Rain, rain, go away; Come again another day; Lemon and Lime want to play. It’s raining, it’s pouring; The old man is snoring. Bumped his head And he went to bed And he couldn’t get up in the morning.
Moi, The Professor and The Pug (on loan) make our way back to Green Acres, on scooter. I was fashionably dressed in a Tucano Urbano rain coverall, reminding me of the troglodytes (is this right?) in the film Delicatessen. The Pug was angry and I was soaked. When we arrived at home, we were immediately greeted by the pitter patter of little feet.
I am not yet at the stage in my life where I am pining to have a child. But I admit, I kind of like the idea. Not necessarily Madonna and Child, but a modified version of my Prodigal Aunt role perfected over the years. Kids and moi is an easy equation. I like children, especially those who can talk. They like me. I like playing with them (the 21st century jungle gym is far better than the 1970s crusty counterpart) and I like their gifts, especially the books.
Last year, while dancing around Villa Borghese, I discovered Casina di Raffaello and its bookstore which contains a wide variety of amazingly international writers and illustrators, something I missed from Los Angeles. This past summer, I played on its new outdoor wooden park, riding on the wooden sheep and playing house in the mini-houses. And last month, a Harry Potter-themed show opened all about story telling and illustration.
The Casina alsohas a laboratorio (based on reservations) in the winter and will be hosting a camp-like program this summer.
I just like the books. And the sheep.
9 am to 7 pm