Early Morning Musings

       When the alarm goes off at 6, I'm already awake. For several minutes, I've been listening to Johanna opening dresser drawers in her room (bang), going into the bathroom (slam), and heading downstairs to start school (tromp, tromp). Eric says she inherits the early-morning noise gene from my side, and I'm sure he's right. I admire her dedication, but I probably do need to talk to her about perhaps setting out her clothes the night before.
      I slide myself out of bed as quietly as my genetics will allow, put on my cozy bathrobe, and follow Jo down to the living room. She's sitting on one couch with her vocabulary flashcards. I take the other,  with my Bible, notebook, and pen.

       I love the early morning. I love the feeling of getting a head start on the day by being awake while other people are sleeping. Part of this, I think, is my natural temperament. I feel better and think better if I'm up with the larks. Part of it is a desire for some uninterrupted quiet time. I like silence. I like to be alone, and while other people are asleep, my solitude is ensured. Unfortunately (and it pains me to admit this), part of my love for early rising is pride. I like to feel that I've won the Morning Contest. Before you say anything, I do realize that there is no such thing as a Morning Contest anywhere in the real world that exists outside of my mind. If there was, I wouldn't win anyway; I'm sure the boulangère down the street has already been up with the rising bread dough for hours by the time I pad downstairs. Nevertheless, I feel just a bit smug that I'm up before, well, before most people. In this house, anyway. If I just choose my competition carefully, it's impossible to lose.

       I have been thinking lately about how pride is so nastily entangled in my daily activities. Why am I annoyed when my child makes mistakes on the first three math problems in the lesson? Out of concern for his future, of course. Really? What sort of future am I envisioning? One in which one needs to create box-and-whisker plots and calculate the ratio of red to black marbles in the imaginary bag on a daily basis? Don't misunderstand, I truly believe that math is important, and so are writing, history, and science. But am I teaching my kids to weigh their worth in percentage points?

      Perhaps even worse, am I teaching them to measure their worth by comparison? There are certain people I don't enjoy being around. I tell myself that it is because they are always bragging about their children, their houses, their accomplishments. But is the truth that I'm afraid I don't measure up? Maybe the level of competition is too high, and I'm just looking for an excuse to transfer to an easier league.

       We are surrounded in Geneva by seriously impressive people. Hedge fund managers. Diplomats. Company presidents. Doctors who have started their own research foundations. The woman I sat next to at church last week was about half my age and she was a freelance translator (Spanish, French, English). Her husband teaches at a bilingual school. I sometimes cannot help feeling that if they could hear me speaking my sort-of French, they would snigger up their sleeves. But even the fact that I am comparing betrays that the sin is mine.

        The more I consider where this thinking leads, the more disturbing it becomes. I don't like to admit it, but in my world of accomplishments, comparisons, and percentages, a woman who bakes delicious cookies in a spotless kitchen is worthy of praise, while one who orders take-out is missing the mark. A person who can speak five languages is to be celebrated, while a person who can speak one is to be scoffed at. A child who scores a 70 on a math paper is less valuable than a child who scores a 95. If this is true, what about the woman who doesn't have a kitchen, the one sitting outside Migros hoping for some loose change? What about the elderly person from whom dementia has robbed the ability to speak coherently in any language? What about the child who isn't even born yet?

         I can rant all I want about lack of concern for the poor or the devaluing of human life. The truth is, my middle-class focus on success is at the very root of the problem. But starting right now, I am going to try to believe the truth. And I am going to try to live it.

        What is a person worth? Everything. What did we do to earn it? Nothing.

         "But now says the Lord
            he who created you, O Jacob
            he who formed you, O Israel:
          'Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
            I have called you by name, you are mine.
            . . .
          You are precious in my eyes,
          and honored, and I love you . . . ."

                     (Isaiah 43: 1, 4a)


   

The Eternal City

       Here we have Johanna enjoying an ice cream cone in Rome. I think it might be near the Pantheon, maybe outside a really famous gelato shop galled Café Giolitti. Café Giolitti is so famous, in fact, that it is on the map of Rome that came with our guidebook. I'm not sure, however, that this is the famous café, because gelato eating happened in many parts of Rome during our trip there. We probably broke some kind of record for cones eaten in the most locations in the Eternal City. The interesting thing about ice cream in Rome is that they won't give it to you until after you pay. The way it works is you go to the cash register and say, for example "five piccolo" (which is what most places call small cones), and then you hand over your 12 euro. Then, and only then, can you tell the scooper what you'd like and take possession. 

      The ice-cream procedure illustrates the difference between Rome and Geneva. In Geneva, no one asks you to pay for your ice cream until you've eaten it and are leaving the restaurant. In fact, if you find that you don't have enough money to pay, the person at the cash register will tell you "pas de problème" and to come back anytime next week to pay. In Geneva, the expectation is that most people are honest about things like ice-cream bills. Not so in Rome. Furthermore, if you are in Rome and you are waiting to pay for your gelato, you need to stick your elbows out and shove yourself assertively into line. Otherwise . . . no dessert for you. I definitely feel more comfortable in Switzerland.

      That is not to say that I didn't like Rome. I've never been anywhere with such a powerful sense of history and with so much wealth wrapped up in antiquities. There are triumphal arches along the street that no one even bothers to put on the map, because so many dot the city. This is side by side with garbage, graffiti, and more aggressively driven cars than I've seen outside of New York City. Rome is an interesting place.

       Our trip began inauspiciously. We took our trademark crack-of-dawn flight (those are the cheapest on EasyJet), so we arrived at our apartment in a state of fatigue and burgeoning irritation (me, anyway). The apartment owner, whom we will call Flavia, sent me into full-blown (though silent) wrath by criticizing my plan to walk on the Appian Way that afternoon. ("Why would you want to do that?") I explained to Eric (after she left) that I had spent many hours planning this trip and while the schedule was flexible . . . it wasn't. So off to the Appian Way of Ecce! Romani fame we went. It was a lovely, sunny day and we had a beautiful walk (so there, Flavia), despite the fact that the bus driver refused to stop where we wanted and we had to walk a good half mile along what seemed like a superhighway to reach our real starting point.

Original paving stones on the Appian Way

Not-original sign.

I think this is part of the ruined Temple of Jupiter. The Appian Way is mostly ruined temples and tombs.

This is the tomb of a man named Hilarius. Obviously, I had to take a picture.

The family treading where the centurions trod.

       We ate that night at the ridiculously early (for Romans) hour of 7:30 p.m. The more adventuresome family members tried octopus. Lucas and I went, "Eeew, you can see the suction cups." Which was true, but faint-hearted of us.

        According to THE SCHEDULE, Day Two was More Ancient Rome. We saw the Colosseum, which was probably as packed with tourists as it used to be with spectators. The only gladiators, though, were the ones wanting to pose with us for pictures -- for a fee, of course. Their armor looked plastic.



Inside the Colosseum

Outside the Colosseum

       We then visited the Palatine Hill, which was lovely, peaceful, and covered with fascinating ruins of emperors' palaces. I can understand why the emperors would want to live in such a pleasant place. We also walked around the Roman Forum. More ruins, including the location where Marc Antony gave his famous speech and where Julius Caesar was creamated (also the Curia, where Augustus Caesar's daughter, Julia, apparently misbehaved. Along with other indiscretions, this eventually led to her banishment. Kids could be trouble to their famous parents even then.).

The Stadium on the Palatine Hill

Temple of Antoninus and Faustina in the Forum. The pillars were part of the original temple, which Emperor Antoninus Pius dedicated to his wife, Faustina. And all I got for Valentine's Day was dinner out. Of course, Faustina was dead, so maybe a temple was more appropriate.

       That afternoon we saw the Pantheon and passed up a gelato shop advertising 150 flavors (much to the kids' dismay) in favor of Giolitti. After our sightseeing, we definitely had a sense for Ancient Rome. I was surprised, though, how difficult I found it to believe that Nero, Caesar, Hadrian, and the rest had actually been there. I thought the history would seem more real having visited the places where it happened, but my imagination seemed to be on an entirely different vacation. The sites were fascinating, but dead.

The dome of the Pantheon. Hadrian designed it between AD 118  and 125.

Outside the Pantheon.

        The next morning took us forward in time as we boarded the crowded metro for the Vatican. Pope Benedict had resigned (shockingly, it seems) just the day before. We were interested to see if the Vatican was more crowded than usual as a result, although how would we know what was usual? I know almost nothing about the papacy, so I am probably making some kind of major gaffe when I say that if Benedict felt that he could no longer do the job, resigning seems like a wise idea. He had to deal with a lot of difficult issues during his time, and I can see how it might have worn him out.
      The Vatican Museums were astounding -- the buildings themselves as well as the works of art inside. It was visual overload for about two hours as we wandered through rooms crowded with treasures. We saw Greek statues, paintings by da Vinci and Giotto, frescos by Raphael (and his students, whom we felt were quite talented as well), Roman mosaics. The Sistine Chapel was as impressive as promised, although almost too much to take in. The Renaissance was not exactly a time of restraint in art.

The ceiling in one of the Vatican Museums -- the rooms themselves almost overpowered the art in some cases.

The Gallery of Maps, which were painted in the 16th century to depict all of Rome's holdings, was my favorite room.

       We left the museums to visit Saint Peter's Basilica. The church, like the museums, is jam-packed with treasures. While overdecorating isn't my taste, I couldn't help but be impressed. At the same time, the visit to the Vatican made me think. On the one hand, I know that God loves beauty and he gives artists skill to create wonderful things to his glory. Having so much of the world's great art collected and kept safe is important. On the other hand, I couldn't help wondering how many people could be fed with all the money that goes into making, preserving, and guarding all that. Not an easily resolved dilemma.

A list of Popes inside St. Peter's

Drew said that his main reason for wanting to come to Rome was to see Michelangelo's Pieta. The kids all studied it in fifth grade and have been intrigued by its beauty ever since.

     
      That night, we set out to find the Spanish Steps, so called because they are in what was once considered the Spanish section of Rome, due to the fact that the Spanish representative to the Vatican lived there. The steps join the Spanish Plaza to the church of Trinitià dei Monti, and it is an impressive and lovely place. It's also apparently Rome's ritziest shopping district. From the displays in the shop windows, it seems that pink is the color this season, in case anyone is interested.
       

The Spanish Steps and Trinitiá dei Monti

        At this point, we did what we should have been doing all along and gave Lucas the map. He loved directing us through the narrow streets of the area around the Piazza della Rotunda, I was glad to give up being chief navigator for a while, and best of all, Luc led us to a great restaurant. We were the only guests, as it was barely 7 p.m., so the waiter was very attentive. We accepted all of his suggestions, trying artichokes boiled and fried, buffalo mozzarella, prosciutto, and even dessert.
        The next day Eric headed to P&Gs Rome office, having decided that this was an opportunity for him to meet some of his Italian coworkers. The kids and I visited the Villa Borghese (beautiful grounds, sort of boring art gallery, talented accordion player to whom we gave many euro for his amazing renditions of Vivaldi). In the afternoon, we walked along the Tiber, trying to remember the words to "Horatius at the Bridge," a poem the kids all memorized in third grade.

The Tiber -- according to the poem, it is supposed to be yellow, although it didn't seem very yellow to us. 

Of course Lucas found a place to climb.

This is the Castel Sant'Angelo, which has been a mausoleum, citadel, prison, and papal residence. 

        We tried the 150-flavor gelato place at the end of our walk, and it really was the best gelato we had in Rome (although the place at the train station put whipped cream on top, which was a nice touch). We ended the vacation with fast food, as Drew insisted that he needed "the Italian McDonald's Experience" to make his trip complete. The experience was underwhelming, but inexpensive.

Drew's Post

Written by Drew 

Edited by Drew

Published by Drew

Starring Drew 

You're Welcome.

This morning I was thinking about my family. And if you think they are all perfect, you are in for a surprise. Here is the low down on who these people really are. 

Lucas- Let’s start with the most intriguing member of the family. I, for one, still hold to the belief that he was born on Krypton and that he was sent here by his parents to avoid him dying when the planet exploded. The only reason to suggest that he has to be an Admiraal is the sheer skininess. He makes Lincoln look obese. But all jokes aside, Lucas is someone who is full of surprises and I never am quite sure what to expect. One day he was randomly able to say the Greek alphabet. I never knew he could do that. He may be a Spartan because he always seems to have a war story to tell us at the dinner table. If you look at his Facebook profile, it says 

“Kidnapped by Germans at age of three. Rescued by Russians, served 2 years in the Russians guerrilla warfare unit, then handed to the Americans 5 years in pentagon special intelligence, now working on a joint operation with MI6 and CIA”

Wow! That’s quite a resume for someone who just turned 13!

Johanna- I lovingly call her “motor mouth” because it just never stops. I’m serious. She doesn’t stop talking from the time she gets up to when she falls asleep (although she actually talks a lot in her sleep too.) I always have the urge to ask her “how many horse power is that motor” but I don’t because I know that one of two things will happen: I will either be karate chopped or be the subject of a long string of verbal abuse for the next 6 hours. It’s just not worth it. Johanna is overall a great human being though. She has a great heart for missions and she is planning to go to Uganda this summer with our church on a mission trip. 

Drew- I’ve heard that self- evaluation is very difficult but I’ll give it a shot (in the third person.) I, the narrator, am pretty sure that Drew may be perfect. I need to do a little more research but I am almost convinced. If he has one flaw, it’s that he works too hard. Alright, well enough said, moving on. 

Karin (mom)- My mom, according to my friends, is the greatest cook in all of Europe. Between her cookies and chili, they are convinced. Not to mention the burgers that my dad grilled for them over the summer. Needless to say, they are always asking to come over. I’m spoiled so I don’t always appreciate it as much but once in a while, she still comes up with something that shocks me. It’s hard to make fun of your mom because if you do, there is a very good chance you will get kicked out but I’ll come up with something. Hold on... Ummm..... (slap) Ok, well maybe me and my mom are both perfect (please don’t kick me out!)

Eric (dad)- My dad may be the second most intriguing person in the family. That’s probably where Lucas gets it from. I never know what to expect from him either. I have two theories that I’m still working on.

1. He has a plot to take over the world. As a result, he is very distracted making it seem like he is losing his mind.

2. He has actually lost his mind. He has finally snapped after all these years in which case we have to start looking for nursing homes where the nurses speak English because he is not going to learn French! 

I’m currently leaning towards number one.

My dad is a great person. He comes home every day from work and is never too tired to hear about our days and talk with us. I appreciate everything he does for the family.

My family is crazy, yes, but I’m not sure what I would do without them. I would have a very boring life is all I know. 

This post was originally called “Early Morning Musings” and was written by my mom. It was very sentimental and reflective and had a lot of good wisdom in it. So much for that!