My best stories are those that make me look worldly but show that I have chosen to live my life while loving God. I love his creation and dive into exploring it and sometimes that makes me appear as a non-cookie cutter version of Christianity.
In 2013 I took many risks. I didn't leave my life or my God in a box. I chanced in love, travel and writing. Through this chance taking I met many amazing people and some not so amazing. I saw many new places and visited some old favorites. During the year I had many wonderful adventures and successes but I also made some huge mistakes which led me down a path of despair. But I lived, I didn't wait for life to happen to me. Now at the end of the year I am reflecting. I can see the light where God will lead me if I trust and obey. He had to devastate me and break me in order to get me to trust and obey. Only in our brokenness can we be healed. It is like with my own children, growth only comes with pain.
Today the message at church was not one of a Happy New Year. Instead the preacher pointed out how God works through our sins and brokenness and despair. Our despair may lead others to seek God in their lives if we deal with the problems in our lives with wisdom and grace. I can say this is where I failed this year. I am sorry to those who were affected deeply and painfully by my lack of wisdom and grace in the midst of despair.
As I have struggled past my despair and climbed that mountain, reaching the peak where I can see the light I have impacted others along the way. I don't know if tomorrow will bring a valley of darkness or a peak with light but I will continue to live on terms of trust.
Each time in my life I have identified a fear I would never want to face I have had to face it. This year I had to face one of those fears again. I could stop identifying the fears I have and then maybe these things would not happen but again I would not truly be living.
In 2014 I have more risks planned. I am taking my kids to Europe, just me, by myself. I want them to experience a life lived by taking big chances. I want them to understand I will not limit their dreams. I want them to be risk takers. I want their lives to be an adventure that is worthy of being written about and certainly theirs already is. If I were not willing to take risks they would not have the life they currently embrace. I have been diligently working on their story and mine but it is not quite ready to post. Be prepared for a roller coaster ride when I do post it.
I hope that 2014 will be another roller coaster ride for my life, one where I don't have to wonder if I truly lived.
This blog is dedicated to Ana Sophia. Your name means wisdom and grace. I hope to have some and learn from you.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
The Sisters in my life and Sisterhood
Our Thanksgiving vacation took us to Medford where much of my family lives. We visited with my aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousin. It was such a nice time to be with family. I walked the dog with my Aunt Melinda and we chatted the whole time. My Aunt Yvonne came over and we played dice, chatted and laughed. The whole time I was wishing my sister had been there with me. My cousin Tasha was there but her sister Tanya was also missing. We talked to both on the phone but it just wasn't the same. Our family has a strong bond of sisterhood. We sisters do not like to be apart for important events and holidays but we are always united in spirit. Our sisterly bonds are a strong example of the importance of family in our lives and one that we have inherited and will also pass down to the next generation.
The aunts of my life, all of them, have provided me the example of sisterhood that has permeated my relationship with my own sister but also the bonds I have with my friends who are sisters in spirit. My aunts in Medford love to play games and we could always count on sitting down to a game of canasta, dice or other fun board games with the whole family. Our family is full of fierce competitors and everyone hates to lose. Sometimes the games can get brutal. My cousin Tanya once launched herself across the table at my cousin Keo in a game of spoons. She tackled him and won. We all roared with laughter, probably except Keo. He had grown up in Hawaii and had never been exposed to the true meaning of being a "Snyder". We welcomed him in by making him pretend to be a donkey when he lost. My Grandma is the one who passed down her love for games. Even when she was sick she still played games. She did not have the mean streak though, that comes from my Grandpa and we Snyder's all have a little. My Grandma even had a special card holder that allowed her shaky hands to hold the cards and continue to play when her Parkinson's was beginning to get worse. We would all sit around the dining room table and play one game after another. It was one of the ways we shared our time together. My Grandma also came from a long line of sisters who protected and loved one another deeply. They were close and took care of my aunts when needed until they had moved to Oregon and away from all of her sisters. Still, perhaps they are the ones that taught my aunts about the bond of sisterhood.
My aunts provided my sister and I with valuable lessons growing up on what it meant to be a sister. They took us new places, all the cousins piled into one small car, modern-day SUV's didn't exist yet. It was also before seat-belts were required and we flailed around the Thunderbird, one cousin and I in the wheel-wells, my sister and another on the seat and my youngest cousin hurdling between the front and backseat all the way to Disneyland. Another year we all lined up hot dog style in the Blazer with the seats down to Great America. These were brave adventures. They were responsible for all of us and our necessary equipment. On the Great America trip I accidentally threw away my retainer and my aunt tried to fetch it out of the garbage can because she knew it was expensive and my parents would have to pay for a new one. The weren't even too scared to take us to Santa Cruz during the punk rock phase just after the Lost Boys had come out. They seemed fearless. My sister and I have carried on this tradition of taking trips with our annual spring break trip, packed full of cousins. We have also taken our kids to Six Flags and camping. Maybe we seem fearless to our children. My aunts showed their love for us through these adventures and I always knew my aunts loved us deeply. But they weren't the only aunts in my life showing me what sisterhood meant.
On the other side of our family we had another set of sisters that set an example for us, my Grandma and Aunt Evy. My Grandma and Aunt Evy shared every adventure together. They traveled the world after they lost husbands to death and divorce. They walked the Great Wall of China, cruised through the Panama Canal, toured across Europe, took cruises to Hawaii, went to Australia, Fiji, Tahiti, Singapore, and countless other places. They kept journals and wrote postcards back to us kids. I inherited their wanderlust. My sister and I always dreamed of the places we would travel together someday.
When they were home they would scoop up the cousins and we would stay at my Aunt Evy's house on Sandy Point in Washington. My Grandma didn't drive so we would take the bus up or my Aunt would come and get us. We walked on the beach everyday, played, had hot dog roasts, collected beach glass and watched as they sat and enjoyed each other's company. They were so close. They loved each other in such a truly meaningful way. And once again they loved us deeply.
My relationship with my sister is the closest relationship I have. I imagine it always will be. I don't keep secrets from my sister. She knows absolutely everything about me. She knows me so well that I can send a text that I think is cryptic and she immediately knows exactly what I mean. When my husband told me he was leaving it was my sister who got the first call. She was the only one I shared it with for months. She has been my constant confidant in times of trouble. She is also the one I love to share a glass of wine with and relax and the one I love to act silly with when I need to let loose. We were close even when we lived far apart but those were some of the most trying times. When her son was born and I had to leave on an airplane to go back to Montana I cried the whole way home. The steward on the plane sat beside me and comforted me but it was no comfort. I wanted to be with my sister and help her raise her baby. Eventually my husband and I moved closer for financial reasons but my heart had longed to be closer since Tryston was born. Let no man come between sisters or he will suffer. Who can be happy if they are too long separated from their sister? Not many of us who share this bond.
Life has never been easy but it is always made easier by having my sister around. In addition my other sisters have helped to mold my life as well and they are equally appreciated. Sisters don't have to share blood to share a bond. I am blessed to have many sisters in my life. So cheers to the sisters in my life and yours. Remember you are blessed by one another.
Rachelle-my one and only blood, there from the beginning, there through everything
Angelia-understanding of all the craziness of life, a constant source of support
Carrie-a partner in work and life who makes me a better teacher and mother
Danielle-the one who challenges me to be a better version of myself on all levels
Rebekah-someone I can share the outdoors with, laugh with and contemplate with
Elida-a travel companion who helps me take more risks
Robin-wisdom sharer, who makes me focus on the meaning of my life
Lori-my daily source of smiles and encouragement, as she is to all in her life
And my list truly goes on and on........
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The aunts of my life, all of them, have provided me the example of sisterhood that has permeated my relationship with my own sister but also the bonds I have with my friends who are sisters in spirit. My aunts in Medford love to play games and we could always count on sitting down to a game of canasta, dice or other fun board games with the whole family. Our family is full of fierce competitors and everyone hates to lose. Sometimes the games can get brutal. My cousin Tanya once launched herself across the table at my cousin Keo in a game of spoons. She tackled him and won. We all roared with laughter, probably except Keo. He had grown up in Hawaii and had never been exposed to the true meaning of being a "Snyder". We welcomed him in by making him pretend to be a donkey when he lost. My Grandma is the one who passed down her love for games. Even when she was sick she still played games. She did not have the mean streak though, that comes from my Grandpa and we Snyder's all have a little. My Grandma even had a special card holder that allowed her shaky hands to hold the cards and continue to play when her Parkinson's was beginning to get worse. We would all sit around the dining room table and play one game after another. It was one of the ways we shared our time together. My Grandma also came from a long line of sisters who protected and loved one another deeply. They were close and took care of my aunts when needed until they had moved to Oregon and away from all of her sisters. Still, perhaps they are the ones that taught my aunts about the bond of sisterhood.
On the other side of our family we had another set of sisters that set an example for us, my Grandma and Aunt Evy. My Grandma and Aunt Evy shared every adventure together. They traveled the world after they lost husbands to death and divorce. They walked the Great Wall of China, cruised through the Panama Canal, toured across Europe, took cruises to Hawaii, went to Australia, Fiji, Tahiti, Singapore, and countless other places. They kept journals and wrote postcards back to us kids. I inherited their wanderlust. My sister and I always dreamed of the places we would travel together someday.
When they were home they would scoop up the cousins and we would stay at my Aunt Evy's house on Sandy Point in Washington. My Grandma didn't drive so we would take the bus up or my Aunt would come and get us. We walked on the beach everyday, played, had hot dog roasts, collected beach glass and watched as they sat and enjoyed each other's company. They were so close. They loved each other in such a truly meaningful way. And once again they loved us deeply.
Sisterhood is not perfect or without its share of disagreements because, after all, we are human. In the end the love for one another takes over and everyone forgives. My Mom has always said that my sister and I would fight like cats and dogs but as soon as someone else criticized the other we turned our attention their way and the fight was on. She was right. I defended my sister more than once. My toast at my sister's wedding went something like this, "If you ever hurt my sister you will have to deal with me."
My relationship with my sister is the closest relationship I have. I imagine it always will be. I don't keep secrets from my sister. She knows absolutely everything about me. She knows me so well that I can send a text that I think is cryptic and she immediately knows exactly what I mean. When my husband told me he was leaving it was my sister who got the first call. She was the only one I shared it with for months. She has been my constant confidant in times of trouble. She is also the one I love to share a glass of wine with and relax and the one I love to act silly with when I need to let loose. We were close even when we lived far apart but those were some of the most trying times. When her son was born and I had to leave on an airplane to go back to Montana I cried the whole way home. The steward on the plane sat beside me and comforted me but it was no comfort. I wanted to be with my sister and help her raise her baby. Eventually my husband and I moved closer for financial reasons but my heart had longed to be closer since Tryston was born. Let no man come between sisters or he will suffer. Who can be happy if they are too long separated from their sister? Not many of us who share this bond.
Life has never been easy but it is always made easier by having my sister around. In addition my other sisters have helped to mold my life as well and they are equally appreciated. Sisters don't have to share blood to share a bond. I am blessed to have many sisters in my life. So cheers to the sisters in my life and yours. Remember you are blessed by one another.
Rachelle-my one and only blood, there from the beginning, there through everything
Angelia-understanding of all the craziness of life, a constant source of support
Carrie-a partner in work and life who makes me a better teacher and mother
Danielle-the one who challenges me to be a better version of myself on all levels
Rebekah-someone I can share the outdoors with, laugh with and contemplate with
Elida-a travel companion who helps me take more risks
Robin-wisdom sharer, who makes me focus on the meaning of my life
Lori-my daily source of smiles and encouragement, as she is to all in her life
And my list truly goes on and on........
Rachelle and I at Seaside, Oregon
Rachelle and I at Pacific City, Oregon
Shelling peanuts at Prineville Reservoir
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Monday, November 25, 2013
Searching to feel settled without settling
A close friend asked recently on her blog, Oregon Pilgrim http://oregonpilgrim.com/ , what the one liner for our lives is. I decided mine was the title of this blog, searching to feel settled without settling. I haven't felt truly settled at any point in my adult life except maybe those brief few months right after my children were adopted and I had them home and I was taking care of them as a stay-at-home Mom. At that moment I felt settled. One of my friends even commented that I looked the most settled he had ever seen me and the most happy and at peace. And truly I was. However, it was not to last. Life shifted and I ended up in emergency mode and have basically remained there ever since.
As life has shifted me in new and unplanned directions I have always felt a little out of balance. My friend Robin suggests that I am getting in the way of my own joy and I have to agree I am good at that. It is difficult to admit that you are the problem with you but I am. I have accepted that I am the one responsible. I know the most about myself and therefore know what is good and bad for me. But I do not always follow those instincts. In fact I almost never pay attention to the caution signs in life and then I get in the way of my bliss repeatedly. But I really do want to be settled at some point.
What would feeling settled look like for me? I am not entirely sure but I know that I would feel more settled with the right companion in my life. The trouble is I am no good at choosing those. I want someone who makes my heart skip a beat when I look at them and then can sit down and have an intellectually stimulating conversation. Of course he would have to be willing and able to sweep me away to the many places in the world I have not yet been. This doesn't sound very settled does it? My idea of settled seems to have to do with following my dreams and having someone there to lift me up to those dreams and share them with me. So far I have not found this.
Settled for me still looks like a farm in Italy, at least in the summers. It looks like my boys being content and well taken care of. It looks like me writing, gardening, hiking and traveling. It looks like me helping others and not in small ways.
My home when I was a child was idyllic and this may lead to much of my unsettled feeling. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. They took us on vacations when they could. We had a tree house and a huge back and front yard. We grew up feeling settled. Home meant settled, comfort and contentment. I have only called once place home since I left for college and that was the red house we lived in when the boys first came home. Every house since that has not felt like home, has not felt settled or has not made me feel content when I walk in the doors. I am still searching for that wholeness I felt. Therefore settled to me also means home.
So in the end I guess I am searching for home which would include a complete family not the fractured one that I currently inhabit.
As life has shifted me in new and unplanned directions I have always felt a little out of balance. My friend Robin suggests that I am getting in the way of my own joy and I have to agree I am good at that. It is difficult to admit that you are the problem with you but I am. I have accepted that I am the one responsible. I know the most about myself and therefore know what is good and bad for me. But I do not always follow those instincts. In fact I almost never pay attention to the caution signs in life and then I get in the way of my bliss repeatedly. But I really do want to be settled at some point.
What would feeling settled look like for me? I am not entirely sure but I know that I would feel more settled with the right companion in my life. The trouble is I am no good at choosing those. I want someone who makes my heart skip a beat when I look at them and then can sit down and have an intellectually stimulating conversation. Of course he would have to be willing and able to sweep me away to the many places in the world I have not yet been. This doesn't sound very settled does it? My idea of settled seems to have to do with following my dreams and having someone there to lift me up to those dreams and share them with me. So far I have not found this.
Settled for me still looks like a farm in Italy, at least in the summers. It looks like my boys being content and well taken care of. It looks like me writing, gardening, hiking and traveling. It looks like me helping others and not in small ways.
My home when I was a child was idyllic and this may lead to much of my unsettled feeling. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. They took us on vacations when they could. We had a tree house and a huge back and front yard. We grew up feeling settled. Home meant settled, comfort and contentment. I have only called once place home since I left for college and that was the red house we lived in when the boys first came home. Every house since that has not felt like home, has not felt settled or has not made me feel content when I walk in the doors. I am still searching for that wholeness I felt. Therefore settled to me also means home.
So in the end I guess I am searching for home which would include a complete family not the fractured one that I currently inhabit.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Having truth spoken my way
I am a runner in more ways than one. I am not very good anymore at sticking around to see things through. Now with my children I am great at it but others in my life get dismissed rather quickly. I know this is some sort of character flaw that is likely the result of betrayal and divorce but I have not yet figured out how to properly address it. It was with great surprise then when I began reading a book and realized I was the main character. I know I was meant to read that book.
My friend let me borrow Flight Behavior after she finished it because she knew Barbara Kingsolver was my favorite author. As I began reading I saw myself in the pages almost right away. I don't think my friend had the faintest idea that I would actually need this book due to recent events in my life but I desperately needed it. I awaited each evening where I could read about Dellarobia just to see what she would do and think of the reaction I would have to the same situation. Dellarobia is a woman trapped in an unhappy marriage that boldly speaks truth to everyone but herself. Eventually her truth telling ways catch up to her when her mother-in-law speaks truth back at her.
I, like Dellarobia, have been given the gift of speaking truth in people's lives. They rarely want to hear the truth I speak but at the same time their need for it leads them to ask. I rarely turn the truth telling on my own life. Therefore, it was with great dismay when I realized I needed to speak truth into my own life. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. I much better at running away from my emotions, decisions and such than actually facing them.
For me the truth had to do with freedom. I love freedom. I mean that in so many ways. I appreciate the country I live in which allows me to choose my career, practice my faith and make all other choices without government interference. But I take my love of freedom even further. I love freedom to make daily choices without having to make considerations for others.
I have the ability to do what I want when I want. Except that is not entirely true. My life is dictated by the schedule of my work and kids. It is dictated by a thousand other things that I have no control over. Mothers never truly have their freedom even after their children leave home. My Mom is never completely freed from worry about my sister and I. I am sure I will follow in her path when my children are grown.
So the freedom I am talking about has to do with relationships. I have a tendency to feel suffocated by relationships.
Recently I went through a spell of deep depression because of my terrible decision making on my own behalf. I described it in my journal like this; I feel suffocated like all my air, the very breath I need is being sucked slowly, painfully from me. I have made sure to stand in the way of my own freedom, my own happiness and my own peace. My frenetic energy has disappeared.
The last two lines have haunted me since I wrote it. I never realized how much I value my freedom and how intricately it is tied to my happiness. I have been searching to feel settled thinking that meant I needed a man in my life that helped me to settle down but when I was faced with that it became the choking hands around my neck. In the end it turns out I need someone who will give me an abundance of freedom and be okay with doing things without me all of the time. I am energized by my freedom.
Freedom for me hasn't come through my relationships. Instead I have noticed I always chose men who are similar to my ex-husband. There are so many qualities that are good in him but what I end up focusing on are the bad ones, in him and the ones I date. I am always attracted to men who are adventurous and live a life that is a little dangerous. I myself am very conservative so I like to be with someone who draws the adventurous side out of me. The problem lies in the choices these types of men make. Living on the edge is not often a stable place to be and doesn't provide comfort for a family girl like me. I also tend to end up with men who are financially unstable and this is a quality I detest. This is one of those qualities I despise most and once I discover it I begin to dwell on it. I also tend to be attracted to men who are not self-sacrificing and I also cannot stand this quality. For me the simple things like holding a door open for a women are an important indicator of character. Whether or not a man is charitable to the needy is also a good character indicator. These are traits that seem to not be immediately apparent but once they are indicated I am no longer attracted to the person. I wish I could see these things sooner and spare everyone the time. In the end I just run away from them.
I want to be loved deeply. I know I am loved deeply by God and my family but sometimes that is not enough. There I said it God. Sometimes I need something on this earth to give me comfort and companionship. So in reality, I suck at being alone. My mistakes show how badly I suck at being alone. My dating choices have so far not panned out. I have tried different methods of dating, the form a friendship and see what it leads to, the date right away and the fall in love with ones who can't love me back method. The follow the rules and just being friends as that might lead to more approach hasn't worked out any of the times I have tried it. The date right away also hasn't worked. And of course the falling in love with those who can't love me doesn't work. Maybe the truth I need to hear in my own life is, "You suck at relationships. Men have a hard time reading you. You protect yourself to the point of not letting anyone penetrate to any other than the surface level. You are willing to take a risk but only with the wrong men. When you regret your choices you immediately become cold and aloof." My gift, as you can see, is also my curse. Speaking truth means cutting to the core. It means digging in deep on a level that is uncomfortable.
But by my speaking this truth to myself I hope to be able to allow myself to be more open to whatever comes along in my love-life.
As I turned the last two chapters of the book Flight Behavior, I began to sob. As a flood overwhelmed Dellarobia's home another kind of flood overwhelmed my soul. I sobbed and grieved for things lost that I cannot have back, for unhappiness created by bad decisions, for the regrets of motherhood and marriage. I was finally able to grieve properly which is another thing I have never been very good at. By the last few pages I could barely read the words through my tears but today I feel refreshed, reborn and revitalized. I was meant to read that book, to see myself in its pages and to receive healing in its pages.
My friend let me borrow Flight Behavior after she finished it because she knew Barbara Kingsolver was my favorite author. As I began reading I saw myself in the pages almost right away. I don't think my friend had the faintest idea that I would actually need this book due to recent events in my life but I desperately needed it. I awaited each evening where I could read about Dellarobia just to see what she would do and think of the reaction I would have to the same situation. Dellarobia is a woman trapped in an unhappy marriage that boldly speaks truth to everyone but herself. Eventually her truth telling ways catch up to her when her mother-in-law speaks truth back at her.
I, like Dellarobia, have been given the gift of speaking truth in people's lives. They rarely want to hear the truth I speak but at the same time their need for it leads them to ask. I rarely turn the truth telling on my own life. Therefore, it was with great dismay when I realized I needed to speak truth into my own life. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. I much better at running away from my emotions, decisions and such than actually facing them.
For me the truth had to do with freedom. I love freedom. I mean that in so many ways. I appreciate the country I live in which allows me to choose my career, practice my faith and make all other choices without government interference. But I take my love of freedom even further. I love freedom to make daily choices without having to make considerations for others.
I have the ability to do what I want when I want. Except that is not entirely true. My life is dictated by the schedule of my work and kids. It is dictated by a thousand other things that I have no control over. Mothers never truly have their freedom even after their children leave home. My Mom is never completely freed from worry about my sister and I. I am sure I will follow in her path when my children are grown.
So the freedom I am talking about has to do with relationships. I have a tendency to feel suffocated by relationships.
Recently I went through a spell of deep depression because of my terrible decision making on my own behalf. I described it in my journal like this; I feel suffocated like all my air, the very breath I need is being sucked slowly, painfully from me. I have made sure to stand in the way of my own freedom, my own happiness and my own peace. My frenetic energy has disappeared.
The last two lines have haunted me since I wrote it. I never realized how much I value my freedom and how intricately it is tied to my happiness. I have been searching to feel settled thinking that meant I needed a man in my life that helped me to settle down but when I was faced with that it became the choking hands around my neck. In the end it turns out I need someone who will give me an abundance of freedom and be okay with doing things without me all of the time. I am energized by my freedom.
Freedom for me hasn't come through my relationships. Instead I have noticed I always chose men who are similar to my ex-husband. There are so many qualities that are good in him but what I end up focusing on are the bad ones, in him and the ones I date. I am always attracted to men who are adventurous and live a life that is a little dangerous. I myself am very conservative so I like to be with someone who draws the adventurous side out of me. The problem lies in the choices these types of men make. Living on the edge is not often a stable place to be and doesn't provide comfort for a family girl like me. I also tend to end up with men who are financially unstable and this is a quality I detest. This is one of those qualities I despise most and once I discover it I begin to dwell on it. I also tend to be attracted to men who are not self-sacrificing and I also cannot stand this quality. For me the simple things like holding a door open for a women are an important indicator of character. Whether or not a man is charitable to the needy is also a good character indicator. These are traits that seem to not be immediately apparent but once they are indicated I am no longer attracted to the person. I wish I could see these things sooner and spare everyone the time. In the end I just run away from them.
I want to be loved deeply. I know I am loved deeply by God and my family but sometimes that is not enough. There I said it God. Sometimes I need something on this earth to give me comfort and companionship. So in reality, I suck at being alone. My mistakes show how badly I suck at being alone. My dating choices have so far not panned out. I have tried different methods of dating, the form a friendship and see what it leads to, the date right away and the fall in love with ones who can't love me back method. The follow the rules and just being friends as that might lead to more approach hasn't worked out any of the times I have tried it. The date right away also hasn't worked. And of course the falling in love with those who can't love me doesn't work. Maybe the truth I need to hear in my own life is, "You suck at relationships. Men have a hard time reading you. You protect yourself to the point of not letting anyone penetrate to any other than the surface level. You are willing to take a risk but only with the wrong men. When you regret your choices you immediately become cold and aloof." My gift, as you can see, is also my curse. Speaking truth means cutting to the core. It means digging in deep on a level that is uncomfortable.
But by my speaking this truth to myself I hope to be able to allow myself to be more open to whatever comes along in my love-life.
As I turned the last two chapters of the book Flight Behavior, I began to sob. As a flood overwhelmed Dellarobia's home another kind of flood overwhelmed my soul. I sobbed and grieved for things lost that I cannot have back, for unhappiness created by bad decisions, for the regrets of motherhood and marriage. I was finally able to grieve properly which is another thing I have never been very good at. By the last few pages I could barely read the words through my tears but today I feel refreshed, reborn and revitalized. I was meant to read that book, to see myself in its pages and to receive healing in its pages.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
We Sway Through the Day and into the Night
On our way to secure the shuttle ticket we stop at a cafe for some cappuccino. It is on the corner of two streets and has an entrance on both sides. Immediately I am taken in by the bartender who is singing his heart out, flipping glasses on his impressive biceps and chatting with everyone that comes in. We chose a table tucked into the corner between the two entrances. Bruno grabs a paper and we sip our drinks. The music in this place is absolutely beautiful, a mix of American and Italian. I sing along whenever it hits me.
A man enters, notices me on the way in, orders and on his way out looks me over again. I smile because it feels great and he is handsome. He goes outside and then comes back in one more time, smiles, winks and leaves to enjoy his coffee. By this time the music is making me sway. I can't seem to keep still. An Italian song is playing and I am immediately captured by it. The bartender is singing, of course. I grab my notebook and tell Bruno I am going to ask him to write down the name of the song for me. As I walk up to him he is dancing by himself to what is obviously a love song. I grab his hand and dance with him. He smiles, laughs, sings, dances and then says this isn't a disco. He writes the name of the song down and then says he will play it again for us. He is Albanian and tall, dark and handsome. It never gets old!
Since he can't dance, I teach Elida some two-step. We dance in that coffee shop while old men linger and watch. Elida and I are in such a joyful place and it is spreading throughout the cafe. The bartender watches us as we dance with one another. He keeps repeating the song which is called Uomini Di Gomma by Studio 3. I have listened to it almost daily since returning from Italy.
We have finished and it is time to move on but I am sad to be leaving our music. As we walk out the door the Albanian Goodness, as we have titled him, shouts after Elida. "Your sister, I love your sister." I turn and wave. Father Bruno leans over, "Heather, they are open until 10 if you want to come back."
With music in our heads we walk and grab my ticket for the shuttle and then head to Camp Michelangelo. We were planning on going to Fiesole but we have lingered too long in the cafe and were late getting started.
Camp Michelangelo sits overlooking the city of Florence. There is a huge replica of David in the parking lot. There are street musicians playing and vendors selling their wears and souvenirs. There is a couple that has obviously just met and is not ready to leave one another kissing each other without breathing at the overlook. It is a romantic spot but I am certain they have not seen any of it. We walk down the way a bit.
Bruno immediately begins to sketch as Elida and I take in the view and have a few photos. We sway to the music and breathe in the evening air. The sun is beginning to set over the river to the west. Bruno points out the old city wall which was constructed, he says, by Michelangelo. We can see the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Tower and the hills overlooking Florence. The bridges that span the Arno look graceful, yet strong. We stroll down the steps back into town and once again there are the stations of the cross. I ask Father Bruno about them. These steps are old and so are the stations. The steps are wide and while the hill is not as steep as the one I climbed in Sora last year, it could still be enough to make a person appreciate their faith.
At the bottom of the steps is an inscription by Dante explaining that the steps were created when, "the people were free, the economy was good and the judges were fair." This, according to Dante, is when a city can prosper and only in this situation can a people prosper.
We wind through the neighborhood at the base of the steps looking for a place to eat. There are signs in remembrance of the 1966 flood of the Arno River. The river rose to unbelievable depths. It killed many and damaged precious art and cultural pieces. There are stories of some saving the art while risking their own lives. It was considered tragic on a human and cultural scale. Father Bruno makes sure to point it out and explain.
We continue towards the river because all of the restaurants are full, heading instead to another haunt of Bruno's. Tucked away on a quiet street is a deli. On one side of the street is the closed in portion with slabs of meat hanging, on the other side is an open air deli where you can order sandwiches. They also have several self-serve items, most notable, self-serve wine. It is 2 Euro per glass. There are bites of sandwiches as well and they are cheap. We each have a glass of wine and one bite of sandwich. We are still looking to sit for dinner. The sandwiches are divine.
We walk on and of course Elida and I are dancing once again while walking. A bald man on a bike pauses to appreciate our efforts. We smile graciously and he smiles back.
Dinner is good but not the best. The bruschetta is a small slice of heaven. We have wine and water and share pasta dishes. When we finish we are all ready for a stroll. Father Bruno convinces us that we should have a shot of Limoncello. We walk into a bar order a shot and drool over what looks to be an exquisite piece of tiramisu. The bartender tells us it is homemade and Elida and I say, bring it on. He tells us his story while we enjoy, and I do mean thoroughly enjoy, the tiramisu. It is so good and with every bite Elida and I vocalize our appreciation. The bartender continues his work telling us about his girlfriend and their visit to America and how much they would like to go back. When we finish he gives Bruno the bill for the liquor and then tells Elida and I the tiramisu is free because he enjoyed watching us eating it so much. We giggle and thank him.
We stroll for along time tonight taking in the city at night. We stop into yet another cafe. Bruno and Elida grab another espresso and there is yet again music playing that doesn't allow my body to stop. The owner of the shop is sitting at a table and he smiles as he watches me and then begins to sing. Finally we return to the apartment. Father Bruno says he is turning in. We are free to do as we please. I have to be at the shuttle at 5:30 am. Elida and I debate whether to turn in or go out. She is chatting with Francesco and I tell her to ask him for his opinion. I really was figuring he would say stay in because he is logically but he says we have to go out. It is my last night in Italy and I am meant to enjoy it until the final minutes. I work on packing and Elida says, "Tomorrow you will be back in Prineville." That was all it took. I was throwing on my new clothes, freshly purchased in Florence and my new sexy shoes. We agreed that we wouldn't go too far since we would have to return to get my luggage. We walked out the door and around the corner and immediately heard some Salsa music playing. We were hooked and in we walked to a bar full of people, some dancing, others visiting.
This place looked a little more like the United States. The bar was typical, u-shaped with glasses hanging above and liquor lining the walls. There were several rooms but the dancing was happening up above so we headed there. Elida immediately was scooped up to dance. I watched and it wasn't long until a handsome Italian man named Franco stole me away to dance. He had the most romantic, seductive dance moves. Him and I were immediately in sync. My hips matched his, my step back was paired to his step back. His hands guided me seamlessly. My senses were on fire. I love to dance. Elida's partner had changed and I noticed Franco had a friend who was standing alone. I asked Elida to dance with him and she agreed. He was not as skilled on the dance-floor as Franco so when Elida headed to the restroom I showed him a few moves, swing moves of course. He was ready when she came back. We were all four dancing and laughing and having the greatest time. My new Italian shoes made me about four-inches taller and they were great for dancing.
The tiramisu I had enjoyed earlier was not staying with me for long. Franco and I were sweating, rarely taking a break. His shirt stuck to his muscular frame etching the edges of perfectly sculpted biceps, chest and back. He pulled me in and twirled me back out enticing me with his green eyes. He soon asked if we would like to go to another club. It was only another block away so we agreed. This club had more modern music instead of Salsa. We grabbed a quick drink and then headed back out on the dance floor. I taught a few more swing moves to everyone, my favorite is when the man picks up the girl and swings her from hip to hip and then the center. Franco was a quick study, he had me in an instant swinging and then suddenly I was up in the air above his head twirling around, screaming Arrivederci Italia! He brought me back down the front of him slowly and followed it with a kiss, a passionate, heart-felt kiss. We were praised by others out on the dance floor. Valerio, Elida's partner, said everyone else was afraid to dance because we were so good. As we glanced around there were others stepping but not really dancing. We laugh again and dance more.
By the end of the evening I am soaked from head to toe in sweat. I feel amazing as if I have been on Dancing with the Stars or maybe a touch of Dirty Dancing. I have been kissed a billion times and held in powerful arms and I am not ready to leave. Franco and Valerio walk us back to the apartment and we say our goodbyes. Franco stands at the end of the street and watches as I walk in, Valerio does the same with Elida. The sun is beginning to rise as they turn. Elida will see them again the next day but I may not ever see them again. It is a bittersweet departure. Several more days with Franco would have been amazing. I take a shower, change clothes and we drag my luggage to the station for the last time this trip.
Elida and I sit and wait for the bus to arrive. We are close to tears. This trip has made us sisters more than we could have imagined. We have shared, shopped and sincerely prayed our way across Spain and Italy. We have made new friends, contemplated life, shared our struggles and released some of our pain. It has been an exhilarating whirlwind and my soul is full. I will go home with a renewed love for my life and blessings and an appreciation for the beauty of meeting new people and encountering new cultures.
A man enters, notices me on the way in, orders and on his way out looks me over again. I smile because it feels great and he is handsome. He goes outside and then comes back in one more time, smiles, winks and leaves to enjoy his coffee. By this time the music is making me sway. I can't seem to keep still. An Italian song is playing and I am immediately captured by it. The bartender is singing, of course. I grab my notebook and tell Bruno I am going to ask him to write down the name of the song for me. As I walk up to him he is dancing by himself to what is obviously a love song. I grab his hand and dance with him. He smiles, laughs, sings, dances and then says this isn't a disco. He writes the name of the song down and then says he will play it again for us. He is Albanian and tall, dark and handsome. It never gets old!
Since he can't dance, I teach Elida some two-step. We dance in that coffee shop while old men linger and watch. Elida and I are in such a joyful place and it is spreading throughout the cafe. The bartender watches us as we dance with one another. He keeps repeating the song which is called Uomini Di Gomma by Studio 3. I have listened to it almost daily since returning from Italy.
We have finished and it is time to move on but I am sad to be leaving our music. As we walk out the door the Albanian Goodness, as we have titled him, shouts after Elida. "Your sister, I love your sister." I turn and wave. Father Bruno leans over, "Heather, they are open until 10 if you want to come back."
With music in our heads we walk and grab my ticket for the shuttle and then head to Camp Michelangelo. We were planning on going to Fiesole but we have lingered too long in the cafe and were late getting started.
Camp Michelangelo sits overlooking the city of Florence. There is a huge replica of David in the parking lot. There are street musicians playing and vendors selling their wears and souvenirs. There is a couple that has obviously just met and is not ready to leave one another kissing each other without breathing at the overlook. It is a romantic spot but I am certain they have not seen any of it. We walk down the way a bit.
Bruno immediately begins to sketch as Elida and I take in the view and have a few photos. We sway to the music and breathe in the evening air. The sun is beginning to set over the river to the west. Bruno points out the old city wall which was constructed, he says, by Michelangelo. We can see the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Tower and the hills overlooking Florence. The bridges that span the Arno look graceful, yet strong. We stroll down the steps back into town and once again there are the stations of the cross. I ask Father Bruno about them. These steps are old and so are the stations. The steps are wide and while the hill is not as steep as the one I climbed in Sora last year, it could still be enough to make a person appreciate their faith.
At the bottom of the steps is an inscription by Dante explaining that the steps were created when, "the people were free, the economy was good and the judges were fair." This, according to Dante, is when a city can prosper and only in this situation can a people prosper.
We wind through the neighborhood at the base of the steps looking for a place to eat. There are signs in remembrance of the 1966 flood of the Arno River. The river rose to unbelievable depths. It killed many and damaged precious art and cultural pieces. There are stories of some saving the art while risking their own lives. It was considered tragic on a human and cultural scale. Father Bruno makes sure to point it out and explain.
We continue towards the river because all of the restaurants are full, heading instead to another haunt of Bruno's. Tucked away on a quiet street is a deli. On one side of the street is the closed in portion with slabs of meat hanging, on the other side is an open air deli where you can order sandwiches. They also have several self-serve items, most notable, self-serve wine. It is 2 Euro per glass. There are bites of sandwiches as well and they are cheap. We each have a glass of wine and one bite of sandwich. We are still looking to sit for dinner. The sandwiches are divine.
We walk on and of course Elida and I are dancing once again while walking. A bald man on a bike pauses to appreciate our efforts. We smile graciously and he smiles back.
Dinner is good but not the best. The bruschetta is a small slice of heaven. We have wine and water and share pasta dishes. When we finish we are all ready for a stroll. Father Bruno convinces us that we should have a shot of Limoncello. We walk into a bar order a shot and drool over what looks to be an exquisite piece of tiramisu. The bartender tells us it is homemade and Elida and I say, bring it on. He tells us his story while we enjoy, and I do mean thoroughly enjoy, the tiramisu. It is so good and with every bite Elida and I vocalize our appreciation. The bartender continues his work telling us about his girlfriend and their visit to America and how much they would like to go back. When we finish he gives Bruno the bill for the liquor and then tells Elida and I the tiramisu is free because he enjoyed watching us eating it so much. We giggle and thank him.
We stroll for along time tonight taking in the city at night. We stop into yet another cafe. Bruno and Elida grab another espresso and there is yet again music playing that doesn't allow my body to stop. The owner of the shop is sitting at a table and he smiles as he watches me and then begins to sing. Finally we return to the apartment. Father Bruno says he is turning in. We are free to do as we please. I have to be at the shuttle at 5:30 am. Elida and I debate whether to turn in or go out. She is chatting with Francesco and I tell her to ask him for his opinion. I really was figuring he would say stay in because he is logically but he says we have to go out. It is my last night in Italy and I am meant to enjoy it until the final minutes. I work on packing and Elida says, "Tomorrow you will be back in Prineville." That was all it took. I was throwing on my new clothes, freshly purchased in Florence and my new sexy shoes. We agreed that we wouldn't go too far since we would have to return to get my luggage. We walked out the door and around the corner and immediately heard some Salsa music playing. We were hooked and in we walked to a bar full of people, some dancing, others visiting.
This place looked a little more like the United States. The bar was typical, u-shaped with glasses hanging above and liquor lining the walls. There were several rooms but the dancing was happening up above so we headed there. Elida immediately was scooped up to dance. I watched and it wasn't long until a handsome Italian man named Franco stole me away to dance. He had the most romantic, seductive dance moves. Him and I were immediately in sync. My hips matched his, my step back was paired to his step back. His hands guided me seamlessly. My senses were on fire. I love to dance. Elida's partner had changed and I noticed Franco had a friend who was standing alone. I asked Elida to dance with him and she agreed. He was not as skilled on the dance-floor as Franco so when Elida headed to the restroom I showed him a few moves, swing moves of course. He was ready when she came back. We were all four dancing and laughing and having the greatest time. My new Italian shoes made me about four-inches taller and they were great for dancing.
The tiramisu I had enjoyed earlier was not staying with me for long. Franco and I were sweating, rarely taking a break. His shirt stuck to his muscular frame etching the edges of perfectly sculpted biceps, chest and back. He pulled me in and twirled me back out enticing me with his green eyes. He soon asked if we would like to go to another club. It was only another block away so we agreed. This club had more modern music instead of Salsa. We grabbed a quick drink and then headed back out on the dance floor. I taught a few more swing moves to everyone, my favorite is when the man picks up the girl and swings her from hip to hip and then the center. Franco was a quick study, he had me in an instant swinging and then suddenly I was up in the air above his head twirling around, screaming Arrivederci Italia! He brought me back down the front of him slowly and followed it with a kiss, a passionate, heart-felt kiss. We were praised by others out on the dance floor. Valerio, Elida's partner, said everyone else was afraid to dance because we were so good. As we glanced around there were others stepping but not really dancing. We laugh again and dance more.
By the end of the evening I am soaked from head to toe in sweat. I feel amazing as if I have been on Dancing with the Stars or maybe a touch of Dirty Dancing. I have been kissed a billion times and held in powerful arms and I am not ready to leave. Franco and Valerio walk us back to the apartment and we say our goodbyes. Franco stands at the end of the street and watches as I walk in, Valerio does the same with Elida. The sun is beginning to rise as they turn. Elida will see them again the next day but I may not ever see them again. It is a bittersweet departure. Several more days with Franco would have been amazing. I take a shower, change clothes and we drag my luggage to the station for the last time this trip.
Elida and I sit and wait for the bus to arrive. We are close to tears. This trip has made us sisters more than we could have imagined. We have shared, shopped and sincerely prayed our way across Spain and Italy. We have made new friends, contemplated life, shared our struggles and released some of our pain. It has been an exhilarating whirlwind and my soul is full. I will go home with a renewed love for my life and blessings and an appreciation for the beauty of meeting new people and encountering new cultures.
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| Father Bruno, Elida and I |
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| Copy of the David |
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| Newly created sisters |
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| Florence from Camp Michelangelo |
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| The Old City Wall |
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| Best view of the Duomo |
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| Sunset on the Arno |
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| Self-serve wine anyone? |
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| Bruschetta at Osteria |
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| Franco, beautiful Franco and I dancing the night away |
Link to my favorite Italian song played in a cafe in Florence. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yn0rFITBXUw
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The Uffizi Museum
We walk out the door and fortune shines on us once more. It is Monday and on Monday in Florence there is a clothing sale in the square. Tables are covered in uniquely, ravishing clothes. Elida and I are drawn in by the sign that says 2 Euro and immediately dig in. We try on every item over our clothes there in the streets and only buy if it is a "ten". We each find four items that are worthy, pay our 20 Euro and head to the Uffizi Museum with our new clothes in hand.
We purchase a solo tour of the museum. It is great traveling with an artist because she gives insight for each painting. I am a diligent student. Today we are blessed to see Rembrandt, Botticelli, Michelangelo and daVinci. We attempt to purchase our ticket to see the David which is housed elsewhere but the only tickets are for past 5 when we are to meet Father Bruno. I vow to return to Florence next year and visit the David.
The palace is gigantic and everything is on that gigantic scale even the staircase. We climb up the stately staircase, making large strides to get to the third floor where the museum walk begins. You go through the upper level first and then make your way down. It is soon obvious why.
The upstairs rooms are jammed with art and most pieces are several feet tall. The hallway is lined with Medici family portraits. The first few rooms are dedicated to iconic religious art that is framed in gold. These pictures are flat and lack a feel of reality or movement. They remind me of Catholic prayer cards which have their own beauty. Jesus, Mary and Joseph stare down.
We make our way through the next rooms where the elements earth, fire, wind and water are represented by various artists. As we move through the rooms the art transforms in style and becomes more life-like. The emotions of the people are more pronounced. There are still scenes from the Bible but there are more of everyday life. Once again our pointing fingers get us chastised by the museum police. We are immediately transported back to Madrid and laugh. We do try to stay in back of the line to avoid further verbal lashings.
Piero della Francesca's Paired Portraits beckon us to take yet another silly face photo.
The display of Botticelli's work is splendid. His painting of the Birth of Venus surpasses all descriptions I've read. She is elegant and serene. Springtime is even more appealing, with cupid over her head summoning love. We spend a great deal of time in the Botticelli room examining each painting.
Moving on we see DaVinci's The Annunciation. In this part of the museum there are many tours going through and one of the directors keeps shouting for people to be quiet. I am reminded of the Vatican. I listen as he explains the details of different paintings, trying to learn something. He does point out a few details I may have missed in different paintings. Meanwhile there are many people walking through with headsets. I am discouraged by this type of touring because I think you miss the important parts when you are tuned out to the people interacting with the works of art.
There is one room with no entrance just a doorway where three people can peak in at a time. The room is circular with a decorative ceiling. As we continue on we saw Raphael's work. Michelangelo's Doni Tondo is a masterpiece with its facial expression which tell the story.
Before heading downstairs we rest a spell on the patio overlooking Duomo. I highly recommend taking a break like this. When you view so many pieces of magnificent art your eyes begin to tire. By the end of our tour I can barely pick out the details anymore and I am somehow numb to being in awe. As we sit we snack on some almonds I have carried.
Rembrandt's work was tucked away in a small room and we took time to examine his work after our refreshing rest. At the end of the tour there was a display of Caravaggio. This work is a true act of drama, alive with spirit and emotion. It is in a way the Grand Finale!
We are beat and hungry and decide to head to the meeting place for Bruno. We stop at a grocery and pick up meat, cheese, bread, fruit, water and a box of wine. We thought the box would be easy to share. It turns out we are at the wrong piazza and Bruno has to come and find us. He reprimands us for failing to be at the right place and then for the box of wine which he suggests we leave for the beggars. We comply and break bread with him as pigeons peck our feet hoping for a crumb. We are sitting on the steps of San Lorenzo, another church tucked into the city blocks. The market lines the streets around us.
Our plan is to head to Firesole but first Bruno wants to help me get a shuttle ticket to the airport. I have bought a flight out of Florence to replace the one out of Rome. It would have been more expensive to take the train back to Rome and get a shuttle there. This is easier and means I have more time in Florence. Note to self, don't book too many things ahead of time for a trip to Italy because plans are fluid and as is normal, they are about to change again.
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| Paired Portraits |
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| Icon paintings |
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| DaVinci' |
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Museum di Palazzo Vecchio
After a good nights sleep we arise, get ready, grab a juice at our hostel and fill our water bottles. Our hostel provides a luggage check and it is inexpensive. We check our luggage for the day. We will have to return for it by 7 which works because we will meet Father Bruno midday. We will be staying with Father Bruno for the rest of our time in Florence, another blessing come our way.
Today we will tour the Museum di Palazzo Vecchio. This is just one quadrant of the massive palace of the Medici family. Tomorrow our plan is to tour the Uffizi Museum which is also housed within the palace and is about two times larger. On our way to the Medici palace we go by the Pitti Palace which we are thinking of visiting, it has a garden with statues. Outside along the walls of this palace are artists lined up with stalls. Elida knows one of them and we stop to talk with him and gaze at his art. His name is Joseph and he is inspired by DaVinci and I have to buy a painting. It is difficult for me to choose just one. He tells us his story while I thumb through his work. He studied graphic arts at a prestigious university and was very successful. He was working for a well-known firm and he created many pieces for them. Unique furniture and bowls were some of his specialties. The firm took his ideas and made copies without his permission. To him that was unthinkable, unethical and he felt used so he decided to quit. He has been selling his art on the streets ever since. He had several magazine articles about him and his work from back in those days that we looked through. He could easily return to graphic arts but he said he just wants to be true to his art. He studies DaVinci and paints. He is satisfied in life. His story is as attractive as his art. With my newly acquired art in hand we say our goodbyes and head to the museum.
Once there we add a tour of The Studiolo of Francesco I because it is highly recommended and once again doesn't cost too much. On the bottom floor there are ancient maps of Florence. Hand-drawn streets, houses, walls and rivers adorn these sophisticated and accurate representations of the city. As we walk by each map Florence transforms in front of our eyes, growing as it did throughout time. Some of the maps are colored, others black and white. Each map is detailed and must have taken hours as they are massive in scale taking up whole walls. Imagine what we see from a satellite image having to be see with human eyes and then transformed into a hand-drawn map. These geographers were talented in many ways.
Upstairs we walk into the massive Salone dei Cinquencento. It is grandiose with ceilings at least a hundred feet high covered in paintings detailing battles and life. There are marble statues lining both sides of the hall and above the door the symbol of the Medici family. It seems to be a ballroom. There is a window that opens up to a view of the Duomo. There are many tour groups sitting in chairs placed in the middle of the room. It is difficult to look up for very long as your neck tires but I keep trying to pick out details in each painting. They seem to be juxtaposed to contrast one another or to finish telling the story. I want to read the story and my neck suffers. Laying down would be the best way to view the paintings but again you would have to move around the room many times to capture all of it.
Off in the corner of the Salone is the Studiolo of Francesco I. Although the room is small it is as impressive as the Salone itself. It is obvious why the girl recommended we see it. The walls are lined with elegant paintings framed in guilt. The rectangle room is set up to represent the four elements; air, water, fire and earth. The paintings on each side are connected with the assigned element. The paintings are detailed and I am drawn to one on the water side. This woman stands draped in a see-through cloth. The men around her admire her beauty. The water is behind her but a part of her as well. She looks fluid. The movement in her clothing is obvious.
After looking at the paintings for at least 30 minutes we notice hinges. These paintings are disguising something else. We read our brochure and find out that this was Francesco de' Medici's private studio and was only accessible via his bedroom. He stored the precious family heirlooms behind these cabinet doors. The museum worker explains that in the cabinets the riches that represented each element would be stored in the proper cabinets. Bones would be under the heading of earth, metals under fire and so on. Francesco I was interested in science and alchemy. The paintings sometimes have scientific themes as well. There are also scenes from the Bible.
We finally leave to finish our tour but we are both overwhelmed. We climb the stairs and continue through room after room of massive paintings, frescoes, tiled floors and large lighting fixtures. The Medici's lived well and certainly did their part to support art and science. If it weren't for the wealthy the arts would not survive. The Mezzanine looks out upon the city and countryside and is one of the best views of Florence. We head to the Hall of Geographical Maps. There is a huge antique globe and I pose like Atlas. The amount of details in the maps are amazing. Even hundreds of years ago they knew so much about our world. They mapped it with precision. The dining room reminds us we are hungry but I love its dark wooden table. There were even modern day conveniences for the Medici family. No water, but a toilet. We finish our tour and head out ready for lunch.
On our way to lunch we pass by Dante's house and the church he attended. We explore. The church is small but the prayers said I am certain were not. A genius prayed here and lived in this tucked away house that looks like a castle tower.
We stumble upon a monastery, The Monastic Communities of Jerusalem. It is located in the Santa Maria Assunta Church. As we walk into the sanctuary we spot an old wooden table. On the table lies a slotted box, small pieces of paper, a pen, brochures and a basket full of slips of brightly colored paper. There are two signs on the table. One says, "God Listens" and the other "God Answers". The instructions say to write out your prayer and drop it in the basket and then take an answer out of the other basket. We each decide to write our prayers. Taking a white piece of paper I begin writing. What has been heavy on my heart the entire trip and in my life lately is feeling alone for the last seven years. I write the prayer, "I do not want to be alone any longer." I pull my answer, "Preso un bambino, lo pose in mezzo a loro e, abbracciandolo, disse loro: Chi accoglie uno solo di questi bambini nel mio nome, accoglie me..." It is found in Mark 9:36-37, "Anyone who welcomes a little child such as this in my name, welcomes me." Echoing Aldo's sentiment about my perfect life, this tells me I have yet to be alone in my journey. I have been sharing it with my two boys who God plucked out of Russia just for me. I sit and pray.
Elida's prayer and answer bring her to deep tears. We have both been broken women at times in our lives and have fervently searched for healing. Our praying on this trip has given us each a gift. We linger in this sanctuary for awhile.
We walk a few more blocks and find a grocery where we buy fruit, water and a salad. We park ourselves on the curb and eat up thoroughly enjoying our simple lunch. We people watch while we sit on the old large brick sidewalk.
We are in Sam's neighborhood and Elida decides we should stop by. We head that way passing through the market with all its bustle. There are so many things that I could buy, bracelets, belts, bags, shirts but I purchase none. Sam owns a leather shop. It is tucked into one of the streets that connects to the market. He has top of the line jackets and other leather goods. Sam is wearing a unique silver cross that is on a leather chain. It is bulky and looks strong, the strength of the cross. We do not stay long as Elida's presence has upset his girlfriend.
We wander a little more until it is time to meet Father Bruno. We meet him in a piazza and then walk to our hostel to pick up our luggage. We drag our luggage to his apartment which he has promised was only a short while. Elida and I are used to dragging our luggage by now and it hardly phases us that like all Italian things that are supposed to take only a little while, this takes a good amount of time.
We drop our luggage and freshen up, and Father Bruno pours us a glass of beer. Father Bruno has planned dinner at a favorite spot around the corner. We head that way and read over the menu. Father Bruno is not overly hungry and but he suggests a few things including the mussels. We order an appetizer which is a heaping pot. They are delicious. I have decided on a vegetarian pasta once again and Bruno doesn't let me order but I tell him I need the practice and the waitress is gracious and lets me try. Bruno says I have good pronunciation. That is a nice compliment. Our meal is one of my favorites from the trip. We had wine and bread and engaging company. Bruno is brutal in his honesty with Elida but he repeats the advice Aldo gave me to her and then to me. He explains that our freedom is a blessing, especially Elida's. He says Elida should move to Portland. She is stunned. He also tells her to stop messing around with losers. Bruno loves her and wants only the best for her. After dinner Bruno turns in and we stroll. Tonight we pass by Porcellino and rub his snout for good luck. He is a bronze pig people rub for good luck. There are locks of love connected to him as well. Lovers each buy a lock and lock their love together on the pig or the Ponte Vecchio, a romantic tradition that I am immediately taken in by.
Florence at night is interesting. The lighting is medieval in feel. Castle towers loom, church domes cast shadows and the energy is softer than Sorrento. We stroll by the water and gaze at its tranquil nature. We walk past the Galileo museum where there is an instrument that reflects light onto the ground where the symbols of the zodiac are carved. At night there is a blue light reflecting down. We try to figure it out but are unsure of its purpose. We continue our stroll and have our only scary encounter of the trip. Men approached us who were obviously drunk and try to convince us to go with them. We say no and they follow us but we were able to lose them quickly since the alcohol prevented them from being fast. After the encounter we headed back to the apartment to turn in for the night.
Today we will tour the Museum di Palazzo Vecchio. This is just one quadrant of the massive palace of the Medici family. Tomorrow our plan is to tour the Uffizi Museum which is also housed within the palace and is about two times larger. On our way to the Medici palace we go by the Pitti Palace which we are thinking of visiting, it has a garden with statues. Outside along the walls of this palace are artists lined up with stalls. Elida knows one of them and we stop to talk with him and gaze at his art. His name is Joseph and he is inspired by DaVinci and I have to buy a painting. It is difficult for me to choose just one. He tells us his story while I thumb through his work. He studied graphic arts at a prestigious university and was very successful. He was working for a well-known firm and he created many pieces for them. Unique furniture and bowls were some of his specialties. The firm took his ideas and made copies without his permission. To him that was unthinkable, unethical and he felt used so he decided to quit. He has been selling his art on the streets ever since. He had several magazine articles about him and his work from back in those days that we looked through. He could easily return to graphic arts but he said he just wants to be true to his art. He studies DaVinci and paints. He is satisfied in life. His story is as attractive as his art. With my newly acquired art in hand we say our goodbyes and head to the museum.
Once there we add a tour of The Studiolo of Francesco I because it is highly recommended and once again doesn't cost too much. On the bottom floor there are ancient maps of Florence. Hand-drawn streets, houses, walls and rivers adorn these sophisticated and accurate representations of the city. As we walk by each map Florence transforms in front of our eyes, growing as it did throughout time. Some of the maps are colored, others black and white. Each map is detailed and must have taken hours as they are massive in scale taking up whole walls. Imagine what we see from a satellite image having to be see with human eyes and then transformed into a hand-drawn map. These geographers were talented in many ways.
Upstairs we walk into the massive Salone dei Cinquencento. It is grandiose with ceilings at least a hundred feet high covered in paintings detailing battles and life. There are marble statues lining both sides of the hall and above the door the symbol of the Medici family. It seems to be a ballroom. There is a window that opens up to a view of the Duomo. There are many tour groups sitting in chairs placed in the middle of the room. It is difficult to look up for very long as your neck tires but I keep trying to pick out details in each painting. They seem to be juxtaposed to contrast one another or to finish telling the story. I want to read the story and my neck suffers. Laying down would be the best way to view the paintings but again you would have to move around the room many times to capture all of it.
Off in the corner of the Salone is the Studiolo of Francesco I. Although the room is small it is as impressive as the Salone itself. It is obvious why the girl recommended we see it. The walls are lined with elegant paintings framed in guilt. The rectangle room is set up to represent the four elements; air, water, fire and earth. The paintings on each side are connected with the assigned element. The paintings are detailed and I am drawn to one on the water side. This woman stands draped in a see-through cloth. The men around her admire her beauty. The water is behind her but a part of her as well. She looks fluid. The movement in her clothing is obvious.
After looking at the paintings for at least 30 minutes we notice hinges. These paintings are disguising something else. We read our brochure and find out that this was Francesco de' Medici's private studio and was only accessible via his bedroom. He stored the precious family heirlooms behind these cabinet doors. The museum worker explains that in the cabinets the riches that represented each element would be stored in the proper cabinets. Bones would be under the heading of earth, metals under fire and so on. Francesco I was interested in science and alchemy. The paintings sometimes have scientific themes as well. There are also scenes from the Bible.
We finally leave to finish our tour but we are both overwhelmed. We climb the stairs and continue through room after room of massive paintings, frescoes, tiled floors and large lighting fixtures. The Medici's lived well and certainly did their part to support art and science. If it weren't for the wealthy the arts would not survive. The Mezzanine looks out upon the city and countryside and is one of the best views of Florence. We head to the Hall of Geographical Maps. There is a huge antique globe and I pose like Atlas. The amount of details in the maps are amazing. Even hundreds of years ago they knew so much about our world. They mapped it with precision. The dining room reminds us we are hungry but I love its dark wooden table. There were even modern day conveniences for the Medici family. No water, but a toilet. We finish our tour and head out ready for lunch.
On our way to lunch we pass by Dante's house and the church he attended. We explore. The church is small but the prayers said I am certain were not. A genius prayed here and lived in this tucked away house that looks like a castle tower.
We stumble upon a monastery, The Monastic Communities of Jerusalem. It is located in the Santa Maria Assunta Church. As we walk into the sanctuary we spot an old wooden table. On the table lies a slotted box, small pieces of paper, a pen, brochures and a basket full of slips of brightly colored paper. There are two signs on the table. One says, "God Listens" and the other "God Answers". The instructions say to write out your prayer and drop it in the basket and then take an answer out of the other basket. We each decide to write our prayers. Taking a white piece of paper I begin writing. What has been heavy on my heart the entire trip and in my life lately is feeling alone for the last seven years. I write the prayer, "I do not want to be alone any longer." I pull my answer, "Preso un bambino, lo pose in mezzo a loro e, abbracciandolo, disse loro: Chi accoglie uno solo di questi bambini nel mio nome, accoglie me..." It is found in Mark 9:36-37, "Anyone who welcomes a little child such as this in my name, welcomes me." Echoing Aldo's sentiment about my perfect life, this tells me I have yet to be alone in my journey. I have been sharing it with my two boys who God plucked out of Russia just for me. I sit and pray.
Elida's prayer and answer bring her to deep tears. We have both been broken women at times in our lives and have fervently searched for healing. Our praying on this trip has given us each a gift. We linger in this sanctuary for awhile.
We walk a few more blocks and find a grocery where we buy fruit, water and a salad. We park ourselves on the curb and eat up thoroughly enjoying our simple lunch. We people watch while we sit on the old large brick sidewalk.
We are in Sam's neighborhood and Elida decides we should stop by. We head that way passing through the market with all its bustle. There are so many things that I could buy, bracelets, belts, bags, shirts but I purchase none. Sam owns a leather shop. It is tucked into one of the streets that connects to the market. He has top of the line jackets and other leather goods. Sam is wearing a unique silver cross that is on a leather chain. It is bulky and looks strong, the strength of the cross. We do not stay long as Elida's presence has upset his girlfriend.
We wander a little more until it is time to meet Father Bruno. We meet him in a piazza and then walk to our hostel to pick up our luggage. We drag our luggage to his apartment which he has promised was only a short while. Elida and I are used to dragging our luggage by now and it hardly phases us that like all Italian things that are supposed to take only a little while, this takes a good amount of time.
We drop our luggage and freshen up, and Father Bruno pours us a glass of beer. Father Bruno has planned dinner at a favorite spot around the corner. We head that way and read over the menu. Father Bruno is not overly hungry and but he suggests a few things including the mussels. We order an appetizer which is a heaping pot. They are delicious. I have decided on a vegetarian pasta once again and Bruno doesn't let me order but I tell him I need the practice and the waitress is gracious and lets me try. Bruno says I have good pronunciation. That is a nice compliment. Our meal is one of my favorites from the trip. We had wine and bread and engaging company. Bruno is brutal in his honesty with Elida but he repeats the advice Aldo gave me to her and then to me. He explains that our freedom is a blessing, especially Elida's. He says Elida should move to Portland. She is stunned. He also tells her to stop messing around with losers. Bruno loves her and wants only the best for her. After dinner Bruno turns in and we stroll. Tonight we pass by Porcellino and rub his snout for good luck. He is a bronze pig people rub for good luck. There are locks of love connected to him as well. Lovers each buy a lock and lock their love together on the pig or the Ponte Vecchio, a romantic tradition that I am immediately taken in by.
Florence at night is interesting. The lighting is medieval in feel. Castle towers loom, church domes cast shadows and the energy is softer than Sorrento. We stroll by the water and gaze at its tranquil nature. We walk past the Galileo museum where there is an instrument that reflects light onto the ground where the symbols of the zodiac are carved. At night there is a blue light reflecting down. We try to figure it out but are unsure of its purpose. We continue our stroll and have our only scary encounter of the trip. Men approached us who were obviously drunk and try to convince us to go with them. We say no and they follow us but we were able to lose them quickly since the alcohol prevented them from being fast. After the encounter we headed back to the apartment to turn in for the night.
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| Pitti Palace |
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| Gardens at the Pitti Palace |
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| Map of Florence |
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| Map of Florence |
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| Statuary inside the Museum di Palazzo Vecchio |
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| My favorite cabinet panel |
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| More paintings |
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| Scary floor tile |
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| The view of Florence |
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| Atlas |
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| Ancient map of Greece |
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| A delicious salad |
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| Dante's Home |
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| Prayers answered |
Sunday, August 4, 2013
First Evening in Florence
We checked into our hostel and put our feet up for a brief rest. We are staying at Octaviano. The room is spacious and has its own shower and sink. We are able to freshen up after our rest and then we head out to see the sights and grab some gelato and dinner. Elida wants to introduce me to several of her friends here in Florence. She takes extra time to make herself look even more beautiful than normal. We head across the Arno River to Elida's favorite gelato in Florence. We both order from a tall, attractive woman. She is striking with her dark features and curly black hair. She is friendly to me when I practice my Italian and order. I order two scoops and Elida gets three. We revisit this place daily while in Florence. We walk on down next to the river. The water is tranquil with few rapids. The bridges gracefully cross over, romantic. We stop at some overlooks and notice there is one that has the name of the author Francesco was so distraught that we did not know of. We pose for a picture to send to him later.
We head towards the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge where gold jewelry is sold in abundance. The stores are located on the bridge and the street is packed with tourists. We make our way through looking at people and gold. None of it makes us stop but the experience is worth the stroll. Once again there is a contrast between wealth and poverty that is easily recognized on this bridge. We cross to the Palazzo Vecchio with its grandiose tower looming over the square and rest of the Uffizi palace. In the courtyard are statues of famous Italians whom I admire, Galileo, Machiavelli and Vespucci to name a few. We walk inside the museum portion and look at prices and tours. Tomorrow we will come back and visit the museum. There is a late night tower tour and we agree we should try it tonight.
We walk through the rectangle courtyard of the palace and it opens into a Piazza. There in the Piazza Della Signoria is a hall of statues. I want to stop and pour over all of them. Elida assures me we will have time later and our stomachs are growling. Next to the hall of statues is an enormous Neptune fountain, once again the man of the sea beckons me.
We continue walking until we arrive at a leather shop where Elida's good friend works. She asks a co-worker and they go and find her. The shop is bustling with tourists wanting to buy fine Italian leather. The smell inside is rugged. There are coats, purses, belts and wallets. The store seems to go on forever. We don't need to look around. I have already purchased a pink and brown leather backpack in Sorrento and I have a lovely blue leather belt which was given to me. We meet her friend but she has only a short while to talk with us. She arranges to meet Elida on another day.
We are ready for coffee of some kind and there is a great place across the street. We step inside and decide to share an iced cappuccino. The bartender is handsome, but you knew I was going to say that. He is tall with curly black hair and he is mixing drinks with style, a shake here and a toss there. It is a work of art. We order, sit and chat with him as he makes all kinds of drinks. I inquire about several of the drinks he makes and he is gracious to explain them to me. I am not instructing him like I did a bartender in Sorrento because he is obviously capable and an expert in his field. He goes about his business while we enjoy our drink and his appearance. After a picture with an interesting globe we move on to visit a second friend, Sam.
Elida seems to get nervous as we approach Sam's shop. Unfortunately it is closed and we move on instead to dinner at her favorite spot, Za Za's. We order the local specialties, duck tortellini and truffle ravioli. It is a tasty, elegant meal complete with red wine. The duck is rich and the truffles delicate, they speak Florence in every bite. We continue to stroll the city after dinner passing the Duomo once more and other beautiful buildings. We continue walking until we make it to our hostel. We have discovered our travel days make us the most tired and this is the end of the night for us. The tower tour didn't happen. We needed rest and that is just what we got.
We head towards the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge where gold jewelry is sold in abundance. The stores are located on the bridge and the street is packed with tourists. We make our way through looking at people and gold. None of it makes us stop but the experience is worth the stroll. Once again there is a contrast between wealth and poverty that is easily recognized on this bridge. We cross to the Palazzo Vecchio with its grandiose tower looming over the square and rest of the Uffizi palace. In the courtyard are statues of famous Italians whom I admire, Galileo, Machiavelli and Vespucci to name a few. We walk inside the museum portion and look at prices and tours. Tomorrow we will come back and visit the museum. There is a late night tower tour and we agree we should try it tonight.
We walk through the rectangle courtyard of the palace and it opens into a Piazza. There in the Piazza Della Signoria is a hall of statues. I want to stop and pour over all of them. Elida assures me we will have time later and our stomachs are growling. Next to the hall of statues is an enormous Neptune fountain, once again the man of the sea beckons me.
We continue walking until we arrive at a leather shop where Elida's good friend works. She asks a co-worker and they go and find her. The shop is bustling with tourists wanting to buy fine Italian leather. The smell inside is rugged. There are coats, purses, belts and wallets. The store seems to go on forever. We don't need to look around. I have already purchased a pink and brown leather backpack in Sorrento and I have a lovely blue leather belt which was given to me. We meet her friend but she has only a short while to talk with us. She arranges to meet Elida on another day.
We are ready for coffee of some kind and there is a great place across the street. We step inside and decide to share an iced cappuccino. The bartender is handsome, but you knew I was going to say that. He is tall with curly black hair and he is mixing drinks with style, a shake here and a toss there. It is a work of art. We order, sit and chat with him as he makes all kinds of drinks. I inquire about several of the drinks he makes and he is gracious to explain them to me. I am not instructing him like I did a bartender in Sorrento because he is obviously capable and an expert in his field. He goes about his business while we enjoy our drink and his appearance. After a picture with an interesting globe we move on to visit a second friend, Sam.
Elida seems to get nervous as we approach Sam's shop. Unfortunately it is closed and we move on instead to dinner at her favorite spot, Za Za's. We order the local specialties, duck tortellini and truffle ravioli. It is a tasty, elegant meal complete with red wine. The duck is rich and the truffles delicate, they speak Florence in every bite. We continue to stroll the city after dinner passing the Duomo once more and other beautiful buildings. We continue walking until we make it to our hostel. We have discovered our travel days make us the most tired and this is the end of the night for us. The tower tour didn't happen. We needed rest and that is just what we got.
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| River Arno |
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| Ponte Vecchio |
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| Francesco's author |
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| Bell Tower |
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| Men I admire |
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| Medici symbol |
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| Neptune |
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| Elida and myself in front of the Duomo |
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| TheSanta Maria Del Fiore Duomo |
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| Street view |
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| A lovely statue |
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| Santa Maria Novella |
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| Uffizi Tower at night |
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| Hall of statues |
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| Neptune at night |
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| Neptune |
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| Head on a platter anyone? |
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