The Best Clothes in Bracciano are Free

As I was preparing and packing for our trip to Italy, I made a foolish assumption. For some reason or another (perhaps wishful thinking) I was under the impression that the weather would seldom get cold and that it would never rain during our three-month visit... and then I packed accordingly. As you may have guessed already, this was an incorrect supposition. November arrived, and so did a week and a half of unrelenting rain. And then came the thunder storms. And then came the very cold weather. I was not prepared. Since John and I were on a restricted budget, purchasing more weather-appropriate clothing was not an option, which meant it was time to get creative. We went "dumpster diving", and ended up with some pretty great loot! Here are three examples of what we found.  

  

Exhibit 1: We pulled this gray sweater from a pile of abandoned items alongside the road near our apartment.

Exhibit 2: We picked this sweatshirt out from a bag of deserted clothes at the park.

Exhibit 3: And we spotted this wonderful red jacket in a pile of “give-aways” we found behind a dumpster. 


Just three more reasons to be thankful for the continual provision in our lives, if you ask me. What are you thankful for this week? 

Graffiti is an Italian Word

When John and I first arrived in Italy, we were shocked - and frankly afraid for our lives - because there was graffiti everywhere we looked. In the United States, there seems to be a positive correlation between the amount of graffiti in any given location and the frequency of crime and violence, so our immediate instinct was to get somewhere safe, and quick! This feeling was even more exaggerated by the many warnings we had received about pickpockets in Rome. I did not sit or stand at ease for a moment a midst the dense crowds (or should I call them swarms of potential thieves?) until after peak tourist season subsided, and we had settled in enough to get comfortable and learn a little bit from the locals. It turns out that in Italy, graffiti is not so much an indicator of gang violence in an area, but rather a longstanding tradition of human expression, dating back to the politicians who scrawled their political opinions on the walls of buildings in the Roman forum during the peak of the Roman empire. Ironically enough, we noticed a stark contrast: the ancient historical monuments were preserved and highly guarded, while the constructions of contemporary urban life were left to ruin. Here are a few glimpses of what we saw.   

Surprise Around the River Bend

As John and I went strolling along the Tevere River for the first time, we found ourselves reveling in the picturesque scenery all around us. We walked under bridge after lovely bridge, shuffled our feet through the autumn leaves, “oohed” and “ahhhed” at the stately dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica, and admired the beautiful reflections cast in the river by the Castel di Sant'Angelo.

As we were wandering, a man with a thick German accent approached us, asking if we would be interested in purchasing a pair of only partially used all-day tickets for a riverboat tour of the Eternal City. He explained to us that he and his wife had purchased the tickets knowing they would not be able to use them in full due to the short duration of their stay.

Knowing that we had just enough cash to purchase our train tickets home for the day, and feeling wary of the possibility that he might be one of the con artists we’d been warned of so often, we declined his offer and continued on down the river.

About five minutes later, the man came walking towards us again with a big smile on his face. He told us that he and his wife had decided to give us the tickets, since they didn’t want their investment to go to waste and because they were unable to find anyone willing to purchase them.

John and I happily accepted the tickets and thanked the man profusely, then hopped aboard the next conveniently located riverboat for a wonderful new perspective of Rome.  

This is just one example of the many surprise blessings we encountered during our adventures in Italy.

The Pines of Rome

Today, John and I went searching for my mamma’s favorite pine tree in Rome. 

I’m sure we looked like quite the pair, walking from tree to tree - touching each pine - and trying as hard as we could to look discrete amidst the bustling tourists surrounding the Roman ruins.

To an outsider, I suspect we resembled weary travelers in need of a shoulder to lean on as we propped ourselves against each friendly looking trunk within a stone’s throw of the Colosseum. 

The impulse behind our mission grew from a secret that my mamma had divulged to us - something no one else seemed to know - that these normally silent sentinels whisper their ancient tree wisdom when solicited. 

We were searching for such a tree. 

I leaned into one trunk that spoke to me with the kind of strength and understanding that only a tree can know. 

Strength that can only be achieved by one who never strikes out in its own defense, never raises its voice harshly to intervene, never runs away, and never hides from what it’s afraid of. Understanding that can only be achieved by one who doesn’t flinch, never blushes, and never turns away in fear or disgust or shame.

  

The tree - the most objective observer I have ever known - told me stories from its many years of quiet observance.

It spoke to me of growth and change, and of unchangingness. 

Of tranquil evenings, quiet nights, chaotic days, and scorching afternoons.

Of passion, love, loneliness, rivalry, and corruption.

Of good intentions, murder, peace, and the rising and falling of powers.

It spoke to me of Rome.

Watching, day in and day out - standing guard at the Colosseum – this tree is a presence of unconditional strength and understanding. With memories recorded in the rings of its trunk and branches, and holding all it has seen and experienced high towards heaven - as if in an offering to the Lord above - I wish I could be more like this tree.