Dear friends (and curious strangers),

Welcome to the very first edition of “Grandma Moved to Italy!”

I’m writing this from my kitchen table in a small village in the Abruzzo region of Italy, nestled in the heart of the beautiful Majella National Park.

If you had told me a few years ago that I’d be writing this from a small Italian town instead of my kitchen back in the States, I would have smiled politely and asked what you were drinking.

And yet… here we are.

The question I get more than any other — from Americans, Italians, confused relatives, and strangers in line at the grocery store — is always the same:

“Why Italy?”

The Italians usually ask it with raised eyebrows and genuine concern.

Why would you leave America to come here?

From their point of view, they see the problems. Paperwork that requires standing in line at three different offices, tax stamps, and hours of waiting. Low wages. Slow internet. Trains that sometimes arrive when they feel like it. Endless bureaucracy. The complaining. So much complaining.

They honestly think we’re a little crazy…and maybe we are.

But here’s the thing: when you grow up surrounded by something truly beautiful, you can forget just how beautiful it really is.

Italians live inside a postcard.

They walk past ancient stone walls on their way to work. They complain about traffic while driving through hills and mountains that painters would give anything to capture. They eat meals that tourists fly across oceans for — simple, traditional, delicious.

Simple.

That word comes up a lot here. And I’ve learned that “simple” in Italy does not mean boring or lacking. It means honest, fresh, and real. Tomatoes that taste like tomatoes. Bread that doesn’t need a label. Olive oil so fresh nothing compares to it.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

So… why Italy?

Part of the answer is practical. Our kids were grown, married, and living lives of their own. We were newly retired and ready for a big, new adventure — abroad.

The other part is harder to explain.

We first came here in 2019 to explore. After that trip, Italy kept calling us back. We were homesick for a country that was not ours.

Don’t get me wrong…America is wonderful. It will always be home. But my life there had begun to feel rushed and repetitive, measured by schedules and to-do lists. Every day seemed to move at full speed, with a sense of urgency attached to everything I did. I found myself longing to slow down — to explore new places, meet new people, and fill my days with things that mattered.

In Italy, life moves at a different rhythm.

Here, people still stop.

They stop to visit with a neighbor.

They stop for coffee.

They stop their cars in the middle of the road to chat with cars coming from the other direction.

Waiting is a normal part of life here, too.

The cashier chats with the customer in front of you without a care in the world how long the line gets. The plumber arrives days late and acts genuinely surprised that you noticed. Buying a stamp at the post office can take an hour, because Italian post offices do far more than just mail packages and letters.

At first, this drove me absolutely crazy.

And slowly, very slowly…things began to change.

Life stopped feeling like a race. My breathing slowed. I learned patience. I could take my time, and nobody cared.

I started noticing things.

How church bells have different meanings.

How morning and evening strolls are part of daily life.

How everyone greets you when you enter a store and wishes you well when you leave.

How old men gather in the evenings to play cards while arguing about their favorite soccer teams.

And the people. Oh, the people.

Kind. Gentle. Patient with my terrible Italian. Generous with directions, advice, opinions, food — and hugs. Lots of hugs.

Of course, it’s not all romance and sunshine.

Italian bureaucracy deserves its own newsletter series.

There are days when I miss our fast and efficient post office, a fountain coke, or stores that stay open past lunchtime. Days when I would gladly trade a Renaissance museum for a shopping excursion to Target or Costco.

And yes, sometimes I wonder if I really am crazy — and why I’m here.

But then…

I’ll step out onto our back terrace and be greeted by views that still take my breath away.

Or a neighbor will leave a bag of homegrown tomatoes, a bottle of homemade wine, or fresh olive oil on our doorstep.

Or the fact that I can jump on a train or a bus and explore castles, churches, museums, or Roman ruins and be home by dinner.

And I’ll think…Oh, this is why.

Italy reminds me how to live simply — and how to enjoy life to the fullest. It’s a feeling that penetrates your heart and soul, and just feels right.

So that’s the beginning of the answer.

Thank you for being here at the very start of this newsletter adventure. Join me next time when I tell you about my favorite small Italian winery.

Until next time —

With love from Italy,

Jamie

I usually write every other week…and sometimes more when there’s a good story to tell.