i don't want to go to sleep.

i'll make a mark on all of these pages.

a mug of coffee, a new pen, and a maharaj, please.

a wide-eyed girl with a big green suitcase and camera on her wrist jumped on a plane that took her over the top of the globe and to a foreign, ancient land named rome, italy.





she traveled in a small pack of baby art historians. the leader of the pack of baby art historians is a real life art historian named dr. k.

dr k was a wonderful woman with many talents including picking spouses, making the political history of ancient rome reviting and relevant, and packing everything needed for a month in a single normal-sized backpack.

they woke up early in the mornings to jump on the bus toward wherever dr. k said they needed to go. they saw an incredible number of incredible basillicas, they saw more sculpture than anyone would ever need to see ever, studied frescoes and mosaics, ducked through catacombs, and stood on every one of the seven roman hills.

some days they followed a beautiful roman through the ruins. when she spoke it was clear that she was completely enchanted by her city. she made sweet jokes and began every other sentence with, 'in reality...'



the girl with the big green suitcase made some dear friends in the foreign, ancient land named rome. they jumped quickly into her heart and are there to stay for a long long time.



together they wandered the streets of rome and conquered it's public transit system.



in the afternoons she enjoyed bench sitting and people watching.


and pigeon watching.



she floated in the mediterranean and watched sailboats far away.



they rode bikes through gardens and parks. they zipped around villas, museums, and street performers. the weather was right and they felt so very alive.



she rode italian trains toward places that she had only seen in art history books. (they're real.)



roman thunderstorms would slow the city down for hours at a time. she loved the shaking thunder, swirly sky, and cool air.




she loved the way the city looked from the top of the spanish steps.



she lived in this not-foreign-anymore land named rome for a month before it was time to fly backwards over the top of the globe and back to the place where people spoke her language.

she loves rome.



she also loves typing in third person.

Rome looks like this.
Questionable musicians are on every block begging for eye contact and a euro. A tone deaf fiddler plays on the corner on the way to the grocery store. He plays and plays, all day he plays and I try not to wince at the sharp notes when we walk by. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. There’s a woman at the bus station who must be utterly convinced that in a past life she was beautiful opera singer. After passing her on the street, we exchange confused, sour looks and mutter, ‘bless her heart.’

The city lights up at night in gold and orange with a dark blue backdrop. The river mirrors the strange castle that sits on its edge. The white tents that follow the river are filled with embroidered bags, straw fedoras, white linen shirts, and memorabilia covered in pieces of the Sistene chapel. When the city turns gold, orange, and blue, the girls trade their sandals for heels and jump onto the backs of vespas and wrap their arms around men in dark blue jeans and silver helmets. I don’t know where they go but they all look they’re playing a well rehearsed role in a beautiful movie. This can’t be real. I hang out the window captivated by their rhythm and grace.

(Cassie – none of the windows have screens here. Not one.)

Mint green trams buzz around the city picking up and dropping off people after every turned corner. I've grown used to standing up on trains, trams, and buses, though I don't look nearly as cool as the locals. They wrap an arm around a pole and continue reading their newspaper or clicking on their cell phone, I, on the other hand, have to channel every bit of energy into not falling into the someones lap.
(and whoever chose to color the Roman trams mint green should win a prize.)