz on the rooftop of our hotel in Rome!

This sense of wonderment is something I experienced often during our time in Italy. When I was walking among the Greek ruins in Agrigento, meandering through the small streets and alleys in Ragusa, throwing a coin in the Trevi Fountain or gazing at a Caravaggio, I wasn’t so much struck by the beauty of everything as I was by the fact that I was there . . . physically there. Pinch me, I am dreaming! Then, every night when I summarized our adventures in my journal, when I read through everything we had done, I again felt that wonder as I asked myself: Did we really do that?

Traveling in a foreign country is an adventure, and every day we headed into the unknown armed only with a map, some guidebooks, and a spirit of adventure … all enveloped in an abiding sense of wonder.

And it is an overwhelming sense of wonder—both during and after our trip—that is the reason I still haven’t fully unpacked.

Pasta & Gelato & Pizza ... Mamma Mia! (or, How Not to Gain Weight while Vacationing in Italy)

Before our trip to Italy, I lost 12 pounds. 

It feels good when the numbers on the scale go down, and I worked hard to get to that point, but there was no way I was going to maintain my regimen while vacationing in Italy. Nor did I want to.

For almost two weeks in Italy, I ate and drank without worrying about the scale. I lived in the moment. For breakfast I usually reached for the homemade sweets, specifically apricot crostata, or a brioche the size of Mt. Vesuvius. Sometimes I would have both. With a cappuccino. For lunch I had pizza or a panino, and dinners were 2-hour affairs that included appetizers, pasta, main course, dessert, coffee, and limoncello. We had wine with every meal, and there were a couple of times when my sister-in-law and I shared a bottle of red just between the two of us.

When we were exploring Syracuse, my sister and I decided to try a coppo—a paper cone filled with fried seafood or vegetables. It is the ultimate street food. I ordered the coppo verdura, and when they delivered it, I thought: “There is no way I can eat all this.” Fifteen minutes later, I was upending the paper cone to get to every last crumb of deliciousness. (By the way, I also had a Sicilian aranciata with the coppo, and I NEVER drink soda in the States.)

For almost two weeks I ate proteins, fruits, and vegetables, but I also ate carbs, sweets, and dairy. I drank Fanta (Italian Fanta is NOT American Fanta—if you know, you know). I enjoyed an Aperol Spritz before dinner, wine with dinner, and a limoncello after dinner.

But then … the reckoning. When I stepped on the scale the morning after we returned from Italy, do you know how much weight I had gained?

One pound.

And in the grand scale of things (see what I did there?) one pound is neither here nor there. That was basically water retention after traveling all day.

How to account for this? Well, there are several reasons:

1-     In Italy, we ate locally grown foods with the freshest ingredients. Everything from my breakfast crostata to the delicious appetizers to the gnocchi at dinner were made that day. Most foods are preservative-free, which is why bread, for example, is only good that day and eggs do not need refrigeration.

2-     While the U.S. focuses on eating fewer calories (a typical “diet” strategy) or restricting certain types of foods (fats and carbs), Europeans focus more on the QUALITY of the food.

3-     Italian pasta is made from non-GMO wheat. In the United States, genetically modified wheat is the norm, which increases its gluten content. It is also interesting to note that 90% of corn, sugar, and soy grown in North America is genetically engineered.

4-     Europe does not allow the use of suspected carcinogens. For example, Potassium Bromate (added to flour to make dough rise higher) and Azodicarbonamide (or ADA, a whitening agent for flour) are common here, but not allowed for human consumption in Europe or Canada. (Incidentally, ADA is also used to make bread stay soft and spongy longer and is used to inject bubbles into certain plastics such as yoga mats and flip flops).

5-     Pasta cooked al dente has a lower glycemic index.

6-     Portion size. Restaurant serving sizes are 1/3 to 1/2 of what is served in the United States. Sure, when you order pizza in Italy you get one all to yourself, but that’s ALL you eat (no breadsticks) and the dough is paper thin and non-greasy.

7-     Snacking between meals is not the norm, and meals are spaced far apart. After breakfast we would not have lunch until 1 or 2 pm, then nothing again until dinnertime (usually around 8 pm). Of course, when in Italy we had to indulge in some gelato at some point, but the scoops are TINY.

8-     Meals are eaten leisurely. I was not exaggerating when I mentioned that sit-down dinners were 2-hour affairs. Food is eaten slowly, with ample time between courses. And don’t underestimate the power of a digestivo. Limoncello anyone?

9-     Finally, one of the main things that kept us in shape was walking. We walked and walked and walked, easily averaging 15,000 to 20,000 steps daily. And it wasn’t Level Walking … it was Hill Walking and Stairs Walking. (There was also Getting Lost Walking, which makes for some great stories AND tired feet.)

My one-pound weight gain was NOT an anomaly. The same thing happened with my sister. I also spoke with a fellow traveler who had her yearly physical two days after returning home and she experienced the same … hardly any weight gain while eating our way through Naples and Sicily.

So, what does this all mean? It’s a lesson I learn every time I travel to Italy, and it all boils down to simplicity: focus on foods that are local, fresh, and in season; eat a variety of foods; space meals with no snacking between; take the time to enjoy a meal; choose quality over quantity; avoid processed foods; and unless you have a severe allergy, do not eliminate an entire food group.

Finally, walk (a lot!) as part of your normal daily routine (gym workouts are a bonus).  

The First Step

The suitcases are packed, and I am at that in-between place of being ready, but not yet going.

In the months leading up to this moment, I did everything I could to prepare for the unknown, and it was terribly exciting (and a little scary) to imagine the possibilities and anticipate the adventure.

Tomorrow morning, I will pick up my suitcase and for a brief moment I will stand between the two worlds—the one I am leaving (familiar and safe) and the one I am headed toward (full of the unknown)—and I will remember this Dutch proverb: He is who outside his door, already has the hard part of his journey behind him.

And I will take that first step, which marks the start of every journey.