Imagination in a techie world

Owl and Owlette: The little purple object on the table is an electronic toy owl that evolves with its owner's care and attention. The caped figure at the table is my grandniece Emi, dressed as Owlette from the  PJ Masks kids' series. The question I ask is, what is left to the imagination in the modern world?

Another view of the Owlette costume, which transforms the wearer into s super-hero. Emi had to be convinced it didn't mean she could really fly.

Emi and Aya draw the owl, sitting on the table.

Psychologists and toymakers have probably been hashing this out for years, but the question that arose for me this Christmas was, what happens to children’s imaginations in an era where technology leaves nothing to the imagination?

When a TV series about children who transform into super-heroes results in ready-made costumes replicating those of the heroes exactly? When an electronic toy owl needs 30 minutes of stroking and cuddling to “hatch” out of its shell, then continuous more-of-the-same to evolve and develop to different levels? Its eyes change colour – red, blue, green, yellow, purple – to telegraph its needs, and it whirs and whines and beeps to make sure you’re paying attention.

I thought: About the old story that kids often have more fun with the boxes that toys come in than the toys themselves. About the ragged hand-me-downs in our childhood costume box, and how one “bejeweled” sheer white blouse met all our needs for elegance (it was a grand bridal veil!) About the “reality” toy of my era being a doll with a hole in the mouth and another at the other end, out of which water would pour if you gave it a drink.  I remembered conjuring a tropical jungle out of an ordinary prairie slough, a figure-skating arena out of a frozen patch in the back yard, a theatre out of the living room.

I do not know the answer to my opening question. Children may be more imaginative than ever, spurred on by all the input from the electronic world around them. Certainly my four-year-old grandniece is not lacking in imagination: Santa Claus became real for her this year, and it took some talking before she was convinced that her new super-hero owl costume wouldn’t enable her to fly.  But I wonder about the gap between reality and fantasy being whittled down so narrowly. Where is the space for invention to soar?

Rome diary: Our back-yard park

The Villa Doria Pamphilj park in Rome has pretty much everything, including a rose garden and a 17th -century villa that gives the park its name. 

A villa so grand must have a fine entrance, and here it is. The villa itself is closed, but you can walk through these gates and explore everything around it.

Not far away from the  villa with its accompanying Roman walls, statuary and water features are vast areas of  wild grasses, left unmowed. Everyone is free to make their own trails. 

 

Graceful statues along fenced greenery; you know you're in Rome.

Water courses and water features dot the park. This is part of a main channel that runs up from a lake. I like the bird about ready for takeoff.

It has a wall, over which, from the right spot, you can see the dome of St. Peter’s through the trees. It has an elaborate 17^th-century villa, closed to the public, but very viewable from the hill above, with its water-lily pond and boxwood garden the size of a small field. It has vast stands of umbrella pines. A lake. Water courses. Fountains and water features and statues galore. Playing fields and wide treed paths for walkers and cyclists. It has history: some of the fiercest hand-to-hand combat in Garibaldi’s battle with the French forces in 1849-50 were fought near here.

But what Mariken and I liked best about the Villa Doria Pamphilj park, a five-minute walk from our apartment in Rome, were the wild areas. Along with the manicured spaces, it has vast slopes and sweeps of unclipped grass, knee-to-waist-high, where dogs and kids and even old folks can do whatever they want.

One evening at dusk, Mariken took me back to my rural childhood and we plowed down a hill through knee-high grass and weeds to a steep bank of wild brush. No path there, either, so another plunge through the trees, dodging rocks and roots barely visible in the dying light. When we came out to the path below, it took us through a stand of umbrella pines. A full moon rose. The city glowed in the distance, so close but far. Moonlight shone through the trees. It was one of those moments.

The villa from above, with its huge clipped boxwood garden. The shaded-looking area is actually a pond with water lilies. The maintenance on this place must be amazing.

One of the many water features is this elaborate fountain. You can see the villa in the background.

Near the villa, a curved wall of no discernible purpose, with a statue in the centre.

The panels on that curved wall are amazing. They show groups of children behaving badly. Here, one hits another with a stick.

Another of those panels. It looks nasty.

It's not just enough to have a villa; you must also have water features and statues and elaborate carvings at its base.

More of the villa's elaborate detail.

Squint at this a certain way, and you will see two figures made of rock. Male and female. I think.

Another angle on that rockwork fantasy. Which has a water course at the bottom, just in case anything might be lacking.

A view over the villa garden, with the fountain at the centre.

This staircase with wide, very shallow steps by the villa may have been built so horses could climb it.

The umbrella pine forest.

Wide treed pathways allow plenty of space for walkers and cyclists. They don't have to be paved, painted green, or have any signs telling people what not to do.

The playing field is spacious and a little unkempt, but there's lots of room and once again, no signs about restrictions on its use.

Back to the water features. I love the way Romans combine nature and statuary, as if they automatically belong together.

Speaking of nature, this fountain has a mass of greenery on top that water pours through.

Trees in bloom in a more manicured area of the park.

One of the few signs telling people what to do, and not. Notice how short it is.

Mariken with feet in fuzz. Some trees were giving off fuzz that turned the pathways white the day we were there.

The wall surrounding the park, with ivy.

The wall in the park where St. Peter's dome makes a surprise appearance through the trees. If you squint, you may see a little blob of white in the centre of the photo.

Another wall in the park. Beyond it is a roadway, dug deep down.

And, the lake. A pleasant diversion point in the park. From here, a right turn takes you to the villa and down the Janiculum hill. Turning left takes you to the water course and through the rest of the park.

John at 73

John's 73rd birthday was Wednesday, so I made a lemon-based cake and topped it with red and yellow (!)  raspberries, blueberries and whipped cream.  John and Mr. Darcy both seemed to think that was an appropriate way to celebrate.

Every birthday (and Christmas), John and I get each other books. At this point we don't guess any more, but go to our favourite bookstore, Hager's on 41st, and pick them out together. The good thing about aging? By the time it comes to unwrap them, they're a surprise after all!

Well, it's not really a birthday card. But I loved the expression on this little guy's face, and it gave John a laugh.

Rome diary: Mariken

Mariken, my companion during a month in Rome this spring, spotted this unusual door-surround long before I did. Artists see the world differently from other folk.

Ah, the umbrella pines in the Villa Doria Pamphilj park behind where we were staying. We loved the umbrella pines!

Mariken and impossibly perfect wisteria-over-rustic-building scene along the Appian Way outside Rome.

Mariken and cake from our little local bakery. We were regular customers, and I suspect they wondered why we both didn't weigh two tons.

When my ex-colleague and longtime friend Mariken hinted ever so gently that she might be willing to tutor me through my first foreign trip in decades, I leaped. Mariken is not just a world traveler, she is the world traveler. A long trek in India on her own? No problem. Many, many parts of Africa. Egypt. Riding camels in the desert? Done, with hopes of doing it again. And those are only a tiny smattering of her more exotic travels. Europe is her backyard, a mere extension of her childhood in the Netherlands and Switzerland.

The point of her travels, all done on a budget, is to get to know the real people, the real lives. She stays in small places, with local families if she can wangle it. “Where are you from?” she asks strangers, and likely as not, she’s been there – or somewhere nearby.

In Rome, she knew about staying away from high-price, high-traffic tourist areas – walk 50 metres in any direction, she’d say, and it’s cheaper and quieter. We did a few of the obvious tourist spots, like the Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s Basilica – but mostly we were locals. We rode the buses to check out the suburbs. We spent an afternoon at the massive flea market by the Tiber. We walked from central Rome far out along the Appian Way.

One day Mariken returned from an exploration of the neighbourhood excited about an interesting-looking restaurant she’d passed. When we went to the Dolce Kosher a few days later, it turned out to be my favourite eating-out experience of the whole trip. Trust a world traveler to find the best Jewish-Roman buffet in Rome!

Mariken looking very pleased with her discovery of the Dolce Kosher cafe.

Inspecting the stones of the Appian Way. It was a bumpy walk.

Once again with the umbrella pines, this time on the Appian Way.

Mariken "wayfinding" on a break along the Appian Way. She carries a map, she knows her directions, she pays attention. Lucky for me!

We broke our non-tourist-spot rules occasionally, and went downtown. This is outside the Capitoline Museum.

Mariken holds up pillar at a museum in the EUR, Mussolini's modern section of Rome.

Looking pensive at Trajan's market.

Overlooking the Roman forum grounds.

Dinner on the balcony. An excellent cook, Mariken did most of the honours on our trip.

Carol and Mariken by the Tiber River. The river was historic, the trees were wonderful.

Rome diary: . . .on the other hand

Overflowing garbage bins like this are a daily sight on residential streets in Rome. Garbage pickup seemed quixotic, but I'm sure it happened sometimes.

I've written several posts about the many beauties and delights of Rome. In one, I described the care bakeries take to ensure even six cookies go out the door looking like a million dollars -- gift wrap, bow and all. But the downside is that the wrap -- along with everything else that goes into creating the bella figura (great impression) so prized in Rome -- tends to produce garbage. 

The Romans do recycle. Or at least households have bags into which they are to carefully divide paper, glass, tin and plastics, then deposit them in the matching containers on the curb. How much recycling actually goes on -- well, who knows even in Vancouver? In Rome, there's not even a pretence with  kitchen garbage, which goes into that wonderfully generic non-recyclable bin. Over the day, the bins fill up. And up and up and eventually out over the sidewalk, the mess swelling with the hours. 

We were astonished at our first sight of this. But eventually it became part of the scene, like cars double-parked on a busy street or halfway up on the sidewalk. I don't recall seeing any messes like this on the downtown streets where the tourists roam. Like everywhere, I guess, Rome knows when to hide its dirty laundry.

Car parking in Rome was as chaotic as the traffic. Wherever there was a spot, it seemed, it was okay to leave your car. I never saw a ticket warden.

Here we have the car and the garbage, just being Roman together.

Graffiti was common on the exteriors of residential buildings like this.

Buildings and walls like this one surrounding the Doria Pamphilj park  get a colourful coating. 

A longer view of that park wall. It took a lot of paint to cover every inch of it. 

Behind the parked cars, more evidence of graffiti artists at work. The pull-down shutters of the shops are an inviting target.