I had several minutes to myself as I sat at the feet of antiquity’s most spectacular waterworks, the Tivoli fountains at Villa d’Este, Italy. The day was dressed to kill in its new spring dress, shimmering, frisky, dazzling its display of light, color, and warmth, it’s beguiling scent, and its mischievous breezes twirling spinning, annoying nearby bushes, a day fresh from creation. I found a comfortable place, next to a pond with a comprehensive view of the wonders in front of me and sat down. The construction of the villa and fountains began in the mid- 16thcentury by Cardinal Ippolito II d’Este, after a failed bid to become Pope, a kind of consolation prize. Built on top of Emperor Hadrian’s ancient Villa Adriana and the extraordinary aqueduct tunneling under the City - engineering of Roman genius - construction continued well into the 17thcentury and beyond. This architectural masterpiece, imposing, evidence of humankind’s astonishing mastery, formed verdant terraces and grottoes, mimicking the grandeur of Eden and solace from yesterday’s hard work. The exquisite assortment of fountains, from commanding 30-foot geysers to small reflective fern-rich pools tucked into elaborate porches and grottoes, all remarkably fed by gravity. A compelling demonstration of water rushing crashing projecting chaos while issuing unruffled calm made me think. Beauty and goodness are frequently derived from adversity and struggle, wisdom from conflict, calm from chaos. We know serenity because we’ve seen bedlam.
The lavish fountains and emerald flora created a palliative effect exuding harmony and respite, quieting my anxious mind, and granting me reassurance all was well as expressed by Hendrix, ‘Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all, my worries seem so very small With my waterfall.’
Tivoli’s enchanting botanical fountains reminiscent of life before evil and the opulence of its aquatic magnificence touched me deeply. My thoughts gravitated towards life. I was alone in the lap of tranquility feeling grateful for my existence when Nancy Sweek’s smiling face unexpectedly came into view. Why at that moment, and for what reason would she drop in unannounced way across the world? I scratched my head. Maybe to remind me old friends and personal encounters lodge in our psyche for life making cameos whenever and wherever they please. Her passing had been announced recently and I felt instant sorrow at the news and what her death symbolized. Who would be next? Rich lush greens generating a submissive calm contrasting the pure whites of aerated cascades, and brilliant hues of variegated flora are the landscape her image chose to visit. I wondered if that uncanny moment and her memory were perhaps highlighting the spirituality of relationships.
Then I mused the grand display of fountains might be Nature weeping for her dead? There’s an intimate relationship between life and death, the cycle underscoring our impermanence and assuring the rise of the next generation. Death breeds life and vice versa.
I didn’t see her face as it might have been now - we had lost contact decades ago and I was never a close friend. In that reflective moment, I saw her face as one of the inner circle of Altadena beauties that descended on my life in 1962-63. She was a classmate whose morning star smile, svelte figure and dreamy eyes captured my adolescent fantasies. I knew she was out of my league, I was a field hand and she a princess, but being an eternal dreamer I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Where I got the courage to ask her out I can’t remember but the stress was nearly debilitating. Antsy beyond belief I called her. Timing was critical. If I called too early in the week I was desperate, if I called too late in the week the opportunity would be lost. (Her good looks in demand). Wednesday was the day. Like Romeo hoping Juliet would appear on the balcony, I dialed her number. My heart thumped out of my shirt as her number rang. A man’s voice said, ‘hello.’ In my best manly voice, I squeaked, ‘is Nancy home?’ ‘Yes, just a minute.’ It seemed like hours ‘til I heard her soft slightly raspy voice say, hello.’ I said, ‘hi Nancy this is Greg Prout.’ ‘Hi.’ ‘I thought I might call and ask if you would like to go out Saturday night.’ There was a pause, then the heavens parted as she said, ‘Yes.’ I think I repeated my name to make sure she knew to whom it was she was saying ‘yes’. I couldn’t believe she agreed to my invitation, but she did. I told her I would pick her up at 7 pm, said goodbye, hung up the phone and leaped about like a giddy Bo Jangles stoned out of his mind. ‘What’s a young girl made of? Mostly a young man’s dream.’
We dated only three times that I recall. The first date was to Woody Allen’s ‘What’s New Pussycat? Whoa oh oh’. In the movie Dionne Warwick sang one of my favorites, ‘Here I am.’ I can hear it now. We then dated at the Pasadena Civic to see ‘Love’ in concert. I remember thinking kind of cushy location for a rock concert. Was our generation getting soft? Finally, we laughed ourselves silly at the Ice House, laughter always a relationship lubricant. Each date ended similarly. We would go to a restaurant after the event for coffee and pie or some such thing and then drive in my mom’s 1962 light green Biscayne Chevy and park in front of her house where I dreamed she crawled all over me in wanton passion, but like Walter Mitty, reality had another version. Our usual conversations were about the night, school, and friends and always ending too soon. The whole time regardless of subject matter, I looked for an opportunity to kiss her.
In the summer I saw her at Newport’s 40thstreet hanging out with a crowd from high school. My heart leaped again.
I remember the feel of her soft lips as I kissed her goodnight then floated upstream in a dream [sic]. How could an insecure adolescent romantic get so lucky? However, I was never fortunate enough to win her heart, I was more something to do when her dating life was at low ebb, but like dogs at the queen’s table, I gobbled whatever fell my way. My dreams soon evaporated as she found a college chap her desired prince leaving me holding only memories.
As the fountains danced and the sun flexed its muscles, a gentle breeze ran its fingers through my hair. Simultaneously I felt morbid grief. The painful realization Nancy would never again hear water’s cascading melody, never again enjoy nature’s luxuriant majesty, her intimates – spouse, family and children and perhaps grandchildren – will never again feel her loving embrace, see her ebullient smile, or hear her say ‘I love you.’ She was gone perhaps sleeping, or frolicking in some heavenly kingdom, or sailing through the galactic heavens to some far off wonderland, ‘I’ve never been to heaven but I’ve been to Oklahoma.’I don’t know. All I know is all those who knew her and loved her and who are now suffering her loss miss her.
Death is our ultimate reality and it is a cruel reality. Life is a groovy road trip but like Cinderella at the Ball, there is only so much time until the shoe drops. Some believe in a heaven where life is restored, others settle for this earthly existence being all there is, but a measure of one's life is the throng of people who loved them and are proud to have been their friend. A lovely being, Nancy was treasured. Socrates said, ‘an unexamined life is not worth living,’ but equally, even an examined life without love is unworthy of breath as well. Our love for Nancy testifies she lived purposely and did not die in vain. She brought us much joy. Billy Joel sings, ‘Everybody has a dream,’ I hope Nancy lived hers. I remember her fondly.
The importance of the gardens and fountains loomed large as I sat there reflecting, cognizant and appreciative of being alive. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and smelled the earthy green air and listened quietly for several minutes the comforting sound of water’s ballet. I got up and took one last look at the Wonderland garden. I know the ultimate good-bye would soon visit me. In the near future, I will join Nancy and all my loved ones and friends who have preceded me. Such is our existence. I slowly looked around at the majesty of life and whispered, ‘Good-bye Nancy.’ Time was up I had to go.
Wow. You have such a gift for writting, as you undoutedly know. You must have been an advid reader your whole life. I hope you are an accomplished writter or something of the sorts, because, if not, the world is missing out! I felt like I was reading a most captivating novel! Your heart for Nancy is so precious, Gregg. Caring deeply about people IS one of the MOST important things in life! I so appreciated how you allowed your readers to see the transparency of feelings experienced by a young high school boy. That was awesome! I did not know Nancy as well as you did, but the notice of her passing saddened me. In fact, as I (again) scrolled through those who have died, I felt so sad. I felt a deep pain in my throat as my eyes began to fill up. I WANT to be able to see all of them again! but like you said, only some believe in heaven, and some believe THIS is all there is. This is NOT all there is - - Heaven is SO real, Gregg... I know this... but not everyone goes there because not everyone chooses to. It IS a choice to pursue TRUTH with all that is within you. There's a promise that if we really seek with all our hearts, we WILL find...(Matthew 7:7).
Sheila Hopper (Tarbet)
A beautiful, kind and elegant girl.
Gregory Prout
I Remember Nancy Sweek
I had several minutes to myself as I sat at the feet of antiquity’s most spectacular waterworks, the Tivoli fountains at Villa d’Este, Italy. The day was dressed to kill in its new spring dress, shimmering, frisky, dazzling its display of light, color, and warmth, it’s beguiling scent, and its mischievous breezes twirling spinning, annoying nearby bushes, a day fresh from creation. I found a comfortable place, next to a pond with a comprehensive view of the wonders in front of me and sat down. The construction of the villa and fountains began in the mid- 16thcentury by Cardinal Ippolito II d’Este, after a failed bid to become Pope, a kind of consolation prize. Built on top of Emperor Hadrian’s ancient Villa Adriana and the extraordinary aqueduct tunneling under the City - engineering of Roman genius - construction continued well into the 17thcentury and beyond. This architectural masterpiece, imposing, evidence of humankind’s astonishing mastery, formed verdant terraces and grottoes, mimicking the grandeur of Eden and solace from yesterday’s hard work. The exquisite assortment of fountains, from commanding 30-foot geysers to small reflective fern-rich pools tucked into elaborate porches and grottoes, all remarkably fed by gravity. A compelling demonstration of water rushing crashing projecting chaos while issuing unruffled calm made me think. Beauty and goodness are frequently derived from adversity and struggle, wisdom from conflict, calm from chaos. We know serenity because we’ve seen bedlam.
The lavish fountains and emerald flora created a palliative effect exuding harmony and respite, quieting my anxious mind, and granting me reassurance all was well as expressed by Hendrix, ‘Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all, my worries seem so very small With my waterfall.’
Tivoli’s enchanting botanical fountains reminiscent of life before evil and the opulence of its aquatic magnificence touched me deeply. My thoughts gravitated towards life. I was alone in the lap of tranquility feeling grateful for my existence when Nancy Sweek’s smiling face unexpectedly came into view. Why at that moment, and for what reason would she drop in unannounced way across the world? I scratched my head. Maybe to remind me old friends and personal encounters lodge in our psyche for life making cameos whenever and wherever they please. Her passing had been announced recently and I felt instant sorrow at the news and what her death symbolized. Who would be next? Rich lush greens generating a submissive calm contrasting the pure whites of aerated cascades, and brilliant hues of variegated flora are the landscape her image chose to visit. I wondered if that uncanny moment and her memory were perhaps highlighting the spirituality of relationships.
Then I mused the grand display of fountains might be Nature weeping for her dead? There’s an intimate relationship between life and death, the cycle underscoring our impermanence and assuring the rise of the next generation. Death breeds life and vice versa.
I didn’t see her face as it might have been now - we had lost contact decades ago and I was never a close friend. In that reflective moment, I saw her face as one of the inner circle of Altadena beauties that descended on my life in 1962-63. She was a classmate whose morning star smile, svelte figure and dreamy eyes captured my adolescent fantasies. I knew she was out of my league, I was a field hand and she a princess, but being an eternal dreamer I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Where I got the courage to ask her out I can’t remember but the stress was nearly debilitating. Antsy beyond belief I called her. Timing was critical. If I called too early in the week I was desperate, if I called too late in the week the opportunity would be lost. (Her good looks in demand). Wednesday was the day. Like Romeo hoping Juliet would appear on the balcony, I dialed her number. My heart thumped out of my shirt as her number rang. A man’s voice said, ‘hello.’ In my best manly voice, I squeaked, ‘is Nancy home?’ ‘Yes, just a minute.’ It seemed like hours ‘til I heard her soft slightly raspy voice say, hello.’ I said, ‘hi Nancy this is Greg Prout.’ ‘Hi.’ ‘I thought I might call and ask if you would like to go out Saturday night.’ There was a pause, then the heavens parted as she said, ‘Yes.’ I think I repeated my name to make sure she knew to whom it was she was saying ‘yes’. I couldn’t believe she agreed to my invitation, but she did. I told her I would pick her up at 7 pm, said goodbye, hung up the phone and leaped about like a giddy Bo Jangles stoned out of his mind. ‘What’s a young girl made of? Mostly a young man’s dream.’
We dated only three times that I recall. The first date was to Woody Allen’s ‘What’s New Pussycat? Whoa oh oh’. In the movie Dionne Warwick sang one of my favorites, ‘Here I am.’ I can hear it now. We then dated at the Pasadena Civic to see ‘Love’ in concert. I remember thinking kind of cushy location for a rock concert. Was our generation getting soft? Finally, we laughed ourselves silly at the Ice House, laughter always a relationship lubricant. Each date ended similarly. We would go to a restaurant after the event for coffee and pie or some such thing and then drive in my mom’s 1962 light green Biscayne Chevy and park in front of her house where I dreamed she crawled all over me in wanton passion, but like Walter Mitty, reality had another version. Our usual conversations were about the night, school, and friends and always ending too soon. The whole time regardless of subject matter, I looked for an opportunity to kiss her.
In the summer I saw her at Newport’s 40thstreet hanging out with a crowd from high school. My heart leaped again.
I remember the feel of her soft lips as I kissed her goodnight then floated upstream in a dream [sic]. How could an insecure adolescent romantic get so lucky? However, I was never fortunate enough to win her heart, I was more something to do when her dating life was at low ebb, but like dogs at the queen’s table, I gobbled whatever fell my way. My dreams soon evaporated as she found a college chap her desired prince leaving me holding only memories.
As the fountains danced and the sun flexed its muscles, a gentle breeze ran its fingers through my hair. Simultaneously I felt morbid grief. The painful realization Nancy would never again hear water’s cascading melody, never again enjoy nature’s luxuriant majesty, her intimates – spouse, family and children and perhaps grandchildren – will never again feel her loving embrace, see her ebullient smile, or hear her say ‘I love you.’ She was gone perhaps sleeping, or frolicking in some heavenly kingdom, or sailing through the galactic heavens to some far off wonderland, ‘I’ve never been to heaven but I’ve been to Oklahoma.’I don’t know. All I know is all those who knew her and loved her and who are now suffering her loss miss her.
Death is our ultimate reality and it is a cruel reality. Life is a groovy road trip but like Cinderella at the Ball, there is only so much time until the shoe drops. Some believe in a heaven where life is restored, others settle for this earthly existence being all there is, but a measure of one's life is the throng of people who loved them and are proud to have been their friend. A lovely being, Nancy was treasured. Socrates said, ‘an unexamined life is not worth living,’ but equally, even an examined life without love is unworthy of breath as well. Our love for Nancy testifies she lived purposely and did not die in vain. She brought us much joy. Billy Joel sings, ‘Everybody has a dream,’ I hope Nancy lived hers. I remember her fondly.
The importance of the gardens and fountains loomed large as I sat there reflecting, cognizant and appreciative of being alive. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and smelled the earthy green air and listened quietly for several minutes the comforting sound of water’s ballet. I got up and took one last look at the Wonderland garden. I know the ultimate good-bye would soon visit me. In the near future, I will join Nancy and all my loved ones and friends who have preceded me. Such is our existence. I slowly looked around at the majesty of life and whispered, ‘Good-bye Nancy.’ Time was up I had to go.
Shirley Pyle (Ferguson)
Wow. You have such a gift for writting, as you undoutedly know. You must have been an advid reader your whole life. I hope you are an accomplished writter or something of the sorts, because, if not, the world is missing out! I felt like I was reading a most captivating novel! Your heart for Nancy is so precious, Gregg. Caring deeply about people IS one of the MOST important things in life! I so appreciated how you allowed your readers to see the transparency of feelings experienced by a young high school boy. That was awesome! I did not know Nancy as well as you did, but the notice of her passing saddened me. In fact, as I (again) scrolled through those who have died, I felt so sad. I felt a deep pain in my throat as my eyes began to fill up. I WANT to be able to see all of them again! but like you said, only some believe in heaven, and some believe THIS is all there is. This is NOT all there is - - Heaven is SO real, Gregg... I know this... but not everyone goes there because not everyone chooses to. It IS a choice to pursue TRUTH with all that is within you. There's a promise that if we really seek with all our hearts, we WILL find...(Matthew 7:7).
Fondly,
Shirley