Not My Typical Friday Night

Thanks to the amazing if sometimes annoying phonomenon known as Facebook, I was able to meet up with some friends.....without even using a cellphone, believe it or not!

We had agreed days before via Facebook messaging that if I got to Florence on time, I would meet them at the Piazzale Michelango at 5pm, below the David statue replica. Having this appointment made me give Google Maps a try, to see if I could get a reasonable estimate of whether I could make it or not. And in doing so, I found a shortcut that halved the time it took me to walk from the guesthouse to the piazzale.

It meant acting counter-intuitively, walking back down toward town and then making a left onto via  dei Bastioni, and then taking this little street that I'd not known about before.

Not to the right, which would go down toward the Arno River,

but instead to the left, which meant going up, and up, and up.

My eyes thanked my calves and quads once I made it to the viale and had views like that below as I walked along.

I knew the Watkins family mainly via choral connections, so it had seemed like a good idea to see if they'd like to attend the chanted vespers mass at 5:30 at the church of San Miniato, one of my favorite places in the world. They said yes. I actually did make it up the hill (and, yes, the whole fifteen minutes was uphill) by 5, we found each other, and we got ourselves to the church on time.

It turned out there were only four monks present for the service, which meant each voice played an important part. If I were a chant expert, I could say more about it. What I can say is that I love liturgy, because even if you don't know a language well, or it is hard to understand because of being sung and having very resonant acoustics down in a crypt, you know what is being said and done. And at a certain point, the "Alleluia" was sung to the very same tune used at a church I sometimes attend in my own neighborhood. I'm guessing it's an ancient setting for the Alleluia, but again, I just don't know the history enough to say. What I do know is that it was joyful to be able to sing along.

It was also joyful to witness the passionate singing of an elderly monk of the group, who unfortunately tended to pitch the sections he led too high, leading another in the group to work hard to bring the chant back down to a more singable pitch. I loved this, just the homespun nature of it, the spontaneity of centuries-old chant being sung in this centuries-old church. Of course I didn't take pictures during the worship, but here are some pictures from inside the church.

This is where we were for the chanted mass, in the crypt down below, where it was much darker than it is in this photo, which was obviously taken in the morning hours because of the light shining in these eastern windows. I did not take this photo, but found it on a website. The rest are from our evening there.

It's one of the simpler churches, in Florence, spacious and without a lot of side chapels and decorative tombs and statues that came later in history. The high walls and ceiling are the "fanciest" part. I read that the ceiling decoration was completed by 1322, the construction of the church itself having ended in 1207. It began in 1018. That's almost 200 years for the construction alone.

[The only people I know who come close to this kind of patience in building are the folks over in the Ozarks, building a castle using medieval tools and techniques. If you aren't aware of that project, you should have a look (not right now, of course!): http://ozarkmedievalfortress.com/   Update: sadly that project has been discontinued. You can read about it here.)

The arched tabernacle was added later, in the 1390's-1400's. An art historian I once met at San Miniato said the tabernacle was not part of the original plan and actually messes up the highly symbolic construction of the church, which I won't go into in detail but will say more about in a moment. Of course, the wonderful part of the tabernacle is the way the gilded walls catch the sun coming in in the evenings. That is what you're seeing, sun reflected on the gold. There were no artificial lights on in the church.

I like the way these churches help you remember how small you really are. That ceiling is way, way  up there!

St. John, the Evangelist. I include his name here because he represents well what I learned from the art historian, a Professor Fred Gettings, who was, at the time I met him, writing a book about the church and its symbolism. It was my first time ever in San Miniato; I could hardly believe I got to meet someone writing about it. He even came and lectured to our class about his research, in exchange for having us participate in some research for him, which involved staring for hours at the ceiling panels of the Uffizi museum. I don't find the San Miniato book on Amazon, or I'd refer you there, but I know it was published, because I have a copy. I see his book on cats, which we helped out with, is on Amazon.

In brief, symbols and placement of various structures within and without the church, according to Prof. Getting, were done just as they were in order to symbolically refute a gnostic heresy going around at the time the church was being built, denying the foundational Christian belief that Jesus was both human and divine. I include St. John's name above, since he is known for having written "and the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us...." and many other such words emphasizing the dual nature of the Jesus Christ.

And that is part of what I love of the memory of the monks chanting the liturgy. They were singing such spirit-oriented words, ideas and beliefs that I believe could not have come from man all on his own, and yet even in that ancient place, with that ancient, other-wordly text and music, they were completely human, struggling with the pitch of the chant, and perhaps with the hard realities of age, hearing loss, who knows what. And even as we sang "alleluia" and were caught up in beauty and awe, we also were distracted and had to stifle the impulse to giggle a little.

It was a wonderfully incarnational, joyful moment and a blessing.

 Walking out into the late afternoon light.....

which at that time of day creates such contrasts.....

and makes you want to see everything, really see it......

...and then we were outside again, where you can see the brass eagle, St. John's symbol, shining in the sun, atop the church. And if the photo were larger and I had more time, I would explain more of the symbolism and how it relates to incarnation, eucharist, and God with us.

Or perhaps you can go there yourself and buy the book and see the real thing someday, if you're interested. Or we could go together, and I could save you the trouble of buying the book.

So, this was a part of my atypical Friday night, and it's not even night yet. But the rest will have to wait, as it really is night as I'm writing, and I need to get out of these words and move my flesh into other activiites.

A Shadow of My Former Self

I shall return, I promise. Meanwhile, here's my shadow up at the ristorante on the top of the hill. Story to come later.

Home Away from Home

After a short walk up the tree-lined Viale Michelangelo, I arrived at my destination: the home of the Suore di Sant' Elisabetta, a convent and guesthouse where I have now stayed on three separate visits to Florence. My suitcase was happy to be there again!

I have loved staying here. The rooms are nice, the cost is relatively low, the breakfast room is spacious and sunny and always filled with pleasant, interesting guests. But most of all I love the sisters who live here and run the place. They are hospitality personified and full of joy. I've been here enough to recognize some, and they recognize me, and it's just so nice to go far away from home and feel right at home.

I rang the bell, and the large green gate opened. A couple of steps and I felt far away from the traffic on the busy viale. Hmm, don't know how I managed to make this picture blurry. Must be that I didn't have my glasses on, or that I was pretty tired by the time I got there?

The past two times I stayed here, I was given a very large room that opened onto a large terrace. The space was nice, and the terrace was lovely, but it faced the viale, which made for traffic noise at night. So this year I asked for a room "on the garden side," and here is what I got. A delightful small room, perfect for one person.

And the bedspread even matched my bag.

The phone quickly went on the floor, as I had no need of it, but did intend to use the desk.

The little red and white thing you see is a thingamajig that plugs in to an outlet and heats up to activate these little blue thingamajigs that you place on the top section of it. I have no idea what the little blue things consist of. Probably some chemicals, because the purpose of it is to keep mosquitoes away. The brand name is VAPE.

Mosquitoes are pretty bad in Florence. I still remember when I first moved to live in Florence, there were signs on our door reminding people to close the doors to the stairway "per via delle zanzare."  Zanzare are Italian mosquitoes. That phrase has stayed with me twenty-plus years, I suppose because I saw it multiple times every day for two years.

The fan was essential, as it did get pretty hot during my days spent here!

The image that hung above my bed.

And the wonderful, wonderful floor that I woke up to each morning!


So, I settled into my lovely little room, but not for long. I had just arrived, but I had a "date" to make pretty quickly....

Signs

If you are waiitng for a sign that I will continue writing, this is it! But not much for tonight. Circumstances today brought up conversation about looking for signs, interpreting signs, etc., and I remembered this that I'd seen in a shop in Florence. Thought it was hilarious and had to take a picture.

Friday in Florence: Views from a Bus

I had originally imagined titling this simply "Friday in Florence." Then I opened my folder of photos and realized that I had 56 photos taken in the six or so hours of that first day in Florence.

Thus the subtitle. This post is limited to photos taken from the bus and a very few others.

I was smart this year and did not have a carry-on bag apart from my purse and another bag about the same size as my purse. So that meant all I had to drag around was my suitcase. Wheels make all the difference, and I still wonder why it took so many years for someone to come up with the idea of putting suitcases on wheels. At any rate, they are wonderful, those wheels. Even so, wheeling around both a larger suitcase and a smaller carry-on was a pain when I did it, so I was glad not to this time.

And it allowed me to consider the possibility of taking the bus from the train station rather than feeling like I needed a taxi.

And so I did.

Anyway, as I walked out of the station I got a nice picture of the Italian flag . . .

. . . and its accompanying electrical wire companions.

The first day I came to Florence, as a college student, our professor/director, Terry Edwards, mentioned while giving us the basic downtown tour that we might as well give up on the idea of getting a photograph with very much of the city in it, if we thought we could manage not to have a crane somewhere in the picture. Work is always going on somewhere in a city with so many older buildings to be taken care of.

So it seemed like a funny little welcome to see a crane not a minute after stepping out of the station!

Before taking the bus I did something I had never done in the 25 years I have been visiting or living in Italy-- I went to the Tourist Information Office to see what they might have. It's near the train station, but I'd never felt the need to stop in there. I'm not even sure I knew what it was, though I imagine we were told back in college.

This is what I saw as I stood in line and waited. I wish I had a view like that every time I wait in a line.

Tourist brochures in hand, I headed back toward the station, found the stop for Bus D, I believe it was. The lettered bus system is new since last time I took a bus. I didn't exactly hop on the bus, but with only the one suitcase, getting on wasn't too bad, and soon I was seated in a new-fangled air-conditioned Florence bus and enjoying the views from my window.

I hope you'll enjoy them, too.

.

Going down one side of the Arno after having crossed over.

And then crossing back over to the other side.

We just don't have big walls like this in Memphis.

Or big city gates like this! It amazes me that they built these so many years ago and that we just ride right by them, and under them.

I'm amazed this turned out as well as it did. We must have really slowed down turning a curve.

Yes, Roberto Benigni was in town, so I saw these signs here, there, and everywhere throughout my time there. I didn't pay to go see Benigni, however. He was performing on the square of Santa Croce church, by the way, which is why I have no pictures from that square. Normally one of my favorite places, it was covered in stadium seats, electrical wiring, staging, etc. Uglissimo! But I digress.

Because on that first Friday, I was still enchanted by the city's beauty. And surprised that my bus went right in front of the Palazzo Pitti!

Not certain, but I believe this is part if the exterior walls of the Uffizi, seen from across the river.

I was just pondering the walls and how far away from Memphis and America I felt. I was still in a city, but a very different kind of city in some ways.

And finally the bus stopped at Piazza Ferrucci, and it was time to really feel far away from home and walk the distance to my home away from home, about a quarter mile, perhaps a little more. Again I was struck by the difference in lifestyles. A quarter mile is nothing, and yet in many parts of America, we would never walk that far because our cars are in parking lots much closer than that. We hardly get the chance.

As you can see, it was a pleasant walk along Viale Michelangelo, a tree-lined avenue that goes up to the Piazzale Michelangelo. But that will wait for another post.

Milano Musings

For whatever reason, I don't have trouble calling Firenze, Florence; or Roma, Rome; but I can't seem to call Milano, Milan. I have no idea why. Maybe because I never heard it called anything much before going there, and so it remains Milano in my mind.

At any rate, I spent the night in a hotel that I would not especially recommend. What saved the evening there was having dinner at a table next to the only other dinner guest at that time, a man from Scotland who was quite friendly and clearly enjoyed having someone to speak English with. He gave me great advice about visiting Scotland and specifically the Isle of Skye, which I truly hope to do someday, as we have ancestry ties to a castle there.

And then the server was so sweet. She was clearly glad that I spoke Italian! At one point in the evening, when I apologized for not knowing the word for something and attributing it to my tiredness, she said that she was also very tired and had been having trouble sleeping and was thinking about switching to a night shift since she's always awake at night, anyway.

She spilled the water at one point, and later dropped a glass, which shattered on the tile floor. I felt an immediate bond with her.

So, exhaustion aside (I never am able to sleep on planes), it was an enjoyable evening, and I went to bed happy and beginning to feel as if I really were on vacation.

Next morning, a shuttle to the airport, and a bus ride to the most beautiful train station I've ever seen. You really should take a moment to enlarge the pictures and look at the detail.

The ceiling in the "Sala di Attesa," the official waiting room, is just wonderful. Makes sitting around and waiting much easier.

I couldn't help but notice, though, how somebody apparently didn't appreciate the history and tradition as much as I did. Otherwise they would not have put an ugly digital screen right where they did, with its brightly colored advertisements.

This became a theme on much of my trip. In another area of the station, I saw this exit sign surrounded by a beautiful mosaic .  . .

. . . but had to work hard to really see it what with all the glossy ads surrounding it.

Eventually it was time to board the train, and then I knew for sure I was no longer at home. Riding a train is just not part of life around where we live. Now I was heading for another home. Physically still tired, but my spirit was beginning to wake up!

It just occurred to me as we were stopping at Bologna, I think, that many of my friends stateside have probably never had the expeience of riding a train and looking over at the nextdoor train. So I took a picture.

And this, such a familiar sight, is something many Americans have never seen. And the sky was beautiful, so I took another picture.

And soon I was in a less beautiful train station. But that will wait for another post.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

The calendar was way too crowded for me to even realize that I would be arriving in Florence on Friday the 13th. I didn't realize that until yesterday, I believe. Looking back at it that way, though, it kind of makes sense of the fact that I had an intense migraine on both of the two days before I left. And our air conditioner went kaput the same day the first migraine began.

And in the week before leaving, work was intense. I was packing in extra sessions, meeting with dogsitters who were new and needed "orientating," doing last-minute shopping, etc. Oh, and trying to find a new (used) car, because my registration would expire three days after my return, and my car has been on probation all this year due to some minor leaks that were detected at the last inspection.

For weeks people had been saying, when hearing about the trip, "Oh, aren't you exicted?" And I could not honestly say that I was. It just felt like a huge list of tasks that had to be taken care of because soon I would be leaving. I was encouraged by hearing a friend say, "I never feel like I'm going on a vacation  until I'm actually sitting in the plane and there's no way I can do anything else, even if I've forgotten something."

That's how it was. I wound up doing all my packing the same day I left and sending a note apologizing to our dogsitters for the house not being clean.

But I made it! And once I was on the plane, yes, I did feel excited. Mostly I felt relieved, actually. Relieved to leave it all behind for a while.

So, I left after my sweet husband drove me to the airport. (He had taken two days mostly off work to be at home and help the a.c. fellow try to fix our system, only to conclude that we'd have to buy a whole new unit.)

Flew from Memphis to Newark.

In the Newark airport I bought a book of "Good Poems for Hard Times," edited by Garrison Keillor. I've really enjoyed it. I also bought some ice cream. Still fearful of migraines, and my head had started hurting. The ice cream must have done the trick, though. No migraine for at least a week.

It was getting to be dusk by the time we left Newark.

And although this didn't turn out well at all, it was neat to see the NYC skyline as we were taking off.

And the sun went down, as we think of it. I almost never sleep in planes, and this time was no exception. But I had a nice person to sit next to, good poems to read, and the night passed gently.

And in the morning....not quite the NYC skyline! Something much more impressive! I love flying over the Alps. They are simply amazing. Beautiful and, well, they command respect. You wouldn't want to get lost around there.

So, flying over the Alps means Milano is not far away. And that work and needing a new car and broken air conditioners and a messy house are far, far, far away.

At this point I really felt like the vacation had begun. And I was also really tired! As I am right now, so that'll be it for tonight. Buona notte!

Gone

And here's the same view from the same door, two years later than the previous one was taken. This is taken from the interior of the church of San Miniato al Monte, one of my favorite places to be. I left Italy on Friday and am now in Croatia, but given that I don't consider sitting at a computer one of my preferred vacation activities, more about both countries will likely wait until I get home.

Arrivederci!

Dovidenja!

Going, Going....

I'm almost out the door....I'll be back.

Tools of the Trade

A couple of weeks ago I finally took out the last of the pansies and put some impatiens in various spots, all in pots, since we don't have any flower beds at our new house.

The task became even more enjoyable than usual because of the pretty blue and white gloves I'd found back in the winter and been waiting to use. And the digging tools--I never would have guessed! They're made by a company called Wild and Wolf and were designed for the Victoria and Albert Museum of London, with a pattern by William Morris.

They're the sort of thing I would have loved to think existed, but had no idea anyone made such things. I found them by chance while shopping for clothing on one of those super-clearance sales online. I think it was Coldwater Creek but am not sure. At any rate, they were a steal, and I couldn't pass them up. They're beautiful and much stronger than the tools I've usually bought at garden shops.

My husband has said for years that you have to have the right tools to do a good job. Well, in my life I've done a lot of making do with not quite the right tools--but I think in this case I finally have the perfect ones for planting flowers.

Now I need to get out there and buy some more impatiens to fill the other pots before it's too late....or is it already too late?.....