COVER -> MY GLASS HOUSE
The world seemed very open to me then. I had just finished writing my overlong thesis on first century Palestine, I was embarking on my dream Fellowship to live in Egypt, the world seemed my oyster. My friends, and later my colleagues and acquaintances in Cairo, naively insisted that I was off to a great writing career, what with my talent, my willingness to risk it all for my art, my erudition.
None of that was true.
I would return to America to begin a failed career in mental health, and then become an ink-stained wretch making all the money I ever would from being a journalist and editor, not a novelist.
But the me of then was even more hopelessly romantic than the one you have come to know in these pages. So it was natural that I should go to Florence before taking up my life in Egypt. There were only two choices for someone like me, Florence or Venice. I chose Florence, the city of Lorenzo de Medici, because one of college pals, Jeff Dunne, was working in a shoe factory there and because of some superstitious nonsense about not wanting to replicate Henry James' "Death in Venice" bent. I've always been superstitious...
What I rememer most about Italy, besides the bags of mail sitting in the Rome airport because of another of the perennial strikes of that time --- I couldn't help wondering how long some of those sacks had sat there, holding the love letters, the heartfelt pleas for money, the duns from bill collectors, for weeks on end --- was the trains.
I have always loved trains. That is why I pay more to take AmTrak today for most of my travels than its service warrants. Being in Europe, even for a short time, is a rail maven's delight. And the trains in Italy are a great joy indeed! I remember how we would stop in villages between Rome and Florence and it was possible to debark, stretch ones legs, and purchase samples of the local wine.
Rolling alone the Italian countryside, where Caesar has once ridden, and Pompey, where Garibaldi had travelled creating a nation, this was the stuff of the fabled Grande Tour so popular in the last century among the American elite and now open to all of us.
Snacking on the train was in vogue then. People would break out logs of salami or pepperoni and share them with other passengers in the compartment, it was expected that we would all share --- the wine we had bought at the last stop, some salami, a bit of bread and cheese. Language was not important or a barrier. People get by.
I had talked to a couple of brothers in the Rome train station about the racism factor. They had advised me to claim to be a Canadian, because Americans were not in particular favor in central Europe at the time: Vietnam. They said that racism would never go away because of colonialism's legacy, the best we could do, as Black men, was try to be kind to each other as the world would never really be kind to us. We laughed, knowingly, and smoked cigarettes and waited for the trains which would fan out across Italy caring their cargo of our dark fruit.
My pal, Jeff, another big, red-headed Irishmen from Boston with a summer to kill seeing Florence, was staying in pensione room which he shared with two guys from Britain. Taking me on as a fourth occupant was no problem. While he would go off to his job making $3.00 (USD) per day at the shoe factory job, I would party with Australian friends I had made loitering in cafés.
My mornings started out with a tall flute glass of Sambuca, including the obligatory coffee bean at the bottom, and then the Aussies and I would cruise the town, the river, the bridges, and slowly make our way to the Piazza San Marco where all the young people from around the world gathered to flirt, party, exchange travel tips.
For all that is said about the boisterousness of American travelers, there are no greater roisterers than the Australians! They are flat-out fun to travel with, to see new places. At the time, the big debate was about the future of Gough Whitlam, the Australia Prime Minister who was breaking the traditional mold of that country. I joined in, but I wished I knew more about this amazing man...
What weighed on my heart at the time this was all happening, marveling at the art throughout this great city, the new perspectives on the world and my country I was encountering, wandering enraptured through the Uffizi, was my separation from the first one I had ever loved, Lynda Day.
As much as I felt my personal destiny calling me to make this journey, to see Egypt and live there, I was heartsick about being away from her.
My "sensible" mind told me that this separation, especially now, was a good thing. She would be at Beloit College and find a voice of her own, experiences separate from those with me which would shape her future.
What happened was that I would rush back to her at the end of my time in Egypt to have her break the heart that she had single-handedly enlivened...
I had never had a broken heart before. I had never trusted anyone enough to give them the chance to break it, especially after what I had experienced with my parents, so this was new territory for that me. It informed much of who I would later become.
The Health Thang
My sister-in-law was over from Bermuda this past week and INSISTED that she accompany me to my latest doctor's appointment. She was going to make sure that I showed this time. I appreciate that she cares this much.What we learned was that I had dodged the scourge of most Black men, high blood pressure. I was not entirely surprised, despite being a cigarette smoker, since I tend to be a relatively even-tempered guy. "Mr. Valium" they used to call me back when I worked in financial documents.
But my new doctor, whose name is Weisbrot (literally translated from the German, that means "White Bread" -- more irony) is concerned about my genetic legacy of multiple diseases and my interesting list of symptoms. He think I should eat more, too.
There was a minimum of poking and prodding, much to my relief. And Dr. Weisbrot seems a genuinely nice man. I am hopeful, for a change...
THINGS THAT BOTHER ME THIS WEEK
1. Having to learn about divesting myself of dot.com stock options.2. Blood tests and X-rays.
3. Needing a good accountant.
Thanks for coming back this week.
"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching..."
Rod
ROD AMIS has published this magazine since 1990. It first appeared as a hardcopy 'Zine. In March, 1996, he launched it here on the Web. Rod was a Contributing Editor at Suite101.com, where he wrote the " 'Net Publishing" feature. His work has been featured in the San Francisco Bay Guardian Online, NRV8, and at WebLab's Reality Check site. Rod was also a contributing writer on technology for Faulkner Information Services.
Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was also principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly. His opinions on the Info Age began appearing on MethodFive's HYPER technology newsletter in March. 1999. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000.
Our Editor does listen!