rich and mark his life. In the opening chapter, it is described the scene of a man, sitting outside a Parisian cafes on a cold autumn day... I can't remember exactly how the story goes, but I have this picture vivid in my head of a middle aged man, sat by a small wrought iron table, longish going grey haired, wearing a long beige rain-coat, a gray woollen scarf, intellectual looking tortoise-shell specs, black hat on the spare chair, writing onto his Moleskine notebook whilst smoking a cigar, his coffee cooling down on the table...As he writes, people stop by, meet up with him, are noticed or ignored, stories are being born. As I sat on the train on Wednesday, a man kindly gave up his seat for me. Instead, he had to go and sit opposite another man, pretty much his age. They started to converse under the most banal circumstances to then end up discussing roughly everything under the sun - politics, philosophy, society, economics, justice, love, stereotypes, life. A feast that can be movable. How can lives so diverse from each other, so varied, so different, be shared, reinterpreted, discussed, expanded upon, in strange contexts. All this is the alchemy of our common humaity where, on the journey of our lives takes us to all sort of places, even without ever moving.
Showing posts with label Few of My Favourite Things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Few of My Favourite Things. Show all posts
Saturday, December 8
A Movable Feast
Only Hemingway, in his linguistic confidence and exquisite intentness with words, could have coined such a sublime, perfectly describing title for his book, A Movable Feast. "A Movable Feast" it's an expression which encompasses a great deal of significance; narrating the author's Parisian years through the bohemian 1920's, one is transported into life through Hemingway's eyes - the cafes, the places, the people, even the smells which intertwine, encounter, cross, en
rich and mark his life. In the opening chapter, it is described the scene of a man, sitting outside a Parisian cafes on a cold autumn day... I can't remember exactly how the story goes, but I have this picture vivid in my head of a middle aged man, sat by a small wrought iron table, longish going grey haired, wearing a long beige rain-coat, a gray woollen scarf, intellectual looking tortoise-shell specs, black hat on the spare chair, writing onto his Moleskine notebook whilst smoking a cigar, his coffee cooling down on the table...As he writes, people stop by, meet up with him, are noticed or ignored, stories are being born. As I sat on the train on Wednesday, a man kindly gave up his seat for me. Instead, he had to go and sit opposite another man, pretty much his age. They started to converse under the most banal circumstances to then end up discussing roughly everything under the sun - politics, philosophy, society, economics, justice, love, stereotypes, life. A feast that can be movable. How can lives so diverse from each other, so varied, so different, be shared, reinterpreted, discussed, expanded upon, in strange contexts. All this is the alchemy of our common humaity where, on the journey of our lives takes us to all sort of places, even without ever moving.
rich and mark his life. In the opening chapter, it is described the scene of a man, sitting outside a Parisian cafes on a cold autumn day... I can't remember exactly how the story goes, but I have this picture vivid in my head of a middle aged man, sat by a small wrought iron table, longish going grey haired, wearing a long beige rain-coat, a gray woollen scarf, intellectual looking tortoise-shell specs, black hat on the spare chair, writing onto his Moleskine notebook whilst smoking a cigar, his coffee cooling down on the table...As he writes, people stop by, meet up with him, are noticed or ignored, stories are being born. As I sat on the train on Wednesday, a man kindly gave up his seat for me. Instead, he had to go and sit opposite another man, pretty much his age. They started to converse under the most banal circumstances to then end up discussing roughly everything under the sun - politics, philosophy, society, economics, justice, love, stereotypes, life. A feast that can be movable. How can lives so diverse from each other, so varied, so different, be shared, reinterpreted, discussed, expanded upon, in strange contexts. All this is the alchemy of our common humaity where, on the journey of our lives takes us to all sort of places, even without ever moving.
Sunday, July 22
Spot the Difference...
A taste of my "old life" - The view from my bedroom on Tuesday 17th July 2007 at 12.29 pm.
Saturday, 21st July 2007 12.29 pm...what was in front of my eyes just yesterday...38°c..sunshine...the beach...crystal clear waters...ahhh!
... can you spot the difference?
Monday, June 25
Caught Up in a Bigger Story
Flicking through the various channels at dinner time, I often wonder why are there so many soap operas, why are people so bothered to actually watch them. Although there may be a hundred different psychological, marketing and cultural reasons behind it, I generally get a feel that we all like stories. Whether it is a little child sitting by their grandfather's armchair opposite the fire on a rainy winter night, a teenager texting her best mate with all the details of last nights date, two mothers telling each other of their toddlers progress standing at a bus stop, a school boy telling his mom about his day at school as she prepares dinner, an old lady reading a gossip column in a magazine as she is waiting for her hair dye to dry at the salon; it is undoubted: we all love stories. Stories you hear, stories you tell, stories you make up, stories you want to forget, stories you make sound funnier, stories that make you laugh, stories that make you cry. Stories that make you react, stories that make you frown. Stories that bring back memories of a much bigger story. Stories that bring you hope: because, after all, if you have made it through it once, you surely will do it again! Stories you learn from, stories that scar you. Stories that scare you, stories that strengthen you. I love suitcases because the older and more used they are the more stories they tell you. My father once bought a beige thin leather hard back suitcase at an antique fair in the early Eighties to use in a window display. Over the years, the antique suitcase has been used for a variety of purposes. When I was a
young girl I used to love passing the suitcase over to my dad, touching the soft skin, smelling the old leather, imagining who it may have belonged to, where would have it travelled, what happened. I have a bit of a thing for second hand stuff (especially books). That air of mystery that comes from the freedom to imagine a past story behind something which is now beginning a new story which I am part of.Sophisticated cigar smoking thin tall men in Paris sipping coffee in Montmatre, like freshly stepped out of a Hemingway novel. Career women smelling of expensive perfumes quickly and composedly checking in for their next connection to New York. Nuns on a train with a little baby who has finally found a welcoming family to look after him. Young suffragettes cycling to their next protest with a bag full of leaflets and a heart full of dreams. Then coming caledoscopically back to a young woman's journal. A precious, sheltered tale of life. She thinks she is alone in the world, that nobody can possibly go through what she goes through, feel what she feels. Yet keeps on reading stories others wrote to express similar emotions to her own.
Wednesday, June 20
Harvest Justice
That's it: tomorrow summer officially begins. June 21st, the longest day of the year. Summer: the sunshine, the trees in bloom, succulent water melons, water games, the beach. I love it, I love it, I love it. I love the zest of lime squeeze on grilled fish. The sun on my skin. The smell of mature yellow peaches in sweet white wine. The taste of apricots that melt on your tongue ever so slowly. My grandad used to call me, and often still does, 'the little apricot lady'. He delights in telling the tale of the day I was born. A hot summer day when they were picking apricots in the fields and they had to rush to th
e hospital because little baby me was born - with a two week delay... Then growing up, in the shadow of my grandparents, spending my summers playing about around convivial apricot pickers. Then making jams and fruit juices in my grandma's kitchen out of the more ripen ones. In goes the sugar, the hot water bubbling away in the scorching sun, the stench of chicken's poo (which God knows why you are told 'is good for ya'!) mixed to the fragrant aroma of blended fruits..a cheeky little finger stealing a taste of the precious nectar..Nana telling you off, then my little hurt frown, then her heartily laugh; she chocks a little from too much laughing, her voluptuous figure fluttering, then brings her wrist to her face and one at a time swiftly dries her eyes from tears of joy. There is no-one in the whole wide world like my nana! I started off writing this post with a completely different agenda in mind - now, having stumbled upon some beautiful memories, I realize how lucky and blessed I have been. I received some of the most precious gifts in this world: life, a great family and, above all, the gift of a truly happy childhood. I wonder how many people can count on that.
e hospital because little baby me was born - with a two week delay... Then growing up, in the shadow of my grandparents, spending my summers playing about around convivial apricot pickers. Then making jams and fruit juices in my grandma's kitchen out of the more ripen ones. In goes the sugar, the hot water bubbling away in the scorching sun, the stench of chicken's poo (which God knows why you are told 'is good for ya'!) mixed to the fragrant aroma of blended fruits..a cheeky little finger stealing a taste of the precious nectar..Nana telling you off, then my little hurt frown, then her heartily laugh; she chocks a little from too much laughing, her voluptuous figure fluttering, then brings her wrist to her face and one at a time swiftly dries her eyes from tears of joy. There is no-one in the whole wide world like my nana! I started off writing this post with a completely different agenda in mind - now, having stumbled upon some beautiful memories, I realize how lucky and blessed I have been. I received some of the most precious gifts in this world: life, a great family and, above all, the gift of a truly happy childhood. I wonder how many people can count on that. Tuesday, June 12
Miracles Do Happen
Recognise this handsome young man in the picture on the left? He is a little 'plumper' now but indeed, this is Diego Armando Maradona, El Pibe de Oro, "the golden boy" as he is was known in my childhood years, is the man who made Napoli football club, the Neapolitan people and a whole generation feel unforgettable and unrepeatable emotions on a football pitch. Simply sensational. Regardless of other undisputed talents I have come across in my life time (Ronaldo, for Brazil, Christiano Ronaldo in Manchester, David Beckham, etc..), no other player had the same charisma, velocity, tactic, exhibitionism to single-handedly (La Mano de Dios, comes to mind, ahahaha!) **Caution please: Sheer comedian talent at work here** destroy a whole opponent team!!! Pure class. Anyway, those where the good days for our local team, when we won all the time: the scudetto,twice, UEFA Cup, Super Coppa Italiana...good days, good days indeed. Then the decline: between 1990 and now it's been a succession of disastrous events (we went as low as serie C for a couple of years) but Sunday, oh Sunday, was a wonderful day - after 11 years (can't believe it's been that long) NAPOLI is back in SERIE A!!!! Happy days, happy days! Here are a few pictures of the celebrations in Naples - heck do those Neapolitans know how to party!!!
Tuesday, May 29
The Sound of a Good Week-End
Yes, more than 'the sound of a good week-end', it is the lack of sound, in my voice, this morning that makes me reminisce on an hilarious week-end in London, baby, London! For my frequent readers, you may remember the tales of our funny Arabian night in the beginning of May with some newly met friends from London whom we ended up exchanging a visit with this bank holiday week-end. The whole thing was quite surreal - confusing the night for the day, the scorching rain like we were in the middle of December, making friends with singers, waiters and random strangers, running in the rain at 3am, having breakfast at 5pm..totally awesome! Good times, good friends. So, without further ado, here is a photo diary of the week-end (saves me time, really)... Hope you all had a nice bank holiday too!
A typical British summer day in London..
The Sweetness: Tiziana & Linda, best friends from school! 
Dancing in the Tube station..as you do...
Wanted?
Cueing outside "Ain't Got Nothing but the Blues" in Soho for nearly two hours..freeeeeeezin'!
Worth the wait!
Meeting Oscar Wilde and Dorian Gray, aka Wayne and Tim. It was a rather surreal experience - for starters, we were in an underground, prohibitionist mid-20's America style Jazz club in Soho. Got chatting to this two random guys who ended up being quite a pair, not to mention that both me and Linda (who hardly know each other at all) thought that Tim (in the middle) looked like Dorian Gray..indeed a fictional character out of a book..the weirdness!!!
Singing the Italian national anthem at the top of your loungs? Priceless.
The Sound of a Good Night indeed!
A typical British summer day in London..
The Sweetness: Tiziana & Linda, best friends from school! Dancing in the Tube station..as you do...Wanted?
Cueing outside "Ain't Got Nothing but the Blues" in Soho for nearly two hours..freeeeeeezin'!Worth the wait!
Meeting Oscar Wilde and Dorian Gray, aka Wayne and Tim. It was a rather surreal experience - for starters, we were in an underground, prohibitionist mid-20's America style Jazz club in Soho. Got chatting to this two random guys who ended up being quite a pair, not to mention that both me and Linda (who hardly know each other at all) thought that Tim (in the middle) looked like Dorian Gray..indeed a fictional character out of a book..the weirdness!!!
Singing the Italian national anthem at the top of your loungs? Priceless.
The Sound of a Good Night indeed!
Friday, May 25
Treasure Hunt on the Traces of a Beautiful History - Gli Amici Ritrovati
Neapolitan gulf:The view from my parents'! 
Sitting at my desk in my Manchester office, looking outside of the window at a concrete city hovered by a berely illuminated sky..I am feeling invigorated, energetic, nostalgic. I had the break of a life-time on the traces of a past I thought was lost; however, it was never lost, it was simply concealed under a pile of papers which are effortlessly blown away by the gentle summer breeze..It is wonderful to speak not only the same language, but to share a common story. I love you all very much; I have missed you!!!
Seduta alla scrivania del mio officio di Manchester, guardo fuori dalla finestra ad una citta' di cemento, coperta da un cielo appena illuminato..mi sento invigorita, energica, nostalgica. Ho trascorso giorni stupendi sulle tracce di un passato che credevo perso; ma non era mai stato smarrito, era piuttosto nascosto sotto ad un mucchio di fogli che sono facilmente rimossi dalla dolce brezza estiva..com'e' meraviglioso parlare non solo la stessa lingua, ma coindividere una storia comune. Vi amo tutti tantissimo; mi siete mancati!!!
Seduta alla scrivania del mio officio di Manchester, guardo fuori dalla finestra ad una citta' di cemento, coperta da un cielo appena illuminato..mi sento invigorita, energica, nostalgica. Ho trascorso giorni stupendi sulle tracce di un passato che credevo perso; ma non era mai stato smarrito, era piuttosto nascosto sotto ad un mucchio di fogli che sono facilmente rimossi dalla dolce brezza estiva..com'e' meraviglioso parlare non solo la stessa lingua, ma coindividere una storia comune. Vi amo tutti tantissimo; mi siete mancati!!!
The Family
My mom has just had the results from her post-theraphy tests which, insofar, all came out negative. She is still quite weak, but we cannot stop but praise God for what appears to be an increadible answer to prayer. In this instance, I would wholeheartedly like to thank you all for your support and encouragement. May God reward you double-fold for all of your kindness.
My mom has just had the results from her post-theraphy tests which, insofar, all came out negative. She is still quite weak, but we cannot stop but praise God for what appears to be an increadible answer to prayer. In this instance, I would wholeheartedly like to thank you all for your support and encouragement. May God reward you double-fold for all of your kindness.Mia madre ha appena ricevuto i risultati dalle sue prime analisi post-terapia e, fino ad ora, sono risultate tutte negative. Si sente ancora abbastanza debole, ma non possiamo fare altro che ringraziare Dio per questa che sembra essere una risposta a tante preghiere. A questo proposito, colgo l'occasione per ringraziarvi del vostro supporto ed incoraggiamento. Possa Iddio ricompensarvi del doppio di tutta la vostra compassione.
The Friends
Laura (aka 'Corpo, "the body") and I in San Martino and Parco Virgiliano. Good friends, good times!
Me and Ida (aka Super Zeta) - The sweetness! 
Me and Ida (aka Super Zeta) - The sweetness! 
"But sometimes you close your eyes and see the place where you used to live when you were young"- The mem
orable Via Scarlatti.
Me and Vale (aka Valina/Gazzella, "The Gazelle"), hadn't seen each other in five long years but it's like as if time had never passed. I am so proud of her! (BTW, I swear I am not sticking my middle finger at anyone! Accidents happen!) (",)
Pop, happily singing away in the car.. 
Happy, our fam dog!
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