The winter can feel long, but you don’t need a calendar to know when February has rolled into Rome. I say this because around the first week of the month, kids commence their annual duties of Jackson Pollocking the streets with coriandolo, all in the lead up to Ash Wednesday. Coriandolo is the Italian word for confetti (and in Italian, “confetti” is the Italian word for Jordan Almonds)…but coriandolo is also Italian for coriander/cilantro…so no, languages are not confusing at all.
It’s just about gone now, but Rome has been covered by thousands of tiny colored paper bits and streamers that gather between the sampietrini, on top of cars, and in the furthest reaches of city parks. The kids who throw it do such a great job that you might swear they were professionals. Walking about while dressed in costume, an outsider might think it a weird springtime ritual until you learn a thing or two about Carnevale.
Everything comes to a head once Ash Wednesday arrives, and then these decorations are slowly washed away by the spring rain that starts to move in. If you’re paying attention to the seasonal rhythms, you know that Rome is known for its sudden release of springtime rainfall— especially just before dawn. Like someone just turned on a shower just outside of the bedroom window. It wakes me up in the morning, but it also isn’t half-bad as an alarm clock since it will usually have stopped once the sun rises and I’m out the door. This general handover of February happenings is also a marker for when the trees start to perk up. Signs of spring abound but the temperatures are still cold.
After spending a few years in this orbit, I’d like to think I’ve become pretty aware of the changes that come with every passing season. I anticipate and enjoy the living color from the mimosa trees whose branches will soon be cut with the yellow blossoms handed out for International Women’s Day (March 8th). There are pink buds on cherry trees that seem to pop up just as soon as the paper confetti disintegrates. All told, I love this period— even if it is probably my least favorite time of the year.
Having said all of this, I do still manage to lapse into the “passenger sitting in a car on the highway” mentality. This means I see and note but don’t really absorb all of the objects that pass me by. They might be registered for a moment, but their presence fades from my brain because I’m caught up wondering about what’s coming up ahead. Forget the fact that there’s a freaking pyramid built into a city wall….Where’s the sign that shows how many miles until we reach the next big destination?!
A great example of this was last week— Shrove Tuesday as it’s called in many places. I generally know what to expect with all Fat Tuesday rituals, but by the time the afternoon rolled around, I had shelved the concept as something that was passed and opening. Then at 7PM , somebody rang the bell outside of my door. This is unusual—especially since there are a few layers of bell ringing/gate releasing that should take place before someone finally reaches my door. I live in a capital city. I tend to prick up at stuff like this. So very quietly I walked to my front door and looked out the peephole. There I saw the back of an older man wearing a big winter jacket. He was now ringing the bell of my neighbor. Then I heard him walk downstairs. It is not in my routine to open the door to unannounced guests, so I instead texted my doorman to let him know that there was some guy who had gotten inside and was ringing all of the doorbells.
“It’s the priest,” he texted back right away. “He’s here for the blessing.”
Instantly the figurative car that I found myself moving in was halted. All of the stuff that is jammed into the present moment came back to me. Of course I had seen the sign posted by my doorman, reminding residents of the evening blessing. But it was just a passing data point, one that didn’t stick. I was too easy being distracted. The act of a priest going door to door to offer a blessing before Lent (this is done, of course, in exchange for an offering) is a thing here. And while I’ve never opted for a blessing, I did know about it.
This is by no means the first or last time I will have found myself on another planet mentally. I’m human, and I get that we all do this. Instead, I replied to my doorman’s text with only a facepalm emoji. How embarrassing, me living in a Catholic country and thinking that I don’t need a calendar to track the nuances of each day, week, and month. I followed up my mea culpa another text, one that seemed the most appropriate. “Ah. So I guess then I won’t be blessed.” He’s a taciturn guy, and only texted by a smiley face. Simple oversight. I’m kinda glad I didn’t open the door and mistakenly give the priest the hairy eyeball for intruding. He’d have given me the opposite of a blessing.
I reflect on it frequently, but I do chalk all of this up to my persistent habit of always trying stand on my toes and try to overlook what is just in front of me. As I get older I recognize the value in being present, and not forgetting what is going on. I find things to enjoy about February, but I appreciate that it’s a short month with ones I prefer just ahead. I also know that I ask a lot of my brain when it comes to work, play, and all of the admin tasks that never go away. But spending a bit more time amongst today’s colors and traditions, even in the relative dullness of winter– that’s the mark of really getting to know a place.
That’s what I want to get better at. Being present and continuing to develop my own understanding of things. I will try to remember this again next year, especially when I catch myself starting to get excited about noticing the small details signaling an end to the winter. I don’t know if I will be successful, but I know for sure that I’ve already used up at least one silly question put to my doorman. He and I both know that I’ll probably have more. Probably starting in March. But for now, I’m trying to really appreciate this look at February.