Dreams are not enough

Last night I dreamed that I was walking through the streets of Florence. It was dark and the medievel buildings felt close around me, but I felt content. I was back, nearly two years after I had last been there. I'm not sure what it was that took me back. True, I've been obsessed with Italy in general and Tuscany in particular since trips took me there in recent years. It could have been the Italian wine guide given to me for Christmas that fed my unconscious mind. It could also have been that I fell asleep reading Brunelleschi's Dome, about the architect who, in the early 1400s, figured out how to put the huge dome on the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, the Duomo, in Florence.

In any case, it could be that I would rather be anywhere but here. Could my interest in the pickle factory be waning? Is that possible? I'm starting to wonder whether the old song may have a point. You know, the one that says How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm (Once They've Seen Paree).

Okay, different city, but Europe all the same. Until I was 40 years old, I'd never been off of the North American continent. The travel bug has truly bit me now, and much harder than my budget allows. I'm also still getting through Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad, a wonderful and detailed account of his travels to Europe and the Middle East in 1867. And I also took a break from that to read The Colosseum, a somewhat scholarly dissertation on the myths and truths about the venerable Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome. Yes, I also dream about Rome, particularly about the Pantheon and the food. The Pantheon was a building I learned about in detail during a Roman archaeology course in college. To finally stand in the building itself, preserved for nearly 2,000 years, was a moment beyond words.

But enough. For now I have to think more about pickles.