My Home In Rome

OK, it’s not really MY home. But it’s always assumed when I come to Rome that I stay at the home of Marco, my gay husband. That way, everyone knows where to find me.

Before I give you the 25-cent tour, let me tell you a bit about Marco. He is from Bologna, and he was the first person I ever met in Rome, back in 2001. He ran the Internet place I worked out of when I was a moofer for a NY ad agency. He is kind, patient and generous. He cooks masterpieces in his tinsy kitchen. He likes collecting little things that have good design – a package of colored pencils, a clock, an ashtray. He loves his mom. He destroys me in Burraco, our favorite card game. He reminds me when it’s time for us to watch Amici and X-Factor, our favorite shows. And he lets me watch Will & Grace in English.

Here’s his little nest, where I come for cacio e pepe, hugs and tranquility.

The entrance. That wall is an aquaduct. I know.

The view looking up from his front door.

Hot peppers for cooking are in the mud room.

The living room. Marco is always on the long part of the sofa, and I am on the regular part. When we play cards, I am on the sofa and he slides the ottoman over.

He makes espresso in the morning, and then leaves me some for my latte macchiato.

His terrace, which is where we eat in the summer.

The view from the terrace. Leo and Vincenzo live off to the right; this part is tended to by their neighbors. There are wild roses, cacti, apricot trees, olive trees, orange trees and about a hundred other random things growing there. It’s guarded by two dogs that bark a lot, but shut up when we slam open the shutters and glare at them.

Oops!  I almost forgot – here’s Marco!


6 thoughts on “My Home In Rome

  1. Once again, your photos make me miss Italy all the more and I wish I was sitting at the table having a glass of wine right this very second.

    A Roman aquaduct for a WALL? Come on!! And I love the picture of Campbells’ Potato Soup on Marco’s wall.

    You’re a lucky, lucky dame.

  2. I suppose the closest thing I have is when someone is wandering around the hills here and excitedly tell me they found an arrowhead, or saw some deer, or ask me what those big round holes in the ground are.

    I yawn and say, “Oh, yeah, the place is riddled with arrowheads, the Indians left ’em all over the place,” or “Those damn deer! They’re the reason I can’t grow tomatoes,” or “Those are the cellars of the houses the Chinese laborers had back when this area was being settled during the Gold Rush.”

    Still, it doesn’t have the same impact.

  3. Anita,

    Yeah, but that stuff is cool to people who aren’t used to finding it. Like, the other night we were watching something and they found a skeleton in a construction site in NYC, and Marco was like, NO WAY and I told him that happens all the time, esp. with Indian burial grounds. He was impressed. Meanwhile, he has a FREAKING AQUADUCT outside his door. Go figure.

  4. Looks fantastic. Wandering the world can lead you to the most fantastic places I’m an American expat city boy landed on 20 acres and an olive grove in New Zealand. I love it here.

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