All In A Day's Run

  

     Last week I went out for a run, not really knowing where I was headed.  I just kept taking a turn here and a turn there, knowing that as long as I had the Duomo in sight I was not really lost.  I ended up crossing over the Arno and decided to take an uphill winding road.  This turned out be be both a bad and a good decision.  Bad, because I thought I was going to die from the challenge of the hill.  Good, because of what I stumbled upon.  Call me crazy, but today I took this route again, this time armed with my camera.  

     As I ran today I thought of my friend Jackie who lives in Canada.  She is so dedicated to running that she has been bravely putting on her snowsuit and heading out into the -20 degree temperatures.  I cannot imagine being that dedicated.  I am more of a "princess" runner.  For me to head out for a run there has to be no snow, and it has to be at least in the plus temperatures.  My friend Joanne will read this and say, "Princess is right", like that is a bad thing.  Some women just aren't made for roughing it.  I am one of them.  Although every once in a while I like to shock my friends and prove that in fact I can "rough it", I just don't understand why anyone actually likes to.  

     I took my camera today because when I realized what I stumbled upon on my run I immediately thought that I have to share this experience.  One of the reasons why I love Florence is when you least expect it something wonderful happens in your day.  I share with you how a sweaty, and thinking I am going to have a heart attack, run turned out to be my "something wonderful" in the day.  I won't need many words to describe my experience for you.  Sometimes pictures say far more then what the written word can say. 

The beginning of the uphill run.

  

     While I initially thought it was beautiful running amongst villas and olive trees, it soon turned out to be the winding road from hell.  

     As a church appeared in the distance I said to myself, "Dear God please let the end be near.  Well, not the "big" end......just the top of this bloody hill".  When you are amongst the great churches of the world I am thinking that you better be careful what you pray for.  It is probably best to be specific, just in case one has a direct line.    

     As I reached the top an elderly man walking his dog took one look at me, started clapping and said, "Bravo bella".  I can only imagine the look on my face and I don't think I was looking too "bella".  The poor man must have thought this crazy woman looks like she is going to keel over; I better give her a little encouragement.  Just as I was catching my breathe I saw stairs.....do I take them.....do I not take them.  I could not resist my "Rocky" moment, so up the stairs I went.  

     Then, to the right, I saw there was more there.  I was not sure what.  I walked through what I later learned was an Olivetan monastery.  Then I walked up this rocky path and came across a memorial cemetery for Italian Red Cross workers who died serving during WWI and WWII.  Under each cyprus tree is a marker remembering a brave individual who risked their life to save others.  I thought how fitting it is that they are buried overlooking the city that they sacrificed so much for.   

   

     As I looked up I noticed what appeared to be the entrance to the grounds of the church that I saw running up that winding road.  There was no one around except for me.  I was able to find a security guard and asked if I was allowed to walk through this way.  She welcomed me and told me that it was the entrance to the church and the cemetery.  I immediately envisioned a cemetery like I am use to seeing in Canada.  I had no idea what I was in store for.  This cemetery is like nothing that I have seen before.  It somehow seems inappropriate to say, but as I looked at what was before me I was in awe.  There is just no other word for it.  The beauty, the history and the stories that I imagined about the people behind each memorial.  I quietly wandered for over an hour repeatedly thinking that when I set out on my run I had no idea that I would find this historical treasure.  

    

This is the burial site of a young couple in their twenties.  They passed away during WWII, one year apart.
Their families must have truly appreciated their love for one another.

     As I left the cemetery feeling solemn, but enriched, I wandered around the corner to the basilica San Miniato al Monte (St. Minias on the Mountain).  There I was all by myself, free to wander on my own.  I was struck by the contrast of having just spent time in a place that was marked with so much sadness and loss, and then to turn a corner and look out at a city that is so full of life and warmth.

  

     In the summer when Florence is inundated with tourists I would not have been able to get the pictures that I was able to get today.  I would not have been able to wander quietly in my own thoughts.  I would not have been able to have the luxury of sitting in the basilica on my own......just being still.    

     I left the basilica feeling rested and feeling relaxed.  I left the basilica entrusting my prayers for myself, my children and my loved ones to God.  I left feeling blessed for having taken that winding road.  I left ready for the run back.

     As I made my way back to my apartment I happened to see a friend at a cafe with two of her friends.  Being the warm Florentine's that I have come to experience, they offered to buy me a bottle of water and insisted that I join them for a visit.  As I shared the story of my run, the two gentleman knew exactly what I was talking about as they run that very same route twice a week.  They then went on to describe to me what they say is an equally breathtaking route that will take me out to the hills of tuscany.  I am eager to see what they described to me.  I find myself ALMOST excited for my next run.  Maybe one day Jackie will be able to run with me here in Florence, rather then through the blustery snow in Canada.      

       

    

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Dogs Are To Italy What Cows Are To India

     

     While I do not wish to offend those of the Hindu faith, I have never seen a country cherish an animal, other then India and their sacred cows, like Italy does dogs.  When I first arrived into Florence, instead of being greeted by the hostile customs agents that all of us that travel a lot have become accustomed to, Libby and I were greeted with warm smiles.  I was not even asked to show her veterinary paperwork proving that she is in good health. Although the fact that she has her own 5 star travelling bag, was wearing her Polo sweater, and had a pink bow in her hair...oops she is a dog, I keep forgetting....I mean fur, probably was their clue that she is well taken care of.

     Just like the cow is allowed to wander freely anywhere it wants in India, dogs are welcome almost everywhere in Florence, except for churches and museums.  It is not that dogs are simply tolerated, on the contrary they seem to be embraced.  And it is not just that Libby weighs 2.5 pounds that we seem to be warmly greeted wherever we go.  When you go into a restaurant you will see dogs of all breeds and sizes. Surprisingly, they are all very well behaved.  Probably better behaved then most children, if the truth be told.  When I go to the local grocery store it is not uncommon to see a dog riding up in the seat of the shopping cart that you would normally see a child in.  Again, sitting perfectly calm, looking around with an almost dignified look about them.  Whether it be at the market, or just wandering the streets on our daily adventure, Libby and I meet many dogs and their "parents".  Italians seem to be devoted to walking their dogs.  At all hours of the day and night you will see lots of dogs happily getting their exercise.  While in Canada I found myself cautiously approaching a strange dog, here in Florence the dogs seem to know what is expected of them.  I have yet to see a dog act aggressive, or even so much as jump up uncontrollably.  While I am sure that those dogs exist, they are apparently an exception.  I am left wondering if our four legged family members here in Italy have such a well behaved manner because they grow up truly being a part of a families' everyday life, and as such are taught from a very young age how to behave in many different environments.

Libby and I at the hair salon.

     It is not just dog owners who love dogs here in Italy; all Italians seem to.  Libby and I are stopped many times in the street every day so that a warm Italian can have just a short visit with her.  While I speak virtually no Italian, and while they often speak virtually no English, it doesn't matter as their affection for Libby is clearly expressed despite the language barrier.  The elderly Italian women adore Libby so much that they will cross the street to come visit with her and will kiss her on the end of her nose, with absolutely no regard where that nose has been or what it has come across on the city streets.  

     Libby had a hard time adjusting to city life when we first arrived here in Florence.  She was frightened of all the people and the chaos of the cars and scooters zooming by.  Now when she sees me getting ready to go out she is at the door squirming with excitement hoping that I will put her leash on her.  She now prances down the streets and laps up the attention that she gets.  And while I am not sure if she prefers pesto spaghetti, roasted chicken or pizza, she seems to know when we are walking towards my favourite pizza restaurant.  I think it has become "our" favourite pizza restaurant.  Yes, for those of you who are wondering how Libby is adjusting to life in Italy,  she has adjusted quite well to going from a "Canadian princess" to an "Italian bella".  And while I was teased in Canada for how much I love my dogs, I have found a country where I actually seem normal for considering Libby as my bambina.            

Libby and her Italian boyfriend Kios

Enjoying a run in a piazza.

Happy to go to bed after a day out.  

      

Libby after the doggie beauty parlour.

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Today I Felt Like Forrest Gump

      Yesterday when I went to the market I could not help but feel a touch of spring in the air when I saw the flowers and perennials out for sale.  To smell the aromas and see the bright colours energized me.     

     Today it is another beautiful day here in Florence.  It is odd because it feels like spring and looks like spring, yet it is the middle of January.  As I ran today I could feel the warm sun beating down on my face.  It felt so good.  While I was not planning on a long run today, before I knew it I found myself running along one bank of the Arno, across a bridge, and then along the left bank.  As I crossed over to the left bank and looked across at the sun hitting the top of Duomo and the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, and then I looked down to see the calmness of the Arno, I was so overtaken by the beauty that I just stopped....stopped to take a moment to enjoy all that was before me.  Even though with the warm weather there were lots of people walking, and fellow joggers running, it just felt very peaceful.  It is hard to put into words how I felt.  I think it is just one of those moments that you have to experience yourself to truly appreciate it.  How lucky I am to be here to experience moments like this.  Sometimes when we are faced with life stressors we forget to take time to enjoy the little moments in life.  Today I took the time.  Today I gave that gift to myself.

     I then felt so energized that I just kept running and running.  I found myself crossing over the Ponte Vecchio, navigating my way through the crowds of people.  While I could have made my way back to my apartment at that point, I just didn't want to.  While most days I have to push myself to get out the door for my run, today I did not want it to end, so I just kept going.

     Now that I am back at my apartment I have decided that today I am going to give myself another gift .....a scoop of Baci gelato.  It doesn't get any better.  The combination of my favourite Italian candy with chocolate gelato.  For me the greatest gifts that the Italians have given us are not the the world famous Renaissance paintings, but instead Baci and gelato.  After my long run I may even be really decadent and get a small scoop, instead of my usual extra small scoop.  Oh what the hell, I am in Florence.  You only live once.  

  

               

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Yeats..."All Things Fall And Are Built Again, And Those That Build Them Again Are Gay"

     I love to read.  I regularly scour the New York Times' bestseller list for new books to read.  I must confess that I feel excited when I go to a bookstore.  There, I said it.  I have officially come out of the book nerd closet.  For me, books are like chocolate;  a delightful treat that you can't get enough of.  

     I recently read a book called "The Glass Castle".  It is the memoir of a woman who grew up with two parents with mental illness.  I picked this book up numerous times in the bookstore and then put it down.  While I knew from my research that it had won many awards, I was afraid that it would be too depressing to read.  Please tell me that I am not the only one who researches books before actually buying them, otherwise I will have risen to a whole new level of nerd.
     I finally could not resist the urge to buy the "The Glass Castle".  I was just too drawn to it to keep walking away.  I was so wrong.  It not a story of despair.  Instead, it is a story of courage and perseverance.  It is the story of a child's quest to despite adversity build a life full of joy and stability for herself.  It is the story of a child's acceptance of the adversity that was thrust upon her, at no fault of her own, and her journey to rise above it.  This book is not depressing; it is inspirational.  While this child lived in a world full of darkness she was drawn to bits of light, and fought to make her own light.  She didn't wait for happiness to come to her.  Instead, she fought for a life that would bring her happiness.  

     Now I am reading, "A Fine Balance".  It too is an award winning book.  It follows the lives of individuals living in poverty stricken India during a time of great political unrest.  As you walk hand and hand with the characters you cannot help but feel that you simply have no idea what some people live with every day.  You are shocked by the poverty, violence and disregard for human life.  At the same time you are touched by the characters' unwillingness to give up even when faced with so many emotionally and physically breaking roads blocks  Every day they fight for a better life, even though there is such little hope of obtaining it.  Never the less they wake up each day striving for a better life; a life where instead of feeling despair they feel happiness.

     I have folded over one page in this roughly 700 page book.  I don't like to fold over pages in a book as I feel that is disrespectful to the author who has put such great effort into their writing.  To me, you wouldn't think of folding a painting in half and books, while a different form of art, should be equally respected.  Maybe my no page folding policy also has to do with my great admiration for someone being capable of sitting down to a blank page and being so creative.  I just don't want to damage something that I admire so much. Occasionally though I read words that impact on me to such a degree that I can't help marking the page.  Two sentences in amongst thousands of sentences in this book struck me with such impact that I wanted to be able to go back to them.  As a character is talking about his inability to continue in a profession that he loved for health reasons he says, "Please always remember, the secret of survival is to embrace change, and to adapt.  To quote:  All things fall and are built again, and those that build them again are gay".  

     While I have been in Florence for almost a month I have only this week gone back to running every day.  I haven't run because there has just been so much involved to acclimating to a different city; indeed to a whole different way of life.  I have gone back to running because I missed it.  For me running is my thinking time.  It is as good for me mentally as it is physically.
     I started running after I had literally fallen.  My ankle was shattered so bad that the surgeon said that it was like putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.  I remember my first appointment after my first of two surgeries.  There was an x-ray of my shattered ankle, and an x-ray of my repaired ankle with all the screws and plates, illuminated on the wall.  As I looked at the x-rays and listened to the doctor tell me that it would take months for me to learn to walk again, and that I would probably have a limp for the rest of my life, I was overtaken with nausea.  I am not sure if the nausea was a result of the excruciating pain that I was in, or the fear of what was before me.  My life had very unexpectedly changed.  I seemed to be doomed to a life of never wearing heels again.  I am not sure if my best friend who attended this appointment with me saw the nausea or the fear in my eyes, but she in an attempt to help tried to nonchalantly walk over in front of the x-rays to block them with her body.  I remember saying to her that blocking the x-rays from my sight was not going to change things.  While we can now look back at that moment and laugh, it was a defining moment in that it was then that I decided that I was going to shock the doctor with my recovery.  It was at that moment that I decided that I would rebuild myself faster and better then he thought I would be able to.  After months of attending physiotherapy several times a week, and after shedding many tears in pain a long the way to getting my mobility back, I could not help but think of the words of Yeats as I ran through the streets of Florence.  While my actual ankle will never be the same as it was before the fall, and I have come to accept living with pain every day,  I am now in better physical shape then I have been in since high school.  And while I have a limp, it is only late at night when my ankle is worn out from the day.  

     As I ran through the streets of Florence and pondered the words of Yeats I could not help but think about how my literal fall caused me to rebuild my life both physically and mentally.  In the process of rebuilding my ankle I was forced to rebuild my life in a healthier way.  I was forced to take time for my well being.  I was forced to make changes in my life.   Rather than staying "broken" I had to make the conscious choice to embrace change and adapt.  While this journey of rebuilding was initiated by a physical injury, in order to heal I have also had to rebuild mentally and look at things differently.  As someone who has hated change, and has always felt safe with the security that sameness brings, I now try to embrace change and adapt.  I have come to see that while change can be both painful and frightening; it can also bring good.

Tomb of Galileo

     
     Each morning I now randomly run through the streets of Florence, being careful not to become a causality of a scooter, and using the Duomo as my lighthouse to find my way back.  As I pondered the words of Yeats I found myself running through the Piazza Santa Croce.  In many ways the Basilica Santa Croce is a testament to the words of Yeats.  In the church lies of the tombs of many famous men; men who persevered with their dreams and, despite being faced with great adversity, rose to be great men.  The church itself fell, of sorts, during the flood of the Arno River in 1966.  Many of the masterpieces in the Basilica were damaged.  While it has taken years, the Basilica has been "re-built".  Many of the damaged masterpieces have been restored and returned to their rightful places in the Basilica.  The Basilica is once again grand, for me not because of the art, but because of the stories of strength and perseverance within the walls.  Many damaged masterpieces have still to be restored before they can be returned to the Basilica.  As I ran through the Piazza Santa Croce and looked at the magnificent Basilica Santa Croce I could not help but think that for those that can find it within to rebuild, you must remember that sometimes it takes time to rebuild and to be gay again.  I also could not help but think that like Galileo who at one time was persecuted and banished by the then power Catholic Church because of his beliefs,  you may be faced with people who try to tear you down as you try to rebuild.  Despite this one has to have the courage to persevere as he did because with rebuilding you can be gay again.  If Galileo's life and work is now celebrated in one of the most famous Basilicas is the world, I am left feeling that anything is possible if you fight to rebuild.  

Tomb of Michelangelo

Chapel Donated By A Wealthy Family In Honour Of St. Francis Of  Assisi

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Give Me A Dryer And I Will Say "I Do"

     Over the years I have been asked many times if I will ever marry again.  I have even talked about marriage with a man or two, but it just hasn't felt like something that I want to do again.  Having been divorced for 10 years I have gotten use to doing things my way.  I have developed my own routine for managing day to day responsibilities.  I do things when I want to do them, and how I want them done.  If I want to stay in my pyjamas all day and watch movies, I can.  If I want to spontaneously go out of town, I can.  Every drawer,  cupboard, shelf and room is exactly the way I like it.  Instead of the dreaded hockey decor that all wives hate but tolerate; I have fresh flowers.  

     I am not sure if I could go back to sharing a home with someone.  Frankly, I find the idea of that a little scary.  While I very much enjoy sharing time, a dinner, a movie, and most certainly my bed for a day or two with a special man in my life; after a while I find myself thinking that I want it to go back to just being me again.  

     I have always said that it would take a very special man for me to give up this freedom.  I am not sure that he exists.  To play it safe I have for years said that the only way that I would get married again is if I could have my wedding in a villa in Tuscany and a ring from Tiffany's in New York.  I actually wouldn't even want an engagement ring, but I figure if I set the bar that high I am safe from having to even entertain the idea.  

     All this has changed since coming to Italy.  I want to be clear that I love Florence.  I don't know how anyone could not love Florence.  The people are friendly and patient.  The food and wine often results in a gastronomic orgasm.  The shopping is better then in New York.  You are surrounded by works of art on every street.  But there is one thing that seems to be virtually unobtainable in this magnificent city....a dryer in your apartment.   

     While washers in an apartment are a rare commodity, they do exist.  A dryer, on the other hand, seems to be as rare as a pink diamond.  They are so rare that people don't even seem to like to discuss them.  When I have brought up the subject of a dryer it is quickly dismissed with laughter.  I am not sure why there are no dryers here in Florence.  I have not been able to get an answer as to why this is.   As I said, as soon as I mention the "D Word" the subject is quickly dismissed.  I can only guess that is it because of the age of most of the buildings here in Florence.  It seems the architects of hundreds of years ago didn't foresee the need for one day having to vent a dryer.  

       I have now reconsidered the idea of getting married again.....I will marry again if we can have a home with a dryer.  A man that can get me a dryer would be more special then a man that could provide me with a wedding in Tuscany or a ring from Tiffany's.  That man would be so special that he could virtually do the impossible.  I can think of no greater way for a man to show his love for me then to get me a dryer here in Florence.  For that man, I would give up my freedom.  For that man, I would even allow one room where he could display tacky hockey memorabilia.  For the man that could get me a dryer....I would say "I Do".                                       

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2011....The Year For Three Angels....One Lesbian....And Hardwood Floors

                               

     While Christmas is low key in Florence, New Year's is not.  The streets were bursting with thousands of people singing and drinking champagne.  Fireworks were set off from many of the piazzas starting long before midnight.  As I looked around at all the faces from many different countries I could not help but feel this sense of excitement for 2011.  While for many the previous years have been difficult, there just seems to be an air of confidence that 2011 will be a year of happiness and of dreams coming true.

     So many people I know are, unlike other years, daring to dream that this year will be the year that they will "get it all".   Others just simply have decided to let go and trust that this will be the year for their dreams to come true.  In many ways I think it takes more courage and strength to let go and trust, then it does to dare to dream.  For others, 2011 is the year that they are going to step outside of their comfortable lives and take chances to make their dreams come true, rather then sitting back and thinking about the could haves and should haves.

     So many have dreams for 2011.  I have two wonderful girlfriends;  one a blonde,  one a brunette and then there is me the red head.  For us, "Charlie's Angels", we dream that 2011 will bring peace, happiness, adventure and all that is the making of wonderful memories.  We are looking forward to our first big adventure together; Charlie's Angels in Tuscany.  Dreams can cross continents.

     My best friend has it all in that she has wonderful children, a man that adores her to share life with,  and here is where we are all jealous, this man loves buying her Pandora jewellery almost as much as he loves her.  But even she has dreams for 2011; to get rid of the old carpet in her living room and replace it with hardwood flooring.  Dreams can be big or small, but sometimes even the simplest of dreams can bring great happiness.  

     And then there is my dear friend who I affectionately call "my lesbian university friend".  She dreams that 2011 will bring with it the planning of a wedding with the woman that she very happily lives life with.  Well that is if we can get her partner to get around to filing her divorce paperwork.  Paperwork filed or not, in many ways she has it all in that she can openly share her life and love with those around her.  It is because of generations before her that have fought to be able to openly love someone regardless of their sex that her dream is now obtainable.  Not only is her dream obtainable, she can be excited that her friends and family are every bit as much as her looking forward to the day that we celebrate her relationship with her partner.  Dreams are not discriminatory.  

     Dreams are not just for women.  I can think of four male friends that while they have the beautiful house, the cottage, the expensive cars and have the means to take trips anywhere in the world, they still dream....to share that with a woman that they can laugh each day with, feel passion for and feel deeply connected to.  Really the dreams of men are not that different then the dreams of women, they just don't talk about them as opening as women do.  Dreams should be shared.    

     For the men and women in my life; I hope that 2011 is the year for all your dreams to come true whether it be to find a great love, to celebrate great love, to travel the world and make memories full of adventure or to get hardwood floors.  For me.....I haven't checked the Chinese astrological chart, but I am confident that instead of 2011 being the year for snakes, rats or asses (oops I meant horses), it will be the year for angels.

               

     

       

       

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