Today

Today

Puttering, knitting, cleaning the bathroom, 
sweeping the kitchen floor.  
Snow flurries, fingerless gloves, 
a fire and toasty labrador.  

A new cardigan that fits just right, 
a necklace with a cause.
The second coffee of the day,
a little time to pause. 

Picadillo on the stove, 
shoes nowhere to be found.
Tears shed for sweet old Jack 
and the world goes round and round.  

XO

Zen

I am open and raw.  I've just come home from a weekend meditation retreat; two days sitting in zazen and two days driving by myself.  Four days of aloneness.  Me.  Just me.  And it was good.  I do well with peace.  With silence.  It was nice to be responsible only for myself; to be pulled from my environment and put into one that was neat and tidy. 

At the retreat nobody left their towels on the floor.  Nobody pooped in the hallway.  Nobody burned noodles onto the bottom of a pan and left them languishing in the kitchen.  Nobody told me I was cruel to charge for my work. Nobody screamed at me. No life and death decisions had to be made.  Nobody died.  

And then I came home. The older kids were studying for finals and feeling the pressures of society and numbers and grades.  Middle had a cold. Little had a second degree sunburn on her shoulders. The Mister was packing for a business trip and feeling behind, nervous and stressed.   

There were dishes in the sink.  The laundry was piling up.  Dog fur bunnies mocked me as I walked through the house.  The tomatoes needed to be watered.  The chickens needed to be fed.  Four quail had died and another wasn't doing well.  An unexpected medical bill arrived in the mail.  A sixty hour work weekend loomed in the future.  I forgot to attend an online class.  

My mind began to spin.  Why are we working so hard?  Why can't we seem to catch up? Why can't we clean up?  Why does everything cost so much?  Why don't we make more money? Why does everybody else seem to have so much more than we do? Why are we failing? Failing! All this effort and for what?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  We've fucked everything up -- our kids, our lives, our jobs, our house ... 

And then I remembered to breathe.  In and out.  In and out.  We are employed.  We have a roof over our heads. We have three amazing kids.  We have insurance should something go wrong.  We have food on the table. We have love. 

It doesn't matter that the floors are scratched, the furniture is mismatched and the house paint is fading.  It doesn't matter that the grass is overgrown.  It doesn't matter if someone gets a "C" rather than an "A".  It doesn't matter what school we go to or if we even go to school. It doesn't matter what our bank account says.  It doesn't matter what others think about us. It doesn't matter if we are fat or thin.  We are not numbers or letters.  We are not our clothes, our house, our jobs or our car.

It's all an illusion.  We are nothing but our thoughts.  I am a woman; a woman with a menagerie. A woman with a beautiful mess.  

Now I'm going to go to the kitchen.  I'm going to place my hands in front of me in a position of prayer and bow to the sink. Then, quite simply, I'm going to do the dishes.  

My name is Shalet and my practice is counting my breath.  Thank you Maezen. 

Namaste.   

Who do you want to be?

I'm struggling to express how I feel right now.  The suspects in the Boston bombing have been caught.  But I'm not cheering in the streets.  I am not jubilant.  More than anything I am sad.  Sad for these men (boys really) who went so far astray.  Sad for the people they hurt.  Sad for our country and our world.  And I am, once again, resolved to do what I can.

We *all* need to spread peace and happiness, love and joy.  Each and every day.  Next time you're angry, pissed off and ready to snap -- stop and think.   Because you know what?  That belligerent guy on the phone -- the one cursing at you?  Turns out he's not really angry.  He's not angry but he is scared. He feels like a little boy trapped inside a man's body and what he really needs, more than anything, is a hug.

And those people who broke into your car and destroyed your stereo?  Perhaps they were hungry. Or addicted to meth.  Or schizophrenic and off their medication.  No matter the reason they were not in a good place to be breaking into cars.  They need light and love.

And that woman who cut you off in traffic?  Maybe she was worried about her Dad who was just hospitalized. Or maybe she was your co-worker who thought you should move over and you, in your own daze, didn't.  But guess what?  You didn't run into her and she didn't run into you.  So the minute she cut you off was the minute the incident was over.  No need for anger. No need to dwell.

And what about that guy who flashed our kids inside the school?  Turns out he did us a favor.  He showed us our flaws. Our children are safer for his misguided actions.

Maybe I'm just a silver-lining kind of girl.  Someone who looks for rainbows through the storm.  But I believe we have the power to positively change the world one interaction at a time.  Of course, with each interaction, we can also perpetuate hatred, anger and negativity.  So, before you act, stop and think.  What do you want to put out in the world?

xo.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

It's no secret I want a hobby farm.  Just five or ten or forty acres to fuel my dreams.  Only, at this point in our lives, we're not in a position to buy.  At least not yet.  However I've decided to be positive; to act "as if."

Now if we were to buy a farm we'd have to move.  And we'd either need to rent out our house or sell it.  Either way we'd have some cleaning and sprucing up to do.  So, acting as if we are going to move, I'm spring cleaning.

I started in the girls' room which was scary to say the least.  Cleaning that room resulted in a monumental pile of laundry.  And, thus, I began a laundry binge -- determined to clean every last bit in the house.

Now midway through my laundry fest my washing machine starting giving me a "sud" error message.  I'd just made a new batch of detergent using a new brand of soap.  I figured it was a little too sudsy and made a note to myself that I wouldn't use that soap in the future.  Then the machine took it one step further -- "F2".

According to Google the drain line was clogged.  I found a drill, an appropriately sized bit, took apart the front of the machine and cleaned the filter (which, by the way, was disgusting).  I put the whole thing back together, proudly dusted off my hands and continued to launder.

Of course things couldn't be that easy.  Next the dryer stopped drying.  Turns out I'd been a bit exuberant putting it back in place (after moving it to repair the washer) and the exhaust line was pinched off.  That little issue was fixed without too much trouble.

By this point most of our clothes were clean and I, in the laundry zone, moved on to other household items -- specifically the rugs in our house.  Bad idea.  Very bad idea.  

The rugs have (had) rubber mats on their undersides which came apart -- into tiny tiny pieces.  These pieces subsequently clogged the drain -- again.

But no fear!  I can fix it! I intrepidly removed the front of the washer, pulled out the filter, cleaned it and put the whole thing back together.

Only the washer still wasn't draining. Ugh.  I got back in there and cleaned the drain tube in front of the filter with a chop stick.  The clog broke free and a HUGE FLOOD of dirty smelly water spilled out onto my laundry room floor.  Yippee!

I mopped up the floor using every single towel in the house.  While mopping I discovered a slimy mess of now wet dog food under the washer.  That got cleaned too.  I pulled out the washer and dryer and cleaned behind them.  Then I discovered a hole in the dryer hose and repaired that.  Finally I put everything back together.

Then I washed the grungy dirty towels. Halfway through the wash cycle the filter clogged again.  And, yet again, I pulled the whole thing apart.  This time using sheets to catch the water because there were no more towels.  Of course it was more of those evil rubber pieces.  

As I type I am hoping my laundry adventures are complete.  The towels are still in the wash and appear to be completing their cycle.  I've purchased new rugs.

I've learned a few things along the way:

1) Sometimes it's better to spend a little money (i.e. I should've simply bought new rugs).

2) New rugs cost much less than a new washing machine.  Thankfully, hopefully, a new machine won't be needed.

3) "... you can't always get what you want, if you try sometimes well you might find, you get what you need."  In other words -- though a sparkly clean laundry room wasn't on my to do list, nor were lessons in washing machine repair, I got both.  Win-win.

4) And, finally, once the Rolling Stones are stuck in your head good luck kicking them out.

xo.

Love Yourself and Carry On

A confession:  Today I did dishes and laundry.  I vacuumed.  I had coffee with friends. I weeded and raked leaves.  I hung a window on the chicken coop and built the girls a new perch.  I went to my son's lacrosse game.  I took an hour and a half break when my ear was acting up.  I shuffled kids to and from school. I made $2.63 (money found in the wash).

Today was my day off.  My weekend.  My time to decompress. It's 10:00 pm and I'm settling in with a cup of tea.  I feel guilty as there are things left to do.  Before I go to bed I'll switch the laundry and dust the book shelf.  Then I'll lay in bed trying to decide whether or not I should pop up, just for a moment, to give the toilet a quick scrub.

Only here's the thing.  If you were to come to my house you'd look around, smile politely and think "does this woman *ever* clean?"  You'd likely wonder what I do all day.

You see my efforts are just enough to keep this place from completely falling apart. Nothing more. Nothing less. I am one woman.  One woman with three kids, a husband, two dogs, two cats, two cockatiels and seven chickens. The odds are *not* in my favor.

Tomorrow will be the same.  There will be new laundry.  New dishes.  New weeds to pull.  People will want to be fed and driven around.  There will be shoes in the living room, dirty underwear in the bathroom and dishes upstairs.  If I'm *really* lucky someone might even pee on the floor. Friday I'll return to work and all that was done will be undone.

I will work, come home and begin again. Should the kids be helping me?  Absolutely!  Is it like pulling teeth to make that happen?  Oh yes.  Yes indeed.  Does Mr. Peculiar help?  Sometimes.  Though he feels his time off should be just that -- time off.   And yet someone has to get stuff done.

My point? Judge not lest ye be judged.

I've been chatting with lots of moms.  Many of us are in the same boat -- working and trying, as best we can, to maintain a household.  We are not lazy.  Rather quite the opposite.  But we are all decidedly human and can not accomplish Herculean feats.  So let's be kind and understanding and forgiving; both of ourselves and others.

It's easy enough to clean a corner, take a picture and throw it up on a blog.  I'm as guilty as anyone for editing out the clutter. I just want you to know that behind most pretty pictures lies disarray.  Embrace it for what it is - a beautiful mess. Love it, love yourself and carry on.

xo.

Till We Meet Again -- Goodbye Sweet Mew Mew

Mew Mew napping in 2010

Last night we euthanized our sweet old kitty Mew Mew.  It was time.  She was but a wisp of her formal self, skinny and with no reserves.  She'd been sneezing for months and yesterday her nose clogged completely.  She couldn't properly breathe nor would she eat.  She was weak and wobbly.

And yet, despite her struggles, she remained affectionate.  We sat as a family on the kitchen floor, ignoring the escaped onion peel, the random popcorn kernels and the dirt.  We rallied around our kitty. We pet her, scratched her chin and cried.  The dogs were curious and lay nearby.

She let us pick her up and hold her (not typical Mew Mew behavior).  She rode on my daughter's lap to the clinic.  I tucked my family into the euthanasia room and brought Mew Mew to the back for a catheter. Then we rejoined the family. My husband held Mewey as I gave her the injection.  She went quietly, peacefully and in the arms of those who loved her and whom she loved.

Mew Mew was a week shy of nineteen-years-old.  We've known her since the day she was born (her mama gave birth in the very first veterinary clinic I worked at).  She preceded marriage and children.  She outlived a multitude of kitties and a few dogs as well.

Last night there was a conspicuous absence as we lay in bed.  No soft thump as she jumped up to join us, no gentle purr to lull me to sleep.  She will be missed.

*** *** ***

We got home from the clinic just before 9:00 pm.  I was ready to escape and snuggled in on the couch for an hour of Downton Abbey.  How was I to know (spoiler alert here if you haven't seen it) Lady Sibyl was to die?   Another hour spent sobbing my eyes out.  

My heart ached for the characters (and for the actress as she was out of a job -- later I googled it and discovered it was she who quit the show so at least there's that).  

Then I went to bed, eyes swollen from too much crying.  Should you see me today -- extra puffy about the face, a bit peaked, you'll know why.  

This is a strange world we live in.  So much sad along with the good.  I suppose one must have both the yin and the yang.  All I can do is appreciate the moments, both good and bad, and accept them for what they are.   

Today there's cleaning to do. I have a book on tape.  I'm hoping for quiet contentment; if you see her tell her I'm looking for her.  And then send her my way. 

xo.

A little of this, a little of that

This past week I've been sick.  It started as a head cold which has now settled nicely in my chest.  As an asthmatic I expected this and yet am none too pleased.  Each day I'm feeling the tiniest bit better. I'm hoping I'll be well enough to attend skate skiing lessons on Wednesday.

These lessons were an early Christmas present to myself.  An excuse to get out, enjoy the snow and to get some much needed exercise.

It's funny.  Despite my asthma and my meniere's I consider myself a healthy person.  And despite my utter lack of exercise I consider myself an athletic person.  Labels stick; whether positive or negative.

Right now I'm sitting in my chair by the fireplace.  It's facing our tree. A train whistle blows in the distance (oh how I *love* that sound).  I've got a chai tea latte by my side and the spices are just right for the season and my throat.

Our tree is up.  The lights are twinkling.  I can't even begin to tell you how happy this makes me. The smell of pine, the ribbon, the sparkle.

Each year, when we open our Christmas box, I'm drawn to the handmade goodies, felt gnomes, paper mache mushrooms, pine cone ornaments from waaaay back.  I am reminded that this season is not about fancy.  It's not meant to be perfect.  Rather it's meant to be like home; warm, cozy, safe and full of love.

Despite this I'm not quite prepared yet for Christmas to come.  I'd like to sit a while in the pre-Christmas glimmer. To pause time and wait for gifting inspiration to strike.

This year I'm knitting stockings for the kids (something I've meant to do for years).  And I'd like to make something like this for our house.

The mister can expect a toilet paper holder (what every man wants) made with a vintage license plate from his home state.  I'd also like to knit him a pair of socks but time is running short.  The Boy, well we've got him covered though I'll not say what here -- he may just happen upon this space.

As for the girls -- I'm getting there.  I've ordered one item for Middle which she will love (hush hush).  And I think I'm going to get a subscription to something else that will spark her creativity.

Then Little.  She will be getting a freezer paper stenciled shirt from Doctor Who, as well as, a DVD of the latest season.  I'd like to get her something more but, again, am waiting for that inspiration.

Oh and then there are the holiday cards.  I've got plans there.  Things to do.  But they won't be done by December 25th.  I'm giving myself a pass.  Friends and family can expect a mail anywhere from New Years to Valentines Day (or beyond).  I love you.  I'm thinking of you. But time is running short.

And now to go make use of that time.  I'm going to put Madeleine Peyroux on Pandora and get some knitting done.

Au Revoir!

xo.

Fire Station 15's Favorite

I need to finish blogging about our trip.  I've been meaning to since we've been back.  But my mind is in other places.  So, for now,  I'll just let my mind be.  Someday I'll finish up my travel notes and daily life will be interspersed with snippets from Italy.

But not today.  Today I'm thinking about my Grandmother.  I've got a little project in mind and asked my mother to send some of my Grandmother's handwritten recipes.  They arrived this afternoon.

My favorite recipe is one written on plain paper.  It's a recipe for green bean casserole, the kind found in just about every household on Thanksgiving; two cans of string beans, a can of cream of mushroom soup, a 1/4 can water chestnuts and a can of french fried onions.

I remember this recipe well.  My grandmother made it, my mother made it, I make it.  I've altered it a bit.  I add a squeeze of lemon (I think my mom does too) and I use the whole can of water chestnuts.

But what touched me today was not the recipe itself but the title "Station 15's Favorite."  You see my Grandfather was a fireman.  I suspect he spent many a Thanksgiving serving his community. And I can just picture my Grandmother delivering her casserole to the firehouse; a little something special for the men working the holiday.

I, too, had to work on Thanksgiving.  And I realize that, though our service is different, I am following in my Grandfather's footsteps with my holiday schedule.

At my Grandparent's house we always celebrated Thanksgiving on the Saturday after the actual day.  My Grandfather was retired by that time so I don't really know why Thanksgiving was scheduled as such.  But I do know it was special; family, food, gathering.  The day didn't matter.  The act did.

This recipe reminded me of two things.  First -- it is gratifying to serve.  Though I might moan and groan, working the holiday is good for our community.  Pets do not get sick on schedule and they need medical care.  I'm glad I was there to help them.

And second --Thanksgiving is important.  Gathering friends and family.  Taking time to be grateful and enjoy each other's company.  Solidifying memories for generations to come.  The day doesn't matter.  The gathering does.

This year our Thanksgiving was quiet.  The five of us around our table (a rarity indeed).  And yes -- I served green bean casserole.  I'm glad I took the time to cook and to gather my family. My Grandparents were at the table with us, their spirits wrapped up in green beans and soup.  You see it's not just a simple casserole.  It's family and community.  It's the past, present and future.  It's everything there ever was and everything ever to be.

Oh the humble green bean.

Happy Thanksgiving!

xo.

The Land of Twigs and Berries; Florence, Italy

After some debate we decided to take a day trip to Florence.  We’d done enough research to know we didn’t want to drive into the city.  Instead we drove to Greve, parked in a free lot, and took a bus to Florence.  

It took about 20 minutes, give or take, to drive to Greve and about an hour to get to Florence; it’s only 22 kilometers from Greve to Florence but the bus had several stops and the roads were curvy. 

Our bus tickets cost 3,30 euros or approximately $4.25 per person each way.  And, no, I didn't make an error using a comma instead of a decimal point; for some reason many European countries use commas rather than points.  Believe you me it can be confusing.  

But back to the trip.  We purchased our bus tickets at the tabacconist in Greve. Fortunately for us the tabacconist was right next to the local bar (aka cafe).  Thus we got bus tickets, cappuccinos and pastries all in one fell swoop.  The bus tickets were open ended (assuming we made the last bus back to Greve).  

As I said the bus trip took about an hour.  Once in Florence the kids had to go the bathroom.  This was the perfect excuse for Mama and Papa to indulge in another cappuccino.  We went into the first bar we passed which looked a little suspect -- there was graffiti on the wall and the exterior was nothing to write home about.  I wasn’t sure we were in for a good experience.  Boy was I wrong.  

Inside was the most enthusiastic barista I’d ever met.  He was playing it up to the hilt and flirting with all the women.  And let me tell you, they were buying it hook line and sinker.  And then the art, coffee art.  Each and every beverage had wonderful designs - a face for the mister, a heart for me, and sunshine for the kids.  

The barista was so much fun to watch we ended up ordering two additional cappuccinos. 

It was one of those moments when you realize it doesn’t matter what you do for a living so long as you do it well.  This barista, this man, left joy in his wake.  What more could one ask for?  

Of course the children were not interested in my pontifications on coffee and life.  It was time to see Florence.

We used this Trip Advisor walking tour as a guide and headed for the Duomo.  What this tour doesn’t tell you is to plan on walking a LOT.  And not only walking but hiking to boot. 

Our first stop was the Duomo.  How to describe the Duomo?  I can’t even begin.  It’s huge and majestic and ornate.   It takes up a whole city block.  Photographs (at least my photographs) don’t do it justice (I should probably learn to take panoramic shots).  

The inside was shockingly plain compared to the exterior (though still beautiful to see).  There was a line to climb to the top (and a charge of 8 euros a piece).  We opted to forego this part of the adventure (and thank goodness too because we had quite a bit of hiking ahead).  

From the Duomo we walked to Palazzo Vecchio.  Now I must pause.  If you are traveling with children and you have not had “the talk” with them, if you are not up for discussing the finer details of intimate human anatomy then don’t go to Palazzo Vecchio.  Just don’t.  

Fortunately our children have been educated in such matters and were therefore not too shocked to be face-to-face with a replica of Michelangelo’s David (the real one is tucked safely in a museum).  

My son blurted out, “Hey!  Look at his twigs and berries!”  And, indeed, the twigs and berries were in full view; not a fig leaf in sight.  

The square, the Piazza Della Signora, also holds Neptune’s fountain (more twigs and berries), as well as many other statues.  We spent some time wandering around and marveled at the age of things (this piazza had been in existence for over 500 years!)

Okay.  Now we were tired.  We should’ve stopped for lunch.  But we didn’t want to get stuck in a tourist trap and therefore clamored on.  The thrill of male anatomy was a thing of the past and the kids were hot, tired and hungry.  Add to that a misstep in our walk and mile long detour a pied. Needless to say people were not pleased.  

Finally.  Finally we stopped to eat on Via San Niccolo once we regained our bearings.  I sat down at the table and my heart sank.  My purse was open (something I’d been very careful about).  I panicked and pawed through it.  My wallet isn’t here, my wallet isn’t here, shit, *^&$# my wallet isn't here ... oh, wait, here it is! 

My wallet was safely tucked in the dark recesses of my bag.  Turns out I’d left my purse open when Little handed me her scarf.  Bad Mama!

Now the Boy, at this point and time, was tired of Italian food and jonesing for a hamburger.  The restaurant had a hamburger on the menu, complete with fries. How is a teenager to resist?   The waitress gave a little snigger and wrote down his selection.  

Our food was delicious (and I can’t even remember what we got).  But the Boy?  He was treated to a meat patty on a bed of lettuce.  No bread. No bun.  And the burger? It was more or less raw.  Lesson learned: hamburgers and Italy are mutually exclusive (that is unless you go to McDonald’s and we certainly were not going there).    

I must say, however, the fries were delectable.  

Mama and Papa shared a bottle of wine over lunch.  This soothed our increasingly frazzled nerves but also made our upcoming hike all the more daunting.  

After lunch we were headed up to Piazzale Michelangelo, our chance to view the city.  We bribed the children with promises of gelato once the hike was complete.  And indeed  bribery worked.  And the view was worth our while.  

We then chugged a little further up the hill to the San Miniato Church.  I could have stayed forever meandering through the graveyard.  But we’d promised gelato ... 

So back down down down -- down the hill we went.  We marched past the Ponte Vecchio with little fanfare making a beeline for the gelato shop on the corner of Ponte Santa Trinita.  

And with that we concluded our tour of Florence.  We made our way back to the bus station (getting a bit lost on the way) and caught our ride home.  

Once in Greve we stopped for snacks the CoOp (the local grocery store); Middle, for the longest time, thought it was called the “coop” and couldn’t figure out why all the grocery stores were named after chicken huts.  

Then back to Radda to rest and sleep.  

Next on deck?  Fast cars and smog-filled skies -- Modena, Italy.  

Tuscany; The Beauty and Brutality

Tuscany is, simply put, beautiful; a veritable fairy tale.  One could imagine a ginger house tucked gently into the woods.  But, just as in a fairy tale, Tuscany also has a dark underbelly; wild boars, porcupines, foxes and wolves.   

The wolves have been the bane of Chianti Cashmere.  On our first night in Tuscany, us tucked soundly in our beds, eleven goats were attacked in the yonder field.  Seven goats were killed outright (and only one eaten) while four others were severely injured.  

We only just found this out upon our return from Siena.  Nora, the owner of the goat farm, was devastated.  This attack represented a serious loss of income for her, as well as, loss of her beloved animals.

She has guard dogs; two for each herd but the dogs were recent additions and still too young to adequately protect.  At five months old they simply weren’t a match for a pack of wolves.

Now is the time I must confess I’d been pulled in by folk lore and Hollywood hype -- I couldn’t help but imagine werewolves roaming the Tuscan Fields, preying on wildlife and hapless humans.  Fortunately the moon wasn’t full and therefore did not lend to my wandering mind.

But back to Nora.  As we arrived at the farm she was in the process of moving the male goats from their larger pasture to a smaller, better barricaded pasture (i.e. one with barbed wire like you’d find around a prison).  She needed our help herding the goats from one pen to the other.
  

Our job was to keep the boys out of the flower beds and keep them from going up the road and out to the street.  This turned out to be an easy task -- Nora and her employee were leading the alpha male by the horns.  Everyone else followed suit.  

The dogs, too, followed the crowd, though they stopped to visit with us.  It took all our self control (and then some) not to pet them and love on them. You see they are meant to bond with the goats and not humans; thus making better guard dogs.   

Nora only had one barbed pen.  She couldn’t put the males in with the females as this would significantly disrupt her breeding schedule.  Thus she was stuck hoping the wolves wouldn’t return and/or her dogs would do their jobs.  

Now let me tell a little about the goats.  They are cashmere goats (as in cashmere sweater (i.e. expensive yarn) fame).  Once a year, in the spring, the cashmere (which is the soft undercoat) is gently harvested, by hand, by combing out each goat (talk about time consuming).  It takes anywhere from one to three hours to comb the cashmere from a goat.  

The goats are bred specifically for the quality and quantity of their cashmere, as well as, for the color (white, tan, hazelnut and cocoa).  

After combing, individual samples are taken from each goat and analyzed in a laboratory; testing for quality, softness and color. The cashmere is then sent to a local company that separates it from the coarser outer hair.  After that the cashmere is sent to another local company which turns it into roving.  Finally the roving is sent to a third company which spins it into yarn.  

No wonder cashmere is so expensive. And Nora’s yarn?  Oh you wouldn’t believe how soft.  

So, yes, when her goats are attacked she is devastated, financially and emotionally.  These are not "just goats."

While all this was going on I felt rather helpless.  As a veterinarian I wanted to jump in and fix things.  But I did not have any equipment or authority to practice medicine.  Nora used to be a vet but was longer practicing (though she keeps her licensing intact).  She, too, had limited medical supplies.

As an animal lover I wanted to cry.  Of course the wolves needed to eat and we were encroaching on their habitat.  But they didn't hunt solely for food; rather this hunt appeared to be more for sport.  

We did not keep the deaths hidden from the children.  I showed them one of the dead goats and we talked about what happened.  Now keep in mind my children are being raised with a veterinarian, an emergency veterinarian at that. Blood and guts and death and gore are a regular part of my life and this is something my children have often been exposed to.  

The good news is the four injured goats were making a miraculous recovery and were doing well by the time we left the farm. 

For my part I bought some of Nora’s yarn (which I would’ve done anyway).  I wanted to support her sustainable cashmere.  Now I have two skeins of very special yarn waiting for a project.  

Nora has a designer who is currently working on some exclusive patterns just for her.  She has promised to send me the designs once she receives them.  I can't wait to get my needles clacking. 

And for me?  Despite the brutality I am dreaming of a goat farm of my very own -- half cashmere and half milk goats -- right here in the states.  Oh how the wheels are turning.  

Next up? Day Eight -- The Land of Twigs and Berries (aka Florence).

Ciao!

Van Gogh, Vampires and a Jesus Handle; Italy Day Five Continued

The A1 is a large highway and driving on it is much like driving in the states (except for the tolls).  The roads in Tuscany, however, are a different story.  These roads are curvy and one lane each way (sometimes only one lane period).  

Now there are a few ways one can drive on these roads.  The first is at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery and enjoying the view.  The second is to treat the roads as if they were a video game and/or the autobahn.  

Guess which way Mama drives and which way Papa drives?  Papa was behind the wheel as we left the A1 on our way to Montepulciano (our first stop out of Rome).  Needless to say the Jesus Handle was put to good use.

Montepulciano is a medieval hill town known best for it’s wine.  Apparently it is also the place where some of the Twilight Saga was filmed (thanks Tracy for that little tidbit, and no, we didn't see any vampires -- sparkling or otherwise).  

We were using Montepulciano as a place between Rome and Radda in which to stretch our legs.  And if we partook in a little wine while stretching?  Well you know what they say -- when in Rome ... 

We took the first Montepulciano exit off the A1.  This exit, apparently, was not for the actual town but rather for a gas station.  Gas stations off the Autostrada are like pit stops; you pull over, fuel up and peel back onto the freeway.

We didn’t need gas so, after a few choice words, shot straight back through to the Autostrada.  The next exit led us to a pay booth; this was promising as it meant we were leaving the A1 (aka we were in the right place).  The tolling station took credit cards and was quite simple to use (a miracle in and of itself). 

Then we were set free in Tuscany.  We followed the blue directional signs (when going slow enough to see them) to Montepulciano.  

We parked outside the city walls in a pay-to-park area. It took some time to figure out the parking machine.  Turns out we needed coins which, thankfully, another tourist gave us in exchange for bills.  The machine may have taken credit cards but, for the life of us, we couldn’t figure out how to use them (this will be a theme -- stay tuned).  

Finally time to wander the streets.  We were foot weary and our wandering was accompanied by a litany of complaints -- tired, hungry, sore, bored (seriously, bored? I mean c'mon!).  If you can think of a complaint we heard and subsequently ignored it.  Have children.  Will march.  

It was just after noon and we decided to browse the shops before they closed (many shops close from 1 pm to 3 pm for lunch and siesta).  Restaurants, thankfully, stay open.

The town was full of artisans.  One artist that caught our eye was a man making mosaic reproductions of Van Gogh’s famous works (he doesn't seem to have a web page). Van Gogh is one of Little’s favorite artists (she studied him in school last year).  The mosaic pieces were prohibitively expensive, otherwise, we would have purchased one on the spot.   

As far as the kids were concerned lunch couldn’t come soon enough.  At 1:00 pm, on the nose, we sat down to eat at a lovely outdoor cafe. Two loud, boisterous and gabby Italian women sat a couple of tables away.  They were laughing and gesturing and waving their cigarettes about as if they were on display.  And indeed they were. I daresay even the waiter was pleased when they finally went on their merry way. 

The food was fresh and delicious; seafood linguine, crab linguine, ravioli with pistachios and pecorino cheese.  The children ate with nary a complaint.  Mama and Papa, of course, had a half liter of vino -- just enough to calm the nerves.  The meal was rounded off with two espressos -- drunk with a touch of sugar.  

And then time to explore some more.  We found a wine cellar advertising free tours.  Suddenly we were underneath the city -- deep and dark, musty and sweet, oak barrels stacked all around.  The cellar opened onto a tasting room.  

More vino?  Why yes!  Yes please.  Even the boy got to taste.  We left sated.

Our parking meter was running out (we'd paid for three hours).  Alas it was time to leave.  

From Montepulciano we followed the blue directional signs to Siena.  We were scheduled to be at the Siena train station early the next morning.  Our thought was to find the station to avoid early morning confusion.  But, as we pulled into Siena, we saw blue directional signs for Radda, our final destination.  Tired and worn we decided to skip the station and make our way home.  

We had reservations at the Chianti Cashmere Goat Farm.  

Following the Radda signs we found our way to the farm, checked in and promptly fell asleep (it was 7:00 pm).   

This wasn't the last time we'd end up skipping dinner.  The food here is filling and plentiful.  Believe you me we didn't go to bed hungry.   

The next morning we had an early wake up call (we had a train to catch) thus it was good to get a good night's sleep.  

Next on the dock?  A vintage steam train ride.  Stay tuned.  

Ciao!

Rome Day Five; Getting out of Dodge

Rome Day Five; Getting out of Dodge

Time to leave Rome.  The question was how?  We had car reservations from the Termini Train Station (which was about 1.5 miles, give or take, from our apartment).  Walking 1.5 miles with three children *and* luggage was less than appealing.  

We considered the buses.  Routes 40 and 64 would both get us there.  However, after some research, we decided this also may be a bad idea.  It seems these buses can be "the most expensive rides in town" (the expense due to heavy pick pocketing).  Three children and luggage would leave us exposed to those who might take advantage.  Therefore we decided to take taxis (plural).  

Most taxis in Rome only hold four people. Five people and luggage would be a tight fit indeed.  We could’ve called a larger taxi but I was told the meter starts when the taxi leaves it’s current location.  Therefore it made more sense to take two.  

We walked the couple of blocks to Piazza Navona where the taxis gathered.  Our car reservation was for 10:00 am and we arrived at the Piazza at 9:00 am.  Thus we decided to have a bit of breakfast and waste a bit of time. 

Up until this point we’d had breakfast standing at the bar.   Our breakfasts had been typically running 12 to 14 euros (five pastries, two cappuccinos and three other drinks).  On this day, however,  the children were whining and we chose to sit down.  Bad idea.   In comparison a sit down breakfast, containing essentially the same items, cost 35 euros.  Point taken.  Stand at the bar no matter how much the kids fuss.  

After our shocker of a breakfast we caught our rides.  Little and I took one taxi and Middle, the Boy and Mr. Peculiar took another taxi.  My ride was 10 euros, the Mister’s was 15 euros.  The difference, I think, was the luggage charge.  

At the train station we had to ask where the car rental booths were -- platform 24.  Our reservations were made through Auto Europe.  Therefore we stood in line at Auto Europa.  We questioned whether we were in the right place.  Then I compared logos -- the one on the paperwork to the one on the Auto Europa sign.  They matched.  We had to to be in the right place.  Not.  

Turn out that, yes, we’d made our reservations Auto Europe but our pick up location was through EuropCar (which was clearly stated on the paperwork if we had read a little further).  Alas another line and another lesson learned (read your paperwork dummy).  

Now another line normally wouldn’t be an issue (we were getting used to waiting).  However our taxi driver had mentioned that a big protest was planned at 11:00 am, that very day, at the train station.  Romans from near and far were to gather to revolt against austerity.  If this were to occur we could very well be stuck in Rome.  I was hoping the protestors would be on Roman time and show up at say -- twelve o'clock or even one.  At any rate I didn't want to stick around and find out.  

Finally we got to the front of the rental line.  We had our passports and international driver’s licenses at the ready.  The paperwork went quickly.  Then another chink in the armor.  Our car was to be driven around; the driver would meet us outside.  

Hmmm.  I had very specific directions on how to get out of Rome; how to get out of Rome from the parking garage.  Not how to get out of Rome from the front of the station.  Eeek.  

And then our car came.  I had rented a Volkwagen Toureg (or equivalent).  We got the equivalent -- a 3008 Peugeot.  The Mister nearly had a meltdown.  Our Peugot, in his mind, was NOT equivalent.  Our luggage, though relatively small, barely fit (though, with some creative squishing, it did).  

I felt we should take what we could get and get the hell out of dodge before the protests started.  After all the five of us and our luggage were safely stowed in the car.  The Mister wanted to march back in to the rental place and complain.  

After some stomping and choice words, he agreed to let it go.  We had to find reverse (this was a stick shift, as were most rentals in our price range).  We also had to figure out the parking brake --which turned out to be a funny button in front of the stick.  

Now on to the streets of Rome.  My directions starting from the front of the garage turned out to be useless.  We did not pay additional for a GPS unit.  Therefore we decided to wing it (loosely based on the directions I had).  

We drove down one street, turned in front of the station, turned right again and skirted around the station, right again behind the station, then left, left again, right, left, left, under a train track and miraculously (by the hair of our chinny chin chin) we were on the road that lead to the Grande Raccordo Anulare (GRA).     

The GRA is a main highway that circles around Rome.  Off this circle are the exits for the Autostrada that lead to where ever one might want to go.  

But first one must get on the GRA by following the green directional signs.  We missed such a sign and had to turn around.  At this point the Mister, already frustrated, decided to do as the Romans do.  He swung a u-turn, cut a few people off, made some outlandish gestures and let out a few obscenities.  Truth-be-told he was rather enjoying himself.  Rome allowed him to drive the way he’d always wanted. 

Me?  I was just trying to keep my underwear clean.  

Our second time around we found the GRA.  The next question was where to find the A1 -- the Autostrada that led us out of town.  For all the research I did I had no idea if the A1 was on this side of the GRA or on the complete opposite end of town.  Plus there was traffic.  Oi!

Serendipitously the A1 showed up shortly thereafter and, despite all, we were on our way to Tuscany ... 

Rome Day Four; Religion, Art, a Nap and Viagra

Rome day four:

This was our day to visit the Vatican.  You shouldn't visit Rome without visiting both Saint Peter’s Basilica and The Vatican Museums.  

Now these are popular places to visit and and the lines can be outrageous.  I recommend you have reservations and/or go very early.

The Basilica opens at 7:00 am and the entrance is free.  Thus we were up and out before sunrise once again; walking and in desperate need of caffeine.  

The walk from our apartment took about 20 minutes.  As I said before, I highly recommend walking around in the early morning.  

We found an open Bar (aka coffee shop) and ordered two cappuccinos, five pastries and three sodas (yes -- soda and pastry for breakfast -- healthy I know).  The total bill was 12 Euros -- quite a deal.  And a deal only for those who order and stand at the bar (as we found out the hard way the next day).  

Then on to the Basilica.  That early in the morning we were able to walk quickly through security and head on in the the Basilica.  The square was closed off as the Vatican was preparing for an event.  Thus we had to follow barriers to enter the church.  The barriers weren't problem as we were arriving.  Now leaving?  That was a different matter.  

The church is simply amazing.  We chose to tour it ourselves and likely missed out on quite a bit of the history of the building and art.  We felt the kids may not have the patience to take a guided tour.  In lieu of a tour we should have brought a guidebook.  Alas we didn't have the foresight to bring one.  Even without the historial minutia the Basilica is well worth visiting.  

As we were leaving we found that the exit was closed.  Instead we were re-routed back the way we came.  We walked all the way back to security where we were promptly yelled at and told to go back the other way.  We back to the church and asked how to get out.  Once again we were sent back the way we came.  At this point we were incredibly frustrated. I mean how hard is it to find an exit?  Uscita.  Exit.  We get it.  Just let us out!  

Finally we said “f*ck it” and decided to detour through a barrier which would then get us out into the open part of the main square.  We are talking 25 feet over open cobblestone.  Hardly suspicious activity.  

The Vatican Police, however, disagreed and whistled and gestured in no uncertain terms.  Not wanting to be arrested in the world's smallest country we promptly high-tailed it back to the visitor zone.  I was beginning to think we were being kidnapped by the Pope.  Perhaps he needed hapless Americans for a sacrifice.  

After much confusion the police opened a portion of the barrier to let people leave. For all their security you'd think they'd have an exit plan.  

  

At any rate we were set free and went back to the apartment to regroup.  I wanted to walk to a viewpoint but people were complaining about tired sore feet (and no wonder as Little later lost a toe nail).  I almost went alone leaving the rest of the troops at home.  However, at the last minute, they decided to go with.  I’m glad they did as they would’ve missed out.  

By this time we were hungry again and decided to have a second breakfast.  We found another fabulous coffee shop off a side street.   This coffee shop had a couple of things going for it.  First off they had a puppy for sale -- a beautiful yellow labrador that was allowed to wander around the shop at will.  And no.  We are not coming home with an Italian puppy (though the kids did beg).  

Second this coffee shop had prosciutto and cheese panninis for 2.50 Euros.  Another stupendous deal.  Of course we had two additional cappuccinos as well.  

Energy restored we made it to the viewpoint at Quirinal Piazza.  The view turned out to be disappointing.  However there was a museum on the corner advertising a Vermeer exhibit.  On a whim we decided to go.  The museum did not have “The Girl with the Pearl Earring" but the art was, nonetheless,  well worth seeing.  

And then, upon exiting the exhibit, the view.  Oh the view!  Floor to ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the city.  That was what I was looking for.     

Finally it was home for a well deserved nap.  The older kids and Papa fell immediately asleep.  Little took a shower until the hot water ran out (and never returned).  Then Little and I snuck out for some private girl (aka gelato) time.  

After returning to the apartment Little also fell asleep. The timing wasn’t great as we had night tickets to the Vatican Museums -- our reservations at 7:00 pm.  The whole family was somewhat crabby and not thrilled with me for a) waking them up and b) taking them on another forced march.  

   

I’d not been to the Vatican Museums and thought they were just around the corner from the Vatican.  No. They were around the corner and another and another.  In other words the walk was MUCH longer than I had anticipated.  After you saying "just five more minutes" repeatedly I began to lose credibility. And for good reason.    

When we finally arrived at the museum there was a looooong line.  Now I’d read the guidebooks and understood that this line was full of people with reservations and would move quickly.  Try convincing tired grouchy people of said fact after your credibility has taken a hit.  Not an easy task.  The moaning and groaning was heard all the way over at the Colosseum.   

Once we got inside most of the grumbling disappeared.  How can one not be mesmerized by the floor to ceiling art?  We decided not to push our luck by doing too much (there are multiple museums to visit) and headed straight for the Sistine Chapel.  

We sat on benches around the perimeter and starred up at the ceiling.  The kids, had all, in one form or another, seen the depiction of Michelangelo's “The Creation of Adam.”  But, until this trip, had never known where it came from.  So, yes, they did learn something while out of school.  

We finished our tour around 8:30 pm, and again knowing not to push things with tired kids, we took a taxi home.  Taxis in Rome don’t fit five people -- four at the most.  The first two taxi drivers refused to take all of us.  The third let us squish though he did take us to the far side of the piazza thus increasing his fare.  At this point in our trip it was well worth it.  

We ate dinner at a great pizza place just outside of the Piazza Navona, stopped for more gelato*, and called it a night.  

And that ended our time in Rome.  

The next installment?  

Renting a car and getting the hell out of dodge (aka driving in the big city complete with cutting people off, gesturing and obscenities).  

*** *** ***

*Gelato comes in many flavors.  The most exotic?  Viagra.  And I am dead serious.  Tell me -- who orders that?  

Ciao!

Rome Day Three; Eating and Walking, Walking and Eating

Rome Day Three

On the third day we slept in a bit longer.  It seems we were finally getting used to the time change.  

Our plan for the day was to see the Colosseum and then walk around the Trastavere.  

Only there was one little problem -- our dogs were barking.  It seems our delicate feet were not accustomed to so much walking.  Nonetheless we forged ahead.  

On the way to the Colosseum we passed the Campo di Fiori and an outdoor market.  We’d promised the kids pastries and the adults coffee.  But the restaurants in the market seemed to touristy and the vendors were selling mostly fresh fruits, vegetables and flowers.  

The kids were none too pleased when we left the Campo empty-handed.  Little did they know they had a treat in store.  

We weaved our way down one road and another.  Finally we happened upon Forno Roscioli.  Oh my!  My son order a mini pizza with thinly sliced potatoes, rosemary, olive oil and sea salt.  Bellisima! (said emphatically while gesturing with hands).  And my daughters?  More of those fabulous doughnuts.  

There was a bar across the street where mom and dad got their initial dose of caffeine.  

Tummies sated we continued on our way.  Mama got us a touch off track veering slightly to the right when we should have gone left.  But not too worry.  The error was quickly corrected.  

And what can I say about the Colosseum?  One can’t visit Rome without seeing it.  It is, after all, one of the most famous structures in the world.  Having said that I’m not sure it’s worth going inside (I've not been so can not say).  The lines are long.  The place is full of people trying to sell tschotckes from plastic pigs to pictures taken with a gladiator.  

We chose not to wait in line.  This left us with money to spend somewhere else.  And with five sets of aching feet we chose a bus ride; a bus with an open top second story.  Geeky?  Yes.  Touristy?  Yes.  Blissful?  Absolutely!  

We boarded at the Colosseum and, as tired as we were, elected to ride one full loop before exiting.  The loop took, oh, I don’t know, an hour or so.  

At lunch we got off at the Jewish Ghetto and ate at Da Giggetto Hostaria.  We had fried zuchinni flowers with anchoive.  Mmmm, mmmm!  

The Boy tried to order a coke.  The waiter repeated back to him “caprese?”  “Si,” the boy replied.  Then Middle chimed in, “due caprese, per favore.”    Needless to say they ended up with two caprese salads rather than the coke they were asking for.  The salads were delicious and they eventually got their cokes.  

After lunch we walked over to Tiberina Island for gelato.  I don’t what it is about pistacchio gelato but I just can’t seem to get enough of it.  Fragola (strawberry) carries a close second.  

Then we hopped back on the bus in search of the Capuchin Crypt Museum.  What is this?  Well the Capuchins are an order of monks who decorated their crypts with bones of their predecessors.   Actual bones; there are six rooms full of femurs, pelvises and skulls.  It was amazing and creepy and cool.  

The last room contained this quote: 

“What you are now we used to be; what we are now you will be.”

Indeed.  

We weren’t allowed to photograph the crypts so I had to settle for photos of postcards purchased after our tour.  

Our minds full of the macabre we popped across the street for espresso, free Wi-Fi and a bathroom break.  

Then back on our feet.  We walked all the way to Piazza Popolo via the Spanish Steps (i.e. we walked a looong way.) Then we made our way down Via del Corso peering in shops all the way. 

We stopped at a grocery store for snacks and took the kids home.  Mr. Peculiar and I ventured back out for a quick glass of vino.  On the way home we shared a paper cone of roasted chestnuts.  The perfect ending to the day.  

Our final day in Rome centered around religion, art and a taxi ride.  Stay tuned.  

Ciao!

Rome Day Two; Walking and Phones and Luggage Found

Rome Day Two:

2:00 am -- I woke up and had trouble going back to sleep.  Ah jet lag and the time change!  I thought working nights and an irregular sleep schedule might exempt me from this particular aspect of travel.  Alas not.  

At 5:00 am, when the girls barged into our room, I gave up the ghost. Time to get up.  

We still didn’t have our bags and I only had the clothes on my back (which I'd also slept in).  Had I been smart I would’ve packed at least one outfit in my carry on.  But I wanted space for the really important stuff (camera, phone, computer and books).  My girls, with other priorities, did bring extra clothes.  Smart cookies.  

I showered using bathroom soap as shampoo.  There was a blow dryer in the apartment and we had a hairbrush.  Thus I was able to feel a bit fresher if not totally clean.  My undies went on inside out and I put my clothes back on.  

The boys also got up and the family ventured out.  By this time it was 6:00 am.  It was still dark. But again, the streets were well lit.  The lighting here is hard to describe.  It's not the harsh street lamp you'd find back home.  The lighting here is more artistic; highlighting the shops and buildings.  Something akin to uplighting.  

I highly highly recommend an early morning walk through Rome.  We were the only tourists out (and if you’ve ever visited you’ll know this is rare).  The only other people on the streets were those going to work.  

We wandered by a fabulous bakery near the Pantheon and got, as Middle put it, “the best doughnut I’ve ever had!”  Then we hit the Bar for “due cappuccino per favore.”  Two cappuccinos please, or, as my iphone translator tells me, two white coffees.  

Want to mark yourself as a tourist?  Order a cappuccino in the afternoon. Coffees with milk are only acceptable before 10:00 am.  After that straight espresso is the drink of choice.  Most coffees are ordered at the bar and drunk standing up.  Each cappuccino is a mere 1,20 euros (~ $1.50).  The best deal ever.  And, as Mr. Peculiar pointed out, they still don’t have coffee right in the states; espresso here is simply perfetto!

We were the only people at the Pantheon Piazza.  I can’t even begin to explain how wonderful it is to see these sights minus the crowds.  The Pantheon, itself, was of course closed.  But the building exterior is just as remarkable as the interior.  

After the Pantheon we wandered down to the Jewish Ghetto.  Then we crossed the Tiber River to the Trastavere.  The Trastavere is a fabulous neighborhood.  The residents are typically young, poor and hip.  It was my neighborhood of choice when looking for a place to stay.  Alas we couldn’t find a reservation there this time around.  The last time we were in Rome we stayed at the Maria Rosa Guesthouse.  

From the Trastavere we made our way upriver towards the Vatican.  We stopped and admired the statues on Ponte Sant’ Angelo (a pedestrian bridge covered with statues of Angels).  I couldn’t help but to whisper “Don’t blink.  Don’t turn your back.  Don’t look away).  Those of you who are Doctor Who fans will know just what I’m talking about.  

Our apartment is just down the street from Ponte Sant’ Angelo.  By this time it was 9:00 am and we decided to head home.  

The kids napped and Mr. Peculiar and I went to the laundry mat to call the airport.  After all we still needed to find our luggage.  The airport reported that our bags had arrived and we would be called when it was time for them to be delivered.  

This presented a bit of a problem.  We did not have a working phone.  At the airport I left the apartment manager’s number not knowing what else to do.  After our check-in fiasco this didn’t seem the best game plan.  

We decided to buy a cheap phone and prepaid sim card* -- which we did.  After the phone was purchased we found it would take twelve hours to activate.  Not quite what we were hoping for.  

Ah well.  What were we going to do?  We went back to the apartment to check on the kids.  Mr. Peculiar fell asleep and I stayed up reading.  Suddenly there was a loud buzzing noise in the apartment; the door bell.  

I answered and finally met Honey -- the apartment manager.  We took care of paperwork and the financials.  The airport had called him; our bags were to be delivered between 4:00 and 5:00 pm.  Honey told us he would meet the courier here and bring the bags in.  I think he was feeling guilty for the night before and was doing his best to make reparations.  

I must admit I appreciated the effort.  And watching him work and the effort he made on day two very much made up for transgressions on day one.  He got three phone calls all with different arrival times for our baggage.  He came to our apartment four times.  Not lazy behavior by a long stretch.  

Our bags taken care of we went to lunch, checked out the inside of the Pantheon, meandered by the Trevi Fountain and returned for a second nap.  We were tired.  After that we went to a late dinner.  

All our meals have been eaten outdoors.  The weather has been gorgeous -- upper sixties to low seventies during the day and mid-fifties at night.  And October to boot!  Apparently it rained the day before we arrived.  We've not needed our rain coats once.  

There is nothing like sitting at an outdoor table on a cobblestone street and having scooters zoom past. And when cars drive by?  Tight and scary.  It’s amazing no one has been knocked over.  

That’s the thing about Rome.  Cars, people and cafes all share the same space.  Pedestrians most definitely do NOT have the right of way.  Some of the main streets have lights that allow one to cross with relative ease.  Otherwise it is everyone for him or herself.  To cross you eventually have to step out into traffic and go for it.  

When crossing I grab Little’s hand and when feeling just brave enough (or stupid enough) we sprint; me running and her dragging along behind. Knock on wood we’ve yet to be hit.  

Another note about walking.  It could be easy to get lost in Rome -- there are a lot of alleys and small streets, twists and turns.  I’ve been here once before and also have an innate sense of direction. Thus we haven’t gotten lost (well not much).  But the boys were just at Piazza Navona (which is a couple of blocks from our apartment).  I had to walk them there and meet them later to walk them home.  They weren't sure of which way to go.  

If you are good with directions then wing it.  If not I suggest a map. 

Map or not Rome is best seen on foot.  Renting a car in Rome proper is simply a bad idea.  Driving is insane, roads are permit only and parking is challenging at best.  You will be much better off on foot and/or using public transportation.  

But if you do go on foot be prepared for tired feet.  But that's a story for day three ... 

*** *** ***

*A note on phone usage.  We elected to bring our phones but weren’t planning on using them as we wanted to avoid high roaming fees.  To do this we were going to leave them in airplane mode and then simply use wifi when available (go to settings --> Wi-Fi and turn it on).  

This is all well and good until you need to use the phone.  Unless you sign up for international roaming (at least through AT&T) you will have no service (though you could Skype via Wi-Fi).  

My suggestion is to bring an old and/or jail broken phone and buy a local prepaid sim card.  

I’ve carried my iphone with me all over town.  The truth is I’m addicted to iphonography and have used my phone camera nearly as much (if not more) than my Nikon d7000.  There are many cafes with free Wi-Fi (with purchase of course).  It’s fabulous to stop for an espresso and/or gelato and upload photos.   

And now it's time to hit the streets once again.  

Ciao!