Liz writes, "the only thing I ever want to know about any place or any person is the story, this is the only thing I watch for - never the aesthetic details". p 88
I laughed out loud at "St. Somebody of the Barefoot Penitents of Righteous Misery". And then I realized, I haven't ever, in recent recollection, laughed out loud while reading a book. You see the rare phenomenon on the subway and wonder what the giggler is reading. And, I'm the kind of person that always wants to know, "what's so funny?". When I come across a group of people laughing at something I always want in on the joke. I don't know if I'm driven by nosiness or the love of laughter, or just the need to know what's going on (I never seem to know). I don't know if I'm now laughing out loud because she's just funny, we have a similar sense of humor or I've just learned to lighten up over the years (or, quite possibly, some combination of those three). I think over time I'm taking myself less and less seriously and I'm finding more and more humor, more joy in things (until my ego steps in and dictates that I'm supposed to be the most joyful and the most humorous man in the room).
I can't retain facts, names or dates to save my life. But, I guess my interest lies in the story of something, too. Did anything interesting happen while that basilica was built? Who built it? What were the people like? Where did they live? Did the plague break out? Was there a fire? Did people die during the building of the basilica? Was there a war in Turkey and many men died getting the Turkish slate to lay the floors? Or, maybe that's why they had to use Spanish marble instead. And, the local marble smith was sick the day they had to cut the marble. So Giovanni Marbalini rose to fame because of that fated day when he happened by the building of the new basilica on his way to violin practice and just happened to have his marble cutting tools with him.
Maybe, the new pope, impatient to be recognized had the previous pope's marble head knocked off the commemorative statue and had his glued on (or, however the affix marble heads to marble bodies). Maybe the new Pope, Raphael De Fatso was plump and short, unlike his Adonis-like predecessor (I know, a Pope? Adonis like?). And, the local sculptor refused to sculpt the papal chubby dwarf in any way but how he looks because the sculptor was on a tantrum filled realist faze of his career (the rest of which he spent in the catacombs of said newly finished basilica). So, while the local finished his career in the basement, another "willing" sculptor sculpted the chubby popes head just in time for the papal inauguration (or whatever they do) and the unveiling of the new statue (fat head - Adonis body) in honor of Pope Fatso. But, Pope Fatto Squatto (as the locals came to call him) died three days later of a massive coronary and during the rush to get a new pope there was no time or interest t sculpt a new statue. So, those two knuckleheads stayed joined at the neck.
I love those kind of stories.
Thank you, God, for giving me my creativity back, as silly as it may be. I love to make stuff up.
Where were we? Oh! Still in Italy. And, then she still has to pray and love! I'm a slow reader. Apparently, that's how Liz reads too. So, we're two peas in completely different pods, at different times in different parts of the world. I'm plodding, contemplative. That's how I go. I even write slow. Stopping a lot for spell check doesn't help. And, I'm easily distracted. I need a haircut. I wonder if I should cut or break the spine of my journal so it makes it easier to write in it. That sounds so cruel and violent. Sometimes, randomness is funny.
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