Message under a bottle

I hesitate once more to reveal my life here. In this case it is because I think a few of you out there can't decide if I am lonely and depressed or if I am joyously partying like a freshman. The truth is neither and both. But really, I'm just in the moment of experience and learning — the two things I care about beyond writing that I have any control over.

Having said all of that . . .

Found myself at a bar again last night in spite of the prospect of an 8 AM library opening when I happened to observe the coaster my weissbeir (or was it a white russian) was resting. "Live or exist — you have the key" which of course was an ad for Beck's beer but struck me as an odd place to have such existential (pardon me) bits about. Their emphasis on living vs. existing. We all go there somewhere in our heads and yes, sometimes that happens when beer is present. But do we need to be reminded of that? And what exactly is the key? Is it some impulse within us? Conscious decision or unconscious desires? And can anyone really just exist. Even those in extreme poverty that are barely surviving (according to our well-fed world view) would probably object to the thought they were not living and just existing. 

After some and more of that ran through my head in a split second a brilliant thing happened. A song played, the spikey haired bartender smiled, the gathering I was with laughed — and I embraced the moment.

But I didn't buy a Beck's.

Dancing, drinking, talking, walking

Those words pretty much say it all. Mendy was here and pubs visited, late night dance clubs found. Ah, the beauty of the night. And the lively accoutrements that surround dark hours. When I do leave, I think I'll shed a tear or two over the loss of food and wine. I'd stay for the food and wine.

Beyond the night life, we did what I do in the spare time of weekends. Walk the day away and say wow a lot. We took a taxi up to the Piazza de Michelangelo (that has a nice view and a fake David) and then slowly wound down the hill into the Oltarno neighborhoods. Cameras. Water. Strategy. I was beginning to forget what it felt like to be a tourist here. Then the shopping; I was in need of a light jacket. Mendy convinced me to not buy the 300 euro one. An argument I was glad she won when I found one for almost as good for 49.

But the conversations won the prize of the weekend. Mendy has been a long time friend and the visit reminded me of what I love about the states — friends and family. Everyone of my close friends are so different — from the world and from each other it is easy to revel in the myriad perspectives. Sometimes I wish I could write the story of my friendships; but perhaps that is one story best appreciated in life and off of paper.

That sinking feeling . . .

Venice

Well, I should say that the color and texture is what stands out the most. But beyond that there is this wobbling sensation as you walk along that makes you feel like you are still on water. A gentle sway illuminating and pulling the pathway before you. It is easy to lose your head. I didn’t, but I knew I entered a realm of magical realism. Maybe because it is all soon lost, who knows, but space and time remained undefined for me there. No street names, no direction, no clocks — our normal controls seem to have seeped into blue.

Due to the numerous pictures, I’m just putting up a few. Still getting used to a digital and taking the real camera back.

Venice

The sparkling, yellow, green, russett, choral, pink, blueness of it all.
It may be the best thing yet (except The Pieta). I ate crostini with gorgonzola, almond slivers and honey and knew the potential in everything. The alleyways, the light, the art, the complete bizarreness of it all. Canals and a city sinking. Not just any city, Venice. Forever life and light and color to me.

Someone said that it could be underwater in 30 years. If you haven’t been, go. Pictures and more at some point, just not today. I’m enjoying the afterglow.

Percolator

It sits shiney quiet, small blue flame running underneath it. Then slow bubble, growing, whirring, until you hear the hiss of the liquid hitting hot metal, and finally impatient completion (clearly I love my coffee too much). . .

But that is also the way I feel after having decided to come home. Now everything I’ve been squirreling away in the nice brainy folds of existance must come out into air and light. And today Spring showers! Not cold, wintery showers; just nice, slightly chilly damp of early Spring.
This weekend Venice. Next weekend Mendy. Weekend after that Shelby. And now I’m reading bios of Michelangelo, which is making me love Leonardo. So much to do, write, read. Bliss.

blue skies, nothing but

In my effort of struggling with one of life’s decisions, I found myself ambling along my hood of Santa Croce. The sky was blue, the day was bright, the sunglasses were worn. Eating some Riso y Frutti de Bosco gelato while walking through what promises to be a beautiful day, made everything irrelevant except for that moment. With a Coca-Cola Light in my pocket, I had everything I needed. 

The street peddlers are out in full-force and Florence has begun to shut streets down due to high pedestrian traffic. It’s nice to be able to move wherever your feet want to take you under the sun. This really is a wonderful place to be and so free of burdens and the weight of the world. It is almost like vacation.

That’s why my decision was finally made, gelato cup in hand. I’m coming home in August. Stasis, even brilliant beautiful stasis, has to come to an end at some point. I’ve reached that point. So, I’ve turned down an opportunity to extend my time here. But to me, it is more of a moving forward. Va bene!

(Thanks to the few of you that helped. I really did listen, weigh, and hear what you offered me. In the end, I am doing what I know I must.)

Yummy

So, once again, I am left doubting the parenting skills of very intelligent people. While the parents of the “absolutely fabulous” (her words, not mine) Ms. Zoë were at the Uffizi browsing art, Z and I ate 1 1/4 oranges. Now, I know on this very space I have praised the magic of the Italian fruits and veggies, but the adult faction of the Howard-Barr family kept telling me Zoë would not eat fruit. Yet, she sat right down next to me and gulped it down like there was nothing on earth she wanted more than a blood orange. “Yummy”, well said little one. This is why we grow up and stop listening to our parents. They never really hear our needs.

Let this be a lesson to us all. Open your minds to what you don’t percieve. It’s all about negative space, silent pauses and between the lines.

Do I have to explain how much fun I had with the L, D, and Z team? Life rewards us with long-lasting friendships. Laughter, comraderie, honest appreciation of another human being and love all weave together to create a very strong bond (and even allow me to forgive Darryl of his Englishness and Lori of her serious caffeine addiction in the morning). Of course, there were tears (and not just from the wee one) when they left for London this morning. Hellos are much better than goodbyes. But I’m inspired to try to be more like Zoë and enjoy whatever new the day brings while breaking a few perceptions of who I am and what I like.

March showers

I know it is supposed to be April showers, but clearly that applies only to other countries. What is so strange is that I am so far removed from the natural cycle in this stone city that though the heavens are opening up and pouring forth, cleansing the grime of winter away, I can not write. There is a hollow, dry space in my creative landscape that will not yeild anything. Nothing. I have no idea what caused it, usually when lonliness, depression or other dark spots in the psyche begin to show, that is when I am most productive. Not now.

However, I do feel inspired to do other things. There is a terraced green hill on the other side of the Arno that I can see from Via da Benci. It looks like a jewel sitting up there emitting the future of Spring. Everytime I see it, I just want to roll down it. Tumble down bruised and grass stained, loving the touch of the earth. To be 6 and experience the momentum of a good hill—body spinning almost out of control, stopping too soon, breathless, itchy, wanting to do it again. Wouldn’t it be nice to send the inner child out, clear a path and watch her play? I’ll let you know if I succeed.

Speaking of children. I get to see my god-daughter today! And of course my darling and dear friend Lori, as well as the English evil genius Darryl. Very exciting — I’m sure you will all have to suffer through pictures soon!

No Geek Needed

In spite of the misgivings of friends, I managed to overcome my own technical difficulties. Here are some pictures of Boboli Gardens, friends, Florence, etc. I was going to create a page, but why?

 

Technology and the great divide

So, I have lovely pictures of Boboli Gardens and other stuff, but the fantastic new camera I received for my birthday is not really letting me access the pictures. I’m working on it. But may I just say, sharing should be easier than this. And while I’m at it, I’m sick of the cold!

Send warm, American thoughts my way. Well, American without all of the bad American stuff (and those that know me, know what I mean.) Going to see Brokeback Mountain tonight in an attempt to distract my pensive mind.