A hearty breakfast for Griffin as Daddy offers Italian sausage, toast, cherries. He mows through the sausage, and asks for more.

A little morning reading on the terrace since working out is off the table. Ace Atkins’ realization of the late, great Robert Parker’s Spenser. For those who asked I read What We Harvest, Ann Fraistat—a friend of Jason’s—and her debut YA novel.

There’s a bird nearby who whistles like a human. It’s not the pigeon who comes to stand on the wisteria-smothered pergola, but I look up from my book to watch him apparently hunt for insects. He keeps slipping, flapping wings to regain his balance. Then it’s peck furiously in the wisteria, slip, flap, repeat.

He either gets enough or decides it’s not worth the flapping, and flies off.

I think my stupid toe’s up for a little outing before our big Uffuzi outing later, so off we go to wander. It feels good to be out again, soak up a little sun, a little shopping, and lots of Florentine sights and sounds.

The buildings are so beautiful, the heat-soaked colors, the red tiles, as you go from wide, crowded streets to quiet, narrow ones. Bells chime as we go, and they say: Lunch.

Pasta for me today, and a perfect choice. Griffin, with a tummy full of sausage, glazes over and naps while the rest of us eat. And while we eat, what must be a school field trip swarms. They’re so cute!! Chanting and singing and obviously delighted with themselves and the day. The rest of us dig out memories of our own field trips.

After lunch we detour to the big building with its bell tower on the edge of the piazza. I can’t remember the full details BW told us from the guide he read, but back in the ago, a monk stirred up the population to displace (temporarily) the Medicis. Then he took over that building, made it his home. Until the population turned on him, and he ended up burned at the stake.

At least he had a lovely home before going crispy.

We part ways with Kat who heads off to a yarn store she spotted. She plans to take Griffin, when and if he wakes, to an interactive DiVinci exhibit while the rest of us tour the Uffuzi. We head home first, and I put my foot up.

Oh, thanks to whoever told me about the Voltaren gel. Found it, used it. It works!*

Thanks to Jason who once again obtains our tickets on line then gets the paper ones, and we’re in, shuffling along, giving my foot a workout with steps. More steps. Hey, an elevator!

And here we are, that long, long, wide hall lined with Roman sculptures with rooms off it holding paintings. Pre-Renaissance, that fascinating flat style, all gilded. Madonna and Child are the most popular images. I wonder what churches or homes they came from, and isn’t it amazing we can stand and admire them centuries later. Look up, and the curved ceilings offer more art.

We wander, absorb, room-by-room, then the Botticelli’s show the evolution of styles, the light, the movement, the dimension and details. Religious imagery abounds, BVM and Child—who almost always has the face of a middle-aged man (as Jason points out). Odd to me are the works that show an adult John The Baptist with Toddler Jesus, but I suppose they’re allegories, symbolic.

And there she is. The Birth Of Venus, just as glorious as I remember from our visit years ago. Everything about that work is magnificent. And what a difference to see it, really see it, rather than a poster, a photo.

I’m pleased to see my personal favorite, the sad, baffled face of the arrow-struck Saint Sebastian as we wander.

And here’s DiVinci, and oh, here’s genius in every brush stroke. Now Michelangelo, and more genius. The use of color, the brilliance of it, the magic pull of light created with paint and stunning talent. I feel blessed to be able to actually stand so close, and to share that with Kayla.

There’s more, so much. There’s the head of The Baptist on a platter. He looks resigned. Here’s Venus with Cupid, an odd couple when Cupid’s the little guy. Portraits of serene-faced women, stern-faced men. And lots of the BVM—The Annunciation, the Madonna, the Assumption.

We spend nearly two hours before Kayla, my toe and I call it. We’ll meet the guys back home.

They wind you out through the gift shop, of course, so when we get out, both of us are turned around. We head one way, stop, second guess ourselves, double back. Learn as we approach the Arno we should’ve trusted our first instinct. Double back again, and my toe’s not happy with me.

But the girl’s directional skills wind us back, and it’s home. Foot up!

Despite all the walking (and stairs!!) the bruising’s fading fast and the swelling’s actually down some.

Kat got her yarn—gorgeous!—Griffin got his first exposure to DiVinci, and we can hang out awhile. We had some plumbing issue in the morning in Kayla and Griffin’s bathrooms—apparently they share a Y thing. Anyway, the housekeeper called the plumber, and all fixed. But he left a dirty towel and some dirt besides in Kayla’s room.

Kat, also the best aunt in the world of aunts, cleaned and sanitized.

In her role of best dil, she makes me an ice pack.

Dinner! Close by with my toe in mind. This is the place of the earlier cheesecakes. Our waiter is Gianni, and delightful. Kayla and I both order side salads with our main—pizza for me, fettucini (I think) for her. I don’t know whose sides they came from because HUGE. And fresh as a stolen kiss. How about some Chianti with that?

Don’t mind if I do.

Another lovely meal on another lovely evening, though after the salad, I barely manage half of my lovely pizza—but that leaves room for vanilla gelato with strawberries. Many strawberries, so I share.

Then Gianni offers complimentary meloncino. Not a melon fan, so I pass, but Jason downs his, then mine, like shots.

A short walk home, a short hang-out time, then bed.

More wiggle in the toe this morning—if not I’d’ve sucked up a visit to the ER, but definitely more wiggle. So we’ll keep doing what we’re doing, and not doing what we’re not doing.

I miss my workouts!!

Griffin and Jason have joined me, and there is hilarity in Cookie Swirl’s visit to Grandpa’s very strange house.

BW’s up, too, and Jason’s making Griffin’s breakfast. I might share the morning video amusement, then take my book onto the terrace.

Nora

Today’s #randomkatness.

* Ed note: that’s Laurie Herman on the JD Robb FB page with a second from me. ~Laura

I remain on the IL, but a day of mostly foot up brings improvement. Nobody seems to mind a primarily easy day. I spend a large part of it reading out on the terrace. Jason, Kat, Kayla and Griffin head to the market for more milk, fruit and whatever. BW straps on his camera for a walk about.

Jason and Kat brought their Switch, so they hook it up. Game time! Which entertains the participants and Griffin as on-looker. Hanging out, conversation, cheering on the gamers passes the day.

Kat and I discuss titles for the next In Death I’m working on in my head (just my head right now). Our fun favorite, Comeuppance In Death won’t make the cut—nor will He Had It Coming In Death, but we make our own fun. A year or so from now, you’ll be able to see what did make the cut.

We opt for dinner at the nearby place I had my famous steak. It’s the same restaurant where Griffin had a sad followed by a solid sleep. He does exactly the same this time. It actually works out well as Kat can now enjoy her birthday dinner without tending a toddler.

We arrive right after 7–and there’s only one other table occupied. 7-ish is about time for our American stomachs, but early for Florence. Kat actually has a splash of wine!

I’d thought pasta for me, but decide on their grilled chicken, which is just marvelous. And we have a fine time being out in the warm evening.

Dessert choice is unanimous, and it’s tiramisu all around—with a candle in Kat’s. We sing Happy Birthday, very quietly, as we have a family pact regarding overt restaurant birthdays. No singing waiters allowed!

The dessert choice proves most excellent, as does the full round of cappuccinos.

Back home, and sleepy Griffin goes right down. More hang out time for us. Kat makes me another ice bag. Best dil ever. Still pretty swollen, but the bruising’s going down, and I can wiggle it just a little—seems better to me.

A lazy day into a lazy evening then bedtime.

Definitely less bruising this morning, and it seems like less swelling. Still very stiff though, so I have to be smart and skip working out for at least one more day. Griffin’s up after a solid night’s sleep. Daddy’s fixes his breakfast, and he’s again sharing his hilarity with his breakfast videos with Nana.

Some of us—not Griffin—are booked for the Uffuzi this afternoon. I really think my toe can take it. Maybe, with luck, a bit more walking around.

Nora

Not a #randomkatness, but a sweet Griffin photo.

Bells ring in Sunday, and we’re off for our walk to the Pitti Palace. It’s a short hike though the crowds at Ponte Vecchio are thick even on a Sunday morning. Jason got our tickets on line, and the deal is you transfer those to physical tickets on arrival.

You have to wonder what life was like living in this massive palace back in the day. There a very distressed-looking lion carving, and it seems he’s had enough of it all. Then there’s the massive courtyard inside, and Jason and I agree we’d enjoy such a space, with rooms opening out to it.

We’re advised—and thanks to the ticket taker—to do the gardens first before the heat on the day, and we’re directed around and about for a flatter entryway for the stroller. It’s still a challenge to maneuver it and its passenger over loose gravel. Then there’s the steep, steep incline which Kat manages and Griffin enjoys as it’s Up, Up, Up!!

Up, around, up more for our first gorgeous view where the city spreads out below and the mountains rise behind it. All those sun-baked colors, the red roofs, the domes and towers make a hell of a picture a camera can’t truly capture.

Then it’s up, up and up some more. If any of the residents regularly walked the gardens they must’ve had calves like stone and well-tuned hamstrings. It’s worth it for the views that never seem to end. At the top of each long stretch of stairs you can see forever, and thick green hedges, tall, thin cypress, huge old twisted trees line the walkways.

Up more stairs, curving ones, and we reach the top and the brave flowers that fight the unseasonal heat. Pictures here, and pictures there, take in the views after our long climb.

There are ways around for strollers, wheelchairs, but they’re not easy, and they’re longer. Griffin’s treated to a carry-down in his stroller by his parents. And LOVES it.

We pause awhile, a bench in the shade by a very interesting sculpture. And Griffin has some olives—a favorite—and a cookie.

Down and down some more on the stroller-coaster ride, and that is, no question, the boy’s favorite part of the outing.

Into the slightly cooler palace now. Griffin and Company take the lift, the rest of us the stairs. A lot more stairs. And into the world of art. Glorious paintings, some massive, some small, and the light in them is magic. Heavy on the religious art, of course, and many paintings of the BVM and Baby Jesus. Saints and sinners abound, as well as portraits of serious-looking men and women.

The rooms themselves are art with their curved ceilings covered with murals, the marble, the ornate doors, gorgeous inlaid tables. You could wander for hours and still be struck with wonder moment by moment.

We do a lot of that wandering, then Griffin spots a huge urn. To him, it’s a trophy and he wants it for his own. I can’t blame him.

We cut our palace tour short. With the hiking, the heat, the close air inside and the crowds, we decide to break for lunch—and sitting down.

Through more crowds and to a table in the restaurant where we had dinner our first night. And it is lovely to sit. Have food, drink wine, and water, water, more water.

We also make a plan. We’ll head home, refresh, then the girls will head out to the stalls to make serious inroads in our shopping agenda.

We do just that, and with great success all around.

It’s so colorful there, all the scarves, the bags, the belts, the leather jackets. Three females on a mission can get a lot accomplished. We’re loaded and satisfied on our walk back.

I decide it’s Bellini time on the terrace—seems fair. However, it doesn’t turn out that way. A cord’s on the floor in front of the door and somehow finds its way between my big toe and the next. Yanks hard. I catch myself—that’s good—but the cord’s dislocated my toe! Doesn’t hurt much really, but it doesn’t look right either. I go to sit on the terrace, elevate it while Kat fixes me an ice bag. While she’s at it, I decide to see if I can wiggle the toe. Hear and feel it pop back in place. But that little piggy’s had some trauma. Ice, ibuprofen, elevation.

Doesn’t take long for the bruising to show.

No walking out and about for me, so dinner in.

Jason, Kayla and BW head out to pick up some salads, sandwiches, pasta. Stupid toe’s stiff and some swollen. No racing with Griffin tonight!

Still, a nice little family dinner a fresco and a lazy evening at home—with some gelato that Jason goes out to bring back.

This morning, there’s swelling, stiffness and spreading bruising, so no morning workout, which I resent!

But Griffin comes out as I write this, and I take a pause to join his hilarity in his very strange Cookie Swirl video. You can’t be too cranky when a kid’s gut-laughing beside you.

I’ll surely have to pamper this toe today, so maybe hang out, read a book or start playing with one of my own.

We’ll find something fun today because it’s: Happy Birthday, Kat Day!!

Tons of love to the best daughter-in-law in the history of daughters-in-law!

Nora

Bruce sent a video tour of the flat which I’ll share at a later date. Somehow he wound his way to this guy. ~Laura