Is This Home?

When Ken and I decided that we would move to bella Italia for a year--that we would not just dream but really do it--many people thought we were crazy, others applauded our choice and wished us well and still others envied our willingness to transplant and move to a country whose language we did not know, where we had no relatives and where life would be quite different.

We have now been here a little more than 4 months, have settled in and love it. Already there are discussions about how hard it will be to leave and what it will seem like to be back in the country of bigness, strip malls, fast food and processed foods. Will reentry be difficult? I think so.

We like the small villages here, punctuated by larger cities such as Florence and Siena-- cities that have existed for centuries and have so much to offer. Cities that seem to sing and hum with pride and self-assurance. San Francisco, Boston and New York are such places, too.

We love hopping on the SITA bus, and 40 minutes later finding ourselves strolling the streets and alleys of Florence, window shopping, quickly stepping into a museum, visiting with friends, appreciating the art and serenity in any one of a multitude of churches, eating--ah yes, eating, crossing the Arno and meandering through Santo Spirito, savoring the smells and vitality of the Mercato Centrale--and more, more, more. How envious we will be of our time here when we return to Stati Uniti.


We enjoy driving the country side, exploring white roads that lead to places without sign posts, to silent shrines,

hill top castles, monasteries and abbeys,


forgotten churches,


tumbled stone farmhouses, roaming sheep and delightful trattorias tucked away in small hamlets.

We wonder who lived in that stone house with its shutters hanging askew? What happened to them? Whose is it now? What would we find inside if we dared to go?



Is there a forgotten masterpiece in that little church?


Why does this hamlet exist so far from anyplace else? Our fertile minds fill with questions. So many mysteries. But it is fun and a world away from the life we left in San Diego. Time is so less the master here.

Sometimes we take off in the morning, not really knowing where we will end. We may go to a village an hour or so away and take time to visit the small Sacred Arte museum sure to be there. Or maybe we will stumble on a weekly market we didn't expect to find.

Some of these are quite large, covering many streets and selling a vast variety of items. Others are small with just a few vendors. But--no matter the size, each serves as a social gathering whether one buys or not.


Sometimes we find something but more often, after roaming and looking, we leave empty handed but never with the feeling that time has been squandered. We are a part of Italy and feel it as we participate.

Greve in Chianti has welcomed us. Store owners know us; restaurants save tables for us; butchers cut the meats we want; the local artist freely shares his life and views, his origins in Persia, not Iran; the little woman in the negozio di abbigliamento (clothing store) looks at me and knows exactly what size wool undershirt will be the perfect fit; Luca gives me the perfect haircut and Ken is quite comfortable with the other men of the village in the barbershop, catching up on local gossip--although, he doesn't understand a word of it. So different from the impersonal services at home.

We love where we live--it is the perfect place for us. Our landlords are gracious, fun and have become friends. Casey has a sister in Camilla. Our apartment has character, is comfortable and roomy (by Italian standards) and meets all our needs. We love coming back to it after a trip someplace else. Its location could not possibly be more lovely or beautiful--every day we drink in the views and countryside and enjoy the differences that seasons bring. It is home!!