Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet two extraordinary people in their simplicity and hospitality.
A newlywed couple ... of eighty!
live in a village in the Ligurian and are very similar to other people, more or less the same age, I had the pleasure of meeting in Valle D'Aosta, piuttosto che in Sardegna o in Sicilia.
Sono letteralmente innamorata di tutte quelle persone che, con il loro bel bagaglio di sacrifici e dolori sulle spalle, raccontano episodi di vita con la leggerezza di ali di farfalla.
A volte sono leggende tramandate di generazione in generazione, altre, pezzi di storia o tradizioni.
Ciò che le accomuna tutte, sono quella luce particolare negli occhi, quel tono di voce e il delicato gesticolare, che hanno la magia di catapultarti nel racconto del momento.
Mi piacerebbe avere la capacità, scrivendo, di far provare le medesime cose.
Il racconto che ascoltavo ieri è storia di casa mia. Parlava della famiglia dei Fieschi, una delle quattro famiglie nobili più importanti the Republic of Genoa.
listened absorbed "my" wise farmer who spoke of abuse and poverty, the prison that the Lords had built right on the border with Emilia step with the attached fork and how, the victims, managed to escape and if they reached went beyond that step.
And the Austrians, who in one of their "visits" were left as gifts to the little children of peasant blond with blue eyes. Then you play
scopone and Trump, the signs agreed with the gossip, money and lost than gained, while his wife looked at him with disapproval that barely manages to hide the love that has kept them together all these years.
Several
for setting, but similar to the heart, the stories told by a peasant couple met by chance one summer day when, with his legs broken for the trouble down the river after a "walk" four-hour uphill ... .
They had twice my age and made me eat their dust. A show to see them go down with the mountain quell'agilità typical of those who lived it as an integral part of their lives.
walked in and told us. Of their cows, the big event that takes place every year, "Les Battailles des reines"
It 's a battle between pregnant cows, which are faced with the horns in a bloodless until the abandonment of the field by one of the two.
After the elimination races, the final or "combat final" is held the last Sunday of October in Aosta, where the cow was finally proclaimed queen of Valdostana horns.
Once in the valley, I could not help but see those wonders ...!
And yet the summer evenings, trying to figure out how did the "Sistine Chapel" of the Sardinian singers, and traditional dances: Su Ballu Zoppu, Su Ballu Tundo, Su ... Brincau music and dance steps.
Children young and old together, arm in arm, a tangle of legs, smiles and hearts, that, to the tune of an accordion, share the pleasure of being together.
The stories I most have entered the heart, are those of my grandfather.
I was talking about war in distant countries, Africa, imprisonment, hunger and fear.
of rebirth when the nightmare was over and they could finally return home.
Del journey north in search of work and luck, of racism and kindness.
Yesterday I listened to the news.
They were talking about vacation and what you should not miss in your suitcase: iPod, mobile phone, PDA, Netbook, camera, suntan lotion, the costume "so" and mesh "there".
I had the impression of being one of the actors in a film science fiction. All
scheduled to be in a certain way, think in a certain way and act accordingly.
A newlywed couple ... of eighty!
live in a village in the Ligurian and are very similar to other people, more or less the same age, I had the pleasure of meeting in Valle D'Aosta, piuttosto che in Sardegna o in Sicilia.
Sono letteralmente innamorata di tutte quelle persone che, con il loro bel bagaglio di sacrifici e dolori sulle spalle, raccontano episodi di vita con la leggerezza di ali di farfalla.
A volte sono leggende tramandate di generazione in generazione, altre, pezzi di storia o tradizioni.
Ciò che le accomuna tutte, sono quella luce particolare negli occhi, quel tono di voce e il delicato gesticolare, che hanno la magia di catapultarti nel racconto del momento.
Mi piacerebbe avere la capacità, scrivendo, di far provare le medesime cose.
Il racconto che ascoltavo ieri è storia di casa mia. Parlava della famiglia dei Fieschi, una delle quattro famiglie nobili più importanti the Republic of Genoa.
listened absorbed "my" wise farmer who spoke of abuse and poverty, the prison that the Lords had built right on the border with Emilia step with the attached fork and how, the victims, managed to escape and if they reached went beyond that step.
And the Austrians, who in one of their "visits" were left as gifts to the little children of peasant blond with blue eyes. Then you play
scopone and Trump, the signs agreed with the gossip, money and lost than gained, while his wife looked at him with disapproval that barely manages to hide the love that has kept them together all these years.
Several
for setting, but similar to the heart, the stories told by a peasant couple met by chance one summer day when, with his legs broken for the trouble down the river after a "walk" four-hour uphill ... .
They had twice my age and made me eat their dust. A show to see them go down with the mountain quell'agilità typical of those who lived it as an integral part of their lives.
walked in and told us. Of their cows, the big event that takes place every year, "Les Battailles des reines"
It 's a battle between pregnant cows, which are faced with the horns in a bloodless until the abandonment of the field by one of the two.
After the elimination races, the final or "combat final" is held the last Sunday of October in Aosta, where the cow was finally proclaimed queen of Valdostana horns.
Once in the valley, I could not help but see those wonders ...!
And yet the summer evenings, trying to figure out how did the "Sistine Chapel" of the Sardinian singers, and traditional dances: Su Ballu Zoppu, Su Ballu Tundo, Su ... Brincau music and dance steps.
Children young and old together, arm in arm, a tangle of legs, smiles and hearts, that, to the tune of an accordion, share the pleasure of being together.
The stories I most have entered the heart, are those of my grandfather.
I was talking about war in distant countries, Africa, imprisonment, hunger and fear.
of rebirth when the nightmare was over and they could finally return home.
Del journey north in search of work and luck, of racism and kindness.
Yesterday I listened to the news.
They were talking about vacation and what you should not miss in your suitcase: iPod, mobile phone, PDA, Netbook, camera, suntan lotion, the costume "so" and mesh "there".
I had the impression of being one of the actors in a film science fiction. All
scheduled to be in a certain way, think in a certain way and act accordingly.
And to think that to enjoy the small pleasures that life offers us just a lot less: a pair of walking shoes, wind on your skin, good company, want to do and, above all, listen.
0 comments:
Post a Comment