I begin the day with a high speed walk with Jenna and the boys to the train station so that they can catch the 10:23. Destination Florence. They board the train with two minutes to spare. I walk beside them as they traipse from car three to their assigned seats in car eleven. They're inside. I'm on the outside looking in.
As I walk home I wonder what magic they'll see during the day as I cross my fingers, hoping the rain holds off. Enroute, I sneak into a children's clothing shop to by a present for a former student who just had a baby.
The day was oddly sentimental for me. I saw familiar faces -- the guy with the bow tie, the woman with red, I mean RED, hair who works at the farmacia, and the black lab that sits in front of Le Petite Cafe. I wondered if they recognized me or if I'm part of the blur. Thoughts turn to E.A. Robinson's Mr Flood's Party and the idea of many strangers shutting many doors that many friends opened long ago.
My quotidian activities pale in co
mparison to those of Jenna and the boys. At Florence, they climb the Duomo (it's a mile high I think), and they see the David. Even though I'd built him up to extraordinary heights, the David did not disappoint. At the museum, Jenna manages to explain the concept of immaculate conception (along with not so immaculate conception) and how Michaelangelo released the David from the block of marble all in one sitting.(Reaso
n #247 why she's totally amazing.)They eat an incredible lunch at the Slo Food place, Gozzi Sergio, that I had enjoyed a week and a half ago. They also buy some cool things at the street market, including a tree ornament. This has become a habit of ours - to buy ornaments on vacation. We do this in the spirit of Leo Leoni's character Frederick, who in the middle of dark, cold winter warmed his community with stories of happy times.
Jenna and both boys came home awed by the experience. When I met them at the station, they were full of appreciation for art, tall buildings, and, so I learn, the gelato of Florence.
When we get home, we're relaxed and happy, so we throw caution to the wind and take the boys to Pappagallo, the amazing old Bologna restaurant that I'd enjoyed a couple of weeks ago.Our concern? How would the boys handle a two and a half our meal with tuxedoed waiters? And, how would the waiters handle the boys? We needn't have worried. The boys were angels, reading their books through dinner. And the waiters were professionals. They didn't miss a beat, whether it was bringing breadsticks immediately or making a huge deal out of opening the boys' orange sodas.
The symbolic act of the evening: Orrie asking for seconds on the pasta. The segundi primi -- Orrie style!
Pappagallo is very old school, and it's exactly what we needed. It's a place where only one person sees the prices. (Cooper assured us that he'd foot the bill!) What can I say, the food, the waiters. It was perfecto. From the Tri Monte Sangiovese Thea to the flan to the ragu to the duck to the deep fried apple coated in sugar to the "gredy" basket of creme and fruit, everything was just great, including all those pictures on the wall of celebrity diners, some apparently a hundred years old.
Day's end: Cooper and I on the couch listening to the sounds of the street pouring in through the open window. Around the corner, someone's playing electric guitar, a soft slow Stairway to Heaven. You can just make out the melody over the hum of the scooters outside the window. Jenna and Orrie have gone off to bed to read themselves to sleep. Cooper and I soon to follow.
