Season Finale

Ever since it hit me that this is our last year in Italy, I've gotten suddenly nostalgic. This is the last summer I have to put up with the smell of manure in nearby corn fields. The last summer of gelato. The last Fall of trick-or-treating in Villaggio. Last chance for road trips to places a lot of people only dream of visiting. I've been thinking about our special places here. The restaurant Aeolia, the first Italian restaurant we visited when we got here. The tiny little takeout pizzeria within walking distance of our old apartment.

And that apartment....that former home of ours will always hold a special place in my heart. Our first home in Italy. Jericho's first home ever. I'll never, ever forget the night we brought him home from the birthing center. Of course, no one ever forgets that occasion, but that memory will always be tied to that place, that tiny 2-bedroom home with paper-thin walls and the most spectacular view of the mountains from the kitchen window. I complained about it a lot, mostly because we had so much stuff that it couldn't contain us. It had no yard for my growing boy to play in, and it was forever away from Post. Endless mold and water damage. So when we moved, I was ecstatic. Now I wish I'd taken more pictures of it for later remembering. As happy as we are in our new place, I do miss the old one in a "first" sort of way. I hope that makes sense.

I drove by there today. My friend and I were on our way back from Villa Sceriman when I decided to take a turn down memory lane. I was curious to see if the apartment building was occupied yet, and to my surprise, it was. There was laundry hanging out on my old balcony. The balcony that Michael and I used to stand out on after Jericho had gone to bed, talking about our future, upcoming 2nd deployment and our next duty station. The pomegranate tree wasn't blooming yet. That's not til mid-summer. There was a new doghouse in the fenced-in grassy area where my friend Tami's dog Tex used to play. The name on the mailbox was an Italian one. Even Sophia, the little girl across the street who loved to play outside and was so very friendly to us, recognized me and ran to the gate, waving frantically and smiling.

Italy, I miss you already. And I'm not even gone yet.