Moving to Italy: The Bonds Weaken

The flu that winter shook us hard, and as we recovered we began to question seriously our decision to stay in Italy. Every question loosened our bonds to Gabi, and nudged us back toward California. 

After the phone call to my sister in January and the unsuccessful chicken-business interview, everything we tried seemed fruitless. When we recovered from the flu, George continued to look for work, but most of the jobs were translation or sales positions that might keep him out of the country for months at a time—not acceptable for us. We had not traveled all that way to have him disappear from our daily lives. Since George had lived most of his life in the States, he had a fluent, working knowledge of Italian, but not an educated one. One or two of the interviewers hinted that, although his English was excellent, his written Italian wasn’t good enough for a translation position anyway. This may have been one reason why he was never actually offered a translation job. 

More and more our thoughts turned to America. In addition to the convenience of living in a town or city close to medical care, we realized how many more options we had in California than in Italy.

Most importantly, with his university degree we were confident that George could find work far more easily in America. As for me, without Italian fluency, without a car, and without connections, there was no way I could get a job in Italy to help us survive. I knew I could find work in California doing something, anything, to help us earn money to put us back on our feet. And my mother-in-law could baby-sit. (I was still not facing reality completely. At Gabi, Rina had been reluctant to watch the children even for a quick afternoon outing. I don’t know why I thought she’d baby-sit all day so I could work.) 

The children’s education was very important to us. If we spent so much effort to find the right preschool, I knew we would be even more concerned about the rest of their schooling. High school in Italy would mean a long bus ride to Casale each day, and college may not have been possible if our Italian income remained at subsistence level--which seemed to be the most we could hope for. In California, both George and I had been able to attend college, even though our parents were not rich. The opportunities for our children were even more important to us than the opportunities for George. The equations seemed simple: Italy—no university education; California—a chance at one. As the weeks progressed and we continued to add to the list all the conveniences and opportunities of California, the idea of moving back became more and more seductive.

NOTE: The story of our move to Italy starts with "Arrival" on the June 26, 2017 blog post.