Vatican Museum, Day 6. Vernal Equinox

Monday was the vernal equinox. Little green parrots chased each other around the Vatican gardens, shrieking with twitter-pated glee. As Emily Dickinson said, “A little Madness in the Spring / Is wholesome even for the King.”
I sprinted through the Vatican halls at 8am like I was Usain Bolt and someone fired the starting pistol for the 2oo meter. It took me seven minutes, from the ticket-activated spindle bar entry down the virtually empty cartography hall, blasting country music through my earbuds. George Strait (Run), Michael Ray (Think a Little Less), Justin Moore (How I got to Be This Way)  galloped with me. Thanks for the momentum, boys. 
I whisked through the Sistine Chapel and, sure enough, had an uninterrupted hour with a bare trickle of tourists and zero tour groups jostling my shoulder to examine gorgeously painted library cupboard doors;

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Elaborate prie-dieu;

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Some remarkable reliquaries, like this gorgeous thing;

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These examples of boxes I wished I could pick up and examine closely;

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One answer to the oft-asked question, what do you give the man who had everything? I love how the Vatican garden reflected on the glass case surrounding this golden basilica.
There was plenty of other popernanalia, and I took my time, dancing my way down the hallowed marble halls along with Jon Pardi (Dirt on My Boots), and Sam Hunt (Body Like  Back Road), feeling nothing but gratitude and appreciation. Don’t judge.
In the gift shop, that museum visitors worldwide must exit through, the library door was open. Naturally, I looked in. Oh lord. Talk about my idea of holy. I didn’t trespass, just craned my neck a bit, stared with reverence, and took a few discreet photos. The walls of the ‘gift shop’ would drive a minimalist mad. Zen masters need not apply. Suits me fine.

I think of Fra Angelico painting his brother’s cells in San Marco, the Dominican monastery in Florence. He must’ve made Savonarola itch, bestowing all that distracting beauty left and right. Serves Mr. Bonfire of the Vanities right.
I went to the courtyard and relaxed on a bench near the bronze sculpture by Arnaldo Pomodoro, Sfera con Sfera, the fractured sphere inside a sphere that tour guides push and swivel to liven up their presentations. It’s one of the few modern works at the Vatican that I appreciate. I took out my pencil and drew Michelangelo’s Adam on a card. This is how I decompress after having my senses assaulted by so much richness.Bonus: I found out it costs the same to mail a letter as it does to mail a postcard. I’ll be sending more of those.
By now it was 11:30, and I did a little trinket shopping – with my 30% patron discount it’s almost painless. Walked back to the apartment, thinking I’d visit a few churches after I dropped off my packages. Checking my Theory of Everything list, and realized the churches I wanted to visit were closed from 12:30 until 3:30 or 4pm. I made myself lunch, edited a blog post and … fell sound asleep. Woke up at 5pm, and on a whim walked to the Angel bridge where I stood and drew until dusk fell and the bridge lights came on. Walked back in the dark of 6:30, but it too early to eat – only bar food.  At 8, I trudged back out for dinner at a well-reviewed restaurant. What the heck. I won’t name it, because it was a dismal experience but it was not really their fault. I was yawning and bored. Just hated it. I’d much rather have been in my jammies, reading a book or listening to Mary Beard explain Caligula. I won’t go out at night to eat again.