Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Venice under five feet of water as the city suffers its worst floods in 22 years
Venice under five feet of water as the city suffers its worst floods in 22 years
I love Venice. I could spend some serious time there. I think it's a magical place.
When we got back from our one and only trip there (followed by a walking holiday poking through Palladio sites in the Veneto), I had a dream ... a nightmare.
In the dream, we had bought a palazzo in Venice and moved lock, stock and books to take up permanent residence. Knowing the dangers of putting heavy loads of books on upper stories of aging homes, I'd set up all my book shelves on the ground floor of the palazzo.
All this is backstory.
The dream opens with me leaning against a railing, looking across the canal to the palazzo that we had just moved all our worldly goods (and books) into and were making our home.
As I leaned against the railing, the rain began to fall and before you could say, "George Washington" (this was a dream after all), the waters start to rise and rise fast. I realized the waters will rise enough that everything on our ground floor will be flooded ...
MY BOOKS!
I don't have time to run down the paths to the nearest bridge and across the bridge and back down the paths to our palazzo and get the books shifted in time to save them.
... so, Freud. What is the deep meaning of this nightmare?
posted by Sal Towse at 1:01 AM|
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I love Venice. I could spend some serious time there. I think it's a magical place.
When we got back from our one and only trip there (followed by a walking holiday poking through Palladio sites in the Veneto), I had a dream ... a nightmare.
In the dream, we had bought a palazzo in Venice and moved lock, stock and books to take up permanent residence. Knowing the dangers of putting heavy loads of books on upper stories of aging homes, I'd set up all my book shelves on the ground floor of the palazzo.
All this is backstory.
The dream opens with me leaning against a railing, looking across the canal to the palazzo that we had just moved all our worldly goods (and books) into and were making our home.
As I leaned against the railing, the rain began to fall and before you could say, "George Washington" (this was a dream after all), the waters start to rise and rise fast. I realized the waters will rise enough that everything on our ground floor will be flooded ...
MY BOOKS!
I don't have time to run down the paths to the nearest bridge and across the bridge and back down the paths to our palazzo and get the books shifted in time to save them.
... so, Freud. What is the deep meaning of this nightmare?
posted by Sal Towse at 1:01 AM|
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: views from the Hill
Bertold Brecht:
Everything changes. You can make
A fresh start with your final breath.
But what has happened has happened. And the water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again.
Everything changes. You can make
A fresh start with your final breath.
But what has happened has happened. And the water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again.
