Cheers,
Steve

Two months pass, and the “pastoral visitation” is upon us. I go into meal-planning mode: Will they be here for lunch, late lunch, tea, dinner? Do they have special dietary needs? Does she go to restaurants? I order a ricotta, egg, and tomato quiche from Vivoli and cookies. What do they drink? What do they eat for breakfast? Last-minute check of their accommodations: I fluff pillows and put a vase of fresh flowers, bottled water and glasses, chocolates, and fresh towels in their rooms. I make a trip to San Lorenzo market to buy pecorino cheese, fruit, crackers, salami. I think we are ready but truly have no idea what to expect. William hopes she will like his newest work, which includes some paintings from our recent trip to China.

We meet David, the driver, in Piazza della Republica at 2:45 p.m The visitors are arriving at the train station at 3:24 p.m. We are all ready now, and very excited. Ten minutes late, the sleek train pulls in. We know what Sister Wendy looks like, and we know they have a portable wheelchair. I see them first, behind a pillar.

“Hi,” I say. “You’re an easy group to spot.” She takes my hand, kisses me and smiles her signature toothy smile. I like Father Rod and Father Steve immediately. I can sense their goodness and genuine fondness for this woman they are looking after. “Oh, yes,” she says, still holding my hand, “you can’t miss us—two handsome men and a woman in black.” Merry chortle. “I don’t really need the wheelchair,” she adds.

We arrive at the waiting van, and the two priests pull her up from the chair. “It’s a miracle!” she declares. “I can walk!” I pick up her small travel case and remark on how heavy it is. “Oh, it’s just Sister’s cosmetics and jewelry,” says Father Rod. They’re funny. We like funny. How often do you meet someone and immediately they feel like family? (OK, good family.)

My husband has admonished me to not pull out my camera immediately and start snapping photos. No problem. Father Rod beats me to it and starts shooting photos with his Casio digital the moment he is off the train. Rod is 58, Steve is 59, and Sister Wendy describes herself as a “very old 76 with some health problems.” She has disk problems in her neck, causing limited mobility, and her heart is weak.

We pile into the van and ask if they prefer to go to our apartment and settle in or go directly to Bill’s studio. “Oh, to the studio,” says Sister Wendy. “Definitely the studio first.” The streets in Florence are impossibly narrow and one-way, but at last we arrive. The elevator only holds two, so she and Bill get into the lift and the two priests and I climb the five flights of stairs.

My husband paints a minimum of five days a week in his studio, which is located on the Ponte Vecchio—the oldest bridge in Florence, built in 1345, and the only one in the city that escaped being blown up in World War ll. Now it’s lined on both sides with jewelry shops. It’s located in the heart of Florence, and his studio has a magnificent view of the Duomo.

Bill opens the door and puts the light on. His huge (six-by-seven-foot) canvas of the Great Wall of China dominates the room. “I love it,” Sister Wendy pronounces. “It’s extraordinary.”

Bill and Sister Wendy are drawn to each other in a magical way—and, in fact, they share the same birthday: Feb. 25. My husband tells her it was also his father’s birthday.

“We have an eighth-century English saint named for Feb. 25,” she says. “She’s the patron saint of ulcers and rabies. I was hoping for something a little more romantic, but at least we have a patron saint. And if a mad dog bites you, you’re all set.”

We all crack up. From her sharp mind, charm and keen wit, we have no trouble believing that Sister Wendy had two Irish grandmothers. But even more palpable, an aura of goodness and love surrounds her. I find her more spiritual than religious.

The diminutive nun strolls around the small studio holding Bill’s hand and telling him how much she loves all the work—particularly his golf paintings. “The few times I’ve seen TV, I watch sports. I don’t like tennis, because I don’t like confrontation,” she says. “I like to watch golf and snooker. I love to watch Ernie Els; he’s so graceful.”