Julia and I painted masks yesterday. Venetian masks and mask making are part of the culture although for most of the time masks that were not theatrical were not decorated or made to stand out. Masking made the wearer anonymous. Sometimes in the same way that Clark Kent’s glasses hid his identity as superman. It was enjoyable to experience how they paint modern masks although I wanted to be more daring in my painting instead of careful. Julia was, of course, the very definition of daring.

Today is our last day in Venice, in Italy, and thoughts turn to a summing up. Venice is not an easy city to crack. If it were not so utterly charming, I wonder if it would have been abandoned a long time ago as a tourist destination. It is like a very difficult friend, fascinating and essential but damned inconvenient. Like my mask painting, I have not proven to be a sufficiently daring city explorer and will leave tomorrow feeling like I have not discovered a true Venice. I can blame that one the heat but just in part. Am I intrepid enough to for this town?

Venice is an impossible maze of tiny foot paths among innumerable bridges. The largest streets are one car lane wide. There are some street names painted at the corners of buildings but you can walk for a long time in places with no clue to names. If there are names. And this is in the tourist part of town. We have walked a fair amount here, not as much as we would have if it were cooler. We have not passed a single grocery store or a butcher or a bakery for non tourists. There is one fruit stand with barge that we pass often and we have found a fancy appliance store but most everyday shopping for Venetians has eluded us. I take that to mean that we have not penetrated the Venice of inhabitants. There are Venetians living among us-there is a second floor library with floor to ceiling windows opened onto a small canal that I look at nightly, but I assume that for the most part the Venice of daily living is tucked into corners of the city in which most tourists don’t walk. Perhaps the explanation is that Venetians don’t need to buy the same things that the rest of us do.

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Shame faced I must admit that my absolute requirement for luncheon is air conditioning. There are a million wonderful outdoor restaurants that were calling out to us; I just couldn’t stay in the heat. We followed directions to a place recommended by a bunch of guide books, knowing it was only outside, hoping I’d be willing to sit in the heat when we got there, but, no! Does the necessity of air conditioning make me an ugly American? If so, I embrace the title. And celebrate the Fourth of July. Always disconcerting to spend an American holiday in a foreign land. Not that I expect everyone to celebrate what I celebrate but it always a reminder that what is special for me or mine is just another day for someone else. And vis a versa. Perhaps we could celebrate some special day every day.

I read over yesterday’s offering and was a bit abashed at my complaining; however, to add to the minor irritants of the day, I add that tomorrow, July 5, is the fifth anniversary of David’s death and I am never at my strongest in the days leading up to the anniversary day.

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Not all is perfect or amazing or kind or wonderful. We are having a day or two of that. I don’t have the luxury of complaining to someone or really being cranky. Julia is somewhat responsive when I tell her that the day is frustrating me and I have a head ache which is pretty good for her. I am at the point in the trip of really missing adult contact. Unfortunately, the Florence contact that I had was not responsive when I tried to get in touch and I didn’t pursue him further. On the train to Venice, I see that was a mistake. There was no conversation in the breakfast room at the convent. We went early and late depending on the day but the most there would be would be a single person either leaving as we entered or coming as we left. Breakfast was not impressive-juice, bread, butter, jam and coffee or milk-which was fine to start our day but it was pretty basic and others may have gone out for breakfast. I am growing a bit lonely but still grateful for the ability to write here and the comments and likes that kind readers offer.

On another note, breakfast always included a jar of Nutella and Julia has managed to eat Nutella every day of this vacation. She has not tired of pasta and last night recognized the dish she wanted on the menu in Italian. Speghiti con pomodoro e basilica. Not a great translation feat but I was proud of her. She is also ready to have pizza for any meal and has found Italian chopped liver to be very good. Me too for that last one. The chopped liver we’ve eaten in Italy is generally more saltier and pasty than the Jewish variety that David made.

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There are churches that are overwhelming or impressive or quiet and holy. I wanted to write about Siena’s Duomo, Romanesque-gothic and striped inside and out, but before I had the chance, we are in Florence and in that city’s duomo. A comparison is striking although the both were built as shows of powerful cities. I forgot that there is no internal foyer in Siena. You step through the doors and you are engulfed, enmeshed, given over to the overstimulation that is that church. There is no calm surface to rest eyes-wall, ceiling, floor all cry out for attention. I find it hard to focus, almost hard to breathe. It is like drinking far too much, like an intense and almost painful love at first sight, like the dessert of an already over-rich meal that cannot be refused. Is this what it feels like to be unable to filter priorities? Is this an autistic-like experience for the typically minded? It is glorious and debilitating. I don’t know if anyone else feels thee same way about the place. I felt it 30 years ago and again two days ago. I don’t think I could comfortably worship a deity or sit in meditation in that place but it makes an impression like nothing else. I love it and find it amazingly uncomfortable.

We did a tour inside the Duomo has only existed for three years. We were escorted up a winding stairway that is concealed behind a painted door at the main entrance to the Duomo. This was a passage once reserved for those who worked on the building and decorations. We walked high over the floor between the outside and inside walls and were able to look at both the inside of the church and the roofs of Siena at a few points. Both views were breath taking. Seeing the church from so high above put the decoration in context for me. It also removed me a little from the stimulation of the surround of the Duomo and I could see.

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