The last few days have felt like a month. Very slow. And strange.

Monday I slept in, but still felt so tired. So incredibly tired. Somehow just worn out. But I got myself together and went out. I am looking for a dress. I know exactly the one I want, but haven’t found it yet.

I walk around for a while, searching for something I want, can see it in my mind, but have no idea where to find it. Nothing. Eventually I decide I can’t wait much longer for lunch so I find a nice little cafe on a tight, shady street and order quite a bit of food…

And after lunch, I’m tired, so I go back to my room and sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

Around 7:00 I decide I’m not really hungry, but I probably will be later, so I set out for a snack…and settle on gelato. None so far has been as good as the first gelato I had in Milan. Then back to the room to read. And lay around. And then back to sleep. The ultimate lazy, weird day. In Florence, Italy. What a mess.

The next day isn’t much better. It’s my last day in Florence. Somehow things feel weird. Like I overstayed my welcome or something. I want to be on the move.

I decide, yet again, to try to lighten my load. Which isn’t really much because I also pick things up along the way. It’s probably just a maintaining of the weight I walked into the city with. So annoying and silly of me.

When I was in Rome, I found a DHL courier center, the guy put my clothes in a box, told me how much, typed the address up, I paid, and it was done. Home within like three days or something. So I search the map for another DHL center. A forty minute walk. Good lord. But I’m going.

I finally get there. So sweaty even though I try to stay on the shady parts of the sidewalk.

“Tax ID number?”

Yeah, I don’t have one of those.

Oh, well then we can’t ship anything for you, you have to go to the post office. I literally could have melted into the sidewalk. I hate the post office. Always and everywhere.

I let the very nice lady type the address of the closest post office into my phone and head out again. Trying to tell myself this will somehow be ok.

Well, it was barely ok. I won’t go into a ton of detail, but I was so far out from the touristy parts that not a single person spoke English. And as we have established, my Italian is terrible. The very nice lady and I fumbled our way through the conversation. And then it got weird at the part about “paying customs charges.”

The place is so loud. There is no air conditioning. Why do I have to pay to pick up these items when they get there? They’re mine? I’m sorry. I sent things home last week and didn’t have to. In Rome. I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.

Finally one of the ladies works up enough English to say very rudely, “What do you want?”

And she says the word for “customs” in Italian loudly and clearly enough for me to type it into google to translate. Ah. Customs. Hell. That’s fine. Thank you. I’m sorry.

Who knows if those things will make it back to the U.S.

I’m so sweaty. And anxious. And feel weird. And like I don’t know what I’m doing. And like I definitely should never go into a post office again.

I make my way back to the shop I bought my leather jacket from–the guy was nice and spoke very good English. I ask him about customs, sending things to the states, what I had just done, all kinds of things. He’s very helpful. I may have to pay a fee, but shouldn’t be a problem. He’s sent a snakeskin bag to Turkey–THAT was a problem. This should be fine. He makes me feel better. Thank you kind friend.

I go find lunch and a glass of wine. Then back up to the room for a nap and packing. Like I said, very slow and strange these days.

The next day I set out for the train. On the way, I see a dress shop that I somehow missed. It looks promising, like I would have found what I’m looking for there, but too late now. Damn.

I still don’t know why I continue to hike through these cities with this backpack, but each time I think it will be fine. It’s not. Insanity defined.

I ride three hours to Venice. Backwards. There were several times I thought I was really going to not be ok. Like my eyes and body were not moving the same direction as the train, and my brain could not keep up, and my stomach was not happy. I just closed my eyes and listened to Audible. Viola Davis’s new memoir. I think I could listen to her voice forever. And I love hearing her tell her story. It’s outstanding.

Finally here. I have to take another train across the bridge. Another bit of wandering to figure out tickets for the local trains.

When I get into Venice, it’s a 35 minute walk to the hotel. Somehow, yet again, I think this will be ok.

This place is HOT this day. And not as shady as Florence. Nor as clean.

My phone keeps saying “in one hundred feet take the stairs….in 300 feet take the stairs.” My god. Please with the stairs.

Each of the little bridges over the canals has stairs. And each time, I have to will myself over the bridges. I don’t even stop and take pictures.

I get to my apartment and drop my bags. My aunt and uncle are in town too. My mom’s sister and her husband. They helped me and Emily take care of my mom. We said when they left Memphis that we would meet in Venice (they had their trip planned for a while until COVID messed up the dates). I never actually thought we would. But here we are!

I meet up with them at St. Mark’s Square. It’s nice. Catching up over a bottle of wine. Having a conversation longer than a ten minute small talk chat.

When we were kids and they would come to town, we would stay with them from the moment their plane landed to the moment it took off again. But now that we are older, we don’t do that anymore, obviously. We grew up. The babies of the family. Even though I don’t think any of them like to believe it.

Anyway. A balancing act. Of trying to be there, but also do the things I came to do.

Makes me miss my mom and dad too. There are a few things my aunt says that remind me of my mom. A kinda sting in my heart.

But today we had a nice day. A visit to the Academia then to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection.

Some old religious stuff again at the Academia. But an interesting contemporary artist too.

On the way to the Guggenheim, my uncle discovers he’s lost his phone. It becomes the frustration and joke for the rest of the day. They also move a bit slower than I do through the city.

And the Guggenheim collection was wonderful. Calder in the garden, Picasso, Ernst, Klee, CY TWOMBLY! And Donald Judd, see you in Marfa in about two and a half months! It was great. I needed that.

Then we take a gondola back across the canal. Part of me always thought this was ridiculously touristy, but it’s actually very magical. The way these guys maneuver the boats in the tight waterways is amazing. And of course the sights–incredible. It’s surreal. Like none of it actually feels real. It’s all so beautiful.

Back to our rooms for siesta. Then up again for dinner on the water. A nice cool evening with a beautiful sunset. They share a lot of travel stories through dinner. They tell me I’ll have my own to share.

We walk back to our rooms after limoncello.

Tomorrow, to see Scarpa.