Sabrina Lloyd

What do you see when you see us? What do you see when you see someone? We make a narrative. Create a life. Fill in lines to a story we write, from our perspective, from our vantage point, clothing the person, the persons in our garments, to fit our own story of how life works. Heard too many times in Rome: “Oh, is that your daughter? That your son? Are you one of those women who couldn’t get pregnant so you adopted and then you had a miracle pregnancy?” How can I answer? How

So many things, moments, snapshots I want to pack in my suitcase, burrow deep in my pockets, drill into memory, which seems to become a hazy mist the older I get, and try as I might reach for it, the present pushes me forward with such vehemence that any clinging behind only tends to sever me into pieces. Perhaps this is life with children. There is nothing but now, nothing but this minute, until the day collides hard with your pillow and you fall into something deeper than s

I keep thinking of Hilary Mantel, winner of the Booker Prize, twice. The New Yorker did a wonderful article on her in which she referenced an old belief that one must return to one’s own country within 10 years of leaving or risk never fitting in again (she lived abroad for 9 years before returning to England). We’ve been out five years now but I already feel that old adage wrapping me up in string. I feel a part of Rome; I am becoming etched in its stone. Perhaps it is in my

There are quite a few things that have surprised me here in Rome. Of course I come from a bias of NY Italians and the Sopranos, but I think the stereotypes throw a wide net. Here are some of my observations: I see more Romans drinking white wine, not red, even in the cold of winter. I wonder if this is partly because there is so much bad red wine here. I cannot tell you how many bottles I have had that have sat in the heat too long and turned. Most wine stores are not air-con

Once every four years I get to watch men and women run, swim, jump, fly. Once every four years, for two weeks, I am satiated, riveted. Sure, the winter games are on as well, but it’s the sweat and heat that brings me down. The States tried to take it from me, my once-every-four-years ice cream cone. In America all that matters is ratings. Which network wins which prize and how much money they can make from it. For one week I sat in the dungeon of NBC coverage while finishing

It was beautiful. I don’t believe in violence. I understand rage. Before it went bad: #photography #indignati #dayofrage #rome #indignation

Summer is here. Storms hang in corners; windows are now perpetually open, as mosquitoes rest on my pillow waiting for me to sleep so that they can have their feast. I thought we’d left bed nets behind in Uganda, but this past week we found ourselves hanging them above and around our bed in Rome, so that once again night holds us in webs. Construction is also in flower, and every corner and every window barrages the world around it with hammering and drilling, which pound and

Just a 45 minute drive from Rome, you can climb up into the sky. Below you are cherry trees, olive trees, and apple trees, that you can stop and pick from along the way. As we drove back to the city, smog and noise welcoming us at the gate, it took all we had to not turn around and go back. We live in cities for work, for opportunity, connection, but I am starting to think it’s not worth losing the stars. I asked my husband last night if the next stop can be right under them.

#italy #photography #rome

#photography #rome

#photography #rome

We’ve had a good deal of visitors here in Rome. At first, I enjoyed being a tour guide, but after my eighth trip to the Colosseum I started to feel like I’d rather pull my hair out than climb those steps again. But then something interesting happened. I learned that if you see something through someone else’s eyes, you will see it for the first time, every time. When I took my husband’s parents to the Pantheon recently (my favorite ruin), they both showed me something I had n

I am going to paint a picture for you. Imagine a small windowless room down a flight of stairs in a nondescript strip mall in the outskirts of Rome. Next door, to the right, is a pizza joint. To the left, a nail salon. In between these is an empty room that holds the flight of steps. Down this flight of stairs, in the windowless room, there are about 50 people all dressed in white getting ready to breathe. A shaman steps to the front of the room and tells everyone that the de

#photography #rome

This is a marocchino. It’s dark chocolate melted into a cup, then filled with lots of espresso, a little foamed milk, and topped off with more chocolate. The first time I had it I thought, “Oh. This must be what it’s like to have speed injected directly into your eyeball.” I’m not addicted at all. #food #rome

Yesterday, Rome filled and flooded with those who had come to see Pope John Paul II  beatified. Not wanting to fight the crowds at the Vatican, I went instead to the Circo Massimo, one of my favorite spots in Rome, where you stand in the shadow of the majestic Palantine ruins. Two large screens had been set up to watch the proceedings, the ground in front of them blanketed with pilgrims. It was a far cry from Rome’s birthday celebration just a little over a week ago in the sa

One day in Uganda I was picking up our daughter from a play date and wanted to take her picture with her friends. There were two little girls, one her age and the other a few years older, around 6. In the pictures, our girl and the friend her age are smiling and goofing and completely uninhibited, whereas the older girl stood ridged and uncomfortably self-aware. It was astounding to this new mother that yes, it all changes when self-consciousness sets in, when innocence is re

I was wondering today, as I drank my fourth cup of espresso and felt my heart pounding in my toes, how the Italians do it. Espresso, vino, molta pasta tutto giorno! And then I realized  the progression, the procession, that is a must to live the Italian way. Shunning pasta in favor of grilled salmon, I inadvertently stepped out of the line and thus stand struggling on the sidelines. For this is how, I think,  it must go: You wake and have an espresso (or 5) with your sweet cr

A Englishman friend of mine (Italian heritage) asked me how men behaved here, if chivalry was dead. I’d like to tell him a story: I ride the bus every day. I pick up my daughter from school and we make our way home. Usually, I have done some necessary food shopping. Often, I am coming from school myself. My hands are always full with multiple bags and a 33-pound daughter who climbs aboard me to climb aboard the bus. Almost always it’s a woman (probably a mother herself) who g

Today, the 17th day of April, Rome had an early birthday party. Romans came out in all fashions to celebrate. It was a chance to show the world who they really are: fierce proud mysterious scorned. It was a chance to be seen to be a part of something a chance to be beautiful and pretty. A chance to get ahead in the espresso line and a chance to wear fur in spring. Happy Birthday Rome and thank you. #photography #rome