The day has moved slowly, a languid stream of hours and tasks.

Caught up on a lot of 'work,' and I'm going to postpone some writing until I'm cramped up in a train or plane for hours at a time. Go back and revisit some old stories, see if  I can work some magic.

Otherwise it's been a very productive, very quiet day. A good chair, some pop, and a whole lot of facetime with my good friend Google Chrome (et al). The night has proved longer, and insomnia caught the better of me and held on tight. Kung fu grip. 

But that's the way with life, with trips, with vacations, and with the quietude of November coasts. Sleep well, friends. Bask in simplicity awhile, if you can.


Reflection and generic pondering have kept me awake awhile, amongst other things. I'm not sure whether it's the age of my years, the age of the times, or just the mood of the moment but the mass of men and women I know are showing the signs of their wear. Their mistakes touching deeper, their pitfalls longer and longer. Their regrets dripping into the pool, a very longterm glimpse to a horrid drowning down the road.

My comforts, time and again, come back to my fortunes in life. Recognition of  my lucks, reservoirs of hard work, and a constant dance and flirtation with risk.

Because despite mistakes, pitfalls, and inevitable obstacles...I have no regrets. My mistakes don't touch deeper or pitfalls loom larger. No ominous pool of remorseful disappointment. Nothing but what I do, and the solid knowledge of what I've chosen.

So I'll leave you with that, reader. Never settle. No regrets.

...and the people around here ALWAYS give pedestrians the right of way. Like blocks ahead of time, letting you pass. New wonders around ever corner, I'm tellin' you... 

Now, one could argue that I'm being lazy. One could argue I'm relaxing old school. One could even argue that there's far too many existential issues involved with this line of thinking, so let's just drop it altogether.

But one would be completely ignoring the fact that it's really nice out. So let's focus on that bit.

After my crazy night out, I slept in, as usual. Woke up around 10ish, and spent a good amount of the day watching television and reading random articles online.

Seriously, Early Edition was awesome. Period.

A sour stomach basically left me munching on granola bars for brunch, and debating what to do for food the rest of the day. I'm still not positive on what is and isn't open around here for food, but the diner and the market both down the street  are a good safety net.

Here comes the super hot, super long shower then, and off I go to do some more exploring.



There is something oddly comforting about the sea. The ocean. A vastness that demands effort to keep it from overwhelming your acuities.

I went to the same market again to stock up on fruits and some sandwich making items. On my way back I decided to have a snack by the shore; the beach here is only a few blocks away. Despite being eyeballed and, possibly, followed by a man in sunglasses circling the parking lot repeatedly, it was a calm enough walk. No one around, of course, given the immense fog-idity and cold afternoon.

But I can never help but let my mind wander, staring off into an endless horizon of water and surf. It's almost the same feeling I have when I stare off into the stars, thinking about the billions of souls that have come and gone before me, staring off just the same, thinking thoughts just the same, living just the same. The futility and simultaneous importance of the little meaningless lives we lead, scurrying about with these occasional pauses for grander consideration.

Plus I totally realized that I could never have been an explorer.

I just don't have that compulsion, that drive to find out what is on the other side of that water. What the surface of moons and stars and meteors are actually like. A bit of desire, sure, but who doesn't have that. I don't have that drive or dedication. Normally I would have thought this kind of realization would floor me...but eh.

The nice walk and food were brought back, and I've been working and reading for the rest of the night. Through the night. With a good amount to show for it, actually. But 10am came a callin, so off I go to hit the sack.

There are few comforts in life as freeing as the luxury of sleep and cloudy dreams. Awoke this "morning" to a full night's sleep, a rough but to-the-point workout, a hot shower, and the best finery afforded by my luggage.

And a long awaited brunch; the restaurant from friday night is one of VERY few in the area serving a brunch menu and since I won't be here next Sunday, it's do or die. Rest assured, dear reader, the deed was done. Yup, no dying here at all.

And my latest experiment harbors all the interesting nooks/crannies I had hoped it would. Brunch today was an affair, with me in a vest and tie and reading the Three Musketeers of all things, while trying to figure out the best way to order a mimosa without talking or writing anything down.

Yeah, not so much. I was about to order the orange juice at the very least, but after the water and some coffee I settled into a nice little rut. Plenty of room for mimosas any other sunday, after all. And with far prettier company than an empty chair, for sure.

As for food: I ordered a belgian waffle with wild maine blueberries, whipped cream, butter, and blended syrup. Perfectly whipped, perfectly airy, perfectly perfect.Then comes the seafood crepe, with scallops, lobster and peppers agro dolce and a creamy green goddess sauce (something along the lines of a pesto with hollendaise, it seems). Perfectly perfect and then some, along with the fried potato wedges that came along with it.

But yes, the experiment is going well. I can't be sure if the waiter thought I was deaf. He seemed to touch my shoulder whenever coming from behind me, but I was trying to be more than obvious in responding to statement where it would have been impossible to read his lips...so I'm not too sure. But I'm a chapter ahead in my book, it's nice and chilly outside, and I just came back with a satified appetite, a warm room, and some television to tide me over for a couple hours while I attempt some work and normal relaxation.

Let the games continue.

Guess who woke up early enough to plan a trip to the bookstore that's over 3 miles away and get back before the sun comes down?

...yeah if you didn't guess me then you clearly have issues.

I'm feeling much more like my old self; completely without plan or idea of what in the world is going to happen in the next 4-6 hours. Awesomes.


I'm poised with pen in hand at a restaurant at the turn-around point of my walking craziness, Billy's Chowder House.

...yeah, you totally wish you were here. I know, it's okay. Some other time.

My trip started off with a t-shirt, a button down, and my leather jacket, trekking along a familiar path. I stopped for coffee and some granola bars at the market a few blocks away, and kept on with the walking. About half an hour in, though, my body pretty much decides it does not like this turn of events and, so, starts to riot. It's clearly 90 degrees in this crazy town, I'm walking directly into the sun, and I'm carrying about 3,000 pounds of junk that don't need to be carried. A laptop, a camera, a bottle of water...the list goes on and on. Up until that point, because that was about it. But the plan was to leave the room at 10:00am, get to the bookstore around 11:30ish, bum around, maybe grab something to eat, and head back, getting here around 3 or 4pm depending on how long I bum, what places I find, and general merriment.

Come 11:00am I'm taking off my jacket, throwing that into the mess of stuff in my bag, trekking along feeling like absolute garbage, and listening on and on to my body droning like some raving therapy patient about a troublingly boring childhood that has nothing to do with the overeating problem the damn patient came in for in the first place!

Right, so I digress...I'm walking. And walking. And walking. Walking, walking, walking, walking, and walking some more. The countryside, the coast, all very lovely, but I see nothing but restaurants and antique stores so far, leaving me only to keep walking since I'm SO not in need of antiques or food at present.

Getting to mile 2.5, I pull out the phone to nail down the exact address of bookstore #1...only to realize I completely misread the website and not only do they only deal in antiquarian volumes, they only take people by appointment. And, from the looks of this area, they run this business from their home.

Great. So, moving on to bookstore #2.

Another 1.5-2 miles, no big deal, but finally starting to feel better. Except for needing to use the bathroom. Seriously needing to use a bathroom. A need so dire it leaves me dreaming back to the days when this trip was taken with nothing but a bag and a car, easily stopping at hotels or random restaurants and sneaking my way into a bathroom. But given that every lodging here is a b&b or inn or just as equally run out of someone's large residence leaves me with little recourse but to wait it out.

So much waiting though...until I get to the bookstore.


A fun little used bookstore; after about 30 minutes meandering the racks, I ended up spotting and buying some Dumas classics, The Three Musketeers and The Man In The Iron Mask, along with Wicked. Those and a sign that explicitly stated that there was not a public restroom available, that the closest were at such-and-such business, and that directions to such-and-such business were available upon request.

So what to do? Do I try and figure out how to get to said such-and-such businesses, risking more of this crazy rush and insanity, needing to go that much longer? Or do I step up, pay for the books, and just write the note, asking the staff how to get to either of these places? Who knows, after all, how far away such-and-such may be? Could be feet, could be miles!

I was still pondering when the oddest thing happens at the counter...I start paying for my books, and the proprietor just keeps talking. She asks a question, I smile like I do, and she keeps going. I don't signal, don't indicate that I can't or won't talk. She just asks a question, seemingly without care as to whether I'm going to respond.

So I let her keep going: she apologizes for the condition of The Three Musketeers and binds it up a bit. She sees Wicked and asks what Baum would have thought of them doing such things with his characters these days. She remarks on the weather, thanks me kindly, and hands my my purchase.

It all leaves me wondering about a new experiment, a twist on my timeless creed thus far. What if I don't do anything when meeting someone this week? No giving them any indication I can't speak, no leading their actions or assumptions. Just show up, don't talk, and see what happens? What will they assume, what will they think, how will they act, how will they respond????

A fair heart never won fair lady. Plus, no guts no glory. So damn it all, I'm taking to the streets! I'm off to find facilities and see where this new approach to the week of silence will take me!




And here I am, at Billy's Chowder House. I spotted the name while looking over a map of the area, finding whatever else could be found in this neck of the woods.

At worst, a restaurant name like this is asking for a trial taste test. Demanding it, really.

My experience with New England Clam Chowder (NECC) is sparse; I had some earlier this week at a little diner down the street from where I am staying.

Yes, it was thickened.
Yes, it was in a diner.
Yes, I enjoyed it very, very thoroughly.

And I'm not ashamed that I'm not a NECC purist. Wasn't too fun finding out that fact, though.

Because at Billy's Chowder house, they make their chowder the way NECC is meant to be made, according to every purist I've run into. Problem is that a big bowl of NECC and a plate of fried zucchini later...yeah, I'm not too happy.

I'll say it right now, and I'll say it out loud (not really though, this is a week of silence, after all):

I LIKE MY NEW ENGLAND CLAM CHOWDER THICK AND CREAMY! ALSO, I PREFER MY FRIED ZUCCHINI TO TASTE AS IF THE ZUCCHINI WAS NOT FROZEN WHEN IT WAS THROWN INTO THE FRYER!

Yes, the fried zucchini tasted fried on the outside, all-but raw on the inside. What a shame.

The upside, though, is that Billy's Chowder House is about 4.7 miles away from where I'm staying...which means I'll have about 10 miles under my walking belt today, all before 6pm. Nice.

So a quick stop a mile later to a grocery store for some more granola bars and some water, and I'm back on track. I'm in need to use a restroom again a couple miles later, but I stop into a bar during happy hour, endure the looks of a guy who clearly thinks that a urinal+toilet does not a multi-person bathroom make, and I'm back out the door. Throw in some music from the phone, a sunset, and appropriate chill to warrant the leather jacket coming back out, and I've got myself a nice walk home.
 
All in all, a nice 11-12 mile trip, plenty to read, plenty seen, and plenty of reason to take a nap.


So in testing my wireless connection again after leaving a note this morning, I come across the TCP/IP settings on my wireless card...

Seriously, I had a static DNS entry for my wireless card? Seriously??? As much as this explains everything happening here, and a good amount of things at work...seriously????

My hats off to you, room. You were solid the whole time. Now off to sleep.

In hindsight, I don't believe I've ever started a week of silence right at the stroke of midnight. Or any other stroke, actually.

Usually it's a fairly languid thing, waking up the first day and just not talking then just falling asleep to overlap on the last day. But I stayed on the phone this year right to the very last second, replete with what I'm sure was a lot of cutesy well-wishing and such. Slowly fell asleep to some tv and music, a night full of dreams and random thoughts.

Morning come and gone, though, with an interlude as someone knocked on my door to ask about cleaning my room. Obviously being silent leave me with few options, so I stayed in bed and waited for them to come in and realize I was still here.

Knock, knock, knock. Door opens...the response?

"Sleeping like a baby", he says to himself. Closed the door behind him. Back to sleep for a little while longer.

In the spirt of years past, the day started out languidly enough; I have been determined to walk to a bookstore about 3 miles away and get something to read during my various cafe/restaurant sojourns, since there is no guarantee of internet access anywhere outside of this room. Tethering my phone has been an insane help, but holing myself up in a diner with only EDGE and not talking and probably not being very hungry does not really seem appealing, so I'm opting for a book or two.

But not so much with the whole "waking up" thing today. Seems to be a pattern, waking up past 11 or noon and taking howevermany hours to head out the door and into the town. I've wanted to head to breakfast, too, as a habit if possible, and after a workout in the gym downstairs. Not so much for day 1...aspirations still high, though.

So after a rugged amount of television watching, a very nice and long shower, it's out into town again. I'll make a quick stop to leave a note for the front office to check out the wireless internet access; I've been here for days and still haven't gotten it to work, even thinking about looking at the routers downstairs and see if some tinkering can help out...for another time, though.



The plan, if I had one, was as follows:

Grab something lunch-like at the market, walk about town, do a little work, head out to a gourmet bistro a couple blocks down, head back here to change some clothes, and then head down to a pub further on the other side of town to check out karaoke night (in mental prep for next week talking again, I'm sure).

For the most part I did succeed. I had a fine walk about town, along with a quick lunch at the market. I bought some coffee and headed back here, drank java along with some cake from Divali, and watched a couple episodes to kill some time before dinner.

And what a dinner! I came for the pumpkin risotto...I stayed for that and everything else.

Any and all who have heard my meanderings know my on-and-off love affairs with risotto, ice cream, and slurpees. I am enraptured, I know. Completely overwhelmed, controlled, ridden like a steed by a rider of sugar and cream. So just imagine my giddiness, my anticipation, at seeing pumpkin risotto as a fall specialty on this restaurant's street menu, waiting for me until they open up again on Friday night.

I'll just kill your suspense right now...the anticipation was worth it. I am thoroughly stuffed, though:
Wine: Vigneti del Sole Montepulciano
Appetizer: Native squash soup, cinnamon marshmallows, fried sage & cranberry oil
Pasta: Cavatelli with cotechino sausage and sage, and tuffle-oil cheese
Entree: Pumpkin risotto, sweet & sour onions, fried sage & pecorino
Dessert: Pumpkin creme brulee with blueberries and raspberries
Dessert Drink: Irish coffee

"Yum" has just been redefined.

Plus walking back in the chill night air, blood flowing through my veins and my taste buds cooling off, I got a wave from one of the waitresses at the diner, still working, recognition through the windows on the other side of the street. It's an odd comfort, this friendliness. But still a very thorough reminder of the interactions and conversations I can't, won't, have this week. A reminder that I have every time, every week, every year, of the ephemeral meetings, greetings, and goodbyes. Simultaneously meaningful and meaningless, all by design.

Karaoke isn't looking so great; crazy full of food, sleepy, and I want to try and do more exploring tomorrow at a reasonable hour. I'll go home and nap, see what happens in a few hours.

The grocery store, like any other place, is full of mischief and surprises.

Case in point? My italiano and lack of brand recognition have lead me to almost buy the following over the following week:

• Vaginal cream
• Denture gum
• Baby food
• Dog food
• Hair removal cream
• Pork hooves

I was also desperately hoping, for some time now, that I could find either pumpkin pie or the ingredients to make some myself. Fate has decided, though, that I am to be left without the ingredients, tools, or a stove to do so.

...I tinkered with the idea of McGuyver-ing my gas range into an enclosure that could pass for an oven. But the last time I burned a place down it wasn't a pretty sight (fun, though).

Either way, I have a roasted bird, a bottle of fairly expensive chianti, a selection of pasta and sauce, meats and cheese, slices of turkey (seriously, you try finding the damn stuff here), and a fruit-ish dessert. A feast however you slice it, pun very much intended.

The town is quiet today, but the sounds of ambulances have been far too abundant to go without note. One of many, many things to ponder, today of all days. One of many, many thoughts that go into the many, many thanks to be given.

Happy Thanksgiving, America. I'll be home soon.

Today was extensive, exhaustive, and enchantingly elaborate in execution.

My goal for the day was the illustrious Uffizi museum, known across time and space for a priceless collection of works, both in sculpture and canvas.

Conventional wisdom says, in every forum I could find, that one should order tickets to the Uffizi well in advance, or face the possibility of 3+ hours in a line at the entrance.

...but conventional wisdom has no place in this life, rebel that I am, so I wake up, shower, and head down to Firenze at 9:15am. A bit of wandering and a few double-takes gets me to the museum around 10:30.


To catch my bus I had to forego breakfast. No the most horrible outcome, but I am going to be wandering a museum for however long. As a compromise I hit up a bookstore for a cappuccino on the way to the museum.

I am still amused, from time to time, by the prevalence of alcohol and coffee everywhere. The idea of boozing it up at a bookstore or museum cafeteria and then hitting the books and art...amusing is the only word I have.

( The Uffizi Museum... )

It was after the museum that things got extensive. Exhaustive.

In short, a night handed to insomnia and bug chasing.

Got back around 7:30 after catching the 6:50 bus. I've spent some time on the computer, converting notes into journal entries and working on a new script, working on an old script.

The new villa I moved into is working very well, but on my way from the upstairs bedroom I spotted a huge spider on the wall, just hanging out. Nothing I could do about it, and it didn't seem very interested in doing anything, so I just hit the couch again with the laptop and the bevy of sweets I had picked up earlier between getting-lost-gelato and just-need-to-use-the-facilities-gelato. They are good, as obviously expected, though I need some coffee. It's just too sweet, it'll make me not want anything remotely containing sugar and we clearly can't have that.

About ten minutes later I look back up and spider mcgee up there is gone. Must be running amok upstairs. I'm already planning to sleep in the downstairs bedroom, so it remains of no concern to me.

The fly buzzing around is annoying and a half, however. Every once in a awhile I'm caught into a whirlwind of buzzing and flying. I get up to swat at it but swing at thin chianti air. I sit back down but an hour later I get buzzed at again.

Still can't sleep, so I get into the bedroom and lie down, try to fall asleep. Doesn't work, so I try to fall asleep to television. No dice. I'm clearly not falling asleep tonight, so I suck it up and head to the kitchen to grab some water and maybe get something done. I was planning on staying in here in Impruneta tomorrow (now meaning today) and writing. There's books I want to read but they are triple the price here than at home and it's just more for me to have to carry back to the states somehow. So I want to hammer at some scripts while I can do so next to a pool and some privacy.

On my way back from getting water, what do I spot but good 'ole spider mcgee again, this time hanging out right in the doorway to the downstairs bedroom. He could have been sitting there all night, or just gotten there recently. Either way I wasn't about to start wondering where he was roaming; I may not be falling asleep tonight but I'd like to give it my best shot tomorrow and that isn't happening with a spider doing whatever he pleases amidst my sheets. So I grab one of the birks I happen to have sitting by the door, send him on his way, and hit the sack with my water.

So let's see what happens tomorrow...at the very least I'm very interested to see what crazy adventures breakfast might throw my way again if I'm lucky.

Keep your fingers crossed.

The city is a teeming mass of smells and sounds, seemingly wishing it had more from itself, a junkie desperately pushing to OD without a fix in sight.

I walk by and listen to the sounds of ancient streets and new merchandise. 12 year olds sucking on cigarettes and McDonalds takeout. Gelateria and panini tripping over themselves, brimming with tourists and european town interpretations of fast food.

I've spent most of today low-key, lunch at a small osteria about five minutes away, then a lemon tart to take back to the room. The lack of sleep had gotten to me, so I ended up napping after lunch and into the darker hours of the day (the dredges of autumn, it seems).

My dinner was relatively uneventful, as much as lunch was. Both involved the full courses, appetizer through dessert, and both had their ups and downs. But they were satiating and completely over the top, so I have nothing but praise for the endeavors.

Here in Impruneta the lack of hustle or bustle leaves hours for pensive jaunts and quiet adventure. I take a random meditative stroll, keeping note of the gelateria that has the almost impossible to find signage designating it Artinale (or artisan), the only indicator left of a place not buying processed hoardes of gelato from a brand supplier.

A couple walks their pets; the man with his scarf and leather jacket pulling at a pomeranian, the woman baby-talking to a tiny black bunny on a bright red leash. What else can I do but smile, the sight lends itself so perfectly to one.

( Luck and a half... ) ( Getting lost in Firenze... )