The oldest of my three sisters has always been the one who is most skilled at expressing emotion with X-ACTO precision. It takes no effort for me to conjure up her voice whenever I feel as though I’m teetering on an edge of frustration. 

“Jesus Christ!” She always raises her voice and pitch just slightly, uttering this sort of first name/last name pair with extreme rapidity. It’s as if she’s opening and immediately closing one side of a lid that sits atop a bubbling pan on the stove. The blasphemous words are uttered and then, as if by magic, breathing space is created that allows her to go on with the day. 

That’s not exactly the Christmas anecdote that I should be telling right now, but then again, the past year has not exactly been a sweetheart of an experience. 

So Rome just went through its first of three holiday “red” periods. Wherever you are reading this, I am sure that you have your own flavor of restrictions. I don’t want to hear about your lockdown rules, so I am not going to tell you about mine either. Think of it as a mutual gift exchange…seeing as how all of the Christmas presents I mailed home are still sitting in a Boston warehouse.

It’s not just exasperated Massholes who feel as though the vice grip on life is not going to let up after the ball silently drops in Times Square this year. The Italians have also done a commendable job of putting a brave face on a holiday season full of alien restrictions. And trying to be festive during a time that is all about social togetherness is no easy task for anyone.  To wit, I was listening to a podcast the other day that described how the original lyrics to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” are actually quite sad and right in line with a pandemic Christmas.  

Muddle through somehow, indeed. 

Rome turned orange again yesterday. After four days subsisting off of panettone, I hopped outside much like I did after the spring lockdown was lifted. No declaration form needed, and we could all wander freely in our regions of residence. This morning I went on an extended run, both to see the city at sunrise—but also, because I wanted to see some more of the festive decorations.  

The nativity scenes, or presepi are probably the best part about Italy at Christmas. They range from the size of a movie set trailer (as constructed in Piazza del Popolo) to a tiny scenes placed inside of a walnut shell (I read about these little guys being given to hospital patients in Potenza at Christmas).  What I like best is walking around somewhere, breathing as best I can from behind my mask, and suddenly catching glimpse of a presepe in an unexpected place.

The head scratching nativity scene in Saint Peter’s Square this year is not everyone’s cup of tea. And while I didn’t find it that bad (after all, it is 2020), what I did find charming was an unassuming scene propped up on high as I left the Vatican down Via della Conciliazione. A store front was under construction—but on top of the scaffolding, the construction company took one of their shovel scoop things from an excavator and built a presepe. A true delightful. amidst all of the troubles that this year has seen.

Another presepe I liked was found outside of the city (before holiday lockdown). It had the manger scene and expanded environs all laid out inside of a massive wine cask. There it was on a strip of grass, just hanging out on the side of a busy road. After stopping the car and doubling back to take a closer look, taking in the level of detail made me light up like a little kid. It reminded me of the Christmas light and static displays I used to love every December at Edaville Railroad—a heritage attraction nestled in cranberry bog country of southeastern Massachusetts. 

On New Year’s Eve the city will turn red again, and the streets will be quiet and limited only those folks with allegedly legitimate reasons for being outside. That said, I know that there will be plenty of small-scale celebrations taking place in homes to ring in 2021…even if deep down we all realize that there is no magic switch that will make conditions instantly better.

The masks, the ever-renewing panic of “Am I getting sick? Is this COVID?” will continue to churn well into 2021. And intellectually I know that the something will come along after COVID—and even better we are all humans and as such have to die at some stage—I’d just like for life to include a bit more human contact. I don’t want to be here next Christmas Eve, again watching Trading Places and finding it strange that so many people are crammed on an Amtrak train without masks or social distancing. 

As I neared the end of my long run this morning (the only time where I don’t wear a mask outdoors!), my eyes caught something new on the side of a restaurant’s outer wall. It looked kind of like those Solo cup signs you see in chain link fences back in America…only this time they were smaller (Italian-sized) drink cups that were somehow pasted to a blue background.  A sign that was easy to miss from behind the trees and usual signage. 

I would say that on the whole, Italians are never going to be as blasphemous as my sister when it comes to uttering parolacce that helps them to feel better. Instead of using JC’s name in vain, they tend to use one of their thousand words for various parts of the male anatomy, or else it’s the phrase you see on the sign. In any case, the sign—much like the dozens of presepi—made me smile. We are all ready for the memories of 2020 to be gone. 

So eff off, 2020…even if I know that you are going to overstay your welcome by probably the better part of 2021. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I’m going to instead try and continue lingering on the kinder motions within each calendar month. Remember to appreciate the beauty. And then, every couple hours or so, I’ll take a page from my sister’s coping strategy and let off a bit of steam. It really works. And for me, every little bit of relief helps.