New Normal Needed

Hey Jamie Lee Curtis, get your smug mug over here and feed me some Activia. Seems like your yogurt has magical qualities. If you're distressed, out of sorts, dissatisfied with your life, a few spoonfuls of Activia and, voila! A "new normal."

Damn, I need a new normal.

Since I got back from Italy two weeks ago, everything in my life has seemed out of sorts. Can't focus, no appetite, haven't exercised much, and work? Do I even have a job? And my wife and kids. Yeah, they're here, too. But what are their names again?

Maybe I'm suffering from Renaissance envy, or perhaps pasta withdrawal. Or, maybe, I picked up something on that Air France flight--a bug in the cognac, perhaps? And I never drink cognac, either. Something about that trip. Can't stop thinking about some of the things I saw there.

Of course nothing prepares you for the experience of seeing your son sing Michael Jackson songs in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa while Asian tourists took pics. Yeah, that happened. Or hearing them perform a Mozart mass selection in St. Peter's Basilica while the Pope listened from his private apartment. (Well, what else would he be doing while our kids sang?)

Other images are sticking in my mind, too. Like, in Rome, there are apartments built on top of Roman ruins. Right on top--the builders didn't tear down the old, they simply used it as a foundation. Can you imagine? Levels one and two are an unoccupied municipal building built in the third century. And level three was added one hundred years ago--and the units have electricity, running water, and satellite dishes. Rome is this bizarre juxtaposition of old and new--always colliding and kind of messy.

Predictably, in Florence I came face to face with David. Yes, THE David statue by Michelangelo. Of course I've seen pictures of it hundreds of times, but here's a few things I didn't know. First, he's enormous--like 16-feet tall. And, he has a back. Which I'd never seen. Running down the middle of his back is a leather strap--which is attached to the slingshot he's holding in his left hand. How come I never noticed the slingshot? Oh, and his hands are freakishly large, even for a 16-foot man.

The story is that Michelangelo was concerned about perspective--because the statue originally was meant for display high above the square in front of the Florence Cathedral. And, from that vantage point, the freakishly large hands looked postively normal. I guess.

Now Venice had its unforgettable sights, too. I was most taken by St. Mark's Cathedral--which is gilt in gold, and absolutely sparkled in the February sunlight. Yet, for all the beauty they amassed, the Venetians, I discovered, were a bunch of conniving thieves. For example, the golden lions in front of St. Mark's were stolen from Constantinople in the 12th century when, in one of the darkest moments of the Crucades, the Catholic armies forgot about liberating the Holy Land and decided it was a better idea to settle a few scores with the Byzantines. Why fight actual armies when there was so much plunder so close to home?

And the bones of St. Mark? Well the crafty Venetians sailed to Alexandria in Egypt, lifted the relices from the great evangelist's final resting place, and shipped them to Venice under a cargo of pork. Turns out the Muslim Arab authorities in Egypt would not touch swine and let the Venetians leave Alexandria unscathed, even when the local Coptic Christians pleaded with them to stop the plundering. One macabre detail in the story is that somehow St. Mark's skull was separated from his body--and, miraculously, the head "appeared" again in Alexandria after the grave robbing incident. Charming!

So for all its grace and beauty, Venice was built by a bunch of criminals, who after attaining wealth, decided they were artists and defenders of liberty. Talk about an image makeover!

Which brings me back to my "new normal." As much as I love my life in Grosse Pointe--with its sweeping lakefront views, stately homes, clean sidewalks and parks, it seems rather staid and mundane after the historic riches of Italy. Can't even get interested much in reading about our salacious local murder yarn, or planning my spring garden, or thinking about new clients and projects. My kids seem fine, my wife and I are getting along well, time marches on, but I'm feeling restless and out-of-place nonetheless.

Was there something in that lasagna I liked so much in Bologna? Or, perhaps I should just start eating Activia. God knows I need a "new normal."