Fruit of our Labors

May 1st was spent grilling seafood with new friends under a very cooperative blue sky. Our host, Fabio, told us that summers can be unbearably hot here in Rome. “The sky is so blue, and the sun beats down so hard. I prefer the humidity in Manila.” Thing is, high temperatures don’t faze me. Two years in Qatar with temps ranging from 45-50 degrees at its peak makes European summers seem mild in comparison.

Our gracious hosts live next to the Fiumicino airport, so Julien held our kid in his arms and they had a time looking up at the sky and watching the planes fly overhead. The little monster was unmoved by the noise; after the initial shock of all the roaring, she’d raise her arms and wave them at the plane; she probably wanted to take it in her hands and chew on it.

Today is Sunday, and it’s been rainy, cloudy and windy all day long. It’s still warm enough to leave the windows open, as is the case now. I can hear the cars from the highway, the raindrops on the terrace, and the neighbor’s TV through the wall. I can smell our clean laundry and freshly-cut grass under the rain. I feel the laziness of a Sunday taking over, I feel summer arriving, I feel warmer just thinking about it. I know that new adventures are afoot, silently shaping up in the background, lurking behind weeks and months, waiting to pounce.

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You Are There

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