Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.–Neale Donald Walsch

Is it comfortable to move from a tiny village in a rural American suburb to  city-life in a country where you don’t speak the language? No. No, it is not. But it is one of the best things I have ever done.

This is the true story of an average American mom who bids farewell to life as she knows it and moves to Rome.

Recent Posts

the one where it’s spring in italy

     and then they will have pickles. can life get any better? Not until you turn the corner and they also have non-Peroni beer. Best.Saturday.Night.Ever.     […]

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the one where I go to Ireland

You know how in mainstream media Ireland is always filled with people who are dancing jigs and having red hair and wearing nice sweaters? Ireland is for reals just […]

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The one where we celebrate Halloween in Italy

 Italian children dress in costume and go to celebrations during Carnevale in February, so Halloween isn’t really celebrated in Rome. I love Halloween and so this lack of Halloween stuff […]

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the one where qualified electricians willing to work in a timely fashion need not apply

Given the decidedly positive slant towards Italy that my blog has ended up taking, one would think all the pesky little annoyances that so plagued me about Italy […]

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the one where we go to naples

                                                         […]

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the one where we drove to Abruzzo

We drove to Abruzzo this weekend to hike to the Corno Grande, the highest peak in the Apennine Mountains. I had never been to that part of Italy […]

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Throwback Thursday Photos from May. Except it’s Sunday.

light through the pantheon   Not Old Navy bathing suits   Adorbs! VW wedding bus with honeymoon surfboards!   by the time I walked home, this matchbox car […]

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the one with the pictures

    random wall in siena. maybe it’s not random. maybe it’s very purposeful and an important work of art. i don’t really know. i just pretend i do. […]

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the one where I come back

 Just as I was sinking into the take-it-for-grantedness of central air and parking lots of my native land, I returned to my adopted home where we keep the […]

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The one where I return to the visa office

As the clock ticks forward, my anxiety and dread increases. No, no, not about my return to Rome —it’s all about my return to the Italian Consulate to […]

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