After my husband died, I decided to blow this pop stand and take my sons to Italy at Christmas. It was a two week slumber party and the first time I'd heard them laugh in months.
My sons are both 6'5" tall ~ talk about seven league boots! In Florence, they were striding along and pretty soon out-distanced me but I could hear them laughing from the next block. Heaven.
Because I adore architectural salvage, my walking was hampered by the visual wonder of Italy. I stopped often to admire a door knocker or a light fixture or the brace of an eave. Walking along the streets, block after block was the salve my soul needed.
We were in Florence for Christmas when we decided to take a midnight stroll and watched the full moon rise between Giotto's Bell Tower and the Duomo. Breathtaking. In one of the side streets of the Piazza del Duomo, there was a very small shop with a soaringly high ceiling and walls filled with wonderful signs. Enameled letters. Brass plaques. Individual house numbers in bronze and brass and steel. Utter desire!
The next day, we stopped into that mouthwatering store. As we entered, a thousand year old man walked out from the back room with the International Tribune under his arm. I started to ask him a question. He just turned on his heel and walked back into his office. We stood there a little flat footed and finally left.
The next year, my oldest son was studying in Florence. After nine months of Italian lessons and just before my birthday, he returned to the shop and ordered me a sign for my 50th birthday. And, in an understanding of the importance of international peace, he said that the owner reminded him of Grampa ~ a bit of a curmudgeon, he doesn't like speaking English to "tourists" but was very charming when you get to know him.
And, there it is ~ a little grace note on the side of my home. And, a touching present from my son. Heaven!
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