Try to remember the kind of September

They say September is one of the nicest months in Italy. Unfortunately, for me, it was one of the hardest. After summer had ended and the girls went back to school, I found myself alone in Florence for the most part. I thought, no problem, I enjoy being solitary -- I get a lot more reading done, that's for sure. I started wandering the streets of Florence by myself and getting acclimated to the neighborhood and the surrounding territory. I keep imagining that some fortunate twist of fate is going to bring me together with my newfound Italian boyfriend, but it hasn't quite happened yet. So, once I had sufficiently found my way around without a map, I began to search out all the important tourist spots that were "must-sees" for visitors of Florence. I went to the Cathedral of Santa Croce, I went to mass at Il Duomo, I saw San Lorenzo and the Crypts of the Medici family, I studied the artwork on the walls at Pitti Palace and the Uffizi Galleries. I saw famous works such as the Botticelli's Birth of Venus, Lippi's Madonna and Child, Caravaggio's Medusa, and Michelangelo's David. Everything seemed so wonderful, and yet I somehow was not feeling myself and was beginning to question the greatness of it all. Realizing that a large part of my dissatisfaction was due to the lack of social interaction that I am usually used to, I set my eyes on the calender start date for my Italian course. I thought, October 1st: it's not that far away, and I have time to do all the things I want to do before life gets too busy. I have from the time I wake up until 4 pm, when I go to get the girls from school, completely to myself. It was during this time that I realized how much I missed my friends in the States. I am not even really able to talk to them on the phone during these hours, because of the six hour time delay. The loneliness, particularly the lack of conversation during the large part of the day, was starting to shrink my spirit of enthusiasm.

In the middle of September, the girls' cousins' nanny, Georgia, whom I had spent time with in Bolgheri, had returned from her family's stay at the beach and moved to their home in Florence. She came as a blessing to me, because just as I thought I was hopeless on my own, she came to cheer me up. We went out together and discovered new places , such as the market of San Ambrogio and Mercato Centrale, and walked the route to where we would be attending classes in order to finalize and turn in paperwork for the start of our Italian course at the University of Firenze. The next weekend, Jane took the girls and me, along with a friend and her daughter, to Rome for the weekend. We stayed in a hotel by the Trevi Fountain and took a sightseeing bus to see all the tourist sights. Roma truly is a romantic city and I fell in love with it instantly. Upon returning to Florence, I once again, tried to make the most of my days on my own, though it became difficult at times. Some days I did not feel up to any adventures and so I stayed inside, working on odd tasks. However, for the last few days, I have been forcing myself to go outside and appreciate the beauty and splendor of this city that is now home to me. I still have not felt completely assimilated and attached to this place, but I know that it will come in time.

Today, as I ran my new jogging route (which is helping me to feel so much better) I opened my eyes, maybe for the first time in a while, and really looked out around me. I realized how truly lucky I am to be here in Florence and how I have been very fortunate to have the opportunity to live in very different but very beautiful places in my life. I ran up to Piazza Michelangelo and stared up at the giant replica of David with all of the city of Florence in the background and I was filled with marvel. I wandered up the hill and saw a sign for Basilica di San Miniato al Monte. Curiously, I strolled up the many stairs. Halfway up the stairs, there was a plaque of information that stated that the construction of the present church began in the 1000s and that it was a Benedictine monastery, and later, in the 1400s, a summer home for Bishops of Florence was built next to the church. Now, this was a fascinating find, I thought. As I reached the top of the stairs I turned around to check out the view. It was breathtaking. There were not many people around the church grounds, so it was very peaceful to simply roam around. There were graves and statues that I began to wander through. I walked from one section to the next and my excitement built up as I realized that this was no little graveyard-- it was a magnificent cemetery with monuments, mausoleums, and private family chapels. It is an odd thing, but I do adore cemeteries. When I was an undergrad studying abroad, I went to the famous Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires to see the grave of Evita Peron and was fascinated by the serenity I felt there but also by the beauty and creativity of the individual tombs. In Charleston, there is a beautiful overgrown graveyard at the Unitarian Church that I used to love visiting when taking a detour off of King Street. And in Ireland, the beautiful emerald isle, we visited gorgeous graveyards filled with celestial Celtic crosses.

As I wandered the cemetery of San Miniato, I looked at the names and even the black and white photographs that were on some of the graves. At one moment I looked up, and behind the bell tower, the clouds in the sky were moving at a rapid pace. An autumn breeze blew through the cypress trees surrounding the grounds and suddenly the church bells rang. I looked around and there was not a person in sight, but in front of me, there were hundreds of graves of souls that had gone before me. I thought about their lives and of how they had come and gone. I continued on and eventually I went inside the church. It was very dark inside and there were a few other visitors too. And, there was chanting. The Benedictine Monks were chanting their daily prayer from behind the wrought-iron gates in the lower part of the church. It was magical. There were frescoes on the walls of the church and beautiful patterns on the ceilings. It was one of the most beautiful and serene places.

As I ran home to Borgo Pinti, I no longer felt the pang of loneliness. I knew that next week will be different and that perhaps I might even meet some new friends at school. But more importantly, I realized that I can be happy with the todays instead of always looking for the tomorrows (which is my common downfall). I should get out there and do something, anything, and enjoy these last individual days of September.