< ![CDATA[   The bus ride into Ravenna felt very fast. Having become accustomed to our maximum speed topping out at about 30 km/hr down hill, cars and buses have become magically fast to us. The children all commented on this as we zoomed past oil refineries and fishing huts and other cyclists poking along the roadside, like we usually do. The cobbled streets and narrow alleys of the town are a maze, and even with our map we got pleasantly lost several times. It is impossible to avoid the mosaics, and we didn't even try. There are mosaics, and then there are mosaics. We've seen both kinds. We were keen to see the mosaics at Ravenna, spectacular because of their age. We've seen bigger. We've seen flashier, but we haven't seen older, or more unique. Ravenna's mosaics are a window into a time long passed; some dating as early as the fourth and fifth century, A.D. My favorite was the extensive set below a church that comprised an entire house from the fifth century and contained a mosaic of the Good Shepherd that is unlike any depiction ever found, before or since. They were absolutely beautiful. It seemed strange to stare down at the floors of someone else's home... someone who surely did not expect her dining room and the living room where her children played to become a museum exhibit. It made me wonder about what will endure from our time and our lives into a distant future we cannot now imagine. Dante is one of my favorite dead guys. I've read a thing or two that he wrote and he's always been a character of mythical proportions to me. The impact his writing has had on generations of people, the way his stories formed culture and swayed belief is incredible. And, I just like his stories. He makes me think. It was a solemn moment for me to stand at his tomb and feel the weight of history and the power of words all around me. His round, white monument with its domed top stands beneath a majestic oak in a garden devoted to his memory, right next to the church of San Francesco. The first smell that greeted us in the dark interior of the church was that of incense, spicy, and deep, having seeped into the woodwork for centuries. Gabriel stood on his tip toes to peer into the basin of holy water... looking for the mosquito larvae that he's discovered inhabit most of the vats... not the holiest of purposes. Ezra and I started our long, solemn walk around the perimeter of the church. We stopped at the first iconic alter: "Mom. That's RIDICULOUS." "What Ez?" "The candles! That's not right! You're supposed to be able to light REAL ones. These are switch on lights that just LOOK like candles." He rolled his eyes right out of the top of his head and his shoulders slumped. I was no less disappointed. I love the smell of hot wax inside a cathedral and the sight of old women with shaking hands lighting long, slim, white candles in the semi-darkness and putting them there before the alter. The tangible remains of the deepest prayers in their hearts. Here of all places to go for the modern convenience of less wax to scrape from the marble floors, in the church where the great poet must have, himself, worshipped. The one place I would have considered lighting my own candle. Ez felt my pain as we walked on. By the time we reached the main alter his enthusiasm had returned, if mine had not. "HEY! Mom!! Look at THIS!" He shouted in a stage whisper. He even shouts when he whispers. I took the steps down behind the alter and peered into the hole in the darkness: an ante chamber of the old crypt, filled with water. Big deal. "Neat Ez, kind of like a swimming pool under the church." I was non-plussed by the whole thing. Electric candles. The kids stood around and peered into the darkness and waggled their eyebrows at the box in the wall until Daddy took the hint and popped the required fifty cent coin into the slot and the electric lights were illuminated for two minutes viewing of the crypt. A collective gasp and "WOW!" was not so much whispered. There is was. Perfectly preserved beneath several feet of cool, fresh water that had seeped through the foundation of the church (according to the Sister on hand to explain.) Mosaics. Beautiful, fourth century mosaics with twelve or so big goldfish swimming around above them. "Not a swimming pool Mom, a FISH pool," corrected Ezra. Sure enough. It almost made up for the candles. The rest of the day was spent in happy wandering and shopping for our dinner, a daily ritual that the children love. We may never go back to our twice a month shopping routine that I strictly adhere to when we aren't homeless. It brings the kids such joy to spend ten minutes or so sorting out whose day it is to accompany me into the store. We had to come up with a system after the first two months of constant asking and arguing over the privilege: Hannah and Elisha get Mondays and Wednesdays, Gabe and Ezra get Tuesdays and Thursdays. Daddy gets the long weekends. Megan had to come every day because she had chocolate to buy, and she helped keep a lid on my enthusiastic helpers. Where IS that girl when I need her? Completely by mistake we wandered into the garden of an unassuming little church near the bus stop. From the moment we entered the garden it was different from every other church we've been in. Serenity reigned. The soft sounds of monks singing in Latin seemed to descend from heaven itself. We sat for a long while in the darkness, listening to the singing. Even the boys were mesmerized by it and seemed entranced by the ethereal sound. My favorite detail in "the singing church," as Ezra called it later, was the crucifix. In general, I'm not a big fan. I find them kind of creepy and I prefer to think of Jesus as risen and laughing, not dwelling on what must have been the worst day in eternity for him. This one was different. The cross was there. So was Jesus... but he wasn't tacked to it and dripping bodily from the nails, as he is so often portrayed, looking out with that, "Look what you did to me," look. Nope. He was removed from the cross by a couple of inches, his hands were raised above his head, which was uplifted and smiling. His robes were flung out around him to give the impression of him twirling and dancing... risen, victorious. Between the music and the crucifix, that little church redeemed my day and my view of the church establishment, which had been severely tarnished by the electric candles and fifty cent per view mosaic fish pond.]]>