Mama Pajama

Oy! My week in Italy with Rachel has ended too quickly and with a few tears. Our time in Florence was full of adventure, including, but not limited to, theft, inebriation, "cultural experiences" (at least two a day!), shopping, dancing to Simon and Garfunkel in a Piazza at 9 in the morning AND at the train station, a carousel, Irish pub(s), funeral arrangements, and midnight mass. We made the glorious mistake of getting a hotel room all to ourselves and spent a good part of the day and night in it, drinking champagne, washing our undies in the sink, unpacking and repacking our stinky bags, and generally attempting to recover the previous three days.

We went to a restaurant on the other side of the River Arno, where Laura had spent some time when she was studying here in Florence. Ristorante Celestino was delicious and I think Britches and I barely made it home we were so full. I was surprised and intrigued to find horse meat and calf brains on the menu. Because Rachel and I were planning to share, and her face turned a pale shade of green at the thought of those particular dishes, I decided I'd have to come back for my gastronomical adventure.

We went to our "last supper" together where the waiter was a pro-McCain pro-Texas Italian man named Franco, and the restaurant was large enough to house the entire Italian mob. I had a dish with wild boar, and we finished our meal with a shot of Limoncello. We toasted our fathers and mothers, and in all forms.

We didn't go see the David, but we did take a lewd picture or two in front of the replica which stands in the original place of the real thing; outside in a piazza. We made it inside the beautiful Duomo, which is almost more impressive from the outside. Inside, there were votive trees where we each lit some candles: one for us, one for all the people who have helped us to be who we are, and one for our future. On our way out we heard drums and a canon going off and, as Rachel calls them, "mount-me's," or mounted officers. We stumbled smack dab in to the middle of a funky little parade. The men were wearing tights and cute shoes and funny hats, and they kept shooting a canon in the air.


Perhaps its because Rachel comes from the Dougherty funeral family, and my man is a mortician, but all day every day we would remember something that we wanted to have happen at our funerals and tell each other. It started with our processional song: The Body Electric from Fame for Rachel, and, of course, Me and Julio by Simon and Garfunkel for me. This conversation turned into what we would be buried with, what would be consumed at our services... I suppose when you're so blissfully happy with everything in your life, the idea of dying isn't so terrifying.

Traveling with a friend is a true testament to the strength of the relationship, as anyone knows you can not just travel with ANYONE. I have been blessed with a friend I can not only travel with, but have a damn good time with too!