sing to me, paolo

fried artichoke with crispy bitter leaves and gloriously tender flesh

MJ joins us in Rome for a whopping 48 hours and thank god. We could use another personality, and such a fun personality at that!

We zip all around on scooters and hit up those storied landmarks including the Pantheon, the Colisseum, the Trevi Fountain, and the Roman Forum.

MJ, bless his heart, tries to impress upon Liza and I what the hell is in front of our eyes because again APPARENTLY WE DONT KNOW WHAT ANY OF THIS STUFF IS!!! In all honestly, The Lizzie McGuire Movie is one of our main and only references to this city. In idle moments, we find ourselves asking WWLD? (What Would Lizzie Do?)

And yes I am humbled as someone who, up until now, considered herself of above average intelligence and yes I will be going home and reading several real books about the birthplace of western civilization. Don’t look at me.

We all fit together and fill in each other’s gaps like puzzle pieces. Liza makes sure I ask for a discount on that overpriced vintage blazer. I make sure we both know how to say please, thank you, and excuse me in each language. And MJ makes sure we look up every once in a while and take it all in as we careen through the city.

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On a haunted tour, because yes of course we did a haunted tour, our guide pulls out divining rods and encourages us to ask questions to the all-knowing spirits of ancient Rome. I ask if I’ll ever win the lottery. The rods drift lazily away from each other, a sure sign that it’s not meant to be. Other questions from our funny little group include:

Will I ever get a girlfriend?

(Yes!)

Should I actually be with Brandon?

(Yes!)

(Wait, no!)

(Wait, yes!)

(WE’RE STILL DYING TO KNOW THE BACKSTORY ON WHOEVER THIS BRANDON KID IS!)

Liza asks her question silently. Are you here with us now, Mom? The rods cross, and cross quickly, crossing so far over each other, screaming YES YES OF COURSE BABY. Of course I am.

I don’t think I believe in divining rods. But I believe in Irene, and you couldn’t tell me that Mom didn’t move all heaven and earth just to cross those damn rods herself, for us.

Earlier I had held a candle in a church and asked Mom to show me she’s here. As I often do. I’ll reach out and hold her hand in dreams. I’ll ask her to visit me, again, again. And she will.

Margaret Wise Brown, “The Runaway Bunny”

Amal El-Mohtar, “This Is How You Lose The Time War”

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Last thing: The cooking class we signed up for last minute turns out to be a blast because for the price, we were going to make it a blast if it killed us.

We ate our fresh noodles with Susanne and Jasmine, a traveling mom-and-daughter duo with whom we clicked instantly. Many laughs had, wisdoms shared, a few tears shed. I observed them and missed the mom with whom I can’t travel anymore. And Susanne was sad she doesn’t have with her own sister what me and Liza have. So I think our only option is to be grateful for everything and everyone we do have while we have them.

Ah, right. As for the food:

Pasta: Salt. Scramble. Open. Fold. Press. Flour. Roll. Flour. Roll. Cut. Boil. Sauce.

Tiramisu: Crack. Separate. Whip. Whip. Sweeten. Dip. Layer. Chill.

Got it? Simple enough.

I can’t wait to come home and cook again. I hope you’ll let me come over and serve you a piece of Rome.

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Now, I come to you from Positano on the Amalfi coast. I’m sitting on the terrace looking out on the mountain, about to dig into a pain au chocolat.

Hm…Ah...I know what this is!

-Amanda.