Coming About: Life In the Balance
by Dr. Mario Dell'Olio
Prologue
The waves
were crashing all around me, pushing me further away from the boat. My vision
was obscured by the relentless onslaught of white water assaulting me from
every direction. I frantically kicked my legs to stay above the surface of the
seemingly bottomless ocean. The shoreline was miles away and I trembled in
fear. I struggled to catch my breath as wave after wave struck my face. The
taste of the salty sea scorched my already dehydrated mouth. I reached in vain
for the white plastic garbage bag that was being tossed around like a beach
ball in the surf. It contained all of the important documents that I had
salvaged − I had to get hold of it.
It was difficult to distinguish the
shiny plastic from the white frothy foam of the crashing waves. The bag was
almost within my grasp when I was suddenly pulled under. I was disoriented,
submerged beneath the tumbling waters. The din of the violent waves was
thunderous. I was terrified as I fought against the force of the surf that
pushed and twisted my already weakened body. Resisting the impulse to panic, I
battled my way back to the top. I needed air. I gathered my remaining strength
and propelled myself through the tumult. I pierced the surface and gasped as
oxygen filled my burning lungs.
Letting go of the boat to retrieve
that plastic bag had been foolish. I was in the midst of the turbulent waters
of the coral reef without a life jacket, fighting to stay afloat. I had lost
sight of the bag and was desperately scanning for it when it popped up after
having been submerged. This time I managed to grab a hold of it. At least we
had our passports and the little cash we had brought with us. But at that
moment I felt no relief. Rather, an irrepressible anger welled up within me as
I looked up at the gray sky. “What the hell have you done to us?” I screamed.
It was an incredibly irrational
response to the circumstances I found myself in. I didn’t cry, or even feel
particularly relieved. Instead, I erupted in anger towards God. How could He
have let this happen to us? My worst nightmare was coming true. We were miles
from the shore getting pummeled into the coral reefs. My body began to shake as
I felt my childhood fear of the open ocean welling to the surface. Would we
survive? Barely keeping my head above water, I used my free arm to battle my
way back to the dinghy, all the while seething with anger.
How did we end up here? What possessed
us to leave San Francisco? We had successful jobs, a beautiful home, and a
community of friends whom we loved. The plans we had for our future were grand.
We traveled extensively and every country we visited held some allure. We would
fantasize about what it would be like to live in Italy or Ireland or Spain. I’d
joke of leaving it all behind and starting a new adventure in some far-away
location. On our most recent vacation, the beauty of the Caribbean had seduced
us. The sun’s rays sparkled on the clear blue water. Sailing from island to
island and feeling the warm breeze caress our faces, there seemed to be no
downside to living in that part of the world. After years of fantasizing about
retiring in an exotic destination, we took a leap of faith.
Now our survival hung in the balance
as we fought for our lives in the beautiful waters that had drawn us to the
Caribbean. Their beauty had beguiled us into leaving everything behind in order
live in a tropical paradise. How could it all have gone so wrong?
Chapter One
It was
December 2000 and we had everything we could have wanted. Our condo was an
expansive five-bedroom unit on two-and-a-half floors, between Noe Valley and
the Castro district in San Francisco. Our deck and family living area had
breathtaking views of downtown and the Bay Bridge. The neighborhood was great,
with coffee shops and restaurants within a short walking distance. Jim had been
an interior designer during his previous career in Washington, D.C., so every
room had its own distinct atmosphere. One of his signature designs was the use
of bold, deep colors on both ceilings and walls. Our dining room walls were
painted a deep cherry with a lavender ceiling. The master bedroom had royal
blue walls and a military tan ceiling.
One of the best features of the condo
was the beautiful roof deck between the second and third levels. We had built
the deck ourselves using bowed copper tubing from the plumbing section of Home
Depot as railings. They were bent at each redwood post, which created a
semi-circular edge rather than a straight one. We planted a red maple and two
lemon trees in huge pots, and there were flowers, tomatoes, and numerous herbs
and spices growing. It was an incredible home in a beautiful and sunny
neighborhood.
Our lives together were in total
contrast to my first years in San Francisco. I had driven cross-country with a
colleague from the high school where I taught in Connecticut. Sean and I were
both embarking on major life-changing journeys; he was to return to the east
coast to start law school, and I would remain in San Francisco to begin my new
life. I moved into a nice little apartment with a roommate I had only met
through phone conversations. My full-time job at Mission Dolores Basilica paid
$16,000 in 1990, so those first years were a real challenge. Although my salary
barely covered the rent, I was determined to make it work. I never had to
balance my checking account because there were only a few dollars left when I
withdrew my final 20 dollars right before the next payday. But I knew how to
live on a budget. I cooked a big pot of tomato sauce each Sunday for my meals
throughout the week. To mix it up, I made a tray of seven-layer dip with
refried beans and guacamole. With a couple of flour tortillas, I would prepare
mini burritos that contained enough protein to fill me up. Each day I would
choose between the two options.
By the time Jim came into my life, my
finances had improved slightly. I was teaching full-time as well as maintaining
my position at the Mission. But I still had to be careful with every penny I
spent. Although the years leading up to Jim’s advent into my life were exciting
and lively, I had accrued a huge balance on my credit card. In addition to
general living expenses, my Master of Music degree was financed solely by that
card.
In many ways, Jim brought order to my
life. By combining our incomes we were able to live within our means and enjoy
a reasonable standard of living. A few years later, Jim got a job that required
weekly travel. Even though it was a significant change in our daily routine, we
were thrilled with his pay increase. His raise was more than double my current
salary. It propelled us into an entirely different income bracket. I can
vividly picture the Christmas that followed his promotion. Because of his
extensive travel schedule, we decided to purchase all our Christmas gifts from
a catalogue and have them delivered to our families in Connecticut and Texas.
We fondly referred to that holiday as our “Tiffany Christmas”; everyone got a
beautiful ornament or holiday-themed gift from Tiffany.
By the year 2000, we had acquired a
collection of beautiful antiques and elegant furniture; our home was a glorious
setting for a holiday party. The Christmas tree was a Douglas fir and it stood
taller than the ones we had put up in previous years. Its fuller shape provided
enough strong branches to support the many ornaments we had collected over
time. I love Christmas ornaments, especially those that are blown glass with an
antique look. We had collected numerous hand-painted images of Santa Claus in
all shapes and sizes. There’s something about the illumination of the lights
reflected off them that gave the tree a majestic glow. I purchased an ornament
wherever I traveled and each one held great significance for me with memories
of new adventures. Since Jim’s job took him all over the world, he brought back
unique ornaments from Germany, Switzerland, South Africa, and many other
countries.
It was Sunday afternoon and I was busy
stringing the lights, wrapping each individual branch from the trunk out to the
tip. That was the way Jim had decorated the many trees of his wealthy clients in
Washington, D.C. It was labor-intensive and time-consuming, but the results
were magnificent. Twinkling lights gleamed deep within the tree through to the
edge of each limb. They reflected their colors off each cherished ornament and
made all the work well worth the effort. I wanted our tree to look like a mini
version of the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City. Jim had taught me
this method of wrapping the lights on each branch, but he had long ago handed
the duty over to me. He hated stringing lights more than I did. And I was the
one who was determined to achieve the ideal twinkling result.
While I strung the lights, Jim pulled
out the many boxes of decorations and began to unwrap each ornament and place
it on the coffee table. With Christmas music playing in the background, the two
of us began to lace the tree with our treasures. This was one of our
significant rituals – we have always marked special moments, and they become
part of our family tradition. Perhaps that is because we are both ex-seminarians
and both value ritual.
I was very particular about the
placement of each ornament. Those that were more beautiful or meaningful would
have a place of prominence on the tree, at eye level, in the front. In order to
give it balance, the larger ornaments hung at the bottom of the tree and the
smaller ones we set up higher. As usual, Jim placed one of the larger ornaments
near the top. As he turned to get another, I quietly removed it and put it near
the wide part of the tree. He turned and spotted me in the midst of my covert
operation.
“Caught you! What’s wrong with where I
put that?”
“What? What do you mean?” I asked
innocently.
“Should I just let you finish
decorating by yourself?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m just very
particular about where each one goes!”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
We laughed and continued our ritual,
recalling stories or memories connected to so many of the ornaments
represented. No matter how busy we were, we set aside an afternoon or evening
to decorate our Christmas tree each year. It marked the beginning of the season
for us.
During the holiday season, our condo
was a Christmas wonderland. Because I had numerous concert performances and
liturgies to conduct, we made sure to put up our tree right after Thanksgiving.
I loved decorating each floor of the house and hanging lights on the deck with
fresh pine garland adorning every banister in our home. The tree was on the top
floor looking out towards downtown San Francisco and its reflection in the
windows blended with the twinkling lights of the city skyline.
We were preparing for our annual
holiday open house. The guest list of nearly 100 people included the members of
the Mission Dolores Choir, work friends, and neighbors. Jim and I loved to cook
and bake, so there wasn’t even a passing thought about hiring a caterer; both
of us spent days in the kitchen. I used recipes from my Italian mother and made
homemade spinach and onion breads, fresh pasta with pesto, and baked ziti.
Jim’s mom had taught him to wrap the roasted turkey with cheesecloth in order to
preserve the moisture. As the turkey was basted, the cheesecloth would absorb
all of the juices and become golden brown. When it was fully cooked, he
unwrapped the turkey and used the cheesecloth, saturated with turkey drippings,
to make the most wonderful buttery gravy.
There were jumbo shrimp carefully
arranged in the form of a Christmas tree, giant wedges of cheese, dips, and a
baked ham. We made focaccia, which is a type of Italian pizza, and platters of
vegetables – asparagus, green beans, and Brussels sprouts – each covered in a
different sauce. The dessert table was piled high with so many of my favorites:
butternut and sugar cookies, cupcakes, red velvet cake with cream cheese
frosting, cheesecake, and fruit pies.
We extended the dining room table to
its fullest length and by using of boxes of multiple heights and sizes, created
numerous levels where we would place the food. We covered every surface with
red and green tablecloths that produced a flowing holiday landscape. I
painstakingly polished our two silver candelabras that Jim brought back from
Greece. They adorned either end of the table along with pine branches and
poinsettias. It was a beautiful stage on which to display all our delectable
delights. Once the food was in place, it was a feast.
A few years earlier, we had acquired
an exquisite antique 1890 Steinway grand piano whose sound was warm and full.
With its empire legs and scrolled music stand, it stood prominently in our
living room and was the main focal point as people entered our home. Behind the
piano were the glass doors to our balcony, framed by a handsome set of drapes
that Jim had designed and made. I had the piano tuned and made sure that there
were copies of Christmas carols and sheet music from my choir’s recent concert
nearby.
I loved conducting the choir at
Mission Dolores Basilica. Many of those wonderful singers were our San
Francisco family and dearest of friends. It was inevitable that at some point
in the evening we would gather around the Steinway to sing choir pieces and
carols in four-part harmony. When that repertoire was exhausted, we would
launch into show tunes. Jim and I often hosted dinner parties to bring people
together. It’s what we did; that was our thing. We loved gathering different
groups of people at our table, deepening friendships and creating new ones.
That year, Jim and I designed
Christmas ornaments with the image of the historic Old Mission in San
Francisco. We gave one to each member of the choir and all our neighbors and
friends who joined in our festivities. It was an exciting time and it truly
felt like we were on top of the world.
The party was a great success with
friends dropping by throughout the afternoon and evening. Both Jim and I were
in our element as we worked our way through each group – refilling the shrimp
bowl, opening more wine, and washing glasses. There were people of all ages,
retirees to college students and every age in between. We had straight, gay,
lesbian, single, and coupled friends representing many backgrounds and ethnicities.
It was a truly diverse crowd.
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