Photographs

Take them. Of anything and everything. When you're older, you'll love looking at younger you, waxing rhapsodic about your lack of laugh lines, gray hair and general sag. Although you may love current you, younger you will always be a revelation, from infant to young adult. 

The story of you and the stories of your family weave together into your life's quilt. A plait of memories and pictures and oral history and food will coalesce into a thick braid through which you form at least part of your adult sense of self. 

I don't remember living in Mobile, Alabama, during Hurricane Frederick, but I know I did because my mother took pictures. I can map the faint scar on the interior part of my right ankle to the time I cut it on a fence felled from the storm. I was 5; I don't remember anything, but I've seen myself skipping along the wide truck of a fallen tree, joyful despite the ruin around me. I suppose I cut myself sometime around the moment that photo was taken, a little girl playing one minute and a'tumble the next.

As an adult, I find photographs to be a creative outlet but also a means of recording the details I can't imprint during the seeing and teaching and experiencing. This is especially true since having and traveling with my boys. They are kinetic and inquisitive and busy, none of which is particularly prone to quiet study. 

Since we've arrived here in Rome, I have been overwhelmed on almost an hourly basis by the beauty around every corner, in every nook and on each horizon. It's an embarrassment of visual riches really; how are people who grow up here changed by such constant access to architectural genius, historical treasure, and aesthetic perfection? 

Today I leave you with a humble suggestion: take pictures of the places you go, the people you meet, the sights that stun you in any way. They will change your perspective on the world in which you live, on the ways in which others make lives. These are memories that can ride with you into the years, enriching you (and your family) for generations to come.  

A statue on a bridge to Castel St. Angelo

a stunning doorway

Hulling fresh peas for dinner  

The view from our kitchen window: never.gets.old. 

Mozzarella dripping with fresh oil and sprinkled with salt. 

Oranges at a market. 

An old everything-place near the Vatican. 

Knives at the bloody ready at the butcher's stall. 

The lovely man who made me fresh taboule and said we must eat it within ten minutes. It was divine. 

Lighting candles for Nanny and a friend.  

40 in forty: Write thank you notes and check in

40 in forty bit of wisdom today: write thank you notes! If you have kids/spouses who don't already, make them write thank you notes too.

If you like paper, treat yourself to some beautiful stationery and a pretty pen that isn't terribly prone to smudging. If you couldn't care less about these objets, stick with your basic note pad and ballpoint; the point is the thought behind and appreciation in your words.

A terrific thank you note needn't be overly long. It simply needs to be personal and reflective: why do you like what you've been given or had done for you? How have you enjoyed it, or how do you plan to enjoy it?

In this harried time, connection with others is easier than ever in many ways but often more superficial. Receiving a sincere, well-considered letter of gratitude slows everything down for a moment, allowing the person who thought of you first to both enjoy anew his or her lovely action and know how appreciated that action was. 

Tangentially, if you know or suspect that someone is having a tough time, check in. You never know how much a hug (real or virtual), quick text or call can help and mean.

Extra bonus: sending notes of thanks and reaching out to others will make you feel fabulous!
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Rome is too beautiful not to share, so I'm foisting more photographs upon you. 

in Trastevere

An elderly woman watches out over a Trastevere piazza. I love her pink shawl.

Artichoke crostini; a delicious part of lunch.

artichokes at the campo dei fiori market

I never tire of these colors. Lawd a'mercy.

40 in forty: Take time, especially when time has been spent

After a perfect day that included a visit to Cinecittà, the Hollywood of Italy where Felini filmed his movies, Audrey Hepburn took a Roman Holiday, Gangs of New York battled each other, my sister now films her Italian TV show, and Oliver began to conjure grand plans of epic set design, we met my brother-in-law's parents for dinner at Checcino dal 1887, a generations-old restaurant in the Testaccio neighborhood.

scenes from lunch

Let me first add that our luggage finally arrived tonight at 6pm, and the joy of showering and then changing into fresh clothes was tremendous. 

Anyway, upon ordering our first bottle of wine tonight, one of the owners wheeled a marble-topped cart with six glasses and the wine to our table and proceeded to fully rinse the inside of each goblet with a bit of the wine.

We asked why. Was it just a lovely tradition, or did his efforts serve more of a purpose?

"The vintner spent at least a year crafting this wine. Why would I, in mere seconds, pour it into unready glasses? The glasses might have residue from being washed: calcium from the water, a faint bit of soap. By rinsing them fully with the wine, I'm pairing each glass with the wine you chose. It slows the service, but why hurry?"

Now really, y'all. Even if each glass gains nothing from such an artful method of pairing, isn't the feeling behind the practice lovely? Can we not all benefit from slowing the service, so to speak?

Italians and Louisianians have a fair amount in common, not least because there are so many Italians in Louisiana. But I think the commonalities are one reason I feel at home in this country. Meals should take time, preferably hours. You should enjoy every bite and all the pomp and circumstance that goes along with each element of the experience. No rush, sit, eat, laugh, make memories. 

There is little to push to slow anything in DC and many other cities across America. What do we miss by slurping meals on the go? Far more than truly tasting the food. That I know for sure. Isn't it lovely to bring out new glasses for each type of wine? To know why you're doing so? To want to share that with others?

Why is this dish specifically Roman? Why can't the boys eat pesto ad nauseam here like they can closer to Liguria? Because place matters. Source matters. Timing and seasonality and tradition matter.

Sometimes they shouldn't, but sometimes attention to those things makes a world of difference. To take time to understand and appreciate, honor and simply enjoy, adds a depth to life that is too easily stripped these days. La bella figura, la dolce vita, and all that jazz. Except that it's so very true and not just romantic.

My sister ordered a cake yesterday and had it delivered to the restaurant where we ate last night. It came wrapped in a beautiful box with handles (I always appreciate the attention to beautiful packaging in Italy!). Ol fell asleep at dinner though, so we simply brought the cake home and then took it to Checcino tonight.

The owners tenderly placed it in their fridge and then, when time, turned out all the lights in the restaurant, every single person sang and cheered "Auguri!" as Ol blew out his candle, and then our waiter served it so graciously. No one was put out. There was no fee for having brought a dessert rather than ordering one there. Time is taken to celebrate and honor the time and energy already invested.

So remarkable and something so worth trying to bring into our own lives.

A morning cappuccino at Brassai.

Spghetti with artichoke cream and mint. Bellissima! My dinner tonight.

Pasta e ceci (ditali with chickpeas and a lot of fresh rosemary; amazing)

Ol chose the five-cheese tasting plate for dinner. 

Jack and I are enormous fans of borlotti beans and so ordered a side in olive oil tonight. He loved them so much that he asked for another order to go. Checcino doesn't have take-away dishes and so prepared this adorable sealed bag o' borlotti for J. He was thrilled.