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My mother is 96 and lives alone in her apartment in Rome.

For Halloween she was asked by a friend who works for a private TV station to appear on a serial playing a spiritualist involved in a noir. She accepted the role!

Mind you, she was so convincing that in the following days quite a number of people asked her for a séance – truly believing she has the gift and does it for a living….

Read more about Graziella

Photo a courtesy of Fickr.com

I love doing volunteer work in a jail in my neighborhood of Trastevere, Rome. It's a world completely apart and it's a rare privilege to know it.

The Chaplain that has worked in the same prison for more than 25 years is right when he says that inside those walls runs a stream of grief.

This is a prison where all sorts of criminals are taken waiting to appear in court, to be judged and sent to other jails all over Italy.

We listen to the most incredible stories. We phone families and lawyers, we build a friendly relationship with our "friends". Their dramas become ours and stay with us well after we leave those barred doors.

Sometimes, though, there's an episode that makes us smile and very sad at the same time. I remember when at Xmas time a prisoner was very sad because his kids didn't visit him. I asked why. The answer came quickly. "Because I killed their mother!".

Good food for thought. 

My apartment in Trastevere is heaven during the day. I can sit on my two terraces enjoying the views, reading or do some gardening.  

However, at night the scenario changes completely. The historical center is home of hordes of rowdy youngsters that get drunk and litter our most beautiful piazzas leaving behind a carpet of broken glass and trash. 

Today(June 26) the NYTimes has published an article with the headline "Rome welcomes tourism con brio, but non troppo". The journalist Peter Kiefer faithfully depicts what happens at night also publishing a picture of Piazza Trilussa, right downstairs from where I live.  

One morning after a wild & noisy night I am so angry to be awaken in the early hours
of the morning by fights that take place downstairs. So I throw out eggs very often now on to the wild people that don't seem to care about us residents. 

Many of my friends know this. Elvira, in particular, thinks it's a shame using fresh eggs as bullets and is so nice as to provide old ones that she carefully keeps aside for me. I appreciate that.

"NYTimes Photo"