Even stitch faces occasionally leave NYC, and after a particularly long, hot, NYC summer, Claudia feels a change of scene would do her good. Here she is in Rome, where, she does believe, the sunlight glows with a certain burnished, aged quality, and the cloud formations are baroque.

Claudia heads out exploring early in the morning, knowing that the most annoying tourists sleep late. She finds it difficult enough to navigate the ancient, uneven, narrow, abruptly-ending sidewalks without having to also dodge busloads of oblivious selfie-takers.

She is rewarded by a moment of near-solitude on the Spanish steps.

She hurls a penny at the Trevi fountain, in order to ensure her return.

Stuff in Rome is very old. Claudia imagines a stitch face sitting on this very spot by the Pantheon 2,000 years ago, give or take, made from a worn-out toga. You never know.

At the Piazza Navona, more fountains. At the southern end Claudia meets a kindly artist named Marcel Gorgone who is selling his paintings, which are exactly the right size for her living room wall, next to the window. He asks her to send him a photo of his painting once she has hung it, because he likes to keep track of the many different places in the world his paintings end up. She is pleased to discover that people in Rome are as nice to stitch faces as people in NYC.

Claudia has no fear of the Bocca della Verità. She hasn’t told a lie in her entire life.

What is up with all the stitch-face sized handbags? Claudia’s not much of a shopper, but how can she resist?

Back at her hotel, Claudia does a little sun-bathing and relaxing. She finds Rome stunning, in  both senses of the word: gorgeous, and also like being tased. In a word, exhausting.

An Italian woman Claudia met said she had been to NYC once and found it overwhelming. Claudia didn’t say anything, but inwardly she laughed. Compared to Rome, NYC is orderly, calm, and manageable.

Claudia loves Rome, but she’s ready to go home. The longer she stays in Rome, the more certain she is that she will be mowed down by a vehicle of some kind. Home: the place where you know how to cross the street.

Claudia is made from a piece of velvet that used to cover my mother’s piano. Her pants are made from a scrap from Elizabeth V. Her reversible suede jacket and boots are from scraps from Fab Scrap (fabscrap.org). Her cactus is made from an old sweater, the chairs are made from a detergent bottle, spools, a champagne box, kiddie rulers, and jewelry bits. The curtain is a top from Elizabeth V.