This weekend, without my kiddos underfoot, I had some time to indulge in the simple pleasures of life.
One of these that I hold most sacred is the ritual of Italian breakfast at the bar downstairs.
This morning both the weekday barista Stefano (do you remember him?) AND the weekend barista, Livio, were working.
It’s really fun to flirt with my favorite coffee bartenders. They fake fight over me and I get to tell them that I love them both equally, until the pasticciere, Maurizio, the one who makes the pastries, comes out from hiding in his laboratory downstairs. My boys, I love them all so dearly.
Here’s something. Italians always say that Americans eat so poorly at breakfast. Such unhealthy food. “How in the world can you eat BACON, for God’s sake? EGGS? OHDIOMIO!” they say.
I shall now reply to that photographically:
Cioè. I don’t recall a half-pound of pure fat whipped cream being termed “healthy” in recent months. But hey, I might have missed something.
In typical Roman fashion, Livio says to me, “Hey Shell, you’re not supposed to take a picture of them. You’re supposed to eat them.”
Yes, indeed. But I go for the low-fat version. Nutella.
My cell phone camera is so crappy and has no macro lens. I really need a digital camera but I also need milk for the kiddos. So, you know. Deal with it for now.
After my healthy and hearty breakfast, I hit the bus and headed up to Piazza del Popolo to meet a new friend. If you aren’t reading Mondomulia, first let me say how deeply sorry I am to hear that. Secondly, I forgive you, but only if you start following her like RIGHT NOW.
I went to meet her and the rest of “Team Sandy” as she strategically met her fianceè, who was running the Rome Marathon, at various check points. I met up with the team at the “sponge bath” area. Hence:
Oh Giulia my dear, you are splendid and I wish you a beautiful and gorgeous wedding. (Yes, word nerds, I do realize that is highly redundant but that’s how special our Giulia is, she deserves double beauty!) I do, however, wish you had brought me some of your granola but I fully intend to scavenger hunt for the ingredients and make it myself. Can’t wait.
After spotting the amazing Sandy (who had bested the man dressed as Spider Man, yay Sandy!), we hopped on the metro and the team continued on to another checkpoint while I instead headed for home, where untold heaps of laundry and messy children’s bedrooms await me for a much-needed intervention.
Sigh, just another lazy Sunday morning. God bless the simple pleasures in life.
One last observation for you.
Yes, folks, in Rome I often find homeless shoes on the ground. I do not know the explanation for this, but it is so. Shoes without owners.
Which of course begs the question: Where are all these barefooted people and where, exactly, are they going? (One hopes, directly to a shoe store.)
As we say here in Rome, Happy Sunday, ovvero Buona domenica! (NOT this kind though, for the love of God, no!)