Two days into the purging and I’m still at it. If I can do a little each day, it will get done—whatever that means. Today I spent no more than ten minutes getting rid of cookbooks. There is more room on the shelf, and I am free from household obligations for the rest of the day.
    I kept enough books to lift something different out of the oven and onto the table every day, even if I live to be my mother's age of one hundred one. But that’s not going to happen—the cooking part, anyway. The those Italian meals are still salivating in my mouth, so here at home I may stick to alternating between hamburgers and salmon. Tonight it’s hamburgers minus the wine.

This blog needs some balance; well, really I need some balance. Usually I write about solitude, sometimes about silence, very seldom about simplicity.
When I started this blog in November 2009 I wrote:
        A Cottage by the Sea: A blog for those who are looking for silence, solitude and simplicity and who sometimes want to be alone.
Although the cottage is no more, it’s spirit of silence, solitude and simplicity remains. And as we know, a cottage-by-the-sea can be anywhere;
right now my cottage is my home. I can find silence and solitude here, but finding simplicity is a challenge. I know that simplicity can be a mental state, but the forty year collection of stuff in this house reminds me that it also has physical aspects and right now my mind and body are in competition. Every day my thoughts about stuff clutter my mind. I lament to friends but I don’t take action.
Soooooo, today is the day to stop blabbing and so something. Before I post this, I’m going to purge my closet. I’ll report back. Can I do it in a hour? Well, I can start. I’ll be back.
I’m back. This was not tidying up; this was purging twenty turtlenecks, three pairs of slippers, and two pairs of sneakers. My life feels simpler already.

What do you hope to hear about my silence, solitude and simplicity now that I am home? Maybe not much, maybe nothing new. First of all, it is good to be home because I have a great home, replete with plenty of the 3Ss when I chose. It is different, however, than being alone in my world in Florence for two weeks--something I wouldn’t want forever.
Being home forever, on the other hand, would be more than fine, which gets me thinking that the reason I enjoy the solitary travel is because I have the balance of solitude and sociability, silence and conversation, simplicity and ‘stuff’, waiting for me at home. That being said, I always look forward to my next trip.

     This morning at the Piazza della Signoria there was a space where for many months a sculpture by artist Jeff Koons had stood. That was what all that construction was about yesterday; it has been being down. Florence celebrates contemporary artists but it takes hundreds of years for a piece to win a permanent place along Michelangelo’s David. Dust to dust is the way of most of us, maybe even Koons.
This gets me thinking, once again, about life’s purpose. It can’t be to be remembered forever, although most of us strive for some kind of lasting fame. Maybe it is enough to be appreciated by a few people. But even that is problematic. So what’s left?
     I glimpse meaning through my longing for solitude, which for me translates into a longing for God. You may have another word for the object of your longing, but whatever it is, I believe it is deeper than thought, feeling, or physicality. At rare moments when this longing is satisfied, thought, word, and deed have no meaning for me. It is then, however, I know my life has meaning.
     This is my last full day in Florence. Like Koons statue I have come and now will go. I hope to return in April. Maybe there will be a different statue in the space. The view will change; so will have I. But the longing can always be satisfied.

     Getting up early and living in solitude are happy companions for me. In Florence I am most deeply content walking about in the early morning, stopping of course for a cappuccino along the way. And yet, life out on the streets at that time isn’t silent or simple for the folks getting ready for another day of tourists. For this solitary traveler, however, the activity fulfills my longing to be alone in the presence of others, my desire to participate in the energy of those with whom I’m living, and my believe that as a silent observer I can add to the good in the world.
      Here are pairs of photos I took—one before 8AM, one after 2PM.

     Another sunny day in Florence, with the temperature on the rise to 50 degrees. I am very grateful, especially when I check the weather back home. But lest I be smug, the Saturday forecast for Boston is snow and wind, not my choice for a travel day. Of course, I tell myself that this offers an opportunity to stay present to the next three days I have here and then deal with travel. How easy it is to start traveling now and miss being in the NOW of this city.
     Yesterday was my Duomo climbing day--my first time in the afternoon. Few tourists here in January so I didn’t have to beat the long lines that develop each day during the tourist season. This had to be my fifteen climb. No I’ve done more that that—every time I come here—minus one visit with Mom when I was too scared to climb. I had developed a fear of heights and believe me, the Duomo is high and the viewing from the lantern quite unprotected. My disappointment made me determined to work through this acrophobia. Now I lean over the railing and offer an understanding simile to the folks who are standing back.

The men are here again at the middle table at the café. At one end they are joined by a woman who is holding forth. At the other end a young girl, accompanied by an older man, is writing. They don’t seem to be aware that they are in the midst of this sacred space. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Yesterday I took Bus 7 to Fiesole and walked up the hill to the Monastery of St. Francis. It is one of my quiet places when I come to Florence, as the Feltrinelli Café RED is one of my noisy places. The monk’s dormitory is my favorite here at the monastery. Up the stairs and there there are the their cells, eight of them. It is all I need, except for heat in the winter.

I dream of living there, as another person in another era, but also as me, transported, leaving everything behind, without a care in the world. This dream, like all dreams, can catapult me toward finding my bliss, discovering my NOW. The easy step to articulate, but difficult to carry out, is that I must leave my stuff behind. Not much will fit into my cell at the monastery. Without the stuff there would be less to do, less cleaning and straightening, less projects to choose from. Leaving obligations behind is more complicated. Would I really want day after day filled with silence, solitude and simplicity? For now this monastery overlooking the Arno valley and the Duomo is my muse.

My morning routine includes a cappuchino at a local bar, prayer at La Badia, and cappucchino and a brioche at the café at the Feltrinelli bookstore. I confess I don’t buy books because traveling with a Kindle is the easy way to go. However, the atmosphere at the book/café is engaging.
     I wonder if the men who gather at the café love books and the book atmosphere? There are usually six or seven at a given time who take over the middle table. Once in a while one purchases a café, although that doesn’t seem to be a prerequisite for taking up the space. It’s the Italian way—enjoy the moment. I’m working on it.

Today I’m concentrating on concentrating; a challenge for me. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) came into being when I first started teaching in the early 1970s, and was a full-fledged phenomenon when I retired in 1996. I was never attentive to it, and now I know why. I was ADHD myself, but since I seemed to know how to maneuver around it without much harm to myself of others, I was NEVER aware of it. I understood, however, the kids who were in perpetual physical and mental motion. (Right now as I write I keep stopping to gaze about, sip my cappucchino, and think about what I will do when I leave this café.) I was also in awe of the students who stuck to a task for long periods of time. And so, with this new insight, accompanied by intense effort, I am trying to stick to the task of writing this paragraph without distraction. It is a challenge.
Living in Florence for these two weeks offers the perfect opportunity for me to practice concentrating. Concentrating on what? After all I do concentrate. The problem is that I concentrate on many, many, many things, all within a very, very, very short time span. However, concentrating on one task for an extended period of time, until I complete it, is very difficult--be it writing, walking the streets, visiting museums. I want to be in the Now, to use Eckart Tolle’s term. I am reminded of his comment that he spent two years sitting on a park bench just being present to what was going on around him. Really!!
Hmm, I am amazed at all I accomplish, and I wonder what my life would be like if I concentrated more consistently on one thing at a time. Just think of all what I could achieve! But maybe I’d lose my enthusiasm, my uniqueness, whatever that is. I believe, however, that I would gain something of worth. What? More time, time to write, read, pray, walk, sit in the mystery. More presence, presence with myself, friends, God.
In Florence I am aware of local artists who must be concentrating to produce their work. Maybe the have ADHD, maybe they have unwavering concentration, like native-son Michelangelo.Regardless of where any of us find ourselves on the concentration continuum, we do our best to make meaning. That’s what the NOW is about.

The Uffizi was marvelous; well, of course, with all those paintings, all those longtime friends! I walked right in, went through the security scanner, flashed my Amichi degli Uffizi card, made my way up the three flights of stairs, and there I was in the corridor leading to my favorite rooms.
What a way to begin by gazing at the Madonna and Child paintings by Cimabue (1280), Duccio (1285), and Giotto (1310), all painted within the span of a thirty years; each demonstrating the leadership Florence was about to take in the art, religion and philosophy of the West. (We see this same bursting forth in building of churches in the city.)
What does this have to do with solitude? I love visiting museums by myself, and of course there is no other choice when traveling alone. I can move at my own pace, but how about the idea that I can also remain still at my own pace? In these three paintings, however, unlike earlier rendition of Madonna and Child, there is both a moving on and remaining still quality. None are static, but Giotto’s interpretation is more human. His Madonna has flesh behind her robe. The Renaissance is being conceived.
I love the Florentine religious art and architecture of the Trecento and Quattrocento, because its it suggests a place of solitude. I will miss this tranquility when I return to the Uffizi next week to spend time with the works of Titian and Caravaggio. Their works are not about solitude, nor are the silent or simple.