Yesterday, we helped Matt & Angie move out of their apartment at Piazza Malatesta, #25 and into a storage garage until their return next year. Up until yesterday, there had been fleeting moments of emotion or nostalgia at the thought of their leaving. After all, we've had going on a year to get used to the idea. Yesterday though, there was a defining moment for me. Not defining in the life-changing sense, but defining as in definite; the specific moment in which the reality hit me.
I spent most of my time working in the kitchen, dismantling cabinets and appliances and this moment happened early on. You see, the Crosser's kitchen, like the large majority of Italian kitchens is small, and theirs is packed full of memories. Who knows how many times we've been over for meals or snacks or coffee or just come into the kitchen for a drink or a bit of conversation? I surely couldn't count them. But nearly every time I would come in, I would inevitably reach for a cup which meant I would open one of the cupboard doors and every time, I would forget that the light hanging from the middle of the kitchen ceiling hung just a centimeter too low and that the door would just ding it, sending it swinging. This action was almost immediatley followed by a grimace and then a quick glance up to make sure the lamp was OK.
Well, yesterday, as I opened THE cupboard door to remove some screws and take it down, it happened. I 'dinged' the glass lamp, but instead of wincing, I just closed my eyes and a melancholy smile crossed my face as I realized this was the last time it would ever happen.