So last year we thought about moving in summer, but the summer came and went, and what with honeymoons and scuba diving and starting a new job, it was put on the backburner for another year.
When summer rolled around again this year, we decided we'd look for a new place. After a bit of online searching, we came across one that seemed too good to be true. More spacious, more beautiful, a HUGE kitchen, outdoor clotheslines, and barely more than we were paying for our little place. We went to look at it and it was indeed just as lovely as the pictures promised.
After a month or two of more searching and several apartment viewings that ended in us needing a bottle of wine to recover (so much ugly!), we knew that that first place was the place for us.
But it was still hard to let go of our cozy little place. The new place was much bigger, and better; we knew that. But that little apartment that Isaac had moved into as a bachelor five years ago was the place we had our first kiss. It was the place I got voilently ill while trying to impress him on one of our first dates. It was where I moved when we decided to take our relationship "to the next level" and I came back to Spain. It's where we decided to get married. It's where his family stayed on the night of our wedding. It's where we brought our little cat home from the shelter, and where she lived for the first three years of her life.
I knew I would miss it, even with its terribly uncomfortable couch and strangely-angled living room walls, its tiny old oven and the cold drafts of wind in winter. But mostly, I'd miss my kitchen window.
It was a place to look out while I was doing dishes (and it feels like I'm always doing dishes). It's where I would stand and stare out over terracotta roofs at the big old pine trees and the little houses on the hill while I baked dozens of cakes and pies and cookies for street fairs. It's where my basil lived (and died. And lived. And died). It was my favorite view in the house. Here's to you, kitchen window, and the memories you helped create. Thanks for the breeze and the fresh air, the smell of rain and woodfire smoke and the sound of birds outside in the morning. I'll miss you, but, kitchen window or not, I know there are many memories to come.