I miss the North End. I've been saying this since I moved out of my shoebox of an apartment there to another shoebox in Somerville this past summer. But, it's worse now that I can't take a bus and a T ride and be there within the half hour. To get there now I'd have to take a PLANE (or a nine hour bus ride, depending on finances).
I miss all of the obvious stuff, like the charming little bakeries and restaurants, and the accordian player who I am convinced only knows the theme to "The Godfather". I miss old paesan's sitting in lawnchairs on the street to reserve their buddy's parking spot. I miss my old apartment that my mom called "Pisa" because of the slanting floor. Sometimes, when I'm really nostalgic, I even miss those damn tourists that seem to descend on the neighborhood between memorial and labor day. (Note: For those of you that have lived in the neighborhood, you know how crazy I am for missing this.)
More than all that, I am nostalgic for the people I met while living there. The laundromat owner's wife and the quick-tempered Romano chef. Camille at the bank who was always so sweet and who's last name means "With the angels". I miss my old North End friends who welcomed me into their neighborhood-- a sleepy-eyed Colombian who's funny walk rivals my own, a Persian prince who taught me the importance of slowing down and "chillin'" , and a writer who's knowledge and passion for wine left me stumbling back to my apartment on more than one occasion. I miss my old roommate (Scal!) and decorating our first apartment. I miss my Companion (as he would like to always be referred to) and lazy sunday mornings reading the paper and drinking coffee with him at Beanstock. Sigh.
I feel my time there is like an old home video now. It sits on a shelf in my brain and every now and then I put it in the vcr, for old time's sake. Today is one of those days where I can't help but push the rewind button and watch it over and over until I can recite the lines by heart.