Conquered with a smile

I love smiling. It keeps my mimic muscles fit and it helps me mantain a positive attitude to whatever I do in life. A few months back I was at a gig in a little pub near my house with my next door neighbour and a couple of collegues we were chatting and laughing when suddenly a handsome short brown hair-blue eyed young man in a tweeded brown jacket and jeans came towards me sporting the largest white smile I had ever seen, shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek (like as if he'd known me my whole life while in fact we had never met before). Then off he disappeared into the crowd. I didn't even know his name or where I knew him from, but that image stayed with me for days from then.
Exactly two months later, on St Patrick's day, the pub where I work to make ends meet was filled with people eating,drinking and having a good time. At one of the tables with a group of friends of mine was sat the very same boy I had seen at the concert to months before. He was very funny and joyous throughout the whole evening and we definitively made a connection. A few days later he got hold of my contacts and began calling me. We hit it off straight away. Within a week he had already given me a pretense "engagement ring"and had asked me out on a date. Everything from then on has been a constant and ever surprising discovery of each other. Whatever we have in common are mostly the things we both always thought, dreamed of, hoped for and never even verbalized out loud. Magic. And it all started with a charming smile..

Life Is Beautiful

Meet beautiful baby Daniel Kenshi McKee born on June 29th,2007
My 24th Birthday
The Sinivirta family with gorgeous baby Saku Luucas, 15th June 2007

Water Every Growing Seed

You have heard me say that journeys, and bus journeys especially, offer me an opportunity to reflect. Sometimes it is as shallow a thought as "did I take the chicken out of the freezer this morning" or "how about capers and black olives in the sauteed aubergines?"(I am a deep kinda lady, ya see)..sometimes I read a book, and totally get absorbed by it. Other times, I simply sit there, observing strangers' every move. I often wonder whether I have a 'stalker's strike' in my genes, I am a good observer of life or I am plain nosey. I sit there - normally on the luggage storage box - don't ask: I know I am weird.. Guess Freud would have something to say about that one too! I observe people coming in, people walking out, how they relate to the bus driver, how they smile, how they graciously squeeze in, how frantically they push their way in, how happy they look, how weary their eyes are, the boys listening to their i-pods out loud, the girls talking on their mobile phones. Last night the bus home was rather empty. I sat down, just on the chair near the entrance. At the next stop a seven year old, a five year old and a one year old boy in a pram got in followed by their young father. Shaved head, track-suit-bottoms, heavily tattooed arms, bitten nails, hoarse voice, unsteady pace. Sits the five year old, still wearing his school uniform (happy-faced because his daddy had just bought him a small bottle of pop and a chewing-gum with a sticker in it), places the pram by a group of senior men; the seven year old maturely makes his own way to an empty seat. The dad goes and sits at the back, engrossed in his text-writing. The youngest one is a little smiler: smiles at every face in his sight. Smiles a little more. The middle one observes the world around him, often calling for his father's attention. The eldest brother offers them both the attention they crave: experience has taught him that their father will not respond. He has seen him like this before. As soon as those boys get a little attention from us, mere spectators, their eyes brighten up ever brighter than they had before. Bright lads indeed; craving for an attention that they may never receive and may constraint them to follow the same path, the same self-destructive pattern, the same destiny. I wish they could see how wonderful they are. I wish they could make the most of the life that has been given to them. I have worked with children all around the world. More and less disadvantaged ones. It always saddens me when in a world of plenty, not all growing seeds are watered.

The Last Kiss

On Sunday morning I managed to go for a jog in a park nearby my parents' house. 'La Villa Floridiana' is a park that is very dear to me. It is a beautiful woodland of mythological beauty, full of neoclassical statues and overlooking the stunning Neapolitan gulf. When I was growing up we used to dream we lived in the refined Baroqueske villa (now housing a prestigious museum of ceramics), played football, lied on the warm grass on the spring days, gazed at the breathtaking panorama as muses, poets and artists inspired our young minds. It was always my gateway (often my 'runaway') place. It was often our gateway from school too! Whenever we used to bunk off school, 'fare filone' as we say, it is mostly the Floridiana we would be hiding in.. As I was running around on Sunday morning I was constantly distracted by a flood of memories. My first 'proper' boyfriend, Stefano, a real teen-age gentleman, who kissed my fingers better when I cut myself picking hollies for the Christmas play when we were 11. My first kiss; my first date. Holding hands walking around the park, sitting on the bench under the shadow of the big oak tree as he, looking into my eyes, pays me complements carry in my heart to this day..As I was trying to run, I was drown to think of a time when things were good, life was easy, the sun was shining most days. My childhood and early teens have been very happy and I never knew how to be thankful enough for it back then. I was talking to a friend yesterday, ironically walking around a park,and we jokingly reminisced about how sure we used to be of things when we were teenagers. Like stubbornly believing we were the ones who had the answers, who knew what love, I mean "real Love", is. Then we grow up, take responsibility, become less cocky and less confident. We laugh about teenage strops and moods, yet secretly wish we could go back in time, knew then what we know now and still have that waist line! I first watched "L'Ultimo Bacio", The Last Kiss, by Gabriele Muccino (The Persuit of Happyness) when I was 15. Somehow it became an instant iconic movie for my generation and its soundtrack was immediately adopted as the soundtrack of our lives. It is bizarre, however, how it was only years later that those concepts, images and words became truly relevant to our lives. In the movie Carlo (Stefano Accorsi) is a twenty-nine-year-old man who works in an advertisement business and has been living with his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) for three years. When she gets pregnant and he meets the stunning eighteen-year-old Francesca (Martina Stella), his relationship with Giulia moves into a crisis, since he is not ready to reach adulthood. Francesca has a crush on Carlo and dreams of him. His three best friends also have problems with their partners: Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) has just had a son and has problems with taking the responsibilities of fatherhood, while his wife Livia (Sabrina Impacciatore) becomes very connected to the baby, neglecting their marriage; Alberto (Marco Cocci) has no ties with any woman, limiting to use them sexually; and Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) has a obsession for his former lover. Meanwhile, Giulia's mother, Anna, (Stefania Sandrelli) has a middle-age crisis, jeopardizing her marriage..living in the shadow of times long gone. Eventually their turmoils are quietened down by an unexpected sense of contentment. Growing up is part of life and accepting the passing of time can reserve for us wonderful surprises related to our new age besides arthritis, wobbly knees and wrinkles! So, here is to GROWING OLD!
L'ultimo Bacio, Carmen Consoli

Blue is the Colour

"Why are we called the blues when our flag has got no blue in it?!"

One of the very famous football anthems for Napoli Calcio sings, "my heart is blue... and when Napoli is on the pitch, my heart beats ever so fast, my voice trembles and I get the impression that Napoli is my one love!"

My dad has had the misfortune of being surrounded by women all of his life. Only son in a family of five girls, married to a lady, has two daughters (with loads of female friends) and works in the female dominated fashion industry. I imagine some of my beloved blog-readers may consider my dad's life pure bliss..but I often feel sorry for him. My parents always told me that they were delighted when I, their eldest, was born. (Well, which parent wouldn't be!) Mom had had a miscarriage of a beautiful baby boy in her fourth month of pregnancy, which was a harsh blow. Then she fell pregnant with me and they couldn't wait to meet me. Although I wasn't a boy, dad would still take me to the football ,stay up watching telly until late together and on Sundays, as sure as the daylight, we would watch the footie on TV (on silent) as the radio would be softly playing the live F1 races commentary in the background..lulling us into a restful afternoon siesta.. I never really minded that, if anything I was always honoured and proud to be daddy's girl/the son he never had..God, please, bless him with manly sons in law!
My dad loves football and Napoli, even more than the national team, are a love of his. I was there when Napoli, captained by Maradona, won the scudetto in 1987, I am even named after Ruud Kroll's wife (yeah, named after a wag?!) ..
Those happy times taught me (and still do,every time I go back) a lot. For all my anti-Italian attitude with regards to ethos, mentality and manners, when it comes to patriotism,blue is the colour, red is the car and green,white and red stripes is the flag. Last night I watched most of the Italy-Scotland game and listening and singing the national anthem brought a tear to my eye.. Gli azzurri won again 2-0 and made me proud. Blue is the colour indeed, but why the heck are we called "gli azzurri", the blues, when there is no blue in our flag. My personal, ever so poetical interpretation is that blue is the colour of a sunny sky, of the mediterranean sea..but you may have a better explaination! So, what do you think?

By the way, yesterday another Italian made this little chicken very proud: Filippo Magnini won the gold in Sydney for the 100 mt men world championship freestyle final, we've got two finalists in the 200 mt breaststroke whilst Federica Pellegrini broke the female world record in the 200 mt freestyle.. Euro 2008 qualifiers, swimming world championships, going home for the week-end..ah! I am a happy lady!!!

PS: Pictures like this make me realise why swimming is my favourite sport..

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Who is the Fairest of Us All?

~ An Apple A Day Keeps the Doctor Away...

I rembember I used to be petrified, then enraged, then ecstatic whenever the evil witch from Snow White appeared on the next page of my book of fables as a child. Similarly, my fury against unhealthy eating has reached a culminant point of indignation.I can guarantee that if you watched it you'll surely remember Morgan Spurlock's 2004 film/documentary on the effects of binge eating and fast foods. "Super-Size-Me"is a comical yet tragically realistic depiction of what unhealthy consumption of the wrong kind of foods can do to our organisms. If you haven't seen it yet, I raccommend you do or at least read about it on this link. I am proud to say that thanks to my wonderful mom and cultural heritage, I have been a conscientious eater for most of my life. My grandparents,who became farmers in their 50's, impressed upon me (quite forcefully at times) the nutritional value of fresh ingredients, five-a-day,living a balanced life-style and that half a glass of wine per meal can be considered as a miraculous medicinal remedy! I love fruit & veg of all sort (even though I am allergic to bananas..) and I have never had an issue with eating my greens - at my house there were no questions asked about it: you could cry,trow up on the dining table, fake an epileptic fit-you had to eat them regardless. Call it harsh, call it unnecessary, I am so incredibly grateful for all that. I had a very little appetite and an unimaginative palat as a child.Then,as a teenager my relationship with food became more and more conflictual and my twisted little head would forcefully rule over a debilitating body. I now thank God for making me whole again by reconciling my mind with my spirit and anatomy. I now love food in all of its extravagant and creative forms; however,my personal experiences have massively shaped my current views. Whenever I see wee Ronald McDonald there are a few images that spring to mind:

1.If he lives by what

he preaches,Ron should
look a lot more like the

picture on the left than

the iconic smiley git on
the right...

2.It's no sci-fi: look at his striking resemblance with my other childhood nightmare,It the Clown,with who he shares not only a similar phisical aspect,but also a common determination to viciously distroy and make kids' lives miserable...nice!


3.And last but definitively not least, this is a picture I would like to see a lot more often!Ihihih!
By now I've kinda lost my train of thought..oh yeah, the reason I started to blog about this is that I am frustrated to see hyperactive,lazy teenagers who stuff their faces with junk food and cheap pop whilst being unnecessarily fussy with their greens! Enough, so from tomorrow we will be ditching the old style tuck shop from the youth group to start selling fruit smooties and home made healthy cakes to promote healthy eating and,hopefully, happier individuals in the long run --WATCH THIS SPACE! (and lets pray the smoothies don't get chucked at me instead!)