There Are No Songbirds Left in Italy, but the Sistine Chapel Is

This starts with my family having the Sistine Chapel to our selves for almost half an hour, then meeting a former Polish Baroness, who has left an indelible imprint in my memory banks. So this is going to be another continuation.. Sorry!

First off, this is 1969, about three worlds ago. This world is driven by kids who really believe they can change the world by singing, and traveling. Europe is full of them, even though it’s winter and they should be in school. Actually they more than likely were.

Vatican City is about a 100 acres; half taken up with its museum. People on tours often miss this, because you go in from the back, not a door beside The Pieta. I think it was free back then. There was a huge sausage market at the foot of the entrance. The aromas were undeniable! At the time I thought, ‘ What a great disguise for the Devil! We waited until we came out to buy. Yummy! But the inside was a bigger and longer lasting YUMMY!!

How did we get one of the most hollowed spots on earth to ourselves for so long? Thank Foder’s Europe On Five Dollars A Day. FIVE DOLLARS! See? It is three worlds ago! It said, When you get to the top of the first flight, step over the velvet rope on your left, and go down a corridor until you reach a small door on your right. Open it and walk in. We did, and there we were, almost thirty minutes before the official opening time! The guard looked up, from his newspaper undismayed by our entrance. I motioned to him like we were lost and he smirked. Then pronounced in perfect English, ‘ You may stay. But no pictures. Understand! No pictures of any kind.’ We all nodded. I offered our camera. He sneered at its cheapness and went back to reading. We instantly decided the way to see the ceiling was sitting on the floor or better still, on a little platform off to one side. Sitting saved creeks in our necks. My two kids were 16 and 13. It’s February and I’ve been dragging them across two continents for nine months and we still have six months to go! As my daughter often proclaimed, ‘ There we were in wonderful Acapulco and Daddy had to drag us off to dirty old Paris!’

Well, they both sat, and stared. I could hear the tiny gasps as they absorbed the wonders old Mickey Di-Angelo had put up there. Later my son asked. ‘ Is this was the reason we picture God as an old white bearded guy?’ I refused to answer. I let them drink it, then pointed out the wall and Mickey’s concept of how our world was going to end. Actually this is more powerful than the ceiling, but , well, so it goes.

The kids and my wife simply gawked, growled, muttered praises and didn’t want to let go.
My daughter knew that the skinned fellow in the middle was Mickey. Knew that he painted himself in there as a skinned dude because the Pope hadn’t paid him. They didn’t notice the morels along one side of the room until the first group of tourists entered. They all took f lash pictures, and apologized when the guard shouted, ‘ NO PICTURES!’ and went back to his paper. The first group stayed about ten minutes. Three others came and snapped while the first guide was describing the ceiling. He never got around to the wall. There are so many wonderful things to see here! We must almost run!’ He sighed with Italian pride.

Both kids wanted to came back the next day if we could sneak in, but the next time we tried, there was a guard with a long pike on duty. But no matter. All I have to do is close my eyes. No! Just look off and Mickey’s miracles flood my vision. The old smoked, varnished over and over ones. Fifteen years later Marilyn and I got to see it when it was half restored. That was amazing too. But we weren’t alone, and not sure which is what you should see. Maybe they should have left half of it alone. Oh, the little door was locked. Next. Golfing, goofing in Israel!