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.  

Speak to Me Sunday: Caravaggio's Seven Acts of Mercy

Many of you know of my love for Caravaggio. During a free afternoon in Naples next week, I plan to visit one of Caravaggio’s most famous works, Le sette opere di Misericordia (The Seven Acts of Mercy).

Now, I am going to apologize in advance for my nerdiness. When preparing to visit a famous work of art (such as Michelangelo’s Pietà or Caravaggio’s The Conversion of St. Paul, ) I like to do extensive research so that when I stand in front of the artwork, I will appreciate it all the more. I truly believe that people find art and art museums boring because they do not understand what they see. 

And to understand a masterpiece is to be drawn in until you are flooded with emotions.

Of course, my extensive research also means that I have to share what I’ve learned. So again, my apologies …

The Seven Acts of Mercy (refer to the image below)

1.      Bury the Dead

In the center background, two men carry a dead man (only his feet are visible). A man is holding a candle (the only light source) and based on his garments he is a priest. The man in the dark colored shirt is believed to be the grave digger.

2.      Shelter the Homeless

Third from left, a bearded man with a scallop shell on his hat is asking for shelter. He is a pilgrim. The man directly in front of him is the innkeeper who indicates with his finger (pointing out of the canvas) that he has room and will offer shelter.

The scallop shell is the mark of a pilgrim and is connected to the story of St. James the Great (a disciple of Christ). Today the Camino de Santiago (Way of St. James) uses the scallop shell as mile markers on the pilgrim’s path to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Additionally, scallop shells are often found on baptismal fonts and often used to scoop the water over the head of those being baptized. 

3.      Clothe the Naked

The fourth figure from the left is St. Martin of Tours who is tearing his robe in half to give it to the naked beggar in the foreground. Above the beggar’s shoulder, St. Martin’s sword appears as a slash of white as he has just used it to slice the fabric.

The legend of St. Martin, a Roman soldier stationed in Gaul, was that he saw a beggar as he approached the city gates. Determined to help, he removed his military cloak and cut it in two and wrapped the beggar with one half. That night, St. Martin had a dream in which he saw Jesus wearing the cloak and telling the angels of the man who had shared it with him. St. Martin believed the dream offered the message that caring for the poor is like caring for Christ. Eventually, the cloak of St. Martin became a relic.

4.      Visit the Sick

The next portion of Caravaggio’s Seven Works of Mercy is the hardest to see, probably due to the darkening of the canvas over time. In the front of the painting and next to the beggar’s left arm, you will notice a foot, indicating there is another man in this section (his face is just below St. Martin’s sword). This is the sick man, perhaps crippled given the angle of his foot.

Standing over the sick man is the pilgrim in a dual role since he is painted as Christ healing the crippled man.

5.      Refresh the Thirsty

Standing between the pilgrim and the innkeeper is a wild, bearded man drinking from a bone, the water splashing onto his face. This man is Samson (yes, from Samson and Delilah). But this image references a different story from Judges 15 when Samson was fighting the Philistines and used the jawbone of a donkey to kill a thousand men. After the battle, Samson was thirsty so God opened up the jawbone and water came out of it to revive Samson.

Admittedly, Caravaggio’s inclusion of this story was confusing. He was meant to portray the seven mercies, or kindnesses, performed by humans for each other, but in Samson’s case God is the one performing the kindness.

6-7    Visit the Imprisoned, Feed the Hungry

These next two Acts of Mercy are combined into one image of the woman breastfeeding a man in prison. While unusual in modern contexts, the story was a familiar one of the time (Roman in origin) and occasionally appeared in other works of art.

Details to Note:

1-     Always in trouble with the law, Caravaggio took refuge in Naples after he committed a murder in Rome during a violent argument. It was during this exile that he painted this masterpiece.

2-     Caravaggio is known for his chiaroscuro painting technique which uses the contrast of light and dark for dramatic effect. His dark paintings usually contain a light source to draw the eye to important details. In this painting, the man carrying the candle provides the only light source, perhaps a metaphor for mercy as the acts themselves illuminate darkness.

3-     He received the commission to depict the Seven Works of Mercy for Pio Monte della Misericordia (a charitable organization) founded by seven noblemen of Naples in order to care for the poor. It is still in operation today.  

4-     One of the most important documents in the church’s archives is an invoice, dated 14 October 1607, for 400 ducats in payment to Caravaggio for the painting.

5-     The Works of Mercy are based on verses from the Gospel of Matthew; the only one not mentioned in Matthew is Bury the Dead (it is referenced in the Book of Tobit where burying the dead is mentioned as an important work of charity).

6-     While the Seven Works of Mercy are usually depicted in seven separate scenes, Caravaggio chose to combine all seven works of mercy into one composition, which became the church’s altarpiece.

7-     The work is divided into two parts: the top half is celestial (with angels and Mary with the Christ child observing the action below); the bottom half is terrestrial, or the earthly realm.

8-     The angel’s hand, reaching toward the lower figures, is a slash of light through darkness serving to connect the two halves of the painting. The open pose of his hand is associated with giving a blessing.

9-     Visible on the top left is the white lining of Mary’s cloak, which many believe represents the Holy Spirit who inspires the acts of mercy.

10   In short, the top half of the painting is the source for the acts of human kindness depicted below.

Speak to Me Sunday: Standing Tall

(A little insomnia, a Broadway quote, and I was down the rabbit hole. Too much deep thinking with too little sleep. Coffee please...)

There is a line from the hit musical, Hamilton, in which the opinionated Alexander Hamilton says to the obfuscating Aaron Burr: “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?”

It is a profound question, one which compels one to explore our beliefs, morals, convictions, and affiliations. It probes our intentions and incites us into action. Most importantly, it inspires one to stand strong in a tide as opposed to being swept up in one.

It is a thinking question, and it cannot be answered quickly. Or lightly. What do you stand for?

The question leaves no room for obfuscating. To answer honestly and with conviction, one must have a voice that is not simply an echo of what is being said by others; furthermore, the weight of it pins one down, and to squirm, dodge, or even deflect the question is very revealing.

Conversely, one can broaden the question’s scope to ask this: If you stand for EVERYTHING, then what will you fight for? This, too, is telling. If one believes all things, panders to all people, and tries to be something for everyone … then what does that person ACTUALLY believe?

A person who is vague about what he believes is equally as dangerous as someone who believes in everything. Both go wherever the wind takes them. It is only when you have both ends of the equation—knowing where a person stands and knowing where you stand—that one can choose courage to take a step forward, or honesty to step back and reevaluate.

Society today may not be any better than it was in Hamilton’s time, but we can glean some lessons. In the election of 1800 Hamilton had to decide whether to endorse Thomas Jefferson (a person he never once agreed with) or Aaron Burr (his political adversary). In the end, Hamilton chose Jefferson, simply because Jefferson had beliefs whereas Burr had none.

What do you stand for?

Delve deep for an answer. And then proceed with strength, conviction and, most of all, understanding of others who are grappling with this very same question.

I love ...

 I love seafaring tiles 

and green garden doors 

and peekaboo views 

and houses on trees.

The Twice-Paid Compliment

It is a fundamental truth that we are not kind to ourselves. We are self critics by nature. We perceive ourselves much, much differently than other people perceive us, and when they try to be complimentary we do not listen.

I once attended a retreat that demonstrated this very point.

Scattered around the room were chairs arranged into groups of three. We were told to find a seat but that you could not sit next to anyone you knew. As it turned out, I ended up in a group with two men. We were then given instructions to jot down complimentary things you notice about the two people in your group, after which we were to share the compliments with each other.

This was so out of my comfort zone and I was beyond embarrassed before the exercise even started. But the purpose of the assignment was to teach us to not only hear compliments, but to listen. And to believe.

After the allotted time the two gentlemen paid me their compliments, and while they were so kind and genuine about it, I still felt out of my comfort zone and I was still beyond embarrassed. BUT, if I am being honest, they also made me feel good.

Several years later, I was going through some old papers and found these hand-written compliments from those two men. Reading them made me smile, and maybe because the words were written instead of spoken, they were much easier to accept.

Which made me realize this: if most people tend to dismiss a compliment, then maybe a compliment should be given twice. A double compliment, if you will. One that is half-heard, and one that hits the bullseye.

Mark Twain once said that he could live two months on a single compliment and, truthfully, there have been times when a single compliment changed the entire course of my day. It’s an easy enough thing to do, and when a compliment comes from a place of genuine good will it can do wonders.

Especially if you make it a double.