In our little town in Connecticut, “The Last Post” is a shelter for stray cats. And stray cats is what we feel like right about now, on day 158 of this long, long journey around a good part of the globe. Herewith, some highlights from our time in Rome.

I’ve been putting in an 8-to-10 hour day in the studio lately, working on a series of portraits of the fellows here. They begin with photos Fiona takes on my iPhone — the expressions of the subjects, I have found, are entirely different when being photographed by a child — and then I rework them in Brushes. Once I’ve examined every millimeter and eliminated every pixel, I print them out and paint them for real: the early ones were in gouache on paper, but I’m gradually moving to oil on linen, which I much prefer.

An example of the method that is my madnesss after the jump.

When she’s not analyzing exotic candy, Fiona spends a good bit of time in the Academy kitchen, where the amazing Mona Talbott allows kids on Saturday mornings. During the week, while not technically “in” the kitchen, Fiona tends to do quite a bit of her Italian homework sitting at the Academy bar (where Gabriele, the bartender, makes a mean sprumante) and where, more often than not, she can be found shelling peas or fava beans.

When in Rome, you do all sorts of things you might not do at home — like, say, taking a break from shelling fava beans to go see a 1,700-year-old sarcophagus.

There once was a girl named Fiona.
Who went ’round the world, then to Roma!
Where she lived by the motto
“You MUST have gelato —
Or leave Rome right now for Daytona!”

Here’s today’s quiz: Which of these is not like the others?

Five years ago, we rented an apartment in Rome, in the Jewish Ghetto, and spent a few weeks here with our children. This afternoon we retraced our steps to the Piazza Mattei, and restaged the same photo we took back wheben everyone was, well, shorter.

Bill and I gave our official lecture last night, at the magnificent Villa Aurelia, which might just be the most enchanting place I’ve ever been. The gardens are vast and well-tended, with great wafts of wisteria giving way to more manicured paths and arbors and hedges. The villa itself is a vision: pale yellow and regal and elegant, with a terrace offering perhaps one of the most beautiful view of the city.

We went to an old chocolate factory yesterday to celebrate Fiona’s 12th birthday, which is actually today. The delectations were amazing, and the decor equally so: we were particularly taken with the antique candy molds, hung everywhere, and encompassing an entire social history of their own. (The pistol mold was our favorite, though sadly, no chocolate pistols were for sale during our visit.)

Fiona’s birthday falls on Easter Sunday this year, which may have something to do with the miracle that happened while we were strolling through the city yesterday.

While walking through the piazza by the Vatican, we squirmed our way through what could only be the entourage of the man himself: and just like that, there he was, surrounded by bodyguards and photographers and pilgrims and well-wishers, all hoping for a chance to be blessed by the Pope. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a photographer plucks Fiona from the crowd and asks her to come forward!

Yesterday, after walking miles through the markets at Porta Portese, we wandered back through Trastevere and found a restaurant still serving lunch. The special of the day — pollo al forno (or roast chicken) — was promoted on a sign on a birdcage, making us wonder: was this the daily special’s former home?