And yet, these one-more-day times don’t have to be have a melancholy overcast. They can be a time of rejoicing and gratitude, a time of realizing that the present moment is the best ever moment.
I’m heading back to Florence this coming Sunday, returning Friday, April 1st. I cherish these solitary trips, wondering if this one will be my last. One day, one trip at a time. That’s all we have, one ‘whatever’ at a time. But, as we grow older, and because of these Covid and Ukrainian times, everyone, regardless of age, is aware of the preciousness of one day, one moment, one trip, one family gathering, one… at a time. And then, from Les Mis, we recall the poignancy as we sing to ourselves, “One more day.…”
And yet, these one-more-day times don’t have to be have a melancholy overcast. They can be a time of rejoicing and gratitude, a time of realizing that the present moment is the best ever moment.
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One of the benefits of traveling alone is flexibility with everything I do. It’s up to me. I don’t have to confer with anyone or make compromises. At a whim I can change my plans. Yesterday morning I started out with the intention of walking along the Arno. But no, instead I turned toward the Piazza della Signoria, stopped for a cappuccino, and then entered La Badia Fiorentina, where Lauds was being sung by the six monks and eight nuns that make up this monastic fraternity of Jerusalem in Florence. As the service ended men and women in all kinds of dress and nationality began coming in to help set up for 11 o’clock Mass, including a medical volunteer wearing a yellow vest. A man of Indian heritage, dragging a suitcase, lit a candle. One of the gypsies that I’ve seen around the city begging for money, sat in the back corner. This place was alive with with people reaching out to God. You see, the call of this fraternity is to be present :“In the heart of the cities in the heart of God.” Their mission— to help the poor, and the homeless, to meet them where they are. In the entrance way is a statue of a homeless man sleeping on a bench. The inscription quotes Matthew 25:6: I was naked and you clothed me. Every time I come to Florence I get fixated on the paintings and frescoes of Annunciation . Just when I think I have snapped every depiction of Mary and Angel Gabriel, a new one appears. Yesterday, it was at the Academia. Most of us go there to see Michelangelo’s David, but I also love to climb to the first floor to absorb the paintings of the Florentine School 1370-1430, which include Late Gothic and Early Renaissance works. Most have been restored to the vibrant colors that were a landmark of the shops (bottega) where the artists and apprentices worked to create these magnificent altar pieces. Wealthy patrons made sure that their own portrait joined the adoration of the magi or was present somewhere in the picture, tympanum, or predella. They were eager to do what they could do gain a place in heaven and to gain favor with the powerful in the city. I’m very grateful to be back in Florence for the Christmas season. My first go-to spot, yes, the Convent of San Marco. I can’t get enough of those cells. Ah, the simplicity of not having any things. Today these cells don’t show the bed, desk, chair, and cross that would have adorned a monk’s cell. All we see is the Fra Angelico fresco on the wall, painted to remind the monk of Jesus. I would have asked for the first cell on the east corridor, depicting Mary wanting to touch Jesus--Noli me tangere. I resonate with the warm colors and the intimacy. About half the cells show the Crucifixion. For sure I wouldn’t want to be assigned one of those! Every time I visit San Marco can’t stop myself from taking photos of each cell. This time I included a little more of the room and the window shutter. For all of you who love silence, solitude, and simplicity, this may be the place for you. I am sooooo glad I came. Both flights— to Paris and then to Florence—were not crowded, and on time. I’ve shown my ‘green card’ before entering a restaurant and San Marco museum. People are wearing masks outside as well as inside. In fact there is a mandate to do so in crowds outside. It is festive here but not too crowded. Tonight the Christmas tree lights at the Duomo will be lit, but I’ll stay away from joining that crowded of onlookers. The F-Light Festival begins on the 12th (F for Firenze). Lights, accompanied by music, reflected on the Ponte Vecchio, San Lorenzo, and S.S.Annunicate. This morning I slept until 8!!. I stopped for a cappuccino, before going to the La Badia, my favorite prayer church. Another cappuccino before visiting San Marco, the Dominican convent where Fra Angelio painted frescos on each cell wall. It is the first church/museum that I visit upon arriving in Florence. It never disappoints. Random picture of my first day. In December 2016, 2017, and 2018 I joined the Christmas festivities in Florence. A joyful time: craft and food fairs in Piazzas Santa Croce and Santa Maria Novellla; a luminated concert shining on the Ponte Vecchio; and the lighting of the Duomo Christmas tree at 5 PM on December 8th. And then, alas, Covid kept me away for two years. But not this year. I fly Boston-Paris-Florence on December 5 and return December 17th. The apartment I’ve rented is tucked behind the Uffizi and a few steps away from the Ponte Vecchio. In the morning I will write as I sip a cappuccino at my special cafes; in the afternoon I will visit my favorite churches and museums; in the evenings delicious Italian food will be waiting for me. Carpe diem. I’m a project person. We all have projects going, but as a project person I view everything I do as a project, My life is a project! When events and situations arise, they become projects. As a kid I was always creating projects. My bedroom (and closet) was full of them. Projects became the invisible framework for the way I led my life. I’ve never discussed the term project person with anyone, much less read about the every day mental process that a project person personally goes through. I might see a final project or read about some of the process that went into it, but that’s not what I’m considering as I write this. I’m trying to unravel how process people craft and live their lives. All I have is myself as a model. In fact, I’m making this all up as I write. Ah, a writing project. Thought and language. As a project person I notice that I don’t lead a haphazard, random, unthought out, or disconnected life. My project start with my morning routine, and continues as I visit church people, send emails, write this blog, read, do a jigsaw puzzle, and prepare dinner—all under the rubric of daily routine. These daily routine projects, however, aren’t enough to keep me from feeling in disarray, purposeless, or bored. I need to produce a tangible project that others can benefit from, that can make a positive difference to people beyond my circle of friends and acquaintance. Which lead me to a current project idea that is moving around in my mind, body, spirit. A writing project, which doesn’t surprise me, for writing is often what I turn toward. I’m going to post this and get writing. P.S. My best writing place, need I remind you, is in Florence. Traveling solo means I can do what I want when I want. Most mornings I’m organized about how the day will go, but today I did some random wandering. It took me a while to choose where to get my first cappuccino before deciding to purchase Duomo tickets. I thought I knew the procedure, having done so at least a dozen times. But no, everything has changed, from the location of the ticket office, to the need to reserve the precise times for each entry, to the cost, which has gone up appreciable!! The good news, however, is that groups can visit the outside terrace that surrounds the nave. And so I purchased a ticket for the 10:15 tour. My reservation for the Museo die Opera del Duomo is for Wednesday; this year I’m bypassing a climb to very top. Here are the pictures. Noice the big ‘flower pots’ with tiles below them. The pots collects rain water, which over 30 years will flow to age the tiles for Duomo stonemasons to use for repairs. Hmm, it took about 16 years to build the dome, 30 years to get a few stones ready for use. Taking a walk has always been one of the most satisfying ways I have tapped into solitude. My intention is to stay present to what I am seeing and keep my mind clear of mental distractions (such as rehashing the past or planning for the future). I developed this mindset during those five winters at the cottage when I walked every morning. It became the way I stepped into solitude while wandering the streets of Florence or strolling the grassy terrain of Iona. These days, as I try to maintain a similar clarity of mind, I realize that walking is my go-to entry into solitude. Memories go with me. Remembering Iona and FlorenceRemembering last week's walk• This morning I climbed Duomo. It was at least my 25th climb. I wasn’t the fastest, but I could keep up. • Half the tourists here are Asian. Good thing, because they SHOP. • Cyclists are the number one hazard in Il Centro. • Women are still writing in journals. The woman next to me at the cafe has been writing in small notebook for at least thirty minutes. She has 12 Rules for Life, by Jordan B. Peterson on the table next to her coffee. Maybe she writing her rules. I wanted to strike up a conversation with her, but one of my rules is to honor people’s privacy, and that what I sense she wants. Thus, also no photograph. • The Ponte Vecchio is less crowded with tourists in the fall than in the spring. • Locks of Love are still being attached to the fence around the statue of Cellini on the Ponte Vecchio. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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