The shops I pass on the ground floor of these old buildings are filled with items that, with luck, might last seven years, not seven centuries. As I sit writing at Caffe Ricchi in Piazza Spirito, I watch vendors setting up kiosks to present home grown provisions, such as bread, cheese, pasta, fruit and vegetables, honey and jams to sell.No waste here. Woodworkers, weavers, potters, and other craft people are sell their heart-felt expressions.
“Buy what you need,” I tell myself, which is easy for me because I don’t want any more stuff. The buying phase of my life is complete. I have more than I need, which is where discontentment sets in. I have begun to get rid of/recycle/donate my extra stuff—books I’ve read, dishes I don’t use, clothing I’ll never wear, ‘sitters’ I don’t appreciate or look at. Contemplation and action.
As I wander around Florence my eyes gaze up at all that stone, rarely in shop windows.