I do not believe that I am moving to Italy. No really. Not in my heart.

I am, at the moment, very much here -- thinking hard about the house, my house, because it has been requiring so much attention lately. And the car. And the utility bill. And the rest of the long list of things that must be done in the next five days. Italy has not seemed real for many weeks now. Or, if it has, only fleetingly, in waves.

We made a reservation at a hotel in Pietrasanta for our first few days in country, before the Rustic Farmhouse With Trusted Gardener is ready for us. The online picture of its lobby puts me in mind not of Italy, but of our very own kitchen floor here at our house, whose checkerboard tiles we installed ourselves one winter, the boys and Jonathan and I.

But then Jonathan got an email from Lorenzo at the hotel asking about our expected arrival time and for one minute, Italy seemed like it was really happening.

We were caught off-guard by the house inspectors, who surprised us by coming over without warning first thing early Wednesday morning. Despite our discomfiture at this, we were fortunate that the bed did happen to be made and that Jonathan was in fact wearing pants. This is not always the case.

We wait now to hear the report -- Jonathan nonchalantly, me with loathing in my heart for our judges. If they can't see that the beauty of the house makes all the tiny quirks (solid roofs are vastly overrated, in my opinion, and really just separate us from nature and our animal kin in a way that is surely detrimental to our very souls) that come with living in such a unique (experience the wilderness!) place worth it, then they do not deserve this house (the elements are our friends -- welcome them with open arms!)

Driving down Union Boulevard last week, we were caught in a sudden deluge when the heavens opened up and it seemed like the sky itself was, at long last, as predicted, falling. Any rain at all is an event around here and we have been known to go out and stand on our porch to stare open-mouthed at a light drizzle, but this was really an astounding downpour.

"You know," Jonathan said to me while bravely navigating between the sudden-onset lagoons that had appeared in the road, "in Italy, we will have to get used to rain." And for just one minute, Italy was real.