We went to Europe for the first time two summers ago and I still smile thinking of it. We arrived on a 100-degree day. After staying up all night on the overnight flight, far too excited to sleep, and then finding out our hotel had no water and moving our small suitcases to another hotel, we hopped on one of those double decker buses and rode all over Rome. We wanted to take it in before we’d set out all over on foot. Everywhere there were marvels, art and more art, markets, sidewalk cafes where life just stopped as the city whirred by, fashionable, beautiful people riding on scooters, zipping in and out of traffic; men in suits, walking through a park and stopping to stand at a kiosk for an espresso.

I carried a tiny book of Italian words and phrases. I love falling into conversations with people everywhere and there even more so. I am certain, though, that perhaps seven of my hundreds of words were understood by the lovely people of Rome. We took a train that passed through fields of sunflowers on our way to Florence and spent our days in markets, churches, museums, walking past the Arno River and mostly along the cobblestone streets, each piazza full of sculptures and vibrant people and fragrant foods and cappuccino.

But the very best part of the trip came when we traveled on three different trains to get to Ostra and Senigallia to see my husband’s family.

His cousin Laura is the bridge across waters and between generations. She lives on the land where my husband’s grandmother grew up and where her parents, grandmother and sister live. She lives with her husband and children in the house next door. Behind them are fields of sunflowers that stretch for acres. She works at a nursery and her mother tends a sprawling garden and chickens.

Laura grew up on stories of America, her father’s aunt and uncle had left the family farm when they were very young and came here. She had to see it and soon enough, she did. She loves the United States fully, with utter and absolute enthusiasm. She loves it so much that her father had a sculptor friend of theirs sculpt the Statue of Liberty. Just outside her front door stands a seven-foot tall stone sculpture of Lady Liberty.

Laura is a modern gal who has traveled everywhere but her roots run so very deep. She adores her family and every last branch of it that extends outward. She is the keeper of the connections. She and her family showed us the seaside and the hills, the country road that led to my husband's grandmother's first schoolhouse. She arranged a party for us and crowds of people gathered at their family farm, around long tables with sunflowers in jars at the center. There was endless food and so many of my husband’s – our - cousins and aunts and uncles to meet and know and love.

And now the keeper of connections is my friend and pen/email pal. I send her photos of her beloved New York whenever we are in the city. Though her English is fantastic, she writes in Italian, she says,  so mine will get better. I pull out that tiny phrasebook and try not to resort to Google translate. She writes often to hear tales from this side of the ocean and to tell us the news of her family and home. If Connecticut is in the news, she writes to be sure all is well.

Last Christmas she sent Italian honey and olive oil. This Christmas I sent little ornaments for their tree and she responded in this way today: Vi mandiamo tanti, tanti, tanti baci!!!!!!!!!!!Love Laura and Your Family in Italy GRAZIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:))))))))))) Being an exclamation point gal myself, I love her all the more for every last one.

When someone asks, so what did you bring back from Italy? I think about the pretty watercolor painting and a good friend, so many miles away.