Last night I made focaccia with olives, onions, and oregano, and as luck would have it, Agusto, Franco and Gianni came by one by one, and all of them had a piece of hot focaccia and a glass of wine. Lynn had found some sangria at the store and it was a big hit. Agusto was beside himself that I was the one who made it, and not Lynn. --not considered one of the "manly arts" around these parts. They all left more or less together, and Lynn and I were alone to watch the moonrise over Castellaro and the sea beyond.