I’m home a day early. The short story, both fact and fiction, is that Alitalia change my flight from Tuesday (today) to Monday (yesterday). I found out about it when an email popped up telling me it was time to check for tomorrow’s flight.
    “But I don’t fly until the day after, blah, blah, blah,” I told the computer, before deciding to do as it said and sign in for the flight that was currently in Alitalia’s system.
    “It probably has to do with the strike on Wednesday. Didn’t they call you,” I heard from the attendant at check.
    “I know nothing about a strike, and no, they didn’t call me.”
    “So Italian,” I tell myself, and yet in looking back through my emails, I notice they had sneaked in the  change. No blame game for me. I should have been more attentive; the airline was remiss.
      The bad news is that I missed lunch with a friend. The good news is that I got home without a hitch, and I didn’t get upset about the change. Living into silence, solitude and simplicity paid off.

      Here in Florence I’ve been getting up at 6:30 and turning out the light by 9:30. In between, I have acquired a pair of bookends to hold my daily rhythm in place. In the morning I walk along the Arno before writing on my computer at a café; in the evening I write in my journal at a restaurant before taking another walk along the Arno. Usually I let the middle of the day take care of itself by not planning too much ahead. I just wander about and end up at just the right place. For instance this morning I found myself at the Convent of San Marco gazing at the Fra Angelico frescoes in the monks cells, and stepping into the first public library in Italy created by Cosimo the Elder in about 1443.
        Tomorrow I will be a little more scheduled because I have an 8:30 reservation to climb the Duomo. And with that, my 48 hour ticket will be activated for entry to the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, the Baptistry, the Campanile, and the Crypt of Santa Reparata under the Duomo
At the moment I’m writing in park of the Art School near the Porta Romana. It appears that the school is permanently closed, but the expansive park is alive with people enjoying themselves. They are reading, studying, writing--that’s me-- chatting, walking their dogs, and watching kids on the jungle gyms. Sometimes I seen a soccer game going on in the middle of the field, but not today.
     Back to my bookends and schedule. It occurs to me that I have a similar schedule at home. Creatures of habit, we are. But, I sure like playing it out in a different venue.

On my climb to Piazza Michelangelo and San Miniato al Monte, I stopped to write in Japanese Garden, a section of the Rose Garden. Here is a slide show for my two special gardening friends, Debby and Marilyn, and for all the rest of you wishing to enjoy the bursting of spring.

       Here I am, early in the morning. sitting in a park along the Arno. I’ve savored my first cappucchino near Santa Croce and crossed the Arno to this spot. Soon I’ll stop in a favorite bar for another coffee and a brioche. Such is my morning routine here in Florence, one that started many visits ago.
For you who love silence, solitude and simplicity and sometimes like to be alone, I thought I let you know how it’s going. Brief answer: very well.
Silence: Yes, in that I don’t talk with anyone and can screen out most conversations and noise. No, in that there is too much chatter in my head. Practicing Centering Prayer twice a day in a favorite church helps, although I’m not very good at just sitting and feeling my breath. Practice, practice, practice.
Solitude: Yes, in that I am completely alone making decisions about how I experience my day. Although I have a general plan (after all, I am a routine person), I am completely beholden to my own whim, which is an aspect of solitude.
Simplicity: Yes, in that I do what I do, go where I go, eat what I eat without much forethought. I don’t need a city map any more; I’d say I’m simply on automatic pilot.
For the most part I am fully engaged and am able to stay in the NOW. (For example, I just watched a man sort his garage into the big bins moments before two sanitation workers came along and hoisted them onto a truck and took them away.) Being present to the moment, a worthy corollary to silence, solitude and simplicity and a key to gratitude, is one of my on-going goals. Practice, practice, practice.
One more thing. I am again working on that article about my experiences writing in Florence. There must be people out there who would like to come to Florence to write. Are they more likely to be women traveling alone? Perhaps, but that isn’t the trust of the article. Whoever they are, they might appreciate inspiration, affirmation and encouragement from someone who has done it.
      I’m thinking of sending it to GoNomad.com. Whatever your style, please send prayers, positive energy, good vibes.

Today I took the train to Lucca, walked around, got lost, got found, and took the train back to Florence. A lovely day.

     Here I am, writing at one of my favorite cafes in Florence. I like the extra large cup of cappuccino at this place. Maybe it’s the morning coffee that compels me to return to this city. Maybe it’s that simple. It has never occurred to me to spend two weeks in Boston. No, it’s the morning rhythm of a walk across the Ponte Vecchio for my first cup, and then my second cup with brioche as I write. But coffee isn’t the only reason I have returned; there’s also the food and wine (with no preservatives). Plus friends to visit; friends as in churches, paintings, and sculptures.
     Florence exudes peace, calm and optimism, something I didn’t feel in Rome. In this little self-contained city people are enjoying the moment, which makes it easy to send love to everyone I pass. After all, I believe love begets love and we reap what we sow. So along with the coffee, maybe I come to practice that.

     Here I sit on the train on my way to Florence after one night in Rome. Rome in a day felt about right. I love Rome, but it’s a big city, steeped in Roman Catholic history. On this visit it seemed that all I could see were Baroque churches, representative of 16th century Rome, with its renewal and response to the counter reformation.
     That being said, I had a wonderful day in The Eternal City. There was much for which to be grateful, which is always a good way to start out. My flight arrived early and my hotel room was ready. How good is that? Very. I bought a day bus pass. First stop, Campo de Fiori for my first pizza (marinara) of the trip. Next, a visit to Castel Sant’Angelo. Originally built by Hadrian (76-138 CE) for his tomb but added to over the years to serve as, among other things, a prison, barracks, and a get away for many popes. Borgia Pope Alexander VI (1492-1503) built a secret passage way from the Vatican to the castle.
     Being my frugal mother’s daughter, I had to get my money’s worth with the bus pass, so back to the hotel for a nap and then out again to wander about the area of the Pantheon (completed during Hadrian’s reign) and the Piazza Navona, where I enjoyed a delicious meal of bruschetta and tagliatelle with shrimp and zucchini. Early to bed and early to rise to catch this 8:45 italotreno.it to Firenze, where I am now posting this.

     What a marvelous day so far. I just returned from speaking to Bob Pazmino’s class, ‘Spiritual Biography’, at Andover Newton Theological School. What fun I had, but as I told them, ‘It’s all about me.” I’m smiling. What an enthusiastic group of students, but how could they be otherwise, when led by such an enthusiastic professor! I wish I were taking the class, but alas, then I wouldn’t be flying off to Italy this evening. So what a marvelous day so far. I am indeed very grateful.
    Talking about my experiences writing Very Grateful: The Story of My Hundred Year Old Mother and Me brought back memories of Mom: of who she was and what I learned from her throughout my life time, of that period of writing at the cottage, and my visits to her during those last two years of her life. I gained some new insights, which tells me that the story isn’t over just because a book is published. On my drive home I though of other nuggets I wish I had shared. But as the saying goes, less is more. Thank you Bob and every one of you in the class.

     I must confess that I’ve let myself be drawn back into the news. Why confess? Because I believe confession helps me stop ‘bad’ behavior, and for me dwelling on the news is just that--bad, for me. It is pretty clear that the path I am to take on my present life journey is one of light, positivity, and love. I don’t mean to sound naïve and arrogant, but I believe we must counterbalance all the darkness, negativity, and hate in the world. Please join me.
     I also must confess that although I continually fail at this, every morning I express what I’m grateful for and start again along the lit path. I try to do it with insight and humility.

I’m playing the waiting game; waiting for Monday evening when I fly to Rome; waiting for Monday morning when I talk about my book Very Grateful at a class entitled ‘Spiritual Autobiography’ taught by my professor friend, Bob Pazmino at Andover Newton; waiting for my car to be serviced at the Toyota dealership.
      Waiting! I do a fair amount waiting, we all do, but I don’t let my life be defined by it. As I sit here waiting, I am writing; I can ‘people watch’; I can read. Yes, there is always reading, that is if you bring along a book or kindle. After I post this I’ll pick up ‘A Tale for the Time Being’, by Ruth Ozeki. I don’t have to wait to read for compassion. Reading is part of the waiting game.