arrivederci Nick

By the end of 1985 I was hopelessly infatuated with Maria DiCocco. Inevitably I would get to meet her family. I sat on a stool at a breakfast bar, on the other side her Italian father served me fresh white bread with cheese and pepperoni salami washed down with a VB stubby. This an entree before amazing home cooked pasta. "Mangia, mangia". My relationship with food would never be the same.

Some of the best of him is in the woman I love and I will be forever grateful that he decided to make his home in this land of migrants. He was indeed a 'character'. He made people laugh with his unique view of his world. He was indeed many things, but for me he was first and last Maria's father. While much of him was part of her, in recent times she, along with her sisters poured much of themselves back into him. That season finished yesterday when he died.

Today was that surreal in-between time when nothing has changed and yet so much has. This morning we wandered along the boardwalk at Seaport, something we have done countless times, sat at Stillwater and had coffee and a muffin, which we have done so often before. And we took in a sun-drenched Tassie landscape and wondered what life without Nick would be like.

Maria's blog from yesterday here:

his favourite straw hat hangs idle after he died yesterday

familiar but home no more

Maria and her mum wander thoughtfully along the Seaport boardwalk

North East Tassie as we leave 'him' behind


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