moments

There are some moments that you stop during, while they're happening, and know that you'll remember for the rest of your life.  They are surreal while they are occurring, and they are just as surreal afterwards.  They are exquisiteness contained in minutes and seconds.

Unfortunately, this businessman growling at the Americans who had invaded his trachetto (gondola that takes you from one side of the canal to another for 50 cents) did not know I was about to experience such a moment.  But HAD he known, I'm sure Mr. Gorbachov-wannabe-man would have smiled just as much as I was smiling.  (As I tried not to think of what would happen if I fell into the Grand Canal in a satin dress.

 Oh, the old goldonliers are so cute!

So here we are, arrived at San Rocco for a concert and a dinner.  Sounds pretty basic.

 Oh, this used to be a church.  

Oh wow, these are massive paintings on the way up to a gilded room.  

And this is when the jaw started to drop.

There have only been a few places on this Earth that have made me stop in complete, transcendent wonder.

 This room was one of them.


Woodwork (with nautical themes) and oversized lanterns lined the grandness.

 The ceiling was painted by someone whose name I will know tomorrow when I pick up the art book I forgot to get.

 This is what greeted our eyes (better picture below).  And then we sat down for some music.  The most extraordinary, beautiful, wonderful music I've ever heard live.  The sort that transports you.  I have never experienced anything like it before in my life.

 This is the back of the room.  For an idea of the size, my head came up to about the top of the lanterns on the bottom.

 And then there was what we all referred to as THE OTHER ROOM.  Oh my goodness, that other room.

 And the ceiling!!  That glorious ceiling!!

 Masterpiece.

 It made me sad that everyone was admiring the paintings and ignoring the crucified Lord.  I took a minute to say a prayer, and wondered when the last time was that someone had said a prayer in front of it.

 Turning my back on The Other Room, I made my way back the The Room.

 They had brought out mirrors so that you didn't have to cran your neck to see the ceiling.

 But I did anyways.  It was worth it.

 I loved this one.  Maybe for all the wrong reasons.

 One of those shipman-like carvings and the line of lanterns.

 A shot of the stairway that we came up from.

 The front of The Room, where the musicians played.

 Pondering for centuries.

 This photo is so blurry that I wish I could go back in time to take it over again . . .and for other reasons too.

 Finally, a good shot of the room and the musicians.  Blew.  Me. Away.

I have a wee video of the music, but the thing is being stubborn and not uploading.  Tomorrow.

In sum: the music was extraordinary, the food was amazing, and having an astronaut at our table was the icing on the cake.  I was at home with the music and the setting. I didn't feel quite as at home with the people.  

I'm an observer with such a crowd. I don't have the know-how to talk-the-talk about detectors and space deployments and all that jazz.  But I did love the music.  I loved experiencing something that I knew immediately that I loved.  And it was one more piece placed in my puzzle of figuring-myself-out that I have made the task of this trip.

What was not photodocumented was hanging out in the teenager haunt's piazza and watching mid-20 year olds play spin the bottle.  For real.  Oh, Italy.  I happily sipped my tea and laughed at the world.

For there would be no sublime were it not for the ordinary.  God bless that ordinary.