Downsizing

Ever try to compress your whole material existence into one 2'x4' piece of luggage? I find it akin to trying to put a square peg in a round whole. Its impossible nature rivals the impossible nature of Congress during its attempts to compromise. Much like world peace, downsizing my life into one piece of luggage is just something that will never happen. (Yes, I realize these analogies are a tad dramatic, but when you're overwhelmed they don't seem so far off.) Thankfully, courtesy of Alitalia and for the price of a kidney, I am able to bring a second piece of luggage. However, the task of "downsizing" still remains daunting to a twenty-year old college student.

Waking up this morning and glancing at the Mount Everest sized pile of belongings I decided I cannot live without, I roll back over and refuse to get out of bed. This has been my pattern all summer. I sort through my life, pick what I can live without, and decide what should really be an appendage. In sorting through the entirety of my belongings, I have partitioned my room into a wall of boxes and bags to go into storage. Then, I just stare at everything I must magically compress into two pieces of luggage. I figured, "Why do today what can be done tomorrow?" This morning was no different than every other day until it dawned on me that I only have one more tomorrow before I leave for Firenze. Grudgingly, I woke up and determined that I WILL finish packing today... after I finish writing about packing today.

I rationalized this procrastination by telling myself, I will write down lists of everything I have left to do. As long as it's length doesn't compare to Luther's 95 Theses, I'm happy. So, here it goes:

I have one load of laundry left to do. Two loads of laundry left to sort though. I have to stuff all of the clothes I'm not taking into boxes. I have to box all of my sheets and towels and comforters. I have to jam-pack a carry on just in case my luggage is lost in transit. I have to figure out a way to pack my five purses, tool bag, health products, medications, school supplies, eight picture frames, cork board, blow dryer, and four loads of laundry into one more suitcase. The other suitcase is already overflowing.

Some how I have come to the conclusion that I am not good at downsizing...

My New Home

So, just this evening I received word that the "Roommate Gods" really do love me. They were clearly just merely testing my sense of humor as of late. For my time of servitude in the absolutely pint-size "Big House" for the past year, they have released me on good behavior and actually have rewarded me with the best parole any inmate could receive. Not only do I now live on the most ADORABLE street I've ever seen - all joking aside: this street is the street my childhood fantasies of Italy were paved with - BUT I also have been given a reprieve. "From what," you ask? I have been given a reprieve from sharing. I now have - my very OWN room. I have actually been given a single bedroom in my apartment. I share the suite with six other girls, but I have been given my own room. Yes, I realize I have now said that phrase three times in the past three sentences, but as far as I'm concerned it's inflective repetition. I have to keep repeating it, because I barely believe it myself. I have my own room. I live on a street transposed from my fantasies. All in Italy. The "Roommate Gods" will be getting beyond their share of sacrifices of show pillows and dust ruffles. Without a doubt.

Everyone's Favorite City..

Working in a bank's call center, I talk to literately hundreds of people every week. Throughout the summer, a lucky portion of our members called to inform us of their travels. Being a natural-born jabber-mouth, whenever anyone would tell me they were traveling to Italy, I'd always ask "Where are you going in Italy?" Excited to talk about their impending trips, the members would gladly go into detail and then always ask "Have you been?" If they new me outside of the professional realm, they would know that any open ended-question is not something to ask me. Even if it's not open-ended, my love for talking overcomes me and I start my incessant rambling. As I did. In every, single conversation someone would have about traveling to Italy. One woman's sentiment, "Florence is my favorite city!", was echoed in almost every phone call I had regarding Italy.

While I always enjoy any reason to just chit-chat, I enjoyed one particular conversation the most. This conversation took place with a woman who was born in Italy and moved to the States as a child. Now in her seventies with grandchildren my age, her rambling about traveling exceeded any expectation I had about a twenty minute phone call from a customer. She delved into the memory of her passionate affair with the city of Firenze as a young woman. She brought me into the kitchen of her youth while talking about the food. She created a visual of the city - the Duomo, the architecture, the cobble stone streets. She carried on for fifteen minutes about how, to her, Florence was the most amazing place in the world. Over and over, she would exclaim, "It's my favorite city! You'll love it!". Unfortunately, she, like every other person, never spoke of a single place by name.

As I prepare to leave and my travel plans become more concrete, I'm starting to look for the well regarded restaurants, the picturesque places, the astounding architecture, and the fantastic food. In short, I'm looking for what makes this city stand the test of time. How is it that a woman who visited the city half a century ago has the same feeling for the place as a young man not even in his thirties. I want to know, "Why is Florence everyone's favorite city?"

I've always been intrigued by what people believe and why they believe it. I love hearing why someone loves a particular person, place, thing, idea - anything. Then, I like to see whether or not I have the same passion for it, if I ever have the chance to experience it. I equate this quirk of mine with abstract art. People's passions, like Picasso's paintings, are not always easy to understand, sometimes you're never meant to even completely grasp them, but once you do it can be immensely powerful.

So, I pose this question for anyone willing to answer...

What makes Florence your favorite city?