A very Italian moment

Somehow I've made it 140 views of my blog, which means one of several things: either you guys have WAY too much time at your desks, and yearn for the sporadic psycho-babble that can only come from a displaced redhead, or you're writing geeks who love to pick on people who dangle their participles more often than the weird guy across the street dangles his old bread out the window. Or it could be that you read this in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, I'll say what I'm doing here. I do know that if I could do it all over, I'd probably choose a Italian city that was closer to the water, and not so damn expensive.
Ah, after a moment of deep inner-thought, perhaps the absence of an accurate description of my life's current purpose is due to the fact that I've been a little slow in embracing my new position as student. It's a hard thing to admit, hell, to actually do, to give up making money, and instead watch it slowly drip away, hoping that in some crazy way, the intellectual trade-off works out in your favor.
Especially given my "past life," which basically involved putting order to chaos, with a steady output of food when I did it correctly. There's a reason that a lot of chef's coats could pass for straight jackets. We seem to be comforted by something that wraps round us, instantly labeling us a wee bit crazy, but still sane enough to walk amongst the normies.
But just like the pinnacle moment of my personal worst day ever, when I saw (heard would be more accurate) my girlfriend's expensive clothes get sucked out the window of my Geo Prizm as I hauled ass up I-93, I look back at all those crazy, crappy, suck-it-up moments of that past life, and can't help but smile.
And I was reminded of this last night. Sitting in the shadow of the Duomo in Parma, the streetlights out, lightning streaking across the sky, and rats scurrying away from the windows full of Italians fanatical about their upcoming Eurocup win, I had my moment. My very Italian moment. Catherine and I popped a bottle of '04 Valpolicella, which only tasted better out of rain-stained plastic cups, and talked food. The first time I saw her, I could tell that she had spent some time in a real kitchen; she had those crazy eyes. So we giggled maniacally over her obsession with segmenting oranges, and my obsession with being the one who crossed off the completed items on my prep list back at Lumiere. A great moment to be around someone like that. A very good person, she be.
So that's it. A moment, loving where I was, at a specific place in time. The only thing Italian about it was the place, really, but what more do you need? It taught me that, at least for the moment, I'm happy with where I am.