Scoppio del Carro

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)

5 responses to “Scoppio del Carro

  1. I like the style. But can you change the colors. The Lime Green and Black may suit your mood today but I think in the long run, when you find your voice again, it will clash with the sweet melancholy observations.

  2. OK, darkened things up a bit. Better?

  3. I can sympathize with your absence at the ignition festivities. During my summer in Rome, I fell ill (please do not drink from the so-called potable water fountains–literally fountains–that dot the city, Giardia may follow) and missed a nighttime drunken excursion to the Colosseum during which my usual cohorts broke into the ancient ruin and explored the tunnels beneath. Oh to be a Gladiator for the evening! But, alas, I was a sorry host for an insidious parasite.

    (P.S. The redesign is lovely.)

  4. I remember the period of living abroad where you know that the conclusion of the adventure is coming and are anxious to soak up every last second…but it hasn’t stopped being exhasted from the constant need to communicate in a language not your mother-toungue. You don’t want to be exhausted, but you can’t help it.

    Eric and I both felt a kinship with songs from into the woods – about Giants in the Sky and about the conflict between Ands and Ors…the pull between adventure and home.

    I wrote a long meditation about it last summer when I was in London just after the bombing. It’s a feeling that people don’t get…unless they’ve lived with the Giants In The Sky.

  5. Now I want to hear that (Giants in the Sky). And it has made me start thinking of the beanstalk and Jack’s desire and I don’t think I ever really thought about it before like that. The beanstalk takes us away from home. I’d love to read your meditation.

    Glad you understand Nancy, but I think your excuse is valid. Me being sleepy — that may be a self enduced parasite.

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