A Rascally Hero in the Cemetery

 I love cemeteries. They not only make me feel peaceful, but I have to admit, I feel a bit in awe to be among people who used to live on this earth--sometimes hundreds of years ago--and now they're in their final resting place.

A few years ago I learned an interesting fact. When American soldiers fight overseas in foreign lands, and they are killed, their families have to make a choice--to have the soldier's body shipped back to the USA or have them buried with their fellow soldiers in an American cemetery, close to where they died. Many families choose an American cemetery overseas, and as a result throughout the world, there are American cemeteries that hold our fallen.

If you're a fan of World War II, like I am, you probably know that Allied forces fought several battles to drive the Germans out of Italy and liberate Rome. One battle (approximately 35 miles south of Rome) was fought at Anzio. Other battles were fought in Sicily. 

The Sicily-Rome American Cemetery and Memorial is one of two permanent WWII American cemeteries in Italy. It holds 7,860 headstones of American soldiers who died in the battles which were fought. A chapel has the names engraved of 3,095 who went missing. 

The battles began on July 10, 1943 and ended when Rome was liberated on June 4, 1944. The cemetery contains 7,738 Latin crosses made of Lasa marble and 122 Stars of David.

Contrary to what you might expect, these cemeteries are beautiful. The lawns are perfectly manicured. There is always a fountain or pool. There is a chapel and a visitor center. 

I have no idea how Theo will react when we arrive. I imagine he'll want to run in the grass. Bask in the sun. Watch the water cascade down in the North garden fountain. Feel the wind caress his face. Will he understand where we are? 

We want to see all 77 acres. It's hard to arrive and see all the crosses perfectly lined up on the grounds, knowing each cross represents a person who left their home, was part of a battle, but never believed they would end of here. Most still had the greater part of their lives in front of them. Most had family that mourned when they didn't return. 

We walk around the grounds. We see the beautiful pool of water. 

We visit the chapel and read through some of the names that are engraved. We marvel at the ornate ceiling.

  

"Theo, there's something else we need to do."

Part of the tradition is to leave a flower near one of the crosses as a sign of remembrance and respect. I explain this to Theo and we walk through the crosses in one section. I am ready to lay the flower on one of the crosses dedicated to an unknown soldier. As the engraving reads, "he's known only to God."  But as I move closer, Theo stops me. 

"It's something I have to do," he meows.

I put the flower in his mouth, and he drops it slowly in front of the cross. 

I have to admit I underestimate the kid too often. But he's well aware of the concept of fighting and territory. As a cat, he fiercely guards the land that surrounds our house. Other cats are not welcome. Other animals are barely tolerated. Birds and squirrels--he's fascinated but usually wants them gone.

"Chucky would be proud of you, Theo." And then I give him a snack. After all, he's only a cat.

Theo is taking a much needed two week break from being the star. He will be relaxing at home with Sienna and Mico. Our next blog will be posted on October 29! See you then. Meow. 

Elephants in Rome?

 I do a lot of international traveling. I've been to China, Kenya, Spain, Portugal, France, Great Britain, Ireland, Switzerland, Sweden, Denmark, Austria, Germany, the Netherlands . . . and, of course, Italy.  My favorite city is Rome. And one of my favorite things to do in Rome, besides eat, is walk around. See the sights. The city is both ancient and new, sunny and then lit up at night. It is magical.

I am the official tour guide. Dan is my steady backup. Theo is the reluctant tourist. This morning and afternoon, we decide to walk through the heart of Rome and play I Spy.

If you come to Rome, you will spy . . .

Piazzas or town squares, usually surrounding a monument, a fountain or an obelisk. This morning I spy an obelisk with the Virgin Mary sitting on the top, wearing a crown: 

Shopping streets or plazas or malls. This morning we cut through one of the most elegant malls you'll ever see:

Ancient buildings with Roman columns puckered with tiny holes that  are left over from where the Romans attached marble to the drab brick and mortar columns. Imagine what marble columns would have looked like!

A church with a cupola across from a cocktail bar and another church with a spire and a cross:

The Tiber River separating Rome from Vatican City: 

I think of where I live. There is nothing as old or elegant as this. In Rome everywhere you look, there is something from the past. 

Theo is remarkably well behaved. He is sauntering along, sniffing everything. If he could write or even dictate his meows into a recorder, the history he'd be able to describe . . . imagine . . . a dog from the three years ago passed by here and took a whiz. A squirrel dropped down from the elm tree over there and discovered a nut he'd buried in the ground from the year before. A horse clopped by here and ate an apple while he rested in the shade. 

"Are you having a good time, Theo?" 

Today is a beautiful day in Rome with clouds and sun and a soft breeze that flutters by. Every once in a while, we stoop down and let him lick a Churo, tuna flavored, which is his favorite. 

The gangster cat shrugs. "I can smell an elephant."

An elephant? Is Theo joking?

In 1962 the Italians discovered elephant bones while they were laying cable lines at the Vatican. It seems the Pope Leo X had a pet elephant--a gift from the King of Portugal. The pope loved his elephant and even had him buried near him when he died. 

Julius Caesar gained part of his reputation when he killed an elephant in battle. He often used an elephant to crush his enemies.

Elephants were brought in as part of the shows at the Colosseum.

And elephants were quite common in Rome during the Renaissance period. 

"Theo, you're a wonder."

Or, maybe he's watching a little too much of the History Channel.

Theo's Revenge at the Vittoriano

 Rome is my favorite city. It is filled with monuments, statues, fountains, gardens, parks, squares and rife with a history that precedes the gladiators in the Colosseum, the poets near the Spanish Steps, and the Vatican. There is so much to see as a visitor you sometimes miss the little details, the ornate and symbolic flourishes, that decorate the scenery. 

I am determined to bring Theo to see one of Rome's most famous monuments, nicknamed the Vittoriano, the symbolic center of Rome. It was built to honor Italy's first King--Victor Emmanuel II--who reigned after Italy was unified into a country. Unfortunately, his grandson, Victor Emmanuel III, who ruled Italy from 1900 until 1946 has a checkered reputation--responsible for bringing democratic reforms to Italy, but then later also responsible for empowering Mussolini to enter WWII. 

Nevertheless, the monument honors Italy's first King and does so much more. As a modern forum or public square, it contains stairways, columns, fountains, statues and views. It is seen as a kind of secular temple consecrated to Italy. It sits atop Capitoline Hill, near the ancient Roman Forum and Colosseum, and it is where most of the most important national celebrations in Italy today are held. 

"You must see the Vittoriano," everyone says. "The wedding cake." Because it looks like one.

I look at Theo. "We have to see the Vittoriano."

The gangster cat doesn't miss any chance to negotiate. "What's in it for me?"

"Snacks."

Theo clearly doesn't want to go. But the idea of snacks is a powerful draw. "For a little while," he concedes.

We arrive on foot after a delicious lunch. Dan is holding Theo because we've been walking so many steps, we're afraid the kid (with the short legs) will pass out. 

He's remarkably well behaved at first. He seems to be genuinely interested in what we're looking at. Of course, we're plying him with croccantini (dry cat food), Temptations (which we keep in small ziplock baggies) and Churos whenever we stop to admire something. 

Dan puts him down. The monument isn't crowded. Most visitors seem to be Italians who are milling about on their lunch hour. They gingerly step over or step to the side when they see Theo. No one bats an eye. 

This monument is a big place, and I have to admit, I'm overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. There are statues galore on top of the roof.

I angle in for a closer look.

 

 

I'm overwhelmed when--caught against the backdrop of the bluest of skies--an angel flies into view.

We are climbing up and down stairs and around corners, as we survey this monument. 

"Look, Theo." I'm pointing to a statue of a woman holding a spear. I have no idea who she is but she looks majestic.

At this point I don't know if Theo's looking or not, but I suspect not. Whenever I look down, he's eating a snack or licking a Churu. 

I hear in the distance Dan announce, "Well, that's it, buddy. We're all out of snacks." But I'm honestly not paying too much attention because another statue comes into view.

Then I hear what I never want to hear. Dan calling,"Theo, Theo."

I look around. Look down. The one thing you don't want to have happen is to lose a cat in the middle of Rome. A cat who doesn't speak a word of Italian. A cat who seems at this moment only motivated by snacks.  Snacks we don't have anymore. 

We have nothing to lure him out of wherever he is. 

"He can't have gone that far," I say to Dan, but I say it more for myself.

"He was here a minute a go," Dan agrees.

"Where would he go?" I ask aloud because Theo is not your usual cat. He doesn't wander off unless he's hungry. In fact . . . I turn to Dan with a sudden brainstorm. "He's probably stuffed himself with snacks and now . . ."

Dan takes the words out of my mouth. "He's taking a nap."

"But where?"

A larger than life statue sits about fifty yards in front of us. "You don't think . . ." I point to what would be the purrfect spot for an irritated cat to get away and do what he wants--sleep.

Dan rushes over. He's shaking his head and then motions me over. 

Theo has cozied up to the guy holding a cornucopia. There's a space right behind his leg. Cool marble. Out of the sun. Full belly.

Dan scoops him up.  "Come on, Theo."

"The next time . . . " I start to say. 

"Let him be. He made his point."

"Or took his revenge," I think. But with Theo you learn to reframe the situation. He could have run up the stairs. Or could have been scooped up by an unsuspecting Italian thinking he was a well-behaved cat. Or gone somewhere looking for a gelato.

"It's time to go home," Dan says.

Theo nods.

I agree. "But let's stop for some gelato first."

Theo As A Gladiator in the Colosseum?

Whenever I hear someone refer to the Colosseum in Rome, I immediately think of gladiators--well, actually one gladiator in particular, Russell Crowe, who starred in The Gladiators. He was a fictional character, for sure, but he somehow captured the over the top kind of hero who participated in games and shows that were put on for the Roman people thousands of years ago. 

The Colosseo, the Italian name, is so much more than gladiators, but try telling that to Theo. He comes to Italy ready, willing, and able to be a gladiator. 

"Theo," I explain, "forget about being a gladiator. Just look around. This ruin is the place to be back in the day. We're talking 70 AD when it's built by an Emperor for the Roman people. It takes 10 years to build. When it opens, the Colosseum features 100 days of games, wild animal fights, and, of course, gladiatorial combat, and in the beginning--even naval battles. For four centuries it's like our Madison Square Garden. By the 18th century, it falls into disrepair and is scavenged by those same Roman people for building materials. About one third of it remains today. But, still, it is glorious. And big. That's why we're here. To be a part of history."

 

Dan has to hold Theo, or he will be trampled by all the tourists. First, we walk, like sardines in a can, through the large hall that the Romans would have entered to reach the arena. There are then smaller hallways that lead to the center arena. This is what we want to see. This is what Theo wants to see. 

I take a video, attempting to capture what the arena looks like in all its massive wonder. You can see where the people would have sat. You can see the arena, which is now missing a floor, but without a floor, you can see below to the lower level. 

The gladiators, the wild animals, and all the accoutrements that made the show the SHOW, came in from the ground level and were brought up using freight elevators using a complex system of winches. You can also see the large arches, some still there, which was the entrance way for the crowds:

Admission was free. Spectators, according to social class, came through 76 arches, labeled with red numbers. Today you can still see number 29. The seats in the arena were arranged in a strict order--the best ones, close to the arena, were reserved for the senators.  The worst ones had a poor view and were hard to get to:

I point to the very top. "That's where you would have sat, Theo."

Theo shakes his head. He sees himself in the center arena. He sees himself as a gladiator. Sword in paw. Fighting the good fight. The crowd cheering. He sees himself as being victorious and, perhaps, being recognized by the Emperor. Given special snacks. And a nice comfy bed to sleep on at night. He sees himself as being the most famous gladiator in the world.

Theo's eyes have glazed over. I know he's imagining himself there. 

"Snap out of it." I shake him, and he comes back to reality. "The truth is--you'll never be as famous as Russell Crowe." 

Cats can't frown, but they can give the evil eye. Theo's not ready to give up his dream, yet. We saunter around the Colosseum, go through the smaller arches and get closer to the main arena.

There is a lot more to see. Most people see the Colosseum as just an arena, but the place was also an open air market. It sold food and all kinds of wares. Today, you can still see the stalls and hundreds of exhibits showcasing the way the Colosseum used to look, including the clothing that people wore back then and pieces of the Colosseum itself that evidence the intricate designs: 

"Well, what do you think? Do you like seeing the Colosseum? The arena?" I ask Theo.

He tilts his head as if considering the question. Frankly, it's an easy question. Seeing the Colosseum is on Theo's bucket list. Being a gladiator--priceless. 

Finally, the gangster cat, gives me a paw up. Theo likes it!! 

Has Theo Traveled Back in Time at the Roman Forum?

 Years ago when I was in Rome, just strolling along the streets, a friend pointed out a place--a large hole in the sidewalk--where you could see beneath present day Rome to Ancient Rome. I got on my knees and tried to catch of glimpse of Ancient Rome, but it was too dark down there, and I saw nothing. But the idea intrigued me--that modern Rome was built on top of Ancient Rome. How? Why? Well, it seems the Tiber River would flood and overflow its banks, leaving behind a trail of mud and silt that eventually, over the centuries, literally buried Ancient Rome. 

An exception to this natural phenomena was the Roman Forum, which was the center of Ancient Rome, and which was built on a hill. It became the political and religious center of Roman life. It included what we would consider the first Mall for shopping, what they called a marketplace, and the home of the Vestal Virgins, six priestesses who vowed celibacy and whose main job was to honor Vesta, one of the Roman Goddesses. 

We decide to go and see the Roman Forum. Now it was mostly destroyed, too, by earthquakes, weather events, pollution and centuries of architects robbing the stones for their own projects. But enough of the Forum is left to give you an idea of what Ancient Rome looked like, and I mean BC Rome, before Jesus was even born.

The best way to approach this rectangular area of ruins is to see it from the very top by climbing up the Palantine Hill. From that vantage point you can see the area that is nestled among the modern Rome of today. Technically, the Roman Forum at its furthest end bumps into the Arch of Constantine, which is very close to the Colosseum, where the gladiators fought. We take a video of this amazing ruin--at the end you can see the Arch and the Colosseum:

The history of Ancient Rome is long and illustrious. At one point the Romans literally rule the known world. The story is far too complicated to tell here. The Roman Forum evolves over time. We can see fragments of columns that support the main structure of the Forum, statues, parts of brick walls, and elaborate colored tile on the floors. To think that the Roman Forum dates back thousands of years and parts of it still exist today . . . 

There is so much to see. I am enthralled. Amazingly, so is Theo. He seems to have an interest in the Rome of yesteryear. Yeah, he watches, on occasion, the History Channel, but there is something about Ancient Rome that catches his imagination. 

As we traipse from ruin to ruin (thankfully it's a cloudy day and not so hot), Theo's ears perk, his head swivels around.

"This is history," I say to Theo. "Thousands of years ago . . . " The gangster cat is being remarkably cooperative despite the fact that we don't see a bird or a squirrel, Theo's usual distractions. This time there are only tourists and antiquities. 

Until we are set free. We're with a guide and then we have free time. An underground tunnel sits before us. Despite being claustrophobic I like tunnels, and this tunnel is a good size. I imagine we're walking back in time, and when we get to the other side, we'll be in Ancient Rome. 

Theo gladly comes with me. This is his chance to sniff the ancient walls and get a glimpse (from a cat's perspective) of how the ancients lived. I stop and read the placards along the way, keeping half an eye on Theo.

I should have kept both eyes on him. One minute he is walking beside me, then he stops, sniffs and the next minute he's gone. Did he race ahead? Is this a real time tunnel? Is Theo now sniffing in Ancient Rome? 

I rush forward, imaging what I'll see on the other side. My imagination runs a bit wild. But when I emerge, although I'm still standing in the fragments of ancient Rome, I haven't traveled back in time. Theo is just ahead, rubbing himself against Dan's leg. Dan is mesmerized by a stone mound, what is believed to be Julius Caesar's grave. It's actually the spot where his ashes were buried, two years after he was cremated. The mound is the remains of the altar built to honor him in the Temple of Divus Julius. I expect something grander. Still, Julius Caesar is a legend.

Dan teaches Latin. He loves myths. There is a smile on his face a mile wide. He can't believe he's standing in front of where they put Julius Caesar! 

As for Theo, he's hungry. He's had enough of ruins. He wants a snack because he is a cat, after all.

Theo Says Poetry Smoetry

 For years when I visited Rome, I always wanted to go into the house that sits on the side of the Spanish Steps--the house which was turned into The Keats Shelley House, a museum dedicated to three English poets--all Romantics--who spent time in Italy.  

The story goes like this: John Keats, who is best known for his poem Ode to a Nightingale, is dying of tuberculosis when he comes to Rome for the last time in 1820 with a friend. They rent a room in the house, with a window that overlooks the Spanish Steps. He arrives in November when he is still able to ride his horse and see the sights. 

As his illness progresses, he's confined to a single room with a magic window. 

He loves to watch the tourists who go up and down those steps. After he dies at age 25, still a relatively unknown poet, everything in his room is burned, according to Italian Vatican law. 

The house is due to be demolished in 1903, but English and American diplomats and writers save it. The then Kings of England and Italy, the then President Theodore Roosevelt of the United States support the creation of a permanent memorial to Keats. Eventually the memorial includes Keats' contemporaries--Percy Bysshe Shelley (whose wife, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein) and Lord Byron, who is best known for his autobiographical poem Child Harold's Pilgrimage, his many love affairs, his revolutionary spirit which led to his death in Greece and, in my humble opinion, his poem She Walks In Beauty. Byron is as popular as a rock star when he's alive.

Today more than 25,000 people visit the museum. 

Theo has no interest in going into the house. Poetry is not his thing. He'll watch a bird video or anything on National Geographic or Animal Planet, but he has no interest in the finer aspects of life. 

He sums up his attitude in two simple words: Poetry Smoetry. 

This presents a problem because I've been trying to get inside this museum for years. It always seems to be closed. But this time it isn't, and I can't resist. I spent part of my undergraduate work on the English Romantics. To see the house where Keats stayed and died is on my bucket list. 

Dan, my hero, comes in with me. There is a nice patio outside the house that overlooks the Spanish Steps. 

It is in the shade and the perfect people watching spot. We deposit Theo there, and he's happy. He perches near the railing and after he sniffs around, is instantly mesmerized by the tourists. Yes!

I am in heaven. Now I can explore. There is a welcome message at the entrance:

The walls that line the stairs leading to where Keats stayed are filled with photos and drawings, capturing their life back then. There is a drawing of the square with the Spanish Steps dating back to when Keats was alive:

There is a library filled with every conceivable imaginable book written by or about the three poets. It is an outstanding collection of 8,000 volumes and often attracts scholars who are doing research.  

There are excerpts from letters that Keats wrote--to his girlfriend Fanny. To his friends.  There are letters from Mary Shelley after her famous poet husband died.

There is so much to see and read. Every once in a while, Dan peeks out to make sure that Theo is still there. With Theo, you never know. 

This is how it happens. I am in Keats' room with the magic window, imagining this young man--who is so very talented and yet undiscovered living his last days on earth.  

Dan bursts in. "Theo is gone."

How can that be? We race to the patio, open the side door to the outside patio and look around. The patio is enclosed by a railing. There is nowhere to go. Except down. 

We lean over and see if it's possible. Could he have jumped down? No, Theo is not stupid. My backpack is still on the chair where I left it. 

No Theo.

Other options? Kidnapped? Not likely. He's a gangster cat, after all. 

"I know what happened," Dan announces. "Someone opened the door to the patio to look out . . ." He pauses. 

"Theo must have run into the museum."

We begin a frantic search to find him. We should have spared ourselves the effort. In the library, on a chair, Theo is cuddled up. 

"What the heck?"

And then we see the reason why. A small bowl filled with crocantini (dried cat food) is waiting beside him. A few morsels are left. 

There is a young woman, roaming around the museum, who keeps an eye on things. She is majoring in the English Romantics and spending her summer at the museum. We put two and two together and recognize a kind soul who spotted the "starving" Theo.

Unfortunately, although I could have stayed in the Keats and Shelley House forever, it is time to go back to the hotel. The gangster cat has had enough.

As we walk back, I read a few lines from Keats' To Sleep:

Oh, soft embalmer of the still midnight, . . .

Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords

Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole,

Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,

And seal the hushed casket of my Soul.

Theo says, "Poetry. Smoetry."