Needed: New knees for the lamebrain

There comes a time when stone streets will break even the strongest of knees. Not that my knees are the strongest. Not even close. They weren’t strong even when I was 20-something veteran just back from Vietnam and afraid only of women who smiled at me in bars (my reaction was, generally, to look over my shoulder and try to see who they were flirting with). Good thing those days are over, because my wife is reading this.

So… where was I? Oh, yeah, tired knees. Aching knees. Knees that hurt so much that if they were children their parents (me, presumably) would be locked up for physical abuse. And the authorities would be justified in doing so because only a sadist would choose to spend the afternoon following Italian class by walking around the centro of Firenze. That’s what we’ve been doing for the past several hours, scuttling in and out of traffic (and limping) from the Piazza della Repubblica to and across the Ponte Vecchio, past the Palazzo Pitti through the Giardino Boboli (up and down the dirt/stone paths), back out on the sidewalks and back alleyways of the Oltrarno, to the bookstore Il Torchio (puchasing gifts for our KPBX radio producer, Marty Demarest, and others), then to the pizzeria I Tarochi (which was closed and is why I’m here at this Internet Train site, in the coolness of the late afternoon, typing this). Yeah, I agree: It IS a hard life.

Two notes: One, I had a cappuccino earlier this afternoon that even Joe Thomsen (of Joe’s Coffee up on the South Hill) would approve of. It was at the new Giacosa, which is what is left of the venerable coffee shop that was so unceremoniously moved from its traditional location a few years ago. I know: Knowledgeable Florentines aren’t supposed to order cappuccini in the afternoon. But we were with Henry Batterman, the Gonzaga University professor of Italian and a veteran of Florentine life for over two decades. And I simply followed his lead.

Two, we bought tickets to a Saturday night calcio match between Firenze and Napoli. I had to pay full price, but my wife Mary Pat got a discount (23 euro to my 30). The sound of her laugh was worth the blow to my pride. Even now, the memory of her laughter is almost enough to make me forget my aching knees.

Almost.