Here are a few glimpses into my current experiment in living in Florence. Random thoughts. Nothing too startling, just life as it happens.

    The best news is that my niece has been in town; it’s been great fun showing her around and sharing a few meals with her. A lovely break from solitude and living here alone. No question, a few plans with family and friends are all part of the balance.

     In the late afternoon yesterday we happened up the monks singing Mass at San Miniato. Beautiful. Soon after that we were almost locked in at the cemetery behind the church. Um, can’t have enough reminders—watch the time.

    A couple of hours later, as we were enjoying dinner at Piazza Santo Spirito, a woman at the table next to us let out a scream. With that two men at a nearby table jumped over the plexiglass barrier, ran around the corner and out of sight. Five minutes later they returned the woman’s pocketbook, took their seats, and enjoyed a sip of wine. Evidently a young man had grabbed the bag but dropped it on the road when he realized he was being chased. Um, can’t have enough reminders—watch your bag.

     I’ve been writing at the nearby library every morning. Except for the occasional scraping of chairs on the stone floor, it is incredibly quiet in there. People are writing and studying, but step out to answer their phone.

     Today I bought a skein of ‘Alpaca Baby’ wool at a yarn store that I found on line a year ago. When traveling I need something small and easy to knit—a cowl fits my specifications. If you’re a knitter, check the site out for fun. www.campolmifilati.it

Early morning in Florence, that is before 8:30, provides the illusion of silence, solitude and simplicity for me. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty going, but I can work around it. The crowds of people haven’t taken to the street yet; in their place are crowds of trucks cleaning, sweeping, collecting garbage and transporting food and drink.

    Two things worth noting in the slideshow: the lack of people and a commitment to keep Florence clean and tourist friendly. Not a bad place to live, even for two weeks.

Here I am at the Bibliotecca Nazionale Centrale, with a library card good for life in my possession. It is Saturday and for reasons only the Italians can understand, all the other libraries in town are closed. That precipitated me to wander along the Arno to check this one out, and to my good fortune, it was open. Only problem is that it is closed to the public, or to be more precise, closed to those who wander in off the street. That was me, but not really. I was someone who wanted to write, not a tourist who wanted to take a few pictures.

    So, in spite of rather imposing security arrangements, I decided that I could get in. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but my determination to write seemed to be strong enough to catapult me along, all in Italian. “No, I’m not a studente or professore: I am a writer. The other libraries are closed and so I came here.”
    With that, the gentleman led me to another desk and proceeded to type my passport information into the computer. When asked my profession, I stammered, “Writer.”
      “A writer of books?” he clarified.
      “Yes.”
    And with that, out spewed a library card, which he promptly laminated and handed to me. It is a card for life, a card I obtained because I am a writer of books. It’s true! After all, that’s what the official said, that’s what’s recorded in the Bibliotecca Nazionale Centrale. It’s all in the naming, and in the card. Oh yes, and then there’s the doing.

Since this is a blog “for people looking for silence, solitude and simplicity, and who sometimes like to be alone,” I though I’d stay true to its purpose  and offer a few observations on the topic. No question that in Florence, any silence, solitude or simplicity is a state of mind, certainly not found out there on the streets. It sure isn’t on the Ponte Vecchio or in the Uffizi, although in the churches people talk in a whisper. Walking along the streets doesn’t look simple, with all those people, but if I follow a simple rule, I get where I’m going: Keep Walking. Don’t be polite and give someone the right of way or you’ll disturb the flow and cause a pedestrian traffic jam and/or a bicycle accident.

    No way do I believe that traveling alone is the best way to go. it’s just one of the ways, but since most people travel with another person or in groups, traveling alone for an extended period of time is more than just a little different.

    I make all my travel plans. Where to go, when and for how long, how to get there, where to stay, what to see, when, where to eat--everything. The bad news is that I have to do it all on my own. The good news is that I get to do it all on my own. With no one to chatter with, much of the chatter in my head stops; and with that comes silence, solitude and simplicity. The good news is that I like it for chunks of time in my life. 

    I took these pictures in The Rose Garden on the way to Piazza Michelangelo. Today, April 25, is Liberation Day, a national holiday in Italy. It marks the fall of Mussolini's Italian Social Republic and the end of the Nazi occupation in Italy in 1945, towards the end of the second World War. People were out in groups having a marvelous time. No solitude wanted. It reminded me that on July 4 I don’t want silence, solitude or simplicity.

I’ve found the Biblioteca Palagio del Parte Guelfa, just a left turn off of Via Terme where I live, and complete with instant wifi and a public writing room directly off the street. This offers much easier to access than Biblioteca Oblata, but unfortunately doesn’t have my favorite view. Nevertheless, here I sit this morning after nine hours of sleep, a visit to S. Trinita, an early morning walk around the city, and cappuccino and brioche at a café nearby.

    My ‘experiment’ in living here is going well, but of course has its challenges. Actually the challenge is that age old one of being conscious of living in the present. I seem to be able to step outside myself enough to recognize this two week time period here as my life right now, not something separate, not a vacation, not better (just different) from any other two weeks.

     No matter where I am living, writing this blog is one of the current being-in-the-present consistencies in my life. But then I wonder about my dependency on wifi and my computer. I don’t like to consider technology as a life-line for me, but maybe it is--although not in the spiritual category. Rather, it is one of life’s placeholders, along with morning coffee, driving a car, going to church, and other necessities and mechanism that give form to the rituals of my life.

Florence is not silent this spring, nor during any spring for that matter. The woman who renewed my Amici degli Uffizi card, told me ‘Oh, you’ll notice a big difference when you return in the fall.’

    Easter Monday brought out not only the tourists, but the Italians. I’ve never seen any line at all to climb the Giotto’s Campanile, but there it was, a long one yesterday. Of course, if you’re not in line when it opens at 8:15, there is always a wait to climb the Duomo. There were crowds in the piazzas and on the streets, but thank goodness there are plenty of restaurants with plenty of good food. “You can’t get a bad meal in Italy,” so the saying goes.  

   Another silence breaker is construction noise. The Baptistry, taking its turn for a deep cleaning, is completely covered with scaffolding. Major repairs are still going on around the apse of the Duomo. As I sit on the terrace of the Bibliotecca Oblate, I can hear repair sounds coming from the street between me and the Duomo.

    I love these sounds of life. I resonate with the tourists; I wonder if I will walk by a student who is finding her-Self. I love these stone buildings; they exude stability, hope, and possibilities yet to be imagined by those by pass by, for the first time, or after a life time (not finished) of visits.

1) Quite a day easing into solitude, and I’m not quite there yet. Sunrise Easter service in our backyard, church, then the Logan Express to the airport. Beautiful drive with a fair amount of traffic for Easter. But not to worry, tomorrow will be impossible: Boston Marathon, Boston Strong.

2)  Solitude at the airport was pleasantly interrupted when I recognized Jeannette from church leading a high school group to sing in Germany. I love seeing young people traveling for I know from first hand experience that those who travel early in life will travel with ease later on.

3) The Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt took off on time. An early one. Free wine (nice touch) and dinner served and cleared away by 7. I love an early night! We arrive at 12:30 our time, 5:46 local time. My flight to Florence will get me to my favorite city by 9 AM, just in time for a cappuccino. That’s my plan. I’ll see how it goes.

4) Stopover in Frankfurt. I’m going to post now because being on the internet won’t be my first order of business when I arrive in Firenze.

Contemporary Celtic poets love the word belonging. There is David Whyte’s book of poems, “The House of Belonging.” John O’Donohue sprinkles belonging among his poems and writings. The word is provocative, leading me in many directions. To whom do I belong? Where? When? For how long?

     With my upcoming trip to Florence on Sunday, I seem to have latched onto thoughts of longing and belonging. But why? I love the city, so it’s easy to long to be there. But there’s something more. Specifically I long to wander through the streets and along the Arno. But there is something more. After all, there are many places where I long to be, and with ease I can long for many things.

     But what about belonging? Belonging is more limited and specific, more defined and distinct. I sense that I belong in Florence; that that city is where I get closest to my Self, to who I am. It wasn’t always that way, and maybe it will change. But for now, I belong there, at least for two weeks.  

Yes, snow last night. Sun and wind chill today for my walk--little and big patches of snow.

On Easter afternoon I’m flying to Florence, the city of my heart. Once again I’ll visit favorite churches, museums, and restaurants, all within the framework of wandering about in solitude. All good. My family accepts my solitary trips, knowing that I try to plan around important family events. Usually I’m successful but this time it isn’t working out quite that way. I won’t be home when the grandkids come for a couple of nights during their vacation, nor when my daughter and her husband come for a long weekend. My husband and I are a good team when visitors come, but this time he’ll have to play my position as well as his. He’s fine with this but I’m feeling a tad sad and guilty that I won’t be there for the fun and to fulfill my job in the Camp Fisher kitchen.

    These are the kinds of issues that arise for those of us who long for extended periods of solitude. We haven’t denounced the social aspect of our lives, not do we want to. Sometimes it’s impossible to fit everything in. At least to do so with ease and in sync with the rest of the world.