July 10 – Pointe a Poppi
July 11 - Heat Wave
We hit what the Italian's call “a heat wave” in Florence. It was 96 degrees yesterday. We coined it “blazing hot.” We name the heat of each day as if it were art. Today, so far, it’s 99 at 3pm. We call today’s heat “ungodly hot.” Heat with personality and a title is part of living the authentic experience downtown here in the hood. Our home is just two blocks from the Medici Palace and in a former life, we would have met at the corner café for espresso and a pastry. Of huge curiosity to me is understanding how the elite Florentine women got into those weighty layered dresses we see in paintings when their skin was overall sticky as mine is today; what did the artists wear as they painted the frescos, high off the ground in the suffocatingly hot, still air; and, what was the trick to making nightly pasta without heating up the entire house?
July 12 – Opening Windows
The coolest room in the house is the bedroom with two twin beds and a tall window, just under our upstairs neighbor’s outdoor clothes line, cracked open to the shaft. This afternoon the oscillating fan, cool shaft air, and diffused light from the sky make this the perfect location to lie back on the bed, while our sheets spin in the wash, and we watch clips from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Around 8pm we’ll open up all the windows and hope the bat that flew in last night does not return.
July 13 – Fiesole
A seat at a sidewalk café was the front row ticket to a picture perfect sunset and activities that take place when the heat of the day subsides. The main square is a transition area between the bus stop, cafes, and roads to residences. Men and women walk arm and arm, young lovers kiss, and everyone stops for a gelato, birra, or vino.
Our ring side seats offered an unexpected close-up view of as an automobile procession passed through the town. There were more than 40 classic sports cars with drivers enjoying our shouts of recognition - Fiat, Porsche, Jaguar, MGTD and even a Morgan, the first car I ever owned. If my eyes did not deceive me, Francis Ford Coppola was driving one of the classics.
July 14 – The Shaft
I knew that meant good evening so replied, “Bona sera” as I nodded my head politely. Had I been more daring I would have shaken my fist upward and said, “Ciao Marcello, Sophia lefta the kitchen towels outa fora two weeks, whada youa doin up there if youra nota cooking anda eating?” And then I would have cocked by head, raised my eyebrows, grinned, laughed, and turned away as old lovers do.