Grandma Italia

A small Italian woman whose name I do not know sat near me on the train from La Spezia to Viareggio. We spoke the whole 45 minutes, trying to decipher eachothers' mumblings. But I know this woman, and I call her Grandma Italia because she is exactly like my real grandma.
From the way she holds herself to the look she gets when she decides it doesn't matter that I still don't understand what she is saying after the fifth repeat, she is Grandma to a T. Her eyes have a similar worn and wizened look; her nature strong and social but humble and gentle, too.
She reminds me that I need to call someone I miss a lot.