We are not alone

The end of togetherness. The boys—Jonathan and Ross—are here.

Jonathan’s arrival on Wednesday night was particularly dramatic. Somehow—too much red wine or just old age—I had forgotten to give him the number of our house. So for almost two hours, he wandered up and down the narrow and rainy streets of Trastevere looking for us. Finally, at about 12:30 (Steve was already sound asleep) I heard someone calling my name. I poked my head out the window and eccola! there was a very wet and cold Jonathan Beck. To prove I was still a good and caring aunt, I stuffed him with cheese and salami and sent him to bed.

Next day, Steve, who can talk of nothing except food to anyone who will listen, treated the boy to a huge lunch at one of our favorite trattorias. Despite the nonstop rain, Jonathan and I walked off the pasta (homemade, of course) with a speed walking tour of il centro. Piazza Navona, check; the Pantheon, check; the Spanish Steps, check.

Dinner was at a neighborhood pizza place so now Jonathan has experienced the two poles of Italian cooking—pasta and pizza.

His mom will be very proud, though. This morning, while I was at the gym and unable to provide cicerone services, Jonathan and a friend went to the Vatican, something I haven’t managed to do yet since we’ve been in Rome.