For the past 300 years or so, Florence celebrates Easter with an explosion. They build a fire using ancient chips from the Holy Sepulcher and then send a flame via a dove-shaped rocket to ignite a cart (built in the 1600s) full of fire works and pulled by white oxen. Then fire works to the delight of everyone. Scoppio del Carro = explosion of the cart.
I have looked forward to this for months. I love fireworks (even if during the day) and it seems like such a remove from Easter egg hunts and fluffy bunnies. Sadly, I missed it. I did wake up. Yet failed to resist the urge to stay in bed, not fight crowds, risk further sickness due to impending showers and working that evening. Because I'm exhausted. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've not been writing to you all. The long hours, a constant struggle with communication on all levels, helping nerve-addled students with papers, and tons of other factors have sucked the energy right out of me. That and the realization that I only have a little over 3 months to go here. Here. This place heavy in history, culture, the past — yet, the day of resurrection — ignition. And I choose to sleep.
—- As a post thought —- The day held some redemption for me. At around 2 a.m. there was a drum circle going on in Santa Croce. I could hear it from my bedroom. Pulsing, rhythmic, celebratory, passionate beat. Music and dance — the great communicators. Reminding me to not miss anything else. Sloth no more.
OH, and I changed the look of my site because some things were not showing up (like blogrolls). Feedback is appreciated.
(more on communication breakdown later)