I’m sure I spelled the title of this post wrong. But, what do I know from Italy.
What a long, freaking day of many transitions. Work, meeting in city, detour through the new homestead, more work and then an improbable, far from the land of my roots dinner with those self-same roots.
Basically, in the nutshell, in our home town there were two houses of cousins. Of those two houses, I was the youngest, and she was the oldest. In Palo Alto, we just were. Cousins and all with different (entirely) paths in life leading to the same diner. I think our moms, the sisters, would have bee happy to see us breaking California bread.