Pru and I go for a long Sunday walk because it has been a long week. I returned from solo trip to Rome and then the fellow flew to the States for work. The week at home after my trip has been all about mothering hard. In our house, when our regularly planned schedule doesn’t happen things get bumpy. The change in plans could be something we all look forward to but it is almost always a little destabilizing. Everyone is off kilter, even Pru. A long walk helps, as does listening to Maya Angelou, I think Pru likes the sound of her voice as much as I do.
I went to Rome seeking Prudence/Prudentia…I’m fascinated by this forgotten allegorical figure. I’m not sure I found her but I found a couple unexpected things. I learned that I can and do like traveling on my own and that traveling alone is sometimes a lot easier than staying home! Wandering through Rome on my own was liberating and enlightening. I can’t wait to go back, maybe forever.
When I was packing for my trip I climbed up the loft ladder to get a suitcase down. Our loft looks like someone dropped kicked suitcases, camping gear and Christmas decorations into it. If every tidy house has one room that is messy then loft is our messy room. On my precarious path to the pile of suitcases, I tripped over a pile of diaries I’d forgotten about, diaries I’d written at least two years ago. I sat down in the dim glow of our loft light and started skipping through my writing. Two pages in I find a section about wanting to go to Rome. I write as though it is an impossibility or a wistful dream. I keep flipping through my diary and realise that Rome comes up multiple times. How is possible that I have written over and over about longing to go Italy but somehow miss to completely register it in my life?
I keep reading and notice other things crop up over and over again, things I hadn’t noticed. I’m sometimes stunned by how unaware I’ve been of what I do and don’t want. Even when writing it all out literally, I seem to have blinkered some of my own thoughts. The strange and wonderful bit is whatever I write, and then forget, somehow rises to the surface of my life and come to fruition, which is both exciting and frightening. I finish reading through the multicoloured journal entries of almost two years. I climb down the ladder slightly dumbfounded by what I’ve written and pack my bag for Rome. I’ve come to realize the truth will set you free but first it will kick your ass and make you want to take a nap.
Ivy and Palm 