These stories tend to focus on special individuals or couples who have something in particular to say, or represent something specific worth documenting. They certainly aren’t always big names, or popular figures, but can be quiet and unimposing personalities as well—with a story to tell.

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Forty-one years ago we sat in a Miami University dorm room, where Emerson played and first sang a song for me called “Catch the Wind” by Donovan. Where were you?

It’s fascinating to look back at significant events and influences in our lives—those that made a difference. Though there are many, it’s possible to whittle that list down to just a few that really changed our lives. Donovan’s presence was one of those few. (more…)

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Nobody seemed to know where it was. “È un ristorante famoso per Slow Food! It’s a restaurant famous for Slow Food” for cryin’ out loud! How could it possibly be so illusive?

Wandering in circles around Piazza del Parlamento, Parliament Square in Rome, we were already 15 minutes late for our lunch prenotazione, reservation. If it weren’t for the fact that we had actually talked to them on the phone, we would have sworn the long-time favorite restaurant didn’t really exist. After asking two different poliziotti, policemen, and a woman organizing displays along with the owner of a small bookstore, we finally spied a curious sign and arrow, opening into what appeared to be nothing more than a back alley. Aha! It was in fact the illusive Vicolo Rosini, so we ventured in. (more…)

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A large white envelope arrived in our mailbox yesterday. Our friend, Susan, sent Il Bollettino della Piccola Italia, The Little Italy Bulletin for us to check out and enjoy. We were expecting a flier or an announcement in the local newspaper, but no . . . instead we got the special supplement to The Daily Clintonian newspaper—a full 32-pages, recapping the events and festivities of the 45th annual celebrazione, celebration of the Italian heritage enjoyed and shared in that special mid-western town. (more…)

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Florence is the queen city of restaurants. There are literally hundreds of them, from quaint to elegant. From simple to gourmet. From traditional to nouvelle. Tourists pack the restaurants every night of the week, and all will gladly relive their favorites with you. But where can you find great traditional food at local prices? This is the real question. And with this question, the field narrows. (more…)

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Stefano arrived right on time.

Our favorite vivaio, gardener came walking up the steps toward the front door. But rather than watching where he was going, he was looking around at the plants that had grown up since he was last here. As Em walked out the door, Stefano looked up with a surprised grin. “Em-air-sone!” he enthusiastically called out, his Italian voice drawing out the sounds. This is Stefano’s characteristic greeting. I was only a few steps behind and he quickly rushed in for kisses on both cheeks, once again daring to say the hardest word for any Italian, my name. “Sheh-reel, sempre piu giovane! Cheryl, always younger!” (I like this man.) (more…)

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Lino finally went into pensione, retirement. He was the only barbiere, barber in the little hilltop town of Fiesole for over 50 years. That’s a lot of clipping, snipping and barber talk in the mirror. He gave the best haircut ever. After his heart attack, he rallied and made a comeback for another 2 years. But eventually, he just couldn’t do it anymore, as he was creeping up on 80 years old. It was his life. (more…)

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“Maybe we should collaborate! After Scott’s wonderful 10-day visit with us in Tuscany, that simple phrase about a collaboration appeared in an e-mail. Hmmm . . . our curiosity was piqued, so we tacked on a p.s. at the end of our response saying, “By the way, what is it you were thinking when you mentioned a ‘collaboration’?” A week later a message appeared in our mailbox, punctuated with an attachment, entitled Proposal. (more…)

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The crumbling stone walls needed a new cap and so the work began!

Alfonso asked us for a piece of the old tile to check the dimensions. We looked at each other with a shrug as Cheryl said, “il cotto vecchio non è qui, the old clay tile isn’t here.” Whoops! Since he was at a critical point in capping the wall, we jumped in the car and tore down the hill to Gionni’s salvage yard to pick one up. We hoped to get back in time before the cement set. Cheryl dialed the cell phone to tell Gionni that we would be there in 30 minutes while Em negotiated the twisting, narrow roads on the shortcut route. (more…)

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They mentioned that they might  “breeze in” one day on their way north. Sure enough, on a Sunday afternoon Joan and Erin arrived from Rome. We walked into the train station and there they were, as if we had been planning this rendezvous for years. Stowing their luggage, we made our way through the narrow streets, past the market at San Lorenzo, around the corner to the left, arriving at Trattoria Zà Zà for lunch. We took a table out front in the warm midday air and settled in for a couple of hours. (more…)