Category Archives: travel

Time and the streets of Florence

We didn’t spend all of our time as a foursome. Often the kids went off on their own.

“I’ve got to stop calling them that,” my husband announced, but what else to call them? Younger son not yet 30, girlfriend, younger yet.

Nothing about the rhythm of apartness caused grievance or disappointment. Perhaps that surprised me. But one haunting moment lingers even now.

We are on the street. Picture a throng on either side where people are shoulder to shoulder — a veritable river of human beings. Girlfriend wears a sweet straw hat, making her generally visible even in a crowd. But on this particular afternoon as they set off, I must have looked down for a moment, possibly at my phone — a trusty travel companion, that device — and when I looked up again there were gone. They had melted into the crowd on their way somewhere.

For all intents and purposes, they had disappeared. Their separation from us and forward movement and disappearance carried the weight and mystery and sadness of time in it. At that moment, they were literally walking into an afternoon, a future, unknowable to me. . . like they will today and tomorrow and the moment I am gone.

Uffizi: the myth of Niobe

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There is an entire room in the Uffizi dedicated to the Niobe myth. If you don’t know (and I didn’t), she was the mother of seven sons and seven daughters who bragged about her fertility in front of Leto. Leto was the mother of a mere two — the twins Apollo and Artemis — but was a goddess and, as gods and goddesses will do, took offense.

What a bloodbath ensued!

Niobe’s children trying to escape the deadly wrath of Leto

Leto’s son, Apollo, killed all seven of Niobe’s sons, while Artemis killed all of her daughters. Niobe’s husband either committed suicide or was also killed. Niobe was left devastated and alone. Zeus took pity on her and turned her to rock, but the myth tells us that even then tears streamed down her stony face.

When you enter the spacious room, it takes a minute to understand what you are seeing. I read a card or two and looked again. And then there was no mistaking the terror and panic.

At the far left: Niobe trying to protect one of her daughters

It was also a room that wasn’t mobbed (like the room housing Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus)

E was reading The Iliad during our trip. Don’t know if she’d gotten to this part yet

To their left, a son. We’re told the original statue was painted with red to show the blood oozing out of an arrow wound

Making marks in Rome

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I used to be a little enamored of graffiti, maybe because my two boys came of age as Shepard Fairey was gaining notoriety, maybe because the idea of leaving a mark, any mark, holds presumptive value. There’s rebellion in graffiti. There can be artistry.

But this trip changed my mind. Rome, especially, seemed dirtied and marred by graffiti. It was everywhere.

Some motifs recurred, not just within a city but across the two cities, Rome and Florence

Would it change my reaction if I knew what any of it meant?

Top left particularly prevalent — collage-graffiti.

Boar is popular. D and Ken had some. I didn’t.

I came home two pounds lighter even though my carb count was sky high and every day included at least one serving of gelato. Speaks to quality of ingredients, I think. Well, and those 14,000 – 19,000 step count days!

I’m jumping around. Indulge me.

If I’d had more space in my luggage and more disposable dollars, I would have bought some pottery. It was bright, cheerful, and so evocative of the landscape that it would’ve been a nice memento. One cereal-sized bowl I picked up was priced at 65 Euros. Craft worthy of the price — just not for me that day.

I did treat myself to a cheap pair of earrings from L’Accadamie’s gift store.

Cappuccino with Santa Maria Novella in the background

I’ll end with a movie recommendation. We picked it out because most of it takes place in Rome. That’s the Castel Sant’Angelo. We crossed that bridge! Are those the Spanish Steps? Trevi Fountain with four people at its lip? Sure, a little movie conceit.

It happens to be an uplifting story about second chances — one of my favorite themes. Also, I don’t even know why but I love the actor Bill Nighy. Here he plays a wise soccer (er – football) coach to England’s Homeless World Cup team. Highly recommend, especially if you’ve spent the day reading about Alito and the Orange Menace.

Stag horn ferns at the side gate. Ellen — come and get some!

PS forgive the repetition from earlier posts. I can hardly remember what I put in an Instagram story and what here and what nowhere at all, so I need to give myself permission to be repetitive!

Pasta making in Florence

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It rained today. Hard at times. But we never really got caught in it.

We had to hoof it to the south bank of the Arno early this morning for our pasta making class, a last minute and very welcome addition to our activities.

Genius device: a pasta guitar

It was a nice group. A mother/daughter duo from Jersey, a couple from Northern Quebec, and two cousins from England (one from Suffolk; one from I-can’t-remember-where), plus us. Our instructor haled from Mexico but has lived in Florence for 14 years. Check out her serving technique, below.

Of course we got to eat what we made.

The green swirl is a basil/olive oil mix

Then we went to the Duomo and I’m way too exhausted to post about that. Here are some random pix from last few days though.

Early graffiti at Colosseum, demonstrating why word “graffiti” derives from “scratch”

A pleasant surprise!

Home!

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Back to the land of sharp knives, automatic ice dispensation, and good reading light.

I will get my grubby paws on the remote and not let go for awhile. I will not listen to a single ad for thyroid eye disease, Kars4Kids, or Liberty Mutual (I swear if I had to watch that dipshit fall over the rail into the East River one more time I was gonna scream). No more Kevin Hart barking “NOT A GAME!”

However, shingles doesn’t care has entered the lexicon.

I’m also back to the land of SUNSHINE. I’m not exaggerating when I report that in three weeks in Los Angeles there were two, maybe three, brief afternoon showings of sun. Relentless grey.

It was a good trip, don’t get me wrong.

What do you miss most about home when you travel?

The garden popped in the three weeks I was gone. Whew! Gorgeous. Stepping into the back yard yesterday was the strangest thing because it felt weirdly unfamiliar.

Today there will be weeding. I’ll finish reading the 49-page indictment. Salmon with a dill ginger sauce will be whipped up for dinner (Ali Slagle on NYTimes Cooking app). A dog walk is on the agenda.

News: the man who picked me up at the airport was wearing hearing aids. At last! Long overdue. He’s in the adjustment period but at least it’s now happening. (Nagging reached new heights with this one).

Speaking of nagging, now that I’ll resume my usual Finn-walking loops with the usual number of steps, do you think Apple can stop with the “your steps have changed” notifications?

For place keeping, the following pic.

PS The best thing I read about Aileen Cannon being assigned to the case was a news watcher’s assertion that Jack Smith is a better prosecutor than Cannon is a bad judge.

You’d think she’d want to avoid more blistering rebukes from the 11th Circuit Appeals Court, but I’m not counting on it. But remember: the insurrection case will be brought in D.C.

Pattern and Outrage : Dee Mallon

cloth, justice, writing, and food