Massimo, Mickey Mouse, and Rowan

Do you know that rare feeling when you meet someone and you just feel that your paths were meant to cross?  We had such an experience last Saturday morning and we are still processing the significance of the encounter.

There is nothing quite like exploring a place for the first time.  The excitement of what discovery you might  make -  every step forward is a step into the the unknown.  This is a feeling I long for in our normal life and often find during our travels.  As much as I long for stability and routine, there is equally a forceful instinct in me to break out of the self-made constraints and expand my perception of the world.   I think Dr. Seuss correctly identified this expansive feeling when he wrote, "the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day." It's a feeling not just of love in the romantic sense, although it certainly is applicable.  My most profound example of this feeling was falling in love with Keith, the mere sound of his voice made something inside the middle of my chest expand and take my breath away.  But, it can also be the overwhelming feeling when you see a beautiful sight, hear a moving piece of music, or,  observe the way the sun shines through the clouds or the light of the moon wakes you up with its impossible, immense, glorious light.  The common element of these experiences is the feeling that you are somehow transported beyond the ordinary in a flash of grace.  In this case, it came in the form of making the acquaintance of  two delightful gentlemen.

More than adequately fuelled by cappuccini and sfogliatelle we set forth to discover the wonders of the Castello Aragonese di Ischia, a small island connected to Ischia Ponte by a narrow bridge and dominated by a castle and centuries of architectural remnants.  As we stepped away from our caffe table I noticed that a store was just being opened up and pointed it out to Keith.  We are always on the lookout for treasures to take home.  I held back a little because I wasn't quite sure if it was a shop or a private space because there was no signage.  Keith (who somehow has become the more intrepid of the two of us lately) approached the building and popped his head in addressing the occupant with the appropriate request, "permesso?".  

Permission to enter was warmly granted by the proprietor.  We entered into a barrel vaulted space which was probably originally a cantina.  The first thing that grabbed me were the massive and impressive paintings on the walls of the room, then as I looked further I noticed a large table dominating the space, filled with art books and sculptures.  As I was taking in all this beauty I also became aware that we were actually not in a shop, we were in a type of gallery, or more precisely, that we had just invited ourselves into someone's private space.  In that moment I felt that we should excuse our nosey intrusion and make a hasty retreat, but the gentleman who allowed us in seemed to be quite happy to have us there and dispelled my reluctance.  We got to chatting, as best as one can in a combination of English and Italian.  We exchanged introductions and learned that this gallery is the project of Massimo who decided to use it to display his art collection here for his own pleasure and for those, like us, who happen to stumble in.  Clearly we were in the company of a kindred spirit, and one who I immediately admired.  How wonderful that a person should be so open and generous as to invite strangers into his passion in such a way!  The lesson to me was instant; "be more open, be more generous", an inner voice asserted.  As far as I could decipher the works on display are a result of a lifetime of collecting and that having the collection in this location rather than in his home allows Massimo the opportunity to not just share it with others, but more importantly to provide an opportunity for connection - exactly the type of thing that was happening in that moment.  

We were about to part ways, with grateful hearts, when another gentleman approached Massimo with an invitation and suddenly we were included to "take a coffee" with both men.  Already in awe of having had such a meaningful exchange with Massimo, we were almost overwhelmed by being invited into the man's  little mouse hole for coffee.  A short walk of a few meters took us to his den.  It wasn't really a house as we know it, but more of what I'd describe as a man-cave.  In other words, a private domaine.  It belongs to Topolino d'Ischia.  Topolino is what the Italians call Mickey Mouse.  Perhaps an odd name for an elderly gentleman, but entirely fitting due to his mouse-size physical stature coupled with his gregarious personality.  

Interior design and decoration is a passion of mine and I am always intrigued to see the expression of a person in their space.  If you were to accidentally wander into this space you could easily imagine the occupant without ever having seen him.  It is an outward expression of the personage of Topolino d'Ischia.  The furnishings are sparse, a couple of small tables and a few chairs.  It is also equipped with a wall-mounted television and an espresso machine, and a closet, in other words, all the necessities.  But what really catches your eye is the decorations.  If a Disney store packed itself up and transported to Ischia, it landed here.  There is a strong Mickey Mouse theme going on but it is strangely accompanied by a LOT of royal family paraphernalia (as in the English royal family).  We learned that Topolino is a prodigal son of Ischia, having worked in London for years as a restauranteur.   Apparently he had met Princess Diana on a number of occasions and formed a life-long admiration for the royal family as a result.  

Within moments we were given espressi and biscotti and I think we both felt as though we'd won a lottery.  I felt like Rick Steves - except we had no film crew, there was no motive for this hospitality other than for its own sake.  Once the coffee was distributed Massimo began a short and successful campaign for Topolino to get out his guitar and play us a song. Before the guitar was retrieved from its locker an equally important prop was retrieved almost in the way a magician pulls a rabbit from a hat.  From it's own lidded table Topolino drew out a hat, really more of a headdress actually.  About the size of an Indian headdress but rather than embellished with feathers, small stuffed animals (including Mickey Mouse) cascaded off the full length of the hat like bizarre cartoon-shaped dreadlocks.  With a glint in his eye simultaneously conveying both semi-shyness and mischievousness, he adorned the hat with a touch of dramatic flair.  Suitably attired and guitar in hand we were serenaded to a composition in which the chorus lyrics consisted of "Topolino, Topolino, cha cha cha".   I do realize that this is supposed to be a cheerful ditty and light-hearted moment, but for me the significance of being brought into a second  domain and treated to such hospitality in the space of only about thirty minutes actually brought tears to my eyes.   And I wasn't the only one.  As Keith looked over at Massimo he saw in that strong, grey-bearded profile genuine love for his friend.

Last year we said our final goodbye to our own handsome, grey-bearded friend.  Rowan died in his 72nd year from glioblastoma (a debilitating and fatal type of brain cancer).  During his final year we spent a lot of time with him which felt to us all to be a concentration of our twenty year or so friendship.  In those months we learned more about each other than we had in all the years that preceded it.  Because time was drawing near, in those months masks came off and the realness of us stood out as we became aware of the real inner spirits in each other.  One of the poignant aspects to this time for me was seeing the love between male friends - not something often expressed in our world.  In fact, men showing platonic love in our world often inaccurately takes on an undercurrent of repressed homosexuality.  Platonic love exists as much as romantic love does in my observation.  The last time we saw Rowan he was in the hospital with very little time left to live.  By this point he was in and out of consciousness and had lost his ability to speak.  However, he always did have the most expressive eyes and he did not loose that ability even at the very end.  We sat, each of us, on either side of his hospital bed holding his hands.  From time to time, he would come to and look to his left to see Keith there.  He would squeeze Keith's hand and give him that look, that said 'thank you for being here dear one".   He'd drift off again, then open his eyes to see if Keith was still there, which he was, to receive another grateful, and loving look.  

In the moments that Topolino was singing,  Keith saw Massimo there with love in his eyes for his friend, and for a moment Rowan was in the room.

Once I heard a quote and it has stuck with me all this time.  It goes, "the only gift is a portion of thyself".  Ralph Waldo Emerson said that and I agree.  We all wear masks, this protective instinct exists in us all, however, it is in taking down the masks (even just a little bit) that we let the love in.  I will remember our day in Ischia and be forever grateful for the warmth and authenticity of Massimo and Topolino.

I've included this piece of music which was one of Rowan's favourites.  When we talked about his imminent death he quoted J.S. Bach saying , "Don't cry for me, for I go where music is born".  In that last visit at the hospital, I put my phone close to his ear and played this piece for him, I think it may be the last  music he ever heard and now I'll never hear it without thinking of him.