So Close

     This is a repost from April 13, 2009.

I hope you'll enjoy reading (or re-reading) this timeless story; it's a sad reminder that timing is, indeed, what it's all about!

Holy week always calls to mind an experience that I had when we lived in Europe over ten years ago. The American Women's Club had planned a day trip, by bus, to Milan. I was excited about going, I knew this would be my once in a lifetime experience to view Leonardo Da Vinci's 'Last Supper' on the wall at the Cathedral Maria del Grazie. We arrived in Milan shortly before noon and traveled as a group to a nearby restaurant for a leisurely lunch before we all took off for an afternoon of sight seeing and shopping. Only two of us were headed for the cathedral and the painting, everyone else peeled off to go shoe shopping. We hiked the seventeen or so blocks, stopping to check our map several times along the way, and arrived just shortly after 2:00 PM. We planned this intentionally knowing good and well that almost all European shops and businesses close between noon and two o'clock for extended lunch hours. We entered through a dimly lit side door to be greeted by an extremely elderly lady sitting at a table surrounded by handwritten signs, in every language imaginable, she appeared to be manning the gate post through which we were required to pass; and she looked quite stern. As we approached she started furiously pointing to one of the signs, written in a language I didn't understand. I had a sudden, sinking feeling that something wasn't quite right when my eyes fell upon a sign scrawled in English, I couldn't quite believe what I was reading. I looked at my friend for confirmation, she had discovered the sign at the same time I did: "No Last Supper viewings after 2 PM!" We were confused, seeking clarification we turned back to the woman at the gate, she continued to point and gesture toward the sign. We were too late, it was that simple, we'd missed it by only minutes. It reopened to the public the next day, at 9 AM, we'd be back in Geneva by then. She offered to sell us a "Last Supper" postcard. We each bought one. We strolled through the garden as we exited and looked at some beautiful statues and some artwork on the walls, but the sheer disappointment over what we had missed was palpable. So close, and yet, so far. My Dad always says that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, I'd have to agree with that. We boarded the bus later in the afternoon for the ride back home; our group was showing off their purchases, lovely Italian shoes and leather purses. We each had a map; and, oh yeah, a postcard!

Life is Good!
...timing is everything...