Date: November 24
Location: Castelmuzio
Weather: Rainy in the 50’s
My most powerful night of sleep yet was abruptly interrupted – not by birds, not by an espresso machine sputtering to life, but by the unmistakable roar of a jackhammer directly outside my bedroom window. Say what?! How is this even possible?
Then the puzzle pieces clicked. Carlotta and Marta had mentioned that two charming guys from England had purchased a 10,000-square-foot ancient palazzo and were renovating it. How lovely! Except… their palazzo is literally across the narrow walkway from my bedroom. I checked their Instagram to be sure. There they were, receiving endless applause: “Amazing!” “So exciting!” I wanted to comment, “Yes, unless you happen to be staying in the villa RIGHT ACROSS THE WAY during indoor Roman bath house demo week.”
I sent Isabella a voice message explaining the situation, then – still in my pajamas – wandered over to peer through any hole in the construction site to see what catastrophe was unfolding. Inside looked like a hot rock mess. And sure enough, they were jackhammering out space for a jacuzzi. This is not a project that will wrap up anytime soon. Certainly not this week.
The next phase involved hurling enormous boulders into the back of a tiny metal truck. Also conveniently located… directly under my window. I stepped onto my terrace overlooking the chaos. The workers looked up; we exchanged a series of gestures—no common language, but the universal language of “please stop.” They shrugged and essentially conveyed, “Only one hour.” Sure. One hour of jackhammering and boulder tossing – what a soothing addition to my morning routine.
If only there were an Italian Nonna nearby who could lean out her ancient window and shout them into submission. But alas, none appeared.
Isabella responded quickly, saying she had no idea this work would be happening and had already called the builders. They promised to use “small tools” for the rest of the day. I asked if they could at least wait until 10 a.m. to begin – just enough time to salvage a sliver of peace.
Ah, Italy. Forever unpredictable. Forever tilting you.
Just then, Bruce texted from downstairs: “Good morning. We have fresh pastries delivered.” I walked down to find two baskets of stunning lemon croissants – golden, fragrant, and instantly restorative. My peace returned the moment I carried a basket upstairs to Carla to enjoy with our coffee.
Ah, Italy. Forever restoring you, too.
It was forecasted to rain all day. Bruce and his family to Montepulciano to see the Christmas Markets. Carla and I chose the opposite kind of day: staying at the villa, listening to rain – and jackhammering – and catching up on life. I needed to update my blog, and she needed to tackle tasks back home: ordering ladders for her new house, planning Christmas dinners, tackling her daughter’s December birthday. This season is chaotic enough; staying slightly caught up keeps the reentry from being overwhelming.
Isabella invited me for a coffee and catch-up at La Moscadella, so Carla and I walked down around 3 p.m. We waited in the grand room while one of the staff brought coffee and water on a tray. We laughed – it felt like waiting for an audience with the Queen of Tuscany.
But when Isabella came down the stairs, we greeted each other like old friends. Every time I return to this part of Italy, I realize I’m drawn back just as much for the people I’ve grown to love as for the places themselves. I can be perfectly content writing all day and then spending 90 minutes with Isabella, soaking in her wisdom.
She talked about life, change, and the evolution of her business. How everything shifts, and the only way to move through it gracefully is to accept what comes. I’ve often thought one could write a book of Isabella’isms – she distills complex emotions into simple, beautiful truths. I always leave her company feeling like my spirit has been watered and is ready to bloom.
We’re the same age, in the same season of life – thinking not about building careers but about how to use the next decade meaningfully. What we offer now is different from what we offered in our youth.
Then she suggested I consider buying a small place in Castelmuzio.
I laughed, “Didn’t you once tell me not to do that?”
She smiled. “The world has changed. And you could rent it when you’re not here. It could be a good little investment.”
I told her to keep an eye out. It feels far-fetched, but if my financial advisor said, “Yes, it’s a tax break,” I’d be all in.
Our visit flew by. She let us know she would personally be teaching our pici-making class on Tuesday night. Her son, Niccolò, would handle the big family group with all the children, and we’d have a private lesson with her. Such a treat – she rarely teaches these days, choosing instead to focus on supporting her staff so they can offer the best guest experience. She participates only when she feels it truly matters.
Carla and I left briefly to catch the Coop Market in its small window of reopening – 10 to 1 and then 5:30 to 7:30. We needed eggs, and Carla wanted snacks and bottled water. I assured her the tap water here is pure, but I remember my first visits – it takes time to trust. We searched for refrigerated eggs until I finally asked… and discovered them sitting on an unrefrigerated shelf. Eggs are simply fresher here.
After the market we headed back for the wine tasting and wine pairing dinner. The room was set beautifully. Soon we were learning about the region’s wine history dating back to the Etruscans, and about how Italians never drink wine without food. Even the shape of the bottle is meant to suggest community. We compared four reds before and after food pairing – the transformation was remarkable. A wine that felt too acidic on its own became cleansing and balanced with the right dish.
Dinner followed upstairs in our private room, with three robust Brunello blends paired perfectly to each course. Everything was delicious. Dessert arrived with a little glass of Vin Santo – a sweet, gift-like finale. I sat next to Lacrissa and loved having time with her outside of work. Honestly, all work retreats should be in Tuscany; the world would run smoother.
Back at the villa, I checked my messages. My cousin had sent a photo of little Ariana Sedona Della Fino (Ari). My eyes welled instantly. Was this my first twinge of homesickness? I FaceTimed them, watching Ari’s tail wag and her go get me a gift when she heard my voice. My heart ached to hold her, but I was grateful she was happy and well cared for.
Next, I FaceTimed my parents. They recently moved to Paso Robles, and I’ve been checking on them daily. At 89 and 91, the roles have reversed – I now worry more about them than they do about me.
Finally, Amy and Adela had sent a voice message, so I called back. They were at a restaurant, and Adela was eating pizza, grinning ear to ear – trying to ask me about Italy and say ‘Ciao Bella.’
Was it the Brunello buzz fueling my call-everyone spree? Perhaps. But seeing all those familiar faces reminded me of the sweetness waiting for me at home in less than a week.
For now, though, it was time to drift to sleep… unsure whether the workers across the way truly understood what “small tools” meant come morning.