Caterina

Sonnet makes pancakes, beans, eggs and bacon which gets a suspicious look from the Italians : "whata isa this mix-toor of sweet an savoury?" Costantinos ask? "I no like so much." I have never considered Sunday Breakfast as anything other than the very best of America and England combined but, seeing our plates overflowing with yellows and browns covered in maple syrup I must have a new think about this. Meanwhile, Costantinos has a hard look at our backyard tree (recall an enormous branch cleaved leaving the balance potentially unstable) and concludes that, with the proper work, we can save our friend. He walks around the base and takes video notes with his Nokia. From there I receive tips on our phalaenopsis (roots must be exposed to sun+breathe water from air so mist-sprey); indoor potted plants (once inside, to protect from frost, cannot go out again as they become used to new climate); and general asthetic : which plants go best with others, colour schemes and blossoming patterns. I take furious notes - he is il direttore, after all. Sonnet drives everybody to the British Library while I stay home with Eitan who complains of stomach cramps; I give him a knowing wink (Eitan: "Really, dad, I do have stomach cramps").

Me: "Write a thank you letter to xx."

Eitan: "Is that an order?"

Me: "It's a strong suggestion."

Eitan: "Ok, I'm not doing it."

Me: "Then consider it an order."

Eitan, grumbling: "I knew it."

Me: "Rusty is a dog that hates a walk."

Eitan: "It's like a rabbit that won't eat a carrot."

Me: "How was the British Museum?"

Aneta: "Yes, it was Ok."

Me: "Did you see the Rosetta Stone?"

Aneta: "Yes, it was very nice."

Me: "And the Elgin Marbles?"

Aneta: "I don't know?"

Me: "Ancient statues, missing their heads."

Aneta: "Yes, but I found the Greecy stuff not so interesting."

Me: "Write another letter."

Eitan: "No."

Me: "You have a choice. I can suggest you write one more letter or I will order you to write two. Which do you want?"

Eitan: "One?"

Me: "I suggest you do it now."