tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35033154549176412292024-03-28T12:16:16.940-07:00Angie's short story blogAngelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-87611316881625248462024-03-28T12:15:00.000-07:002024-03-28T12:15:22.390-07:00Bianco e nero - Italiano<p> Forti grida di imprecazioni irruppero come scoppi di tuono nell'aria balsamica primaverile riempiendola di paura e terrore. L'aggressività e la violenza delle parole gelarono Deborah. Le si gelò il sangue come sempre quando sentiva grida di rabbia.<br /><br />Stava salutando sua figlia e la sua famiglia. L'ora di pranzo della domenica era per lei come un bozzolo, che avvolgeva la sua famiglia in una maratona senza sosta di deliziosi piatti fatti in casa, giochi e cartoni animati per tutta la famiglia.<br /><br />Ogni domenica si sforzava di ricreare i suoi ricordi d'infanzia. È stato un momento con cui rigenerare la sua anima e arricchire la sua famiglia di ricordi preziosi.<br /><br />Quando si stava per sposare, tanti anni prima, sua madre le aveva detto che un matrimonio è fatto di tanti pasti felici e della condivisione del cibo in famiglia. Deborah sospirò pesantemente pensando a quanto fosse stato difficile.<br /><br />Niente andava mai bene in quei primi giorni del suo matrimonio. Trattenne le lacrime ricordando i capricci e gli umori di suo marito e criticando la sua cucina.<br /><br />Quando Deborah cresceva, il pranzo della domenica era sempre stato un'accogliente bolla di felicità, con i suoi nonni che ricordavano la loro giovinezza e suo padre che li intratteneva con storie e la sua famiglia cullata in un rifugio sicuro di amore e buona volontà.<br /><br />Deborah si scosse e sbirciò dal balcone. Della figlia Anna e del compagno Claudio e dei due figlioletti Leo ed Emma nessuna traccia.<br /><br /> Un sentimento di sollievo la invase per il fatto che le urla non provenissero dalla piccola famiglia di sua figlia, una paura profondamente radicata e sempre presente che la storia si ripetesse per essere sostituita da una profonda tristezza per chiunque si trovasse in un tale stato di angoscia. Le urla continuarono, angoscia e disperazione si riversano nella notte oscura. Lei si irrigidì. Il suo cuore si spezza come se fosse ieri, riportandola nell'inferno di viscere provocate dal marito Fabrizio. Sentimenti di dolore, paura e devastazione la attraversarono.<br /><br />Si udì un forte scoppio mentre la porta d'ingresso dell'appartamento accanto veniva chiusa di colpo e si sentiva il rumore di un'auto che andava su di giri. Movimenti aggressivi arrabbiati. Tornò dentro e chiuse la porta, si rese conto che stava tremando e fece dei respiri profondi per calmare il battito del cuore.<br /><br /> Il pranzo della domenica le era sembrato andato bene ma erano bastate le urla per ricordarle di non abbassare mai la guardia. Il rumore doveva provenire dalla porta accanto, erano nuovi vicini che si erano trasferiti lì solo poche settimane prima e negli ultimi giorni era stato buio. Devono essere andati via e sono appena tornati.<br /><br />Andò in cucina e si preparò una tazza di tè da accompagnare con una fetta di torta, ma la spensieratezza della giornata si stava affievolendo. Guardò il telefono e vide due messaggi delle sue figlie. Uno della figlia minore Cristina, partita presto per tornare a Firenze dove lavorava come infermiera e uno di Anna, "siamo a casa mamma, grazie per un'altra splendida domenica, sei la migliore".<br /><br />. Dopo anni passati a cercare di tenere unita la sua famiglia e di trovare sempre speranza e luce, Deborah non ha mai dato nulla per scontato.<br /><br />Pensò ai nuovi vicini, forse poteva andare a presentarsi. Non voleva intromettersi, però forse sarebbe andata domattina.<br /><br />Portò il tè e la torta in salotto e si sistemò per guardare un film.<br /><br />La magia di quel giorno, tuttavia, era scomparsa, l'ombra sempre presente che il comportamento rabbioso e offensivo di suo marito aveva gettato sulla sua vita. Si era sempre sentita così indegna di amore, inutile e priva di talento.<br /><br />I suoi pensieri furono interrotti da un forte bussare alla porta di casa. Si avvicinò furtivamente e guardò attraverso il cannocchiale e vide una giovane donna che teneva in braccio un bambino. Fece un respiro profondo e aprendo la porta le apparve un sorriso luminoso sul viso. Sembrava che la giovane donna avesse pianto e stesse facendo correre il bambino su e giù. Quando parlò era un sussurro e Deborah dovette andare avanti per sentire.<br /><br />"Mi dispiace tanto disturbarti domenica, ma ci siamo appena trasferiti e non ho latte e mi chiedevo solo..."<br /><br />Deborah spalancò la porta e li invitò a entrare. "Entra, ho appena fatto il caffè, ne vuoi una tazza?"<br /><br />La giovane donna annuì e sorrise: "Sarebbe adorabile. Comunque io sono Silvia e noi, io e il mio compagno Massimo, siamo appena tornati dai suoceri e un sacco di cose sono andate storte. dobbiamo aver avuto un'interruzione di corrente perché la casa sta gelando e il cibo nel frigorifero è andato a male quindi non c'è latte per Sofia qui e poi Massimo ha ricevuto una chiamata dal suo capo che gli diceva di andare a lavorare domani e poi...' lei non finì la frase e Deborah le toccò dolcemente il braccio: 'Ecco, io prendo il bambino e tu ti rilassi e ti riscaldi. Se mi dici cosa fare, preparo una bottiglia e mi avanza molto cibo, quindi per favore dì a tuo marito di venire con noi. Volevo invitarti da quando ti sei trasferito qui.'<br /><br />Silvia consegnò delicatamente il bambino e chiuse gli occhi sollevata mentre lo prendeva <br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-88390823495403435912024-03-24T10:10:00.000-07:002024-03-24T10:10:47.542-07:00Bianco e nero - Luce e buio - <p> Loud shouts of swearing broke like peals of thunder into the balmy spring air filling it with fear and dread. The aggression and violence
of the words turned Deborah to ice. Her blood froze as it always did
when she heard angry shouting.</p><p></p><p>She had been waving goodbye to her daughter and her family. Sunday lunchtime was like a cocoon for her, enveloping her family in a non-
stop marathon of delicious home-cooked food and family games and cartoons.</p><p>Every Sunday she tried so hard to recreate her childhood memories. It was a time with
which to regenerate her soul and enrich her family with precious
memories.</p><p>When she was getting married all those years ago her mother had told her that a marriage was made up of many happy mealtimes and sharing food as a family. deborah sighed heavily thinking how hard that had turned out to be.</p><p>Nothing was ever right in those early days of her marriage. She fought back the tears remembering her husbands tantrums and moods and criticizing her cooking.<br /></p><p>When Deborah was growing up Sunday lunch had always
been a cosy bubble of happiness, wuth her grandparents reminiscing about their youth and her father entertaining them with stories and her family lulled into a safe haven of love and
goodwill. <br /></p><p>Deborah shook herself peered over the balcony. There was no sign of her
daughter, Anna and her partner Claudio and the two little children Leo and Emma.</p><p> A feeling of relief washed over her that
the shouting hadn't come from her daughter's little family a deeply
embedded fear ever present of history repeating itself to be replaced
by a deep sadness for whoever was in such a state of distress.The
shouting continued, anguish and desperation pouring into the dark night.
She tensed up. Her heart breaking as though it was yesterday taking her
back to the gut twisting hell caused by her husband Fabrizio. Feelings of
hurt, fear and devastation coursed through her. </p><p>There was a loud
bang as the front door of the apartment next door was slammed shut and the
noise of a car revving up. Angry aggressive movements. She ran back
inside and closed the door, she realized she was shaking and took some
deep breaths to calm her thudding heart. </p><p> Her Sunday lunch had seemed to her to have gone well but all it had
taken was the shouting to remind her to never let down her guard. The
noise must have come from next door, they were new neighbours who had
moved in just a few weeks ago and it had been in
darkness the last few days. They must have gone away and
just returned.<br /></p><p>She went into the kitchen and made a cup of tea
to have with a slice of cake but the light-hearted joy of
the day was receding. She looked at he.r phone and saw two
messages from her daughters. One from her younger daughter Cristina, who
had left early to drive back to Florence where she worked as a nurse
and one from Anna, 'we're home mum, thanks for another wonderful Sunday, you're the best'. </p><p>. After years of trying to keep her
family together and always trying to find hope and light Deborah never
took anything for granted. <br /></p><p>She thought about the new
neighbours, maybe she could go and introduce herself .She didn't want to interfere though maybe she would go in the morning.<br /></p><p>She
took her tea and cake into the sitting room and settled down to watch a film.</p><p>The magic of the day had gone however, the ever- present
shadow that the angry hurtful behaviour of her husband had thrown over
her life. She had always felt so unworthy of love, useless and lacking
in talent.<br /></p><p>Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on
her front door. She crept towards it and looked through the spy glass,
she could see a young woman holding a baby. She took a deep breath and
opening the door put a bright smile on her face . The young woman looked
as though she had been crying and was jogging the baby up and down.
When she spoke it was a whisper and Deborah had to move forward to
hear. </p><p>'I'm so sorry to bother you on Sunday but we've just moved in and I haven't got any milk and I just wondered..'</p><p>Deborah opened the door wide and beckoned them inside. 'Come in, I've just made some coffee, would you like a cup?' </p><p>The
young woman nodded and smiled, 'That would be lovely. By the way I'm Silvia and we, my partner Massimo and I, have just got back from my
in-laws and all sorts of things have gone wrong. we must have had a
power cut because the house is freezing and the food in the fridge has
gone off so there's no milk for Sofia here and then Massimo got a call
from his boss telling him to go to work tomorrow and then..' she didn't
finish the sentence and Deborah touched her gently on the arm, 'Here
I'll take the baby and you relax and warm yourself up. If you tell me
what to do I'll prepare a bottle and I have lots of food left over so
please tell your husband to come and join us. I've been wanting to ask
you over since you moved in.'</p><p>Silvia gently handed over the baby and closed her eyes in relief as she took a sip of coffee. </p><p>Deborah
felt a wave of sadness pass over her. She'd heard the angry shouting
and she knew what harm it could do. Fabrizio's violence had destroyed
something precious deep inside her. The first time he hit her had been
such a shock, she was stunned and their relationship was never the same
again,all the spontaneity was gone and all the things about her that had
attracted him to her had shrivelled away.</p><p>The baby started to
wake up, her little mouth opening in a quest for food and then she
opened her eyes and smiled at Deborah, 'Oh she's beautiful Silvia!' She
cooed gently 'Hello little darling,' and offered her the prepared
bottle. She looked across at Silvia who had fallen asleep. There was a
knock on the door and she gingerly went to open it holding onto Sofia and the bottle,to see Silvia's partner Massimo standing there with a
charming smile on his face, 'hello I'm sorry we meet like this but thank
you so much for looking after my precious girls.' </p><p>Deborah
beckoned in him and settled him in a chair with Sofia She held her
finger to her lips and indicated the sleeping Sofia.</p><p>'I'm very glad to be able to help. Please stay for supper and make yourself at home.'</p><p>While
she was busying herself in the kitchen preparing a supper of cold ham
and jacket potatoes for her new neighbours she could hear them quietly
talking amongst themselves, admiring their baby daughter, whispering
words of endearment, she heard some sorrys and some never agains and she
sighed deeply. She wished she hadn't heard the shouting, she wished she
could get rid of all the pain in her, she wished so hard maybe she
could help Silvia, protect her somehow as she had always tried to protect
her daughters from their father's wrath.<br /></p><p> Deborah's phone
pinged, two messages from her daughters, 'we love you mum, thank you,'
from Christina and 'The best day ever from the best mum ever,' from Anna. This was her reward, her victory.<br /></p><p>Deborah took the lasagna out of the oven and served them on plates. She handed them round to Silvia and then Massimo who was cradling
Sofia.</p><p>. She would do all she could to protect them. </p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-73968869302629688362024-03-20T07:10:00.000-07:002024-03-20T07:44:10.234-07:00Luci e ombre<span> </span>Ogni giovedì mattina alle undici del giorno di mercato Rosa si faceva strada tra i tavoli del <i>Bar del Mercato</i> e si sedeva al suo tavolo preferito salutando Franco il proprietario. Sapeva quanto le piaceva il cappuccino e le teneva sempre un cornetto alle mandorle. La faceva sentire al sicuro. Il suo istinto le diceva che poteva fidarsi di lui. <p><span> </span>Non aveva sempre avuto questo dono, il dono di sapere di chi ti puoi fidare. Camminando lungo la navata al braccio di suo padre tanti anni prima aveva davvero creduto che sarebbe vissuta per sempre felice e contenta. Era così innamorata di Alberto, non poteva sopportare di separarsi da lui e voleva essere la moglie perfetta e renderlo felice...<br /> La prima volta che accadde pensò di essere inciampata in qualcosa e di aver sbattuto la testa. Stordita si era voltata e aveva tremato quando aveva visto il volto distorto di suo marito. Occhi freddi e duri dietro una maschera di furia feroce. In quel momento qualcosa di profondo e importante cambiò per sempre. Qualcosa si ruppe nel profondo della sua anima, un sentimento insopportabilmente doloroso di perdita e disperazione le squarciò l'anima. Un'oscurità scese su di lei. Da quel momento in poi capì che non avrebbe mai potuto abbassare la guardia. Realizzare che suo marito era capace di colpirla con violenza cambiò tutto. Mentre cercava di rialzarsi, era vagamente consapevole del loro bimbo Giulio che piangeva al suono della voce arrabbiata di suo padre e istintivamente allungò la mano per prenderlo in braccio e consolarlo.<br /> Le ferite sulla sua anima non si riemarginarono mai. Aveva solamente imparato a oscurarle. Le ci era voluto molto tempo e invece di cercare di rendere felice suo marito, aveva dedicato tutta la sua energia per non farlo arrabbiare, con scarsi risultati. Un giorno in cui gli attacchi erano particolarmente frequenti si era confidata con la suocera per chiedere aiuto. Lo sguardo supplichevole e disperato che aveva ricevuto le aveva detto tutto quello che c'era bisogno di sapere. In quel momento prese la sua decisione. Era intrappolata nel suo matrimonio, ma sapeva di dover far entrare un po' di luce nella sua vita per sopravvivere.<br /> Sapeva che doveva interrompere il ciclo. Doveva proteggere suo figlio, dimostrargli che esisteva un altro modo di essere uomo. Quella sarebbe stata la missione della sua vita. Le sue armi diventarono umorismo, amore e gentilezza. Era come remare in una barca su un lago, sapendo che sotto c'era un mostro che poteva colpire in qualsiasi momento. </p><p><span><span> </span>Ora,</span> Giulio era laureato in medicina ed viveva con la sua ragazza, Mia. La ricompensa di Rosa era sperare che il ciclo fosse definitivamente stato spezzato...<br /> <br /> Rosa sospirò, seduta al tavolo in piazza, e guardò il cielo grigio sopra di lei, ascoltando il chiacchiericcio delle altre signore al bar come un dolce suono rassicurante. Rivolse lo sguardo alle bancarelle. La vista delle donne che curiosavano tra i banchi reggendo sciarpe e giacche dai vivaci colori primaverili le aveva sempre dato gioia. Una sensazione di sollievo la avvolse, ma provava ancora un'immensa tristezza. Non avrebbe mai immaginato che il suo matrimonio sarebbe stato così. Un corso di sopravvivenza.<br /> Per tutti quegli anni aveva pensato che fosse tutta colpa sua. Dopo ogni esplosione di ira si sentiva sporca e inutile. Quando Alberto perdeva il controllo, urlava con rabbia che le sue erano solo reazioni alle azioni sciocche di lei. Ogni volta si ritraeva in se stessa senza mai capire veramente cosa aveva fatto di male.<br /> Anni più tardi, e ormai di violenza domestica si parlava tantissimo, sui giornali, sui social. Ogni anno c'era un giorno speciale ad essa dedicato, in tutto il mondo, con scarpette rosse e panchine rosse ovunque. Una volta in un programma televisivo Rosa aveva sentito qualcuno dire che era sempre inaccettabile, non era mai colpa della donna, un uomo non doveva mai picchiare una donna. Sentendo queste parole, aveva pianto singhiozzi profondi e strazianti, trent'anni di lacrime in un solo pomeriggio.<br /> </p><p><span> </span>Franco le appoggiò sul tavolo il caffè e il cornetto, con un gesto elegante. Rosa alzò lo sguardo per ringraziare e notò uno squarcio azzurro nel cielo.<br /><br /> "Grazie Franco," sorrise con gratitudine.<br /> <br /> Franco ricambiò il sorriso, con saggezza e gentilezza nei suoi occhi. Conosceva Alberto dai tempi della scuola e senza parole sembrava comprendere il suo dolore.<br /> <br /> Qualche minuto dopo passarono Giulio e Mia e esclamarono:<br /> <br /> 'Ehi mamma, possiamo unirci a te, sapevamo che ti avremmo trovato qui in un giorno di mercato?'<br /> <br /> Mentre accostavano le sedie il sole uscì dalle nuvole, raggi luminosi che illuminavano Giulio e Mia.<br /><br /> L'oscurità che sarebbe stata per sempre in agguato nella sua anima si spostò e si aprì come le nuvole nel cielo per rivelare uno spiraglio di speranza e gioia per il futuro a venire.</p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-14890119665702209642024-03-08T04:01:00.000-08:002024-03-20T07:05:45.212-07:00Letting in light to hide the darkness<p><span> </span>Every Thursday morning at eleven o' clock on market day Rosa would weave her way through the tables of <i>Il Bar del Mercato</i> and sit at her favourite table waving at Franco the owner. He knew how she liked her <i>cappuccino</i> and always kept her an
almond croissant. He made her feel safe. Her instinct told her that she
could trust him. She hadn't always had this gift, the gift of knowing who you can trust. </p><p><span> </span>Walking down the aisle
on her father's arm all those years ago she had really believed she was
going to live happily ever after. She had loved Alberto so much, couldn't
bear to be apart from him and wanted to be the perfect wife and make him happy...<br />
</p><div>
<span> </span>The first time it happened she thought that she had tripped over
something and bumped her head. Feeling stunned, she had turned round and shuddered in fear when she saw her
husband's face. Cold hard eyes within a mask of vicious fury. In that moment, something profound and important changed forever. Something
broke deep inside her, an unbearably painful feeling of loss and
hopelessness ripped through her very soul. A darkness descended on her. From then on she knew she could never let down her guard. Knowing her husband was capable of hitting her changed everything. As she stood there, she was vaguely aware of their baby son Giulio crying at the sound of his father's angry voice and in a trance she instinctively reached out to pick him up and console him.<br /></div><div><span> </span>The wounds on her soul never
healed. She had just learnt to manage them. It had taken her a long time and instead
of trying to make her husband happy, all her energy had gone into not making
him angry. One day when the attacks were particularly frequent she had confided in her mother-in-law to seek some help. The
beseeching desperate look she had received had told her all that she needed to
know. </div><div><span> </span>At that moment she made up her mind. Although she was trapped in her marriage, she knew she had to let some light into her life in order to survive. She knew she had to break the cycle. She had to protect her son, to show
him that there was another way of being a man. That would be her life mission. Her weapons became
humour, love and kindness. It was like rowing a boat on a lake knowing
that a monster lay beneath and could strike at any time. </div><div><span> </span>Now Giulio had graduated and left home to live with his girlfriend, Mia. Rosa's reward was to hope the cycle had been broken... <br /></div><div> </div><div><span> </span>Rosa sat back in the chair at the table, looking up at the grey sky, the chattering of the other customers a light reassuring sound. The sight of the women perusing the stalls holding up scarves and jackets in bright spring colours had always given her joy. A feeling of relief swirled around her. But the tears came to her eyes and she felt immense sadness too. She hadn't imagined her marriage would have been like this. A survival course.<br /></div>
<div>
<span> </span>For all those years she had thought the violence was all her fault. With every rage she felt dirty and numbed. Every time he lost control, Alberto would shout angrily that his were only reactions to her actions. She cowered every time never really understanding what she had done wrong.</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>Now this sort of thing was talked about a lot, it was all in the open, in the newspaper, on social media. There
was even a special day each year dedicated to it, world wide, with red shoes and red benches everywhere. Recently, on a
television chat, show someone had said that it was always unacceptable,
it was never the woman's fault, a man must never ever hit a woman. She had cried
then, deep body -wracking sobs, thirty years of tears in one afternoon.</div><div><span> </span></div><div><span><span> </span></span>Franco came up and placed her cappuccino and almond croissant in front of her, with a flourish. She looked up into his warm brown eyes and noticed a patch of blue which had just appeared in the sky.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>'Thank you Franco,' she smiled with gratitude.</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>Franco smiled back, wisdom and kindness in his eyes. He knew Alberto and without words he seemed to understand her pain.</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>Just then Giulio and Mia passed by and called out,</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>'Hey mum can we join you, we knew we'd find you here on market day?'</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>As they pulled up their chairs the sun came out, its bright beams shining on Giulio and Mia. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>The darkness that would forever be lurking in her soul shifted and parted like the clouds in the sky to reveal a chink of hope and joy for the future to come. <br /></div><div><br /></div><p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhnGwnH4iTTG0MkoXUIYvQpl62AxNtzG-mGTvhNy9ChLBWhAeSEVEr_1_66UiAD3LKhbSaW6aAolg6zqSQo6sv-u9ffHrUPQqtrlaZVqvM0kTe6sPGXsPWhgM-snc6gZMLUsQ_L1MXFktE8azzWwtu8MYEUu2ucuKNc042rNJyWoyxIERu7xliCygk2g/s480/blogger-image--2051717837.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhnGwnH4iTTG0MkoXUIYvQpl62AxNtzG-mGTvhNy9ChLBWhAeSEVEr_1_66UiAD3LKhbSaW6aAolg6zqSQo6sv-u9ffHrUPQqtrlaZVqvM0kTe6sPGXsPWhgM-snc6gZMLUsQ_L1MXFktE8azzWwtu8MYEUu2ucuKNc042rNJyWoyxIERu7xliCygk2g/s320/blogger-image--2051717837.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-21342531968910636192024-01-11T13:44:00.000-08:002024-01-13T12:51:00.526-08:00Would you like a coffee means I'd like to be with you<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlOTUPwRqOs2fREEsoVQ19Ppl007colgrCbaQ7US6xu3vtFJkyMQL-CToByVITHlVjMd8ztf8OZmUTXH5DQn_YYnUxR7ORWxOGENEeMsQRAq3TrzsvC6N4cBZwz8nZm1eW5je8Ee5iJTTINe37Ps4675Ox-RdK3ovJtu7wz7IVTzRpKzEMG80g_Sa0hY/s480/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlOTUPwRqOs2fREEsoVQ19Ppl007colgrCbaQ7US6xu3vtFJkyMQL-CToByVITHlVjMd8ztf8OZmUTXH5DQn_YYnUxR7ORWxOGENEeMsQRAq3TrzsvC6N4cBZwz8nZm1eW5je8Ee5iJTTINe37Ps4675Ox-RdK3ovJtu7wz7IVTzRpKzEMG80g_Sa0hY/s320/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> Come and have a coffee<p></p><p>Or a cup of tea</p><p>All that really matters</p><p>Is you spend some time with me.</p><p><br /></p><p>The joy of those occasions</p><p>When you sit down with a friend</p><p>A neighbour or a daughter</p><p>Who has an ear to lend.</p><p> </p><p>That first delicious moment</p><p>When you both pull up a chair</p><p>Leaning forward to listen carefully</p><p>You've got so much to share.</p><p> </p><p>As we sip our cappuccinos</p><p>And enjoy a chocolate bun</p><p>Our joyous conversation</p><p>Is always so much fun.</p><p> </p><p>We might become more serious</p><p>Expressing hopes and fears</p><p>Laying bear our deepest thoughts</p><p>We sometimes shed some tears.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes we might disagree</p><p>About what's on the News</p><p>But always we appreciate</p><p>Hearing different views.</p><p> </p><p>Respectfully we listen</p><p>To what's on each other's mind</p><p>And if advice is offered</p><p>It's always very kind.</p><p> </p><p>Then , when it's time to say farewell</p><p>And wend our way back home,</p><p>We know our friendship follows us</p><p>Wherever we may roam. </p><p><br /></p><p>Poems By Angie B January 2024<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-34296555946849162672024-01-08T09:47:00.000-08:002024-01-08T13:39:34.179-08:00Clinging to Traditions to Heal Wounds<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG_pEBuZ_91kEbNErOt4NZ4bX7DAqhvzGzmSEkv-Vg6Vcg1HJUT3IJGbvFhw1PYvTVnSZ8d8-owM4LpoGGEhi32UsGwLpVN05rksPOq45BiAewL5EUHJlLQh25lM1VEHBJpsGtOekbfRlpJRnz4cIjuPCTD3-ujpo_NGUqeOkWhjYtPoS-vuczgPPWjU/s480/blogger-image--582891570.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG_pEBuZ_91kEbNErOt4NZ4bX7DAqhvzGzmSEkv-Vg6Vcg1HJUT3IJGbvFhw1PYvTVnSZ8d8-owM4LpoGGEhi32UsGwLpVN05rksPOq45BiAewL5EUHJlLQh25lM1VEHBJpsGtOekbfRlpJRnz4cIjuPCTD3-ujpo_NGUqeOkWhjYtPoS-vuczgPPWjU/s320/blogger-image--582891570.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> The loud shouts of swearing broke like peals of thunder into the crisp winter air filling it with fear and dread. The aggression and violence of the words turned Deborah to ice. Her blood froze as it always did when she heard angry shouting.<p></p><p>She had been standing in the porch waving goodbye to her daughter and her family. Two days of festive cheer had been like a cocoon for her, enveloping her family in a non- stop marathon of Christmas fare, family games and cartoons.</p><p>Every year she tried so hard to recreate her childhood memories. Two days with which to regenerate her soul and enrich her family with precious memories to warm them throughout the year.. Those two days had always been a cosy bubble of happiness of tangerines at the bottom of stockings, tins of Quality street to share,carols round the piano and crumpets by the fire and her family lulled into a safe haven of love and goodwill. <br /></p><p>Deborah shook herself and tiptoed to the end of her garden path and peered down the lane. there was no sign of her daughter Cheryl and her family. A feeling of relief washed over her that the shouting hadn't come from her daughter's little family a deeply embedded fear ever present of history repeating itself to be replaced by a deep sadness for whoever was in such a state of distress.The shouting continued, anguish and desperation pouring into the dark night. She tensed up. Her heart breaking as though it was yesterday taking her back to the gut twisting hell caused by her husband John. Feelings of hurt, fear and devastation coursed through her. </p><p>There was a loud bang as the front door of the house next door was slammed shut and the noise of a car revving up. Angry aggressive movements. She ran back inside and closed the door, she realized she was shaking and took some deep breaths to calm her thudding heart. </p><p>The two days of feasting and party games had seemed to her to have gone well but all it had taken was the shouting to remind her to never let down her guard. The noise must have come from next door, they were new neighbours who had moved in just a few weeks before Christmas and the house had been in darkness the last few days. They must have gone away for Christmas and just returned.<br /></p><p>She went into the kitchen and made a cup of tea to have with a slice of Christmas cake, but the light-hearted joy of the past two days was receding. She looked at her phone and saw two messages from her daughters. One from her younger daughter Chrissy who had left early to drive back to Birmingham where she worked as a nurse and one from Cheryl, 'we're home mum, thanks for another wonderful Christmas, you're the best'. Cheryl and her partner Jack and their toddler twins had walked the short distance from their house so they could enjoy a glass of fizz or two. After years of trying to keep her family together and always trying to find hope and light she never took anything for granted. <br /></p><p>She thought about the new neighbours, should she go and ring the bell and wish them a merry Christmas? She opened the back door and peered down the garden but could see no lights on . No, she would be safer to go in the daytime.</p><p>She took her tea and cake into the sitting room and settled down to watch a Christmas film. The magic of the day had gone however, the ever present shadow that the angry hurtful behaviour of her husband had thrown over her life. She had always felt so unworthy of love, useless and lacking in talent.<br /></p><p>Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on her front door. She crept towards it and looked through the spy glass, she could see a young woman holding a baby. She took a deep breath and opening the door put a bright smile on her face . The young woman looked as though she had been crying and was jogging the baby up and down. When she spoke it was a whisper and Deborah had to move forward to hear. </p><p>'I'm so sorry to bother you on Boxing Day but we've just moved in and I haven't got any milk and I just wondered..'</p><p>Deborah opened the door wide and beckoned them inside. 'Come in, I've just made some tea , would you like a cup?' </p><p>The young woman nodded and smiled, 'That would be lovely. By the way I'm Allie and we, my partner Matt and I, have just got back from my in-laws and all sorts of things have gone wrong. we must have had a power cut because the house is freezing and the food in the fridge has gone off so there's no milk for Sophia here and then Matt got a call from his boss telling him to go to work tomorrow and then..' she didn't finish the sentence and Deborah touched her gently on the arm, 'Here I'll take the baby and you relax and warm yourself up. If you tell me what to do I'll prepare a bottle and I have lots of food left over so please tell your husband to come and join us. I've been wanting to ask you over since you moved in.'</p><p>Allie gently handed over the baby and closed her eyes in relief as she took a sip of the tea.</p><p>Deborah felt a wave of sadness pass over her. She'd heard the angry shouting and she knew what harm it could do. John's violence had destroyed something precious deep inside her. The first time he hit her had been such a shock, she was stunned and their relationship was never the same again,all the spontaneity was gone and all the things about her that had attracted him to her had shrivelled away.</p><p>The baby started to wake up, her little mouth opening in a quest for food and then she opened her eyes and smiled at Deborah, 'Oh she's beautiful Allie!' She cooed gently 'Hello little darling,' and offered her the prepared bottle. She looked across at Allie who had fallen asleep. There was a knock on the door and she gingerly went to open it holding onto Sophia and the bottle,to see Allie's partner Matt standing there with a charming smile on his face, 'hello I'm sorry we meet like this but thank you so much for looking after my precious girls.' </p><p>Deborah beckoned in him and settled him in a chair with Sophia, She held her finger to her lips and indicated the sleeping Allie.</p><p>'I'm very glad to be able to help. Please stay for supper and make yourself at home.'</p><p>While she was busying herself in the kitchen preparing a supper of cold ham and jacket potatoes for her new neighbours she could hear them quietly talking amongst themselves, admiring their baby daughter, whispering words of endearment, she heard some sorrys and some never agains and she sighed deeply. She wished she hadn't heard the shouting, she wished she could get rid of all the pain in her, she wished so hard maybe she could help Allie, protect her somehow as she had always tried to protect her daughters from their father's wrath.<br /></p><p> Deborah's phone pinged, two messages from her daughters, 'we love you mum, thank you,' from Chrissy and 'The best Christmas ever from the best mum ever,' from Cheryl. This was her reward, her victory.<br /></p><p>Deborah took the baked potatoes out of the oven and arranged them on plates with grated cheese and chilli, pickled onions and ham as she always had done every Boxing Day. She handed them round to Allie and Matt who was cradling Sophia. She would do all she could to protect them. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-30935214955171338542023-10-30T14:54:00.021-07:002023-11-16T12:15:06.484-08:00Dressed in Pink to make the boys Wink<p><span> </span>The strong smell of Italian coffee that pervaded the apartment every morning reminded Yvonne, as she woke up, that she was in Italy, staying with her son and his family. The bedroom was in complete darkness, the shutters tightly closed, but it was the aroma of coffee that told her it was morning. The door opened a crack letting in some dazzling sunshine and she sat up as her little granddaughter Ginevra came to stand by her bed,</p><p><span> </span>'Nonna,' she whispered, 'Are you awake?' </p><p>Without waiting for an answer she carried on, trying hard to speak in English, 'Papa says you want tea because you're English, mamma is making it and she says you can meet me from school tomorrow, she's going to tell the teachers that you're coming , you'll meet my best friend Olimpia and her nonno Bruno.' </p><p><span> </span>The door opened further and the room was flooded with light as her daughter-in-law Carlotta rolled up the blinds with a flourish and handed Yvonne a mug of pale tea,</p><p>'Here Vonny, I hope this is ok, Paul said the Italian coffee was giving you heartburn.' </p><p>She held out the mug and Yvonne took it gingerly in her hands.</p><p> Inwardly she grimaced at being called 'Vonny'. All her life she'd been Mrs. Shaw at the school where she'd worked and Yvonne for her family and close friends. </p><p>Ginevra bounced onto the bed snuggling up to her, 'Oh Nonna you smell like violets, the ones mamma puts in the cupboards to stop moths eating our clothes.' Mamma says we can go shopping today, just you and me.' Her eyes grew huge and she bounced harder on the bed.' We can have jeans and pink sparkly tops and nail varnish and lipgloss.'<br /></p><p>Carlotta looked a bit embarrassed. ' It's just an idea I had Vonny, there's a film Paul and I would like to see and we thought we could drive into town and go to the cinema while you two go to the new department store,' she stopped and grinned, 'If that's ok with you.'</p><p>Ginevra covered Yvonne's cheek with litle kisses and she felt something shift inside her heart, a lump came to her throat and she thought she would cry. It was a new sensation and she turned away, put down her mug and swung herself out of bed.</p><p>At nearly seventy Yvonne was very proud of how agile she still was and put it down to long walks and good genes. She lay back on the pillow feeling bemused and reflecting on where life had taken her.</p><p> Here she was in Italy staying with her son Paul and his Italian wife Carlotta and their four year old daughter Ginevra. </p><p>Yvonne's husband Ted had died when Paul was just ten and she had sent him to boarding school thinking he would be better off there than on his own with a grieving mother. She had dedicated her life to her teaching and never looked at another man. </p><p>Paul had been working as a sports journalist in London when he met Carlotta, a nurse from Italy who had come to improve her English. When they had had Ginevra they decided they wanted to bring her up in Carlotta's home town surrounded by her vast extended family.</p><p> Then there was Covid and lockdown and only zoom and Skype for her to see the little girl and now Paul and Carlotta had asked her to stay for a few months to get to know her. She smiled to herself remembering the warm and enthusiastic welcome she had received on her arrival.<br /></p><p>She washed and dressed quickly and joined the family for breakfast.</p><p>Ginevra was dipping a croissant into a bowl of milky coffee and glanced up at her as she sat down.'You wore that jumper yesterday Grandma and that skirt. ' She held out her free hand wriggling her fingers which sparkled with pink nail polish. 'Look! Would you like me to do your nails before we go shopping.?'</p><p>The little girl sounded so eager, her curly hair bounced and shone and her dark brown eyes gleamed with excitement, Yvonne didn't know how to react. She heard her mother's voice from her childhood. She'd been a dour woman, always seemed to be disappointed in something or other. She had spent a lot of time at the kitchen sink looking out of the window, commenting on the neighbours as they walked past their house. 'Look at Dorothy, she's no better than she ought to be. ' 'Look at Mrs so and so, mutton dressed as lamb. Look at that Molly, she's no better than she thinks she is, all these mini skirts and beehive hairdos, she's asking for trouble.She'll have to get married, mark my word.'<br /></p><p>Lost in her thoughts she realized that Ginevra was holding her hands and she looked down to see her nails painted a bright pink. Before she could stop herself she snatched her hands away and called out aghast 'Oh my goodness, ' Carlotta laughed and said in a soothing tone, 'No worries Vonny, it's only Barbie polish, it just peels off.'</p><p>Yvonne was dismayed to see Ginevra's bottom lip trembling. She put her arm round the little girl and whispered in what she hoped was a soothing tone, 'It's lovely Ginny, I love my nails like that, thank you.'</p><p>Ashamed of her reaction she stood up and said, 'Right everyone the cinema and shopping my treat.'</p><p>When they arrived at the department store Ginevra lead her to the children's department and proudly told the assistant that this was her grandma from England and she was learning Italian and was coming to live with her. The assistants immediately warmed to the litle girl and helped her pick out a pair of jeans and a pink top with unicorns and sequins. She tried them on and twirled around in front of the mirror beaming at her reflection. Yvonne couldn't help thinking of how her mother would have pursed her lips and mumbled about being vain. </p><p>With their purchases in a smart colourful bag Ginevra tugged at Vonny's arm and pointed to the Ladies section, 'Now you Nonna,we must get you some jeans then we can go running and climbing because that long skirt is no good.' In a whirlwind Yvonne found herself trying on a pair of jeans and a plain pink jumper. Ginevra clapped her hands, 'oh Nonna you look beautiful just like Barbie.' Yvonne felt ridiculous and glanced at the assistants to see if they were laughing at her. To her surprise they were looking at her with admiraion and muttering about her'linea bella'. Ginevra whispered to her in English, 'Nonna they are saying you look like a model and have got a beautiful bottom.'<br /></p><p>Yvonne chuckled and stroked Ginevra's curls, 'Well nobody has ever said that to me I'm sure.' Ginevra beamed, 'Keep them on Nonna they're much nicer than that brown skirt.'<br /></p><p>As Yvonne and Ginevra were walking across the square to join Paul and Carlotta at the coffee bar a little girl and an elderly man walked up to them. Ginevra jumped up and down waving, 'Look Nonna it's Olimpia and her Nonno Bruno,' Olimpia ran towards them and there were cries of 'Ginny' and 'Ollie' and a lot of embracing. Then somehow they were all walking together across </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZWPEdVuHHAaavqTiToUleXeVgcYq5iL8CSk8inBRsVcgQT48lk25oVUFXIR09Wo4lGdLZLF3pSgos0op1Wh6LM66nyelX4n4hofko-pj-BBgrdVwiI_iaYI6aup3Z3fMomRnEgttinJg-ZfHVsU3Xb_ccUtQSZmo5D6Cf7BxmsVvhi8qur2C_sZa604/s480/blogger-image--86572105.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZWPEdVuHHAaavqTiToUleXeVgcYq5iL8CSk8inBRsVcgQT48lk25oVUFXIR09Wo4lGdLZLF3pSgos0op1Wh6LM66nyelX4n4hofko-pj-BBgrdVwiI_iaYI6aup3Z3fMomRnEgttinJg-ZfHVsU3Xb_ccUtQSZmo5D6Cf7BxmsVvhi8qur2C_sZa604/s320/blogger-image--86572105.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>the square and Olimpia's nonno was telling her about how he used to work in London but had retired to Italy when his wife died.<p></p><p>Paul and Carlotta were sitting at one of the tables in the square and they stood up when they saw Ginevra running towards them. When they caught sight of Yvonne their mouths dropped open and Paul came towards her beaming, 'oh mum, you look great, I knew there was a butterfly in there somewhere and I knew that Ginny would find her.' He enveloped her in a bear hug and whispered,' Welcome to Italy mum, we're going to have a lot of fun.'</p><p>Yvonne had to hold her breath to stop the tears. Bruno pulled out a chair for her and tipped his head towards her and smiled in a way that made her feel something wonderful stir deep inside her</p><p>. Her mother's voice came to her again but it sounded different. her gloomy disapproval was gone and instead it was like a gentle caress full of warmth and hope, 'That's my girl dear Vonny.' <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-84925270864992273572023-09-30T13:05:00.015-07:002023-10-12T11:00:46.634-07:00Italian stories<p><span> <i><span> </span></i></span><img class="CSS_LIGHTBOX_SCALED_IMAGE_IMG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJllKOXO3Ln9icvCYJekJEcwrya8HEbGWA1D6L1MnnKyCkuuwqq-fNwOZz99C818e4spIeYspywJZyJ3jY7ta6UaUyn-QcroY3YAiwklAQySr-DblQXdGldZHZUpY821iJ45GhHaKNusQGiwa8Jism3G0YRbysUISckfjTcC7isADNTmbaEaUudNMjyQeV/s480/blogger-image-1877997116.jpg" style="height: 480px; width: 360px;" /></p><p><i>Northern Italy, October 1935</i></p><p><i> </i><br />
<span> </span>Toni looked at the back of his mother's head as she turned to stir the
risotto. He was filled with such tenderness and he was glad that she
couldn't see because she would have broken down. He wanted to stroke her
hair and hold her but knew that would alarm her. She would see it as a
sign that he would not return.<br />
His father burst into the room relieving the tension and bringing an
atmosphere of normality as he sat at the table and poured himself some
wine.<br />
<br />
'So you're going then? Off to fight for a worthwhile cause, following
the path of the great Roman emperors, conquering the world. Building an empire. I can tell
you, all your great ideals will be left behind once you see the reality
of war.'<br />
<br />
Toni ignored the sarcasm in his father's voice. He joined him at the table, poured some wine and raised his glass.<br />
<br />
'Lucio will be in my regiment. We're leaving next week. We're stopping
at Tivoli and then on to Africa where we'll be trained in artillery.'<br />
<br />
His mother, Lucia, slammed the saucepan of risotto on the table and served it out with her ladle beating on the bowls.<br />
<br />
'Men have such short memories, it's all madness. All that suffering in
the Great War was meant to end it all. It was terrible for me, going off
on my own with a small boy, not knowing if I'd ever see my husband
again, losing my brother, nothing to eat and making clothes out of old
bits of material and never knowing when it would end.' She paused and held out her left hand. 'They want my wedding ring, to fight for what? Well they can have it for what it's worth'.<br />
<br />
Toni and his father looked at her in astonishment, their spoons in mid
air. She never talked about the Great War and seemed to pretend it have
never happened. </p><p>Lucia had grown up in the last years of the Belle Epoque before all illusions were swept away for ever.</p><p> She
had been the most elegant, sweet and dainty young woman, her head full
of romance and deeply in love with her dashing husband, Filippo, who
showed such promise as a brilliant Penal Lawyer. When the war arrived in
their Northern Italian own she was forced to go away to Genoa to stay
with distant relatives for the war years. Toni's father had stayed
behind in their home own. His high standing in his profession <span face="'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">meant
he was needed there, he dealt with the toughest cases and the most
hardened criminals. Filippo was a handsome man and there were many
women left behind seeking male company and a warm companion to comfort
them amidst the harsh realities of life in war time. </span></p><p><span face="'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">When
Lucia and Toni returned the marriage was never the same again and Lucia
had poured all her love ono her young son, stifling him.</span><br />
</p>
<div>
<br />
Lucia went back to the stove and brought out plates of polenta and
salami. She handed round Filippo's favourite spinach with ham and cream
and poured herself a small glass of wine.<br />
<br />
'Well I'm glad that Lucio will be with you. He is so big and strong and
will surely look after you. Though I can't think why he wants to leave
that lovely girlfriend of his, Betti.'<br />
<br />
Toni rolled his eyes.<br />
'Oh mamma, you are funny, look don't worry, I'll look after myself. I'll
be back soon with lots of interesting things to tell you.'<br />
<br />
Lucia breathed in deeply and went back to the kitchen to return
bearing her speciality 'Tirami su' and setting it on the table with a
flourish.<br />
<br />
'Tuck in now, they won't have this in Africa.<br />
<br />
Toni was about to reply when he noticed his father's expression. He was
looking at his mother with such love and a sort of regret. Toni could
see what might have been between them if the war hadn't got in the way.
The moment passed and his father got up whistling an American yankee
tune from the war, <i>Over there, over there'.</i></div><div><i> </i><br />
He felt that his father was making fun of him and went to help his mother clear the table.<br />
Toni had recently qualified as a lawyer, following in his father's
footsteps. Instead of Penal law however he had decided to specialise in
Civil Law. For once his father had supported him and they worked
together in the same studio. Toni had always loved learning and finding
things out. He had sailed through school and university with the
greatest ease. His school friends had often teased him and called him a
swot but it really was just what came naturally to him. Toni's excellent
results gained him an award and a prize trip to The United States.He
was fascinated by the American way of life, the democracy, the variety
of races all working together and the efficiency. On his return he had
found that his friends were all talking passionately about politics in a
way that made him deeply uneasy but he went along with them for
friendship's sake.<br /></div><div> </div><div> Lucio had talked him into
going off to fight for Italy in this African campaign but Toni wasn't
looking forward to it at all. Part of him though wanted the young girls
to see him as more of a man and admire his strength instead of always
being in awe of his academic brilliance. Part of him felt that with him
out of the way his mother and father might rekindle their relationship.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">xxxxxxxxxxxxx</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The
station was swarming with young men in uniform trying to find their
groups. Toni soon spotted Lucio, smart in his brand new kit and his hair
full of Brilcream. He went over to him and was soon joined by a few
more friends from university smoking their free cigarettes.</span><br />
<br />
They were told to get in the second carriage.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The whistle blew and Toni leaned out of the window to wave to the people who had come to see them off. </div>
<div>
Toni felt sick but pulled his cigarette packet out and tried to stop his
fingers from shaking as he lit one.They were on their way, there was
no going back.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">XXXXXx</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The
train stopped in Tivoli and they were taken to accommodation and told
their training would begin the next day. The training was tough and
Toni was relieved when they were told they were going on a sightseeing
trip to the Villa Adriana. Lucio had already seen it and was
enthusiastic.</span></div><div><span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
'You'll love it Toni, a brain box like you. All I can remember is that
it was built between 118 and 138 BC by the emperor Hadrian.'<br />
<br />
The villa Adriana was indeed magnificent. Toni wandered around taking
photographs and imagining himself as an emperor creating such a
beautiful place. The layout of the rooms could still be seen and it was
evident that Hadrian had a great love of architecture. There was even a
room that looked as though it had been specially designed for romance.
It was at this moment that Toni decide to grow a moustache. He would go
back home as a conqueror and an emperor.<br />
While they were at Tivoli letters started arriving from home. Lucio
quickly gathered a whole pile from Betti, all scented and sealed with
hearts. He told Toni they were full of passion and her undying love for
him. Toni felt embarrassed about his letters. They were also full of
passion and undying love but they were from his mother. Luckily they
weren't scented.<br />
Up until the visit to Villa Adriana, apart from the training Toni and Lucio had almost felt like tourists.<br />
'Italy is such a beautiful country. Everywhere you look there is
something,' Lucio was reading a guide book and started talking about
studying Archeology when they came home.<br />
'Well the Romans certainly did all the hard work for us,' Toni grinned at his friend.<br />
'I think you'd be interested in the Etruscans Lucio, I'll lend you a book about the Necropolis at Tarquinia.<br />
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from a young skinny boy from Milan.<br />
'We're off lads. They're sending us to Maddaloni tomorrow ready to embark for Africa next week.'<br />
All thoughts of studying and home were put aside, they were on their way.<br />
Maddaloni was a lovely town built on a hill near Caserta, from there they were taken to Naples and marched onto their ship.<br />
As they left the port, Toni looked at the spectacular view of Vesuvius in the distance. Lucio came up to him looking nervous.<br />
'Well Toni, this is it. We're following the steps of our forefathers, Hadrian and Caesar.'<br />
Toni thought how his father would laugh if he heard that.<br /> He took one last look at his homeland laying there before him in the setting sun and followed Lucio to their bunks.<br />
<br />
<br />
xxxxxxxxxxx</div><div></div><div>The Field Hospital in Somalia was full
of wounded soldiers. Toni didn't dare lie down in case the sickness came
over him again. His temperature was still very high and he couldn't
stop shaking. His eyes were glued together. He felt terrible. Physically
he was so weak he could hardly stand up and had to rely on the
auxiliaries for everything. He just couldn't remember what it felt like
to feel normal and his father's words kept ringing in his ears. He
couldn't think what he had been fighting for.</div><div>Most of all he felt wretched and completely useless. <br /></div><div> Just
after a week's training Toni had caught the dreaded African sickness.
Two men had already died from it in the same room and he felt doomed.</div><div>The
doctor came to stand by his bed. He was wearing a mask in the hope of
keeping the deadly virus away. The doctor was a kind man from Cosenza.
He had served in the Great War on the frontline in the mountains near
Toni's home town.</div><div>He spoke softly, occasionally throwing in some words in Toni's local dialect.</div><div> </div><div>', You're over the worst now Toni. If you can survive the first few days you'll be alright.'</div><div> </div><div>He
paused and cleared his throat, 'You won't be able to fight ever again.
This infection leaves a weakness in the stomach that would make military
life impossible. Although I don't understand soldiers, you're very
brave but I just want to save lives.'</div><div>Toni didn't feel brave and he didn't want to fight any more. He just wanted to cling onto life and go home.</div><div>'Thank you doctor but you're the brave one, not me.'</div><div>The
mere effort of talking had worn Toni out and he collapsed against the
rough pillow. There was a commotion as a young man was brought in
screaming in agony and calling for his Betti. It was Lucio.</div><div>Toni turned to the doctor in alarm.</div><div> </div><div>'What's happened to him ? He's my friend from home.'</div><div> </div><div>The doctor shrugged 'he shot himself in the leg. ' He sighed heavily, 'It happens more often than you'd think.'</div><div> </div><div>The
doctor walked over to Lucio and whispered some soothing words. Lucio
immediately calmed down and looked around the makeshift ward. His
haggard, dirty face lit up when he saw Toni but was soon replaced with
an expression that looked to Toni like shame.</div><div>'Hi mate, good to see you,' Toni struggled to reassure his friend. 'Welcome to the world of the walking wounded.'</div><div>Lucio pointed o his shattered leg.</div><div>'I'm not walking anywhere right now. What a couple of heroes eh? Whatever shall I tell Betti?'</div><div>Tony lay back and tried to quell the sickness that was washing over him.</div><div>'No need to tell her anything Lucio. I'm not telling and neither is the doctor. Let's concentrate on getting better.'</div><div>Toni's
eyes closed with the effort and he fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed
that he was a hero, that he had a pile of scented letters from a girl
who adored him. He was walking round Pompeii and impressing her with
stories of daring escapades and then he dreamed that he was home. When
he awoke he was relieved that the horrible sick feeling had at last
disappeared. He looked across at Lucio who was studying the bandages on
his leg. </div><div>'I can't wait to draw some funny faces on that.' Toni smiled and Lucio grinned back.</div><div> </div><div>xxxxx</div><div>As
the train drew into the station of the Northern Italian town the
passengers could hear a deafening cheer. They hung out of the windows
waving their hats and scanning the crowd for their loved ones.</div><div>Betti
was at the front waving a red scarf. Toni could see his mother hovering
at the next to his father. They were standing apart from the screaming
girls with their arms round each other. Toni caught his father's eye and
saw him lift his hand in a salute . Toni grinned to himself and looked
across at Lucio who was struggling with tears.</div><div>Toni handed him a handkerchief.</div><div>'Chin up mate, Betti will never know. We're heroes right? Go to your Betti and have a happy life.'</div><div><br /></div><div>Later,
at home in the kitchen Toni gave his parents the gifts he had brought
for them. Some beads for his mother and a leather pouch for his father.</div><div>Her mother put her necklace on her and admired herself in the mirror.</div><div>'Lucio
looked fit and well. I knew he'd take care of you. Such a brave young
man. What a pity he and Betti are going to live in Milan.'</div><div>Toni caughte his father's wry glance as he poured himself a glass of wine and raised it to Toni.</div><div><br /></div><div>'Welcome home son. '</div><div>He smiled at Toni and for the first time he felt as though his father was proud of him.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /></div><div> <br /></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
'<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p><span><i><span></span>Northern Italy, October 1935</i></span></p><p><span> </span>Toni looked at the back of his mother's head as she turned to stir the
risotto. He was filled with such tenderness and he was glad that she
couldn't see his face, because she would have broken down. He wanted to stroke her
hair and hold her but knew that would alarm her. She would see it as a
sign that he would not return.<br />
<span> </span>His father burst into the room relieving the tension and bringing an
atmosphere of normality as he sat at the table and poured himself some
wine.<br />
<br />
<span> </span>'So you're going then, Toni? Off to fight for a worthwhile cause, following
the path of the great Roman emperors, conquering the world. I can tell
you, all your great ideals will be left behind once you see the reality
of war.'<br />
<br />
<span> </span>Toni ignored the sarcasm in his father's voice. He joined him at the table, poured some wine and raised his glass.<br />
<br />
<span> </span>'Lucio will be in my regiment. We're leaving next week. We're stopping
at Tivoli and then on to Africa where we'll be trained in artillery.'<br />
<br />
<span> </span>His mother, Maria, slammed the saucepan of risotto on the table and served it out with her ladle beating on the bowls.<br />
<br /><span> </span>'Men have such short memories' she said, 'It's all madness. All that suffering in
the Great War was meant to end it all. It was terrible for me, going off
on my own with a small boy, not knowing if I'd ever see my husband
again, losing my brother, nothing to eat and making clothes out of old
bits of material and never knowing when it would end.'<br />
<br />
<span> </span>Toni and his father looked at her in astonishment, their spoons in mid
air. She never talked about the Great War and seemed to pretend it have
never happened. </p><p><span> </span>Maria had grown up in the last years of the Belle Epoque before all illusions were swept away for ever.</p><p><span> </span>She
had been the most elegant, sweet and dainty young woman in her town, her head full
of romance and deeply in love with her dashing husband, Filippo, who
showed such promise as a brilliant Penal Lawyer. When the war arrived in
their Northern Italian town she was forced to go away with a two year old Toni, to Genoa to stay
with distant relatives for the war years. Toni's father had stayed
behind in their home town. His high standing in his profession <span face="'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">meant
he was needed there, he dealt with the toughest cases and the most
hardened criminals. Filippo was a handsome man and there were many
women left behind seeking male company and a warm companion to comfort
them amidst the harsh realities of life in war time. </span></p><p><span face="'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><span> </span>When Maria and Toni returned the marriage was never the same again and Maria
had poured all her love onto her young son, stifling him.</span><br /></p><div>
<span> </span>Maria went back to the stove and brought out plates of polenta and
salami. She handed round Filippo's favourite spinach with ham and cream
and poured herself a small glass of wine.<br />
<br />
<span> </span>'Well I'm glad that your best friend Lucio will be with you, son. He is so big and strong and
will surely look after you. Though I can't think why he wants to leave
that lovely girlfriend of his, Betti.'<br />
<br />
<span> </span>Toni rolled his eyes.<br />
<span> </span>'Oh mamma, you are funny. Don't you worry, I'll look after myself. I'll
be back soon with lots of interesting things to tell you.'<br />
<br /> <span> </span>Maria breathed in deeply and went back to the kitchen to return
bearing her speciality 'Tirami su' and setting it on the table with a
flourish.<br />
<br />
<span> </span>'Tuck in now, they won't have this where you're going'.<br />
<br />
<span> </span>Toni was about to reply when he noticed his father's expression. He was
looking at his mother with such love but also regret. Toni could
see what might have been between them if the war hadn't got in the way.
The moment passed and his father got up whistling an American yankee
tune from the Great War, '<i>Over there, over there'.</i><br />
<span> </span>He felt that his father was making fun of him and went to help his mother clear the table.<br />
<span> </span>Toni had recently qualified as a lawyer, following in his father's
footsteps. Instead of Penal law however he had decided to specialise in
Civil Law. For once his father had supported him and now they worked
together in the same studio. Toni had always loved learning and finding
things out. He had sailed through school and university with the
greatest ease. His school friends had often teased him and called him a
swot but it really was just what came naturally to him. Toni's excellent
results gained him an award and a prize trip to The United States. He
was fascinated by the American way of life, the democracy, the variety
of peoples all working together and the efficiency. On his return he had
found that his friends were all talking passionately about politics in a
way that made him deeply uneasy but he went along with them for
friendship's sake.<br /></div><div> </div><div><span> </span>Then Lucio had talked him into
going off to fight for Italy in this African campaign but Toni wasn't
looking forward to it at all. Part of him though wanted the young girls
to see him as more of a man and admire his strength instead of always
being in awe of his academic brilliance. He also hoped that with him
out of the way his mother and father might rekindle their relationship.<br />
<br />
<span>xxxxxxxxxxxxx</span><br />
<span></span><br />
<span><span> </span>The
station was swarming with young men in uniform trying to find their
groups. Toni soon spotted Lucio, smart in his brand new kit and his hair
full of Brilcream. He went over to him and was soon joined by a few
more friends from university smoking their free cigarettes.</span><br />
<br />
<span> </span>They were told to get in the second carriage and soon the whistle blew. Toni and Lucio leaned out of the window to wave to the crowd who had come to see them off. </div>
<div>
<span> </span>As he sat down, Toni felt sick but pulled his cigarette packet out and tried to stop his
fingers from shaking as he lit one. They were on their way, there was
no going back.<br />
<br />
<span>XXXXXx</span><br />
<span></span></div><div></div><div><i>Tivoli 1935</i></div><div><i> </i><br />
<span><span> </span>The
train stopped in Tivoli and the men were taken to accommodation and told
their training would begin the next day. The training was tough and a few days later Toni was relieved when they were told they were going on a sightseeing
trip to the Villa Adriana. Lucio had already seen it and was
enthusiastic.</span></div><div><span> </span><br />
<span> </span>'You'll love it Toni, a brain box like you. All I can remember is that
it was built between 118 and 138 BC by the emperor Hadrian.'<br />
<br />
<span> </span>The villa Adriana was indeed magnificent. Toni wandered around taking
photographs and imagining himself as an emperor creating such a
beautiful place. The layout of the rooms could still be seen and it was
evident that Hadrian had a greatly loved architecture. There was even a
room that looked as though it had been specially designed for romance.
It was at this moment that Toni decide to grow a moustache. He would go
back home as a conqueror and an emperor.<br />
<span> </span>While they were at Tivoli, letters started arriving from home. Lucio
quickly gathered a whole pile from Betti, all scented and sealed with
hearts. He told Toni they were full of passion and her undying love for
him. Toni felt embarrassed about his letters. They were also full of
passion and undying love but they were from his mother. Luckily they
weren't scented.<br />
<span> </span>Up until the visit to Villa Adriana, apart from the training Toni and Lucio had almost felt like tourists.<br />
'Italy is such a beautiful country. Everywhere you look there is
something,' Lucio was reading a guide book and started talking about
studying Archeology when they returned home.<br />
<span> </span>'Well the Romans certainly did all the hard work for us,' Toni grinned at his friend. 'I think you'd be interested in the Etruscans Lucio, I'll lend you a book about the Necropolis at Tarquinia'.<br /><span> </span>
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from a young skinny boy from Milan.<br />
<span> </span>'We're off lads. They're sending us to Maddaloni tomorrow ready to embark for Africa next week.'<br />
<span> </span>All thoughts of studying and home were put aside, they were on their way.<br /> </div><div><span> </span>Maddaloni was a lovely town built on a hill near Caserta, from there they were taken to Naples and marched onto their ship.<br />
<span> </span>As they left the port, Toni looked at the spectacular view of Mount Vesuvius in the distance. Lucio came up to him looking nervous.<br />
<span> </span>'Well Toni, this is it. We're following the steps of our forefathers, Hadrian and Caesar.'<br />
<span> </span>Toni thought how his father would laugh if he heard that.<span> </span> </div><div><span> </span>He took one last look at his homeland laying there before him in the setting sun and followed Lucio to their bunks.<br />
<br />
xxxxxxxxxxx</div><div></div><div> </div><div><span> <i>Africa, December 1935<br /></i></span></div><div><span> </span></div><div><span> <span> </span></span>The Field Hospital was full
of wounded soldiers. Toni didn't dare lie down in case the sickness came
over him again. His temperature was still very high and he couldn't
stop shaking. His eyes were glued together. He felt terrible. Physically
he was so weak he could hardly stand up and had to rely on the
auxiliaries for everything. He just couldn't remember what it felt like
to feel normal and his father's words kept ringing in his ears. He didn't even know what he had been fighting for.</div><div><span> </span>Most of all he felt wretched and completely useless. <br /></div><div> <span> </span>Just
after a week's training Toni had caught the dreaded African sickness.
Two men had already died from it in the same room and he felt doomed.</div><div><span> </span>The
doctor came to stand by his bed. He was wearing a mask in the hope of
keeping the deadly virus away. The doctor was a kind man from Cosenza.
He had served in the Great War on the frontline in the mountains near
Toni's home town.</div><div><span> </span>He spoke softly, occasionally throwing in some words in Toni's local dialect.</div><div><span> </span>'You're over the worst now Toni. If you can survive the first few days you'll be alright.'</div><div><span> </span>He
paused and cleared his throat, 'You won't be able to fight ever again.
This infection leaves a weakness in the stomach that would make military
life impossible. Although I don't understand soldiers, you're very
brave but I just want to save lives.'</div><div><span> </span>Toni didn't feel brave and he didn't want to fight any more. He just wanted to cling onto life and go home.</div><div><span> </span>'Thank you doctor but you're the brave one, not me.'</div><div><span> </span>The
mere effort of talking had worn Toni out and he collapsed against the
rough pillow. There was a commotion as a young man was brought in
screaming in agony and calling for his Betti. It was Lucio.</div><div>Toni turned to the doctor in alarm.</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>'What's happened to him ? He's my friend from home.'</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>The doctor shrugged 'He shot himself in the leg.' He sighed heavily, 'It happens more often than you'd think.'</div><div> </div><div><span> </span>The
doctor walked over to Lucio and whispered some soothing words. Lucio
immediately calmed down and looked around the makeshift ward. His
haggard, dirty face lit up when he saw Toni but was soon replaced with
an expression that looked to Toni like shame.</div><div><span> </span>'Hi mate, good to see you,' Toni struggled to reassure his friend. 'Welcome to the world of the walking wounded.'</div><div><span> </span>Lucio pointed to his shattered leg.</div><div><span> </span>'I'm not walking anywhere right now. What a couple of heroes, eh? Whatever shall I tell Betti?'</div><div><span> </span>Toni lay back and tried to quell the sickness that was washing over him.</div><div><span> </span>'No need to tell her anything Lucio. I'm not telling and neither is the doctor. Let's concentrate on getting better.'</div><div><span> </span>Toni's
eyes closed with the effort and he fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed
that he was a hero, that he had a pile of scented letters from a girl
who adored him. He was walking round Pompeii and impressing her with
stories of daring escapades and then he dreamed that he was home. When
he awoke he was relieved that the horrible sick feeling had at last
disappeared. He looked across at Lucio who was studying the bandages on
his leg. </div><div><span> </span>'I can't wait to draw some funny faces on that.' Toni smiled and Lucio grinned back.</div><div> </div><div>xxxxx</div><div> </div><div><span> <i>Northern Italy, May 1936 </i> </span></div><div><span> </span> <br /></div><div><span> </span>A few months later, as
the train drew into the station the
passengers could hear a deafening cheer. They hung out of the windows
waving their hats and scanning the crowd for their loved ones.</div><div><span> </span>Betti
was at the front waving a red scarf. Toni could see his mother hovering
at the front next to his father. They were standing apart from the screaming
girls, their arms round each other. Toni caught his father's eye and
saw him lift his hand in a salute. Toni grinned to himself and looked
across at Lucio who was struggling with tears. He handed him a handkerchief.</div><div><span> </span>'Chin up mate, Betti will never know. We're heroes right? Go to your Betti and have a happy life.'</div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>Later,
at home in the kitchen Toni gave his parents the gifts he had brought
for them. Some beads for his mother and a leather pouch for his father.</div><div><span> </span>His mother put her necklace on her and admired herself in the mirror.</div><div><span> </span>'Lucio
looked fit and well. I knew he'd take care of you. Such a brave young
man. What a pity he and Betti are going to live in Milan.'</div><div><span> </span>Toni caught his father's wry glance as he poured himself a glass of wine and raised it to Toni.</div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>'Welcome home son.'</div><div><span> </span>He smiled at Toni and for the first time he felt as though his father was proud of him.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /></div><div> <br /></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
'<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-28110503186921612062023-08-31T07:54:00.000-07:002023-08-31T10:22:28.183-07:00A day in the life of a mum<br />
<br />
On a good day Cynthia looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her thick curly hair and slicked on some lip gloss. She would then go through the motions of taking the children to school and picking them up again.<br />
On a bad day she stayed in bed. John took the children to school. She lay looking at the ceiling and pretending she was back at home listening to the sounds of her mother in the kitchen and her brother playing his guitar, she was a child again.<br />
Yesterday she'd tried to describe what she felt to the doctor. He'd asked her if she cried a lot. She'd realized then that he hadn't understood. <br />
<br />
Today was a good day. Cynthia dropped the children off at school, watching as they went through the main door arm in arm with their friends. Fiona was eight and had three best friends. She was a friendly happy child. Cynthia had been too. A fragment of an overheard conversation filtered into her head.<br />
<br />
'Cynthia will always be alright. She'll bounce back to the surface. She's the happy one. It's Stephen we've got to watch. He's the one that needs protecting.'<br />
<br />
Cynthia vowed she would never label her children like that. Greg was a bit moody and seemed more fragile but she knew only too well how quickly Fiona's happy disposition could be snatched from her.<br />
<br />
Greg was ten and the teachers were always telling Cynthia to keep him away from certain influences., this boy or that. Cynthia had her own ideas though. She had talked about it with John last night.<br />
<br />
'There'll always be someone who's a bad influence, we've got to make him strong. He must be able to cope with anyone who comes his way.'<br />
<br />
John had agreed with her.<br />
<br />
'Don't worry Cynthia, we're together on this, Greg will be fine.'<br />
<br />
Then he'd casually asked her how she was feeling.<br />
Cynthia knew he didn't understand. It was no use explaining that she felt as though she was enclosed in a glass bubble, she couldn't find a way out and had no future. It took all her energy just to keep things as they were.<br />
<br />
Cynthia got back in the car and turned on the radio. It was a gardening programme.<br />
<br />
'It's time to think about Spring,' The presenter was full of enthusiasm.<br />
'Are your crocuses out? Have the bulbs you planted in the Autumn fulfilled their promise? If not why not go past your local garden centre and pick up some primulas for instant colour in your garden.'<br />
<br />
Colour. That's what she needed. It was such a grey day. Cynthia decided to go by the new Garden centre that she'd read about in the local paper. <br />
<br />
As she parked the car she saw a sign saying 'Cream teas, all day long.' A lump came to her throat as she thought how much her mother would have liked that. Cynthia picked up a trolley and started to walk through the vast displays of seasonal plants. huge signs proclaimed exciting bargain offers. She loaded up the trolley with primulas in all the colours of the rainbow, yellow, purple, white, crimson, pale pink, dark pink. In the corner were a few in the pale lemon colour her mother had loved so much, Primrose yellow and next to them some cowslips. She remembered there being hundreds of cowslips when she was a girl and her mother talked about cowslip wine, but then they had become a protected species and it was illegal to pick them. Here they were in the garden centre. Cynthia added them to her trolley.<br />
She walked towards the cafè, parked her trolley and went in for the all day cream tea.<br />
As she was paying she looked at the woman at the till and said shyly,<br />
<br />
'This will be my lunch today.'<br />
<br />
The woman smiled back at her.<br />
<br />
'Good idea, and you've got a free cup of tea with that.'<br />
<br />
The woman brought over the cream tea on a tray. On an impulse Cynthia asked if she'd like to join her. the woman looked delighted and pulled up a chair and introduced herself as Irene, one of the new owners.<br />
<br />
'As there aren't any customers at the moment. I was feeling a bit lonely, the children at school and I'm out of work, I would have brought my mum but'.. Cynthia's voive broke<br />
<br />
'Oh I'm sorry' Irene put her hand on Cynthia's arm.<br />
<br />
'Oh no, she's, it's not that, 'Cynthia was flustered. 'She's gone to live with my brother and his family in New Zealand and it's hard for me to get used to being without her. My dad died when I was small. My brother was sent to New Zealand by his company. It seemed he had no choice, his wife Donna and two boys were all enthusiastic.<br />
Cynthia's mum had turned away from her when she'd explained, 'He needs me Cynthia, he's not strong like you.'<br />
<br />
Irene waited while Cynthia bit into her scone with jam and cream.<br />
<br />
'I know how you feel. It seems a long way. My daughter lives in Australia, she loves it, She's just moved to Melbourne with her boyfriend. We're going out to visit her for Chrstmas. I got a bit depressed when she first went out there but now I'm expert at facetime, skype, the lot. Has your mum gone for good or could she come back for a few months in the Summer and maybe you go out there sometimes.?'<br />
<br />
Cynthia took a sip of her tea and said in a quiet voice, 'I think I'm a bit depressed.'<br />
<br />
She couldn't believe that she had confided in a total stranger something she had hardly admitted to herself.but Irene was so warm and friendly and had used the word 'depressed'. Sitting here surrounded by the colourful plant, the delicious cream tea and the strong sweet tea Cynthia felt a break in the cloud over her head, some Sunshine trying to pierce the gloom.<br />
<br />
Irene stood up.<br />
'Someone's just come in. Look you come back whenever you like. I was just thinking if you'd like to come and help out here sometimes. Pop in on Friday and my husband will be here, we ca<span style="background-color: white;">n <span>talk </span>ab</span>out it. I'll show you how to get cheap flights for New Zealand.'<br />
<br />
<br />
That evening when John came home, Cynthia told them all to close their eyes. She looked at her family standing in a row, John, Fiona and Greg with their eyes tight shut. She turned on the outside light and told them to look at the garden. She was not disappointed by their shouts of joy. There before them was a spectacle of bright colours, a rainbow carpet.<br />
<br />
'How lovely mum ,' Fiona hugged her, 'our garden looks happy again'<br />
<br />
John poured her a cup of coffee when the children were in bed and put his arm round her.<br />
<br />
'Well done with your instant Spring garden. I'm sorry I never seem to have time to do anything. On Saturday I thought I might take Greg to the football match. I could ask Harry, my sister Kate's son to come with us. He's football mad. We could have them round afterwards and I'll get us all a takeaway.'<br />
<br />
Cynthia smiled at her husband. Gratitude filled her heart. One step at a time, one day at a time, always in the right direction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgriKfQMSELkPOlHKrimPO_znQ7U5AE7BhZcd2T5McWWF33oE7T1M70TdJp3DkbsSv_ZHIDxhUJySw3p_e90ioYSJTaujU90OLUfli-VNTGjd-djVhjfKSm13X9qyUGU3DYa6jy7kZ6aCI/s640/blogger-image--595414807.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgriKfQMSELkPOlHKrimPO_znQ7U5AE7BhZcd2T5McWWF33oE7T1M70TdJp3DkbsSv_ZHIDxhUJySw3p_e90ioYSJTaujU90OLUfli-VNTGjd-djVhjfKSm13X9qyUGU3DYa6jy7kZ6aCI/s640/blogger-image--595414807.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweep away the gloom with a splash of colour</td></tr>
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Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-70065433620848587252023-08-17T10:44:00.012-07:002023-08-31T10:16:55.941-07:00My Life in Flowers<p> </p><p> </p><p>Daisies are our silver,</p><p>Buttercups our gold</p><p>Has been engraved upon my heart</p><p>Since I was three years old.</p><p> </p><p> My mother loved the countryside</p><p>And made me so aware </p><p> of the beauty of the seasons</p><p>And the treasures lying there.</p><p> </p><p>Cowslips, snowdrops, violets</p><p>That heralded the spring</p><p>Crocuses and hyacinths<br /></p><p>From the bulbs that she'd put in ,</p><p> </p><p>Off we'd go a roaming</p><p>Along the country lanes</p><p>Admiring all the flowers</p><p>And learning all their names.</p><p> </p><p>Ragged Robins, Old man's beard,</p><p>Wild cherry galore,</p><p>Breathing in the honeysuckle</p><p>Growing round the door.</p><p> </p><p> The fairies in our garden</p><p>Though they were never seen</p><p>Used dog roses and foxgloves</p><p>To clothe the Fairy Queen.</p><p> </p><p>Clematis, wisteria</p><p>Climbing up the wall.</p><p>A myriad of rose petals</p><p>To deck the fairy ball.</p><p><br /></p><p>Bluebells in the beech woods </p><p>around my childhood home</p><p>Forever in my heart</p><p>wherever I may roam.</p><p> </p><p>Blossom in the orchard</p><p>Cherry, plum and pear </p><p>Making springtime magical</p><p>their perfume fills the air.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Pinks and phlox and peonies </p><p>to brighten up the day,</p><p>Poppies in the cornfields</p><p>Lying in the hay.</p><p> </p><p>Plants to use for cooking</p><p>Upon the window sill</p><p>Rosemary, sage and parsley</p><p>A little pot of dill.</p><p> </p><p>On holiday in Scotland</p><p>With thistles and with heather</p><p>A purple haze surrounds us</p><p>Never mind the weather.</p><p> </p><p>Lupins, lilac, buddleia</p><p>Lavender and thyme</p><p>Carnations for a wedding</p><p>In the summertime.</p><p> </p><p>Delphiniums and snapdragons</p><p>Dandelions galore</p><p>Zinnias, petunias</p><p>By the kitchen door.</p><p> </p><p>Then as I entered adulthood</p><p>My true love came along</p><p>Red roses would arrive for me</p><p>I knew you were the one.</p><p> </p><p> Jasmine flowers tucked inside</p><p>The love letters you sent</p><p>Would make my head go spinning</p><p>With their lovely scent,</p><p><br /></p><p>Whisked away to meet</p><p>my future mother-in-law,</p><p>A bunch of gladioli</p><p>As we stood outside her door. </p><p><br /></p><p>Then I was transplanted </p><p>To a very different land</p><p>With lemon flowers, hibiscus</p><p>Bougainvillea, oh so grand.</p><p> </p><p>Exotic looking flowers</p><p>Overflowing in pots</p><p>Plumbago that reminds me</p><p>Of blue forget-me-nots.</p><p> </p><p>Freesias for our wedding</p><p>Pinned into my hair</p><p>then sent often to remind me<br /></p><p>Of just how much you care.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzvKwolSR49tpR7K4D8TZOVjdPvGt2Jg4KPwtkBSFjLT97yd9l7r_xzUDA0rm9PCJ5FJrgWytC8SbRqZKApYU6Eht0_dub0LZXsU_Qv9qYFNG2ECNqZsTKgZfhhGFTa_xuWFP6bdllSy2BagKDxumFCjKI7CgLvJQKvbuRuZZyUAKWzD_8zKitLkc3AM/s480/blogger-image-698014577.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzvKwolSR49tpR7K4D8TZOVjdPvGt2Jg4KPwtkBSFjLT97yd9l7r_xzUDA0rm9PCJ5FJrgWytC8SbRqZKApYU6Eht0_dub0LZXsU_Qv9qYFNG2ECNqZsTKgZfhhGFTa_xuWFP6bdllSy2BagKDxumFCjKI7CgLvJQKvbuRuZZyUAKWzD_8zKitLkc3AM/s320/blogger-image-698014577.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jmgXAjtiT1HsAeqUWFWVtzt951TH5_0f4mbbSZZPGw6d4jCIoNdP1ydrQ1pTv7tDkYsEP_PJSIFxSEYcFbos6yelvqiI_MlK42Hl2EQKtB2ueCd0bvVprcreEdOT9p-k8Ysgze1TcHAv0L7TBJDSgC-rVl1xELJCd-xU82koM8AI_zpn6oOSIHok2kg/s480/blogger-image-1252848506.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jmgXAjtiT1HsAeqUWFWVtzt951TH5_0f4mbbSZZPGw6d4jCIoNdP1ydrQ1pTv7tDkYsEP_PJSIFxSEYcFbos6yelvqiI_MlK42Hl2EQKtB2ueCd0bvVprcreEdOT9p-k8Ysgze1TcHAv0L7TBJDSgC-rVl1xELJCd-xU82koM8AI_zpn6oOSIHok2kg/s320/blogger-image-1252848506.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAWE5B0TC1b2O-pk6FnZv_oxRXkQyglt0FVFtRKeV9U6xmCLcn5VqKD0zbYTODh0iOsejD3EjiiGflM0Tnv8ETqKklUI00V21FS63L9_3jfSD9DN70jQPabxVjZ31vbCFCeWzyLny8fPqZ-fM2EQBIkARCb__5jPKQ-dslu8rCS-kayFua0z30CxqIr4/s480/blogger-image-1163098435.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAWE5B0TC1b2O-pk6FnZv_oxRXkQyglt0FVFtRKeV9U6xmCLcn5VqKD0zbYTODh0iOsejD3EjiiGflM0Tnv8ETqKklUI00V21FS63L9_3jfSD9DN70jQPabxVjZ31vbCFCeWzyLny8fPqZ-fM2EQBIkARCb__5jPKQ-dslu8rCS-kayFua0z30CxqIr4/s320/blogger-image-1163098435.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Your passion was the mountains</p><p>Your beloved Dolomites,</p><p>You secretly brought home for me</p><p>White velvet edelweiss.</p><p><br /></p><p> My heart is filled with love for you</p><p>As I while away the hours</p><p>There's nothing more romantic</p><p>Than a man that gives me flowers.<br /></p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p>For Mario, with love, Thank you for the flowers<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-81441975487669989512023-07-26T13:21:00.001-07:002023-07-27T04:55:54.504-07:00The Trip of a Lifetime<p><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZrHj41X86URwpWgyxEynRnJKFovqyxo00r0vBPSgHOBpVDY6BSCrWBaRV9Z6c7s5I8gi0E1bfcOKF5FnXwGjlmCTquons6QpgoMAXv6VyMW-QPqcMhehTSevobsEJ1kMccfMB8UuxPIweO11_JH6RnEPVCLELkL3OpFAyKPduzyQX1gBuqeeYnNG/s480/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZrHj41X86URwpWgyxEynRnJKFovqyxo00r0vBPSgHOBpVDY6BSCrWBaRV9Z6c7s5I8gi0E1bfcOKF5FnXwGjlmCTquons6QpgoMAXv6VyMW-QPqcMhehTSevobsEJ1kMccfMB8UuxPIweO11_JH6RnEPVCLELkL3OpFAyKPduzyQX1gBuqeeYnNG/s320/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span><br /> </span> The morning sun streamed into the classroom casting a dazzling light and Bruno the teacher strode across to close the shutters. Flora watched his fluid movements and felt her heart beat loudly. She was sitting in the front row, her book open and her pencils at the ready. She sighed and gazed at Bruno. <p></p><p><span> </span>This was the last day of the short summer course. It had been a gift from her mother for her birthday.</p><p><span> </span>'Look Flora you need a fresh start, you need to get over that Daniel and stop wallowing and crying and do something for yourself. It's been a year now, and he really doesn't deserve any of your tears after what he did to you.'</p><p><span> </span>If there had been a hint of impatience in her mother's tone Flora chose to ignore it and thanked her with an affectionate smile. 'I know, you're right, I know he's not coming back now. I just didn't see it coming. I feel so old and ugly and...' she stifled a sob.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Her mother had hugged her hard. 'I understand how much he hurt you, going off with your best friend like that but you've done really well not to become bitter and I'm really proud of you. Now I think the best medicine will be a change of scene and I would like to treat you to an exciting trip somewhere. You never had a gap year after uni and you work so hard. You need the trip of a lifetime. What about backpacking like your friends , the ones that went to Vietnam and Cambodia or America coast to coast or the Rocky Mountains or Japan or going to Australia on a farm?'</p><p>Flora couldn't help smiling at her mother's enthusiasm and her shoulders relaxed.</p><p>I know mum, you think I have an alter ego that travels the world with just a bikini and a pair of jeans but I'm a bit high maintenance which is probably what put Daniel off me. ' She sighed, 'I just wish he'd told me first.'</p><p><span> </span>Her mother scoffed. 'You're not high maintenance at all, whatever that means, you and your new fangled expressions.' She waved a magazine in Flora's face and pointed to an advertisement.</p><p><span> </span>'Look ! If you don't want to go travelling what about this course. You would just get a plane to Pisa or Florence and eat lots of lovely Italian food and make new friends. You'll love it and come back and use your sewing machine again and learn about textiles and patterns and have a new start.' Her mother paused for breath, 'go on Flora, a ttrip away, a change of scene and you'll be able to put things in perspective.'<br /></p><p><span> </span>That had been a couple of month's ago and now here she was on the course. Flora had indeed always loved sewing and knitting and embroidery. It had always been a hobby but now she was thinking of starting up a business making her own designs. She had been working from home for a solicitor for some years and now, as her mum kept repeating, she did really need a change. </p><p><span> </span>She jumped as she realized Bruno was asking her a question and standing right in front of her. She gazed entranced at his shirt which was a deep denim blue her favourite colour. Bruno leant towards her and she glimpsed the writing on the inside of his collar, pure linen. His top button had come undone and she caught her breath. Something stirred inside her, memories of warm summer days by the river, the feel of grass on her bare legs, the humming of bees. She lifted her eyes to his face and their eyes locked. </p><p><span> </span> He cleared his throat and stepped back. He turned and spoke loudly to the class,</p><p><span> </span>'I was just asking Flora if this week she has felt her senses come alive? Do you all feel the sensuality of materials, textures, the quality of the colours, the patterns and the weaving techniques we have been talking about?'</p><p><span> </span>Randi, an American from Atlanta sitting near Flora, nodded vigorously.</p><p><span> </span>'Sure thing, I never wore anything but polyester before, and all my wardrobe's non-iron synthetics. I'm always gonna read the labels on clothes now.'</p><p><span> Randi</span> turned to the tall Texan, Greg, sitting next to her and he nodded in agreement.</p><p><span> </span>Bruno had flinched at the word 'polyester' and Flora stifled a giggle. </p><p><span> </span>There was an outbreak of lively chatter. Bruno clapped his hands. 'Okay, coffee break now and then I will read out your essays.'</p><p><span> </span>Flora stood up and found herself standing very close to Bruno, she caught her breath as he smiled at her, his warm brown eyes sparkling with kindness, 'May I offer you an espresso?'</p><p><span> </span>They walked towards the bar area and Bruno ordered them two espressos and two brioches. Flora breathed in the rich warm smell of the coffee and bit into her brioche. She sighed with pleasure as she reached the cream inside.</p><p><span> </span>Bruno downed his coffee and she felt him studying her, when he spoke it was like a caress. 'Flora I have watched you this week, you are opening like a flower in the spring.' Flora almost choked on the crumbs. 'You Italians,' She laughed, 'You are such charmers.' But part of her knew what he meant. She felt different. She felt more alive. She felt more aware.</p><p><span> </span>They went back to the classroom and Bruno started to read out their essays. Randi's was all about the facts they had learned, about how silk is made from silkworms and they feed on mulberry leaves and silk from Tuscany is soft and shiny. Linen goes back from before the Romans and is ideal for the hot Italian summers and doesn't attract moths and bugs. Cashmere comes from goats in Mongolia and is considered a noble and precious material and, when combined with silk, is like gold and can regenerate your soul. </p><p><span> </span>At these words Bruno paused and looked around the class. 'Well done Randi, I like this very much.'</p><p><span> </span>He picked up the next one and it was all about life being like a tapestry and how important it is to make sure you use good quality threads to weave your life story, to put love in every stitch when you embroider or knit or sew, to empty your head of negative thoughts and make sure you purify your heart and treat materials with care and respect. About rich colours and vibrant prints and intriguing patterns. About the similarity between weaving a story every day and weaving threads to produce luxurious textures and materials. About making sure there was lightness and brightness in your threads.<br /></p><p><span> </span>There was silence in the room. Randi clapped and cooed 'Oh, I love it! Who wrote that? It's just darling.'</p><p><span> </span>Bruno pointed at Flora and she felt her face go red. She stammered 'I was just repeating what Bruno said.'</p><p><span> </span>A bell rang to end the lesson and Bruno spoke above the chatter that broke out. 'Remember, this evening there is going to be the Grand Gala. Just one bit of trivia for you as you get ready the evening, the word <i>toilette</i> comes from <i>toile</i> meaning linen and means a little piece of linen cloth which was used to put brushes and other things for personal hygiene.'</p><p style="text-align: center;">***<br /></p><p><span> </span>Flora was in her room getting ready for the Gala evening when Randi came in wearing a short, tight shiny silver dress. She twirled around in front of the mirror, 'Do you think is it too much? I really like that Greg, do you think I have a chance?'</p><p><span> </span>Flora smiled at her 'You look gorgeous and I think Greg really likes you too. What do you think of my dress? I bought it for a special event with my ex, but things didn't work out. But it's such beautiful fabric and I feel really good in it'</p><p><span> </span>Randi gasped, 'Oh my what a fool to pass you up Flora, you're beautiful!! Yes, you really do look amazing in that dress. It will bring you luck this evening, I can tell.' then she nudged Flora with her elbow, 'What about Bruno the teacher? The way he looks at you!!' Flora lowered her eyes and smoothed her dress, which glimmered with the golden threads woven in the fabric. 'He's very charming I must say.'<br /></p><p><span> </span>The two girls linked arms and walked to the ball room. At the sight of Randi, Greg rushed to her side and held out his arm which she grabbed and turned to wink at Flora. </p><p> <span> </span>Flora searched the room for Bruno and saw him coming towards her holding two glasses of Prosecco.<br /></p><p> He was wearing a very smart dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt. She caught her breath and smiled at him as he held out a glass to her.</p><p><span> </span>Bruno raised his glass to her and the warmth of his smile and his kind eyes made something shift inside her, some healing in her heart had taken place this week and now, standing here, she felt she could release all the hurt caused by Daniel's betrayal, a new beginning stirring within her.</p><p><span> </span>Bruno touched her lightly on the arm, 'Your dress is beautiful Flora, the way it flows around you and follows your movements.' He stopped, embarrassed by his own words. He had been waiting all week for this moment when he was no longer the teacher and now he didn't know how to go forward. He had never felt like this before about a woman. He had watched Flora blossom in front of him over the past week. Part of him knew it had something to do with him, the magic hidden within the beautiful fabrics, and the way they can awaken senses and emotions ... He had never wanted a woman so much. He took a deep breath.</p><p><span> </span>'Flora, if you have time to stay in Florence a little longer, I would love to show you my city. I have finished teaching for the summer now, I could show you the countryside and take you to meet my family in Fiesole and along the Arno and..' he was gabbling and then Flora reached up and kissed him firmly on the mouth.</p><p><span> </span>'I have been wanting to do that all week, Bruno.' Flora whispered softly. 'As you told us today, life is full of threads that can be woven into beautiful patterns. Sometimes we have lose ends that need tidying up, sometimes we can start with a new colour, start a new pattern.' She stopped as Bruno pulled her closer and kissed her back with a passion which held the promise of a wonderful new beginning and maybe just maybe the trip of a lifetime. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-83603225118094214882023-04-11T14:39:00.226-07:002023-06-29T10:10:16.883-07:00Come Tessere una Storia d'Amore<p><span> </span>Il sole del mattino entrava nell'aula proiettando una luce abbagliante e Bruno il professore si avvicinò a grandi passi per chiudere le persiane. Flora osservava i suoi movimenti fluidi e sentiva il suo cuore battere forte. Era seduta in prima fila, il libro aperto e le matite pronte. Sospirò e guardò Bruno con ammirazione.</p><p><span> </span>Era l'ultimo giorno del breve corso estivo, "introduzione al mondo della tessitura", un regalo da sua mamma. <br /></p><p><span> </span>'Guarda Flora, hai bisogno di un nuovo inizio. Mi hai aiutato a curare tuo papà in tutti questi anni e non so cosa avrei fatto senza di te. Ma ora tocca a te vivere, ormai hai quasi quarant'anni, fai della tua vita qualcosa di magnifico. Io sto bene qui con i miei ricordi. E poi ... forse andrò a trovare mia sorella in Australia, chissà.'<br /></p><p><span> </span>E ora Flora era in Italia, a Firenze, a frequentare questo interessante corso sulla tessitura.</p><p><span> </span>Le era sempre piaciuto cucire e creare vestiti e da ragazza avrebbe voluto avviare un'attività per realizzare i propri progetti. La lunga malattia di suo papà le aveva fatto mettere i sogni da parte. Sentiva una lacrima scendere al pensiero del suo amato padre.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Flora sobbalzò quando si rese conto che Bruno era di fronte a lei e le stava facendo una domanda. Sentirlo vicino la risvegliò dai suoi pensieri.<br /></p><p><span> </span><span><span>L</span></span>o fissò, incantata dalla sua camicia di un profondo blu che emenava un dolce profumo di spezie. Lui si chinò verso di lei e Flora intravide la scritta sul colletto: 'puro lino'. Qualcosa si mosse dentro di lei, i ricordi della sua infanzia, di calde giornate estive in riva al fiume, l'erba appena tagliata, il ronzio delle api. </p><p><span> </span>Bruno si schiari la gola e fece un passo indietro. Si voltò e parlò a voce alta a tutta la classe.</p><p><span> </span>'Stavo chiedendo a Flora se durante il corso ha sentito i suoi sensi rianimarsi. Se ora è piu cosciente della sensualità dei tessuti, delle trame, i colori, le techniche di tessitura?"</p><p><span> </span>Randi, un'americana di Atlanta, seduta vicino a Flora, scosse la testa con entusiasmo.</p><p><span> </span>'Certo!' strillò 'Non ho mai indossato altro che poliestere fin'ora, nel mio gurdaroba ho solo sintetici. D'ora in poi leggerò le etichette sui vestiti.' esclamò ridendo.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Poi Randi si rivolse all'alto texano Greg, seduto accanto a lei e lui annuì in pieno accordo.</p><p><span> </span>Bruno era trasalito al suono della parola 'poliestere' e Flora soffocò una risata.</p><p><span> </span>Ci fu un'esplosione di vivace chiacchiere e Bruno battè le mani, per richiamare l'attenzione.</p><p><span> </span>'Va bene, facciamo una pausa caffè e poi leggerò i vostri temi del corso.'</p><p><span> </span>Flora si alzò e si ritrovò improvvisamente vicina a Bruno. Trattenne il fiato mentre lui la fissava.</p><p><span> </span>'Posso offrirti un espresso?' disse Bruno sorridendo.<br /></p><p>Si avviarono verso il bar e ordinarono due espressi e due brioches alla crema.</p><p>Flora inspirò l'intenso profumo del caffè e addentò la brioche. Sospirò di piacere quando raggiunse la crema all'interno. Bruno mandò giù in un sorso il suo caffè e la guardò negli occhi. Quando parlò il suono della sua era come una carezza, </p><p>'In questa settimana ti stai aprendo come un fiore in primavera.'</p><p>La brioche le andò quasi di traverso, 'Oh, Voi italiani', rise, 'siete così incredibilmente affascinanti.'</p><p>Ma una parte di lei sapeva cosa intendeva. In questi giorni si sentiva diversa, si sentiva piu viva. </p><p>Tornati in classe Bruno lesse i loro temi.</p><p>Quello di Randi era pieno di fatti che avevano appreso durante le lezioni. 'La seta viene ricavata dai bachi di seta e si nutre di foglie di gelso e la seta toscana è morbida e lucente. Il lino risale a prima dei romani ed è ideale per le calde estati italiane e non attira tarme e insetti. Il cashmere proviene dalle capre della mongolia ed è considerato un materiale nobile e prezioso e quando abbinato alla seta è come l'oro e può rigenerare l'anima.'</p><p>Bruno si fermò per esclamare 'Brava Randi, mi piace molto.'</p><p>Cominciò a leggere il successivo tema. Parlava dell'arazzo della vita e su l'importanza di utilizzare fili di buona qualità per tessere la storia della vita, mettere amore in ogni punto, svuotare la testa dai pensieri negativi, purificare il cuore, trattare i materiali con cura e rispetto. Parlava di colori, stampe vibranti, motivi intriganti. Della somiglianza tra tessere una storia ogni giorno e tessere fili per produrre trame e stoffe, mettendo leggerezza e luminosità nei fili della propria vita.</p><p>C'era silenzio nella stanza. Randi battè le mani e esclamò, 'Oh l'adoro, chi l'ha scritto?'</p><p>Bruno indicò Flora che arossì. 'Ripetevo solo quello che ci ha insegnato Bruno.'</p><p>Il campanello suonò e Bruno parlò sopra le chiacchiere. 'Ci vediamo stasera alla Gran Gala di fine corso.'<br /></p><p>Flora era nella sua stanza a prepararsi per la serata quando Randi entrò con indosso un abito argento luccicante. Si girò d'avanti allo specchio, 'Cosa ne pensi, Flora?' sospirò.' Mi piace molto Greg, pensi che io abbia una possibilità?'</p><p>Flora lei sorrise 'Sei stupenda e penso che piacerà davvero anche a Greg. </p><p>E tu? Cosa pensi del mio vestito? L'ho fatto con della stoffa portata dalla Cina da mio papà quando era giovane. E' setà pura.'</p><p>Randi accarezzò il vestito, 'Wow! di sicuro non è poliestere.' Rise, 'E Bruno? Ho notato il modo in cui ti guarda?'</p><p> Flora abbassò lo sguardo 'E' molto affascinate, lo devo ammettere.'</p><p>Le due donne entrarono a braccietto nella sala da ballo. Greg si precipitò al fianco di Randi e le tese il braccio, che lei afferrò sorridendo alla sua nuova amica.</p><p>Bruno arrivò poco dopo e venne subito verso Flora. Indossava un abito scuro molto elegante e una camicia bianca immacolata. La gentilezza del suo sguardo fece cambiare qualcosa dentro di lei, una guarigione nel suo cuore.</p><p>Bruno le toccò con dolcezza il braccio, 'Il tuo vestito è bellissimo, ti scorre intorno come una cascata.'</p><p>Si fermò, imbarazzato dalle sue stesse parole.</p><p>Era tutta la settimana che aspettava questo momento. Non si era mai sentito così. Aveva visto sbocciare questa bellissima donna e sapeva che aveva a che fare con lui e la magia nascosta nei meravigliosi tessuti, il modo in cui possono risvegliare sensi e emozioni. Non aveva mai desiderata una donna così. Fece un respiro profondo.</p><p>'Mi piacerebbe mostrarti la mia città, Firenze, e...' esitò, poi Flora si allungò e lo baciò delicatamente sulla guancia. 'E' tutta la settimana che voglio farlo' sussurrò , 'La vita è piena di fili che possono essere intrecciati in bellissimi disegni. A volte abbiamo questioni in sospeso che devono essere sistemate e possiamo ricominciare con un nuovo colore, un nuovo motivo.'</p><p>Si fermò quando Bruno la strinse a sè e la baciò con una passione che conteneva la promessa di un meraviglioso nuovo inizio. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-30555737026301884302023-03-05T09:16:00.006-08:002023-03-21T09:50:49.019-07:00Quelli del Quinto piano<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGE5CqrYRQkyAhGaEyVVdu4pkj5y5uqe6au0CpwS-ugJFkQHuLcYmFHYIxXh588SR1HF_GAteQcCua4rn0M8lQYABvwPPpFL6zy_d4K11aT089LUP0OztFkyZ3K1hl7NsPzvSYJgk9K3CU8R_cy4d5-XHn38_NgIlMQ95eXo8lO7_ZG3ratTHP4dK/s480/blogger-image-1252848506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGE5CqrYRQkyAhGaEyVVdu4pkj5y5uqe6au0CpwS-ugJFkQHuLcYmFHYIxXh588SR1HF_GAteQcCua4rn0M8lQYABvwPPpFL6zy_d4K11aT089LUP0OztFkyZ3K1hl7NsPzvSYJgk9K3CU8R_cy4d5-XHn38_NgIlMQ95eXo8lO7_ZG3ratTHP4dK/s320/blogger-image-1252848506.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> Quelli del quinto piano<p></p><p>Lasciano i sogni al bar</p><p>Il cappuccino e brioche</p><p>Hanno dato un po' di nausea.</p><p>La signora accanto al'ascensore</p><p>Sorride con compassione</p><p>I loro occhi riflettono amore</p><p>Per i figli parenti amici </p><p>Che non vogliono mai lasciare</p><p>Che hanno paura di ferire</p><p>e non mai abbandonare</p><p>Tirano un sospiro quando arrivano al piano</p><p>In pilota automatico vanno <br /></p><p>Per non perdere il controllo</p><p>Per avere la corazzo sanno</p><p>Che devono proteggere con amore</p><p>l'anima e il cuore</p><p>dal corpo che muore.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-143579688785137742023-02-24T09:31:00.045-08:002023-02-25T09:08:57.052-08:00People who make the world a better place, Bleda<p><span> </span>Ways with words, expressions, phrases, proverbs, aphorisms, turns of phrase, rolled around my childhood home like a golden ribbon brightening every day with exciting ways of communication. Songs, poems and stories made everything we did, from cleaning our teeth, to deep life lessons and career choices, more interesting and fun. None of us had degrees or Phds in language, it was just the way my mum and dad were and gave us a love of language and gentle pleasing communication.</p><p><span> </span>As life went on, my husband and I were blessed with three funny, entertaining, kind-hearted children. We couldn't believe our luck and not a day went by without giving thanks for their presence in our lives. I loved telling them stories,entertaining them with funny antics just to revel in the sound of their childish giggles and later to hopefully help them heal from the knocks and blows that life inevitably throws at us.</p><p><span> </span>When they left home I wanted to carry on feeling close to them and so I started writing emails to record all the heartwarming and funny anecdotes about my daily life and stories about my many greatly loved relatives and friends.</p><p><span> </span>My children said they enjoyed these emails and one day my day daughter suggested that I wrote a blog so I could have an outlet for all this 'stuff'' that was rattling round inside me, so she set one up for me. I went home and started writing on my brand new blog and found I couldn't stop. Fathoms of things I would like to have spoken aloud but never could or never had the opportunity to, or was afraid of boring people with, came pouring out, or 'gushing out' as my dad might have said.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Then one day, while reading My weekly Telegraph, which was a lifeline for people like me that lived abroad in the days before social media and internet, I stumbled across the Creative Writing Group. </p><p><span> </span>Again, it was my daughter who encouraged me to join and the first month I entered there was a free topic. I knew immediately what I wanted to write about. The deepest most intimate pain of my childhood; my mother's illness. I wanted to express this feeling which had never been talked about because my parents were from a generation of 'roll your sleeves up and get on with it'. I will just say now that my mother was diagnosed with MS at age thirty and lived to be a great-grandmother and reached the age of eighty-nine, while being greatly loved and bringing joy and comfort to everyone she met. </p><p><span> </span>My first story was about her. I wrote it in the third person and entered it in the competition.</p><p><span> </span>I had offered a precious, delicate part of my life to the group and waited with great apprehension to see the reaction to my first short story for the TCWG. </p><p><span> </span>When I saw the comments to my story, the kindness, the banter of the group, the generosity of all the writers, I was overwhelmed. Only I knew the huge personal significance of the story, but the respect and kindness with which it was treated started a healing process within me. My story was to be the first of many others.<br /></p><p><span> </span>From then on, this group has given me comfort and encouragement. Reading everyone's stories over the years has been enriching and rewarding.</p><p><span> </span>Bleda, Atiler and Mervyn have guided this group with wit and wisdom, entertainment and affection for many years. Through his stories, we have become familiar with his eternal love for his wife, the heartache and pain he has gone through from losing her, the beautiful caring family he has surrounding him. The word that surely springs to mind for all of us when thinking of Bleda is that he is a real gentleman. <br /></p><p><span> </span>I am so grateful to Sabina for hosting the party where we were able to meet the members of the group. Although some years have passed, I remember it vividly and with great affection and warmth. <br /></p><p><span> </span>Bleda's bar is a place where we would all like to go on a Saturday night to restore us and give us hope. The songs and poems that were often supplied to listen to as voting concluded were a rich soundtrack to a life well-lived, full of love and kindness and a fitting ribute to the love of his life. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_S-zKmWykwjACBnEQqJvGA4E-_CStdAwkhYTlDtZjhxz4tjgFUGcEoEKqC7VDokgMq61kX8ZbYj_TwvdWKwUqOH5DFof7u98g5eAQndnzrtFfJuwQF2uZcfZT4Hwxb7LSeC5dknsmHZ12lDxeaTwZPLaaHI8bVAWjuw_YHxDdl0sWIwdWdHh9CkGA/s480/blogger-image-1978114006.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_S-zKmWykwjACBnEQqJvGA4E-_CStdAwkhYTlDtZjhxz4tjgFUGcEoEKqC7VDokgMq61kX8ZbYj_TwvdWKwUqOH5DFof7u98g5eAQndnzrtFfJuwQF2uZcfZT4Hwxb7LSeC5dknsmHZ12lDxeaTwZPLaaHI8bVAWjuw_YHxDdl0sWIwdWdHh9CkGA/s320/blogger-image-1978114006.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span> </span>What a privilege to have been a small part of this life, to have shared his journey from the heartache of losing his life-long companion through to being a great-grandfather. </p><p><span> </span>Thank you Bleda for keeping us together through such challenging times. Thank you for sharing your wonderful rich warm personality with us, thank you for your enriching stories. Thank you for treating us all as prospective winners of a literary prize as we poured out our life experiences into our stories. Thank you for giving us a home for our writing. Thank you with all our hearts.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-91860900499407051812022-11-11T08:04:00.032-08:002023-04-30T06:05:05.073-07:00We all need a Rock to Lean on<p></p><br /><br /><p></p><p><span> </span>The problem was obvious. Tom scratched his head and glanced sideways at his wife Susie who was glaring at the red car that had parked next to them. Two cars squashed into the only space available for expectant mothers.</p><p><span> </span>Susie and Tom were heavily laden with shopping bags overflowing with baby paraphernelia. Susie had been in her element in the store but now he sensed her angry tension. He was still wary of Susie's temper, it seemed to come out of nowhere. Anything could trigger it off. An hour before she had been so happy buying everything their daughter Samantha could possibly need for her baby. Now on their return the other car was parked so close they couldn't open the door.</p><p><span> </span>A beautiful dark skinned woman eased herself out of the driving seat and smiled at them. She was wearing a very short dress stretched over a slight bump. </p><p><span> </span>Susie stamped her feet and shouted, 'We were here first, you must move.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom cringed at the sound of his wife's shrill angry voice and braced himself as she threw down her shopping bags and scowled at him. He knew what that look meant, it was up to him to sort it out. Good old Tom, solid as a rock. He smiled at the woman in what he hoped was a friendly way and stepped forward, 'I'm so sorry we're blocking your way,' he said, as he heard Susie hiss behind him. Then he added 'If you could please move, we can put our shopping away.'</p><p><span> </span>The woman smiled back and shrugged her shoulders, 'I will, although, may I say, I don't think your wife is pregnant.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom shivered in fear as Susie blurted out 'Of course I'm not! Not at my age! But our daughter....' she faltered and Tom could hear doubt along with the anger in her voice.</p><p><span> </span>Just then a big handsome man appeared and put his arm round the woman. Tom shrank back. He had always been in awe of tall men and this one towered above him. He grabbed Susie's hand and was dismayed when she shook it away and fairly snarled at the man, 'We were here first.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom held his hands up as though in surrender. He did what he always did when he sensed Susie panic, he sought safety in a cup of tea. 'Please, please, please let's all calm down and could we offer you a drink and sort it out,' he nodded towards the cafè next to the car park.</p><p><span> </span>To his great surprise, Susie picked up her bags and smiled at the couple who grinned back and they all walked towards the cafè. Tom sighed in relief and followed his wife who was now chatting animatedly to the woman. His heart ached for Susie. Sometimes it seemed nothing he could do would ever heal her.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Only he knew the pain that lay within her. He looked up at the man, craning his neck, he tried to sound light and breezy, 'Women eh, nothing a cup of tea won't fix I say.'</p><p><span> </span>The man chuckled and stuck out his hand, 'Jules, pleased to meet you.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom felt a warm reassuring sensation as he shook Jules's hand. For the first time ever he felt he wanted to confide in someone. He had always shunned counselling and Susie would never admit she had a problem.</p><p><span> </span>'My wife wasn't always like this.' he hesitated, 'I felt so lucky that she wanted me, she was the most beautiful girl in town, sweet, gentle and kind. We married very young and were so happy together just the two of us. Susie was on the pill for years and we thought there was plenty of time to start a family, but then..' he stopped, he couldn't believe what he was saying, he'd never spoken to anyone like this before.</p><p><span> </span>He glanced sideways at Jules and was surprised to see he was smiling, in a reassuring and encouraging way. There was such warmth in that smile that Tom carried on,</p><p><span> </span>'After some years when we did decide to have a family everything went wrong. Nothing happened for ages and when it did..' he paused again and took a deep breath, 'well eight miscarriages and a stillborn and then severe depression.' he stopped embarrased and ashamed. 'Gosh, I'm so sorry, I am so insensitive, there's your wife pregnant and me telling you horror stories. It's just Susie never got over it and in the end we did manage to have a little girl and we love her so much and Susie was a great mum in spite of her depression and then Samantha, that's our daughter's name, got married and then was told she couldn't have children and then.... she tried all that new stuff, IVF and all sorts of things I don't understand and ...' Tom stopped, he felt drained but also a strange relief. After so many years of not talking about these things to anyone it was all coming out, and to a complete stranger. He didn't even know that he could express such thoughts. For years he had tried so hard to keep their little family together, being the strong one, he had tried so hard to deal with Susie's terrible moods and depression. How strange that someone he had only just met should make him pour out all this pain.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Jules took Tom's arm and propelled him to the table where Susie was proudly displaying the baby clothes and plonked him down on the chair, called the waitress and ordered the drinks. <br /></p><p><span> </span>'Let's introduce ourselves properly, I'm Jules and this is my wife Priscilla, and you are Tom and Susie, right?'</p><p><span> </span>The two women turned to smile and then continued admiring Susie's purchases. </p><p><span> </span>Tom took a gulp of his tea and felt himself relax. This lovely couple, his wife's enthusiasm, a whiff of bonfire smoke in the air, the golden October light, hope stirred in his heart. </p><p><span> </span>Susie's phone pinged and she exclaimed in delight as she read the message, 'It's Samantha, she's here in town with Anthony. I'll tell her to come here.'</p><p><span> </span>She caught Tom's eye and lowered her voice, 'Shall I Tom?'</p><p><span> </span>Tom nodded as he glanced at Jules and Priscilla. He felt safe with them for the first time in years. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be fine.</p><p> <span> Just then, </span>Susie shrieked as she caught sight of her daughter weaving her way across the carpark to the cafè. She stood up, a pink babygro in her hand and waved it around her head. Tom felt a chill as he saw Samantha slow her pace and stare at Priscilla and Jules, confusion on her face.</p><p><span> </span>'Sam darling come and see what we've bought and look what a lovely couple we have met and ..' Susie stopped, noticing the worried look on her daugheer's face, 'Is everything alright, darling?'</p><p><span> </span>Samantha slumped into the chair next to her mother, she looked up through her hands at Priscilla and Jules, her voice was soft and full of emotion when she spoke, 'These are my parents, I'm really sorry I haven't told them yet. It's such a sensitive subject for them, so Anthony and I have been trying to find the right moment to explain everything to them gently..'</p><p><span> </span>Susie screamed, 'What? What haven't you told us, what's wrong?' the she turned to Tom and said 'Do you understand what's going on?'<br /></p><p><span> </span>Tom put his arm round her and she shook it off, angry and frightened. Jules leaned forward and when he spoke a calm descended on the table.</p><p><span> </span>'There's nothing wrong, absolutely the opposite, everything is just fine. Priscilla is Samantha's surrogate mother, she's carrying Sam and Anthony's baby.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom tensed at the sight of his wife, her eyes wild, her hands crunched up. He didn't know how to keep on protecting her from her anguish. Jules moved across to stand by Susie and, to Tom's surprise, she smiled up at Jules, her voice soft and gentle as she spoke, 'What wonderful people you are, what a miracle. I don't know what to say.'</p><p><span> </span>Samantha took her mother's hand, 'It's ok Mum, nobody should have to go through what you did to have me. Dad and you have come a long way and I am so thankful. We hadn't told you yet, knowing what you went through, but it's going to be alright, you're going to be grandparents!'</p><p><span> </span>Tears were falling down her face as Susie went to Priscilla and gently touched her bump. </p><p><span> </span>Jules and Priscilla smiled at each other and Priscilla stroked Susie's hair, 'This is my second time as a surrogate. We have three lovely children of our own and we are happy to be able to bring happiness to others.' </p><p><span> </span>Anthony and Samantha, Priscilla and Jules stood up. They looked at each other aware of the enormity of what was happening and held hands.<br /></p><p><span> </span>Later, at home Tom made a cup of tea and took it to Susie. He felt shaken but happy. Their daughter was going to be a mum, they were going to be grandparents. A glimmer of hope shone into his heart. Susie stared up at him as he handed her the tea, she was holding a crumpled piece of paper. 'Look Tom, I wrote this when I was a little girl. I desperately wanted a little brother and I wrote this...' She straightened out the paper and read aloud, 'Dear Shopkeeper of babies, please send me a little brother.'</p><p><span> </span>Tom held her tight as she sobbed. All those years that had battered her body and her mind and now because of his constant love and care she was almost whole again. He sighed and thought to himself if only things had been that easy.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-19890494207515465972022-06-06T09:32:00.048-07:002022-06-06T12:50:51.783-07:00Jubilee Reverie<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQMXC1kAfV5YpSB8oWGccX-AexsfQHO_x3slgFaWUjzCYPt_nj-uH8V8xYogIhFi7T4BHN8s6fR1wyw3ebidiKpcHQk1U1UBP6klcxpUKn7wVw5e9obJqqimSBLT9hjEXl7ltLVLWRUiXJ8Sm190J11-p2z1dTPxYumpnN4SnprhDmNrHrLgxVG60/s480/blogger-image--2051717837.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQMXC1kAfV5YpSB8oWGccX-AexsfQHO_x3slgFaWUjzCYPt_nj-uH8V8xYogIhFi7T4BHN8s6fR1wyw3ebidiKpcHQk1U1UBP6klcxpUKn7wVw5e9obJqqimSBLT9hjEXl7ltLVLWRUiXJ8Sm190J11-p2z1dTPxYumpnN4SnprhDmNrHrLgxVG60/s320/blogger-image--2051717837.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> After four days of Jubilee events I feel a bit drained, so imagine how the Queen feels. She's probably having a nice cup of tea and a marmalade sandwich. The sketch with the Queen and Paddington Bear was arguably the most inspired and uplifting moment of the Jubilee.<p></p><p>Being in Italy and not having Sky I was limited in what I could watch. A friend invited us to her house to watch the trooping the colour and turned it into a very special event for us. We started with morning coffee then later prosecco and sandwiches and then when those who weren't British had had enough of watching what was for them rather monotonous we turned off the television and had lunch outside and admired her roses called Queen Elizabeth.</p><p>On Friday I rushed home to watch the service from St.Paul's cathedral. The cameras zoomed in on the family members and we were able to forget about covid, not a mask in sight and people singing their hearts out. It was moving, no doubt about it, the archbishop reminded us of the Queen's love of horse racing, using Ainstree and Epsom as examples of different races.</p><p>The women were impeccably dressed in ice cream colours and the men smart and groomed to perfection. I thought Prince Charles looked rather sad and of course the Queen is his mother and she wasn't there and it was about her, so all sorts of thoughts must have been going on in his head.</p><p>As the congregation filed out I thought the absence of the Queen made them appear vulnerable and my heart went out to them all, they remind us that all families are fragile.</p><p>The concert on Saturday wasn't televised here but friends sent photos and videos and of course the highlight of the whole four days was the Queen having tea with Paddington Bear and taking a marmalade sandwich out of her handbag which raised a smile and warmed our hearts.</p><p>On Sunday while watching the parade and drinking at least three cups of tea to feel the part I wandered down memory lane and re-lived some of the happiest moments of my youth. My cousins in the fifties dancing rock n roll, the morris minor of the people next door, Cliff Richard on the bus and remembering the film 'Summer Holiday' which perfectly captured that magical feeling of going from a rainy day in England to the warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the music that accompanied our youth, Carnaby Street and is that Bill and Ben going past? Memory is such a mystery, I could remember every programme of 'Watch with Mother' from when I was three or four. Monday-Picture Book, Tuesday- Andy Pandy, Wednesday- Rag, Tag and Bobtail, Thursday- Bill and Ben, Friday- The Wooden Tops. No nonstop television for us, just a few programmes sealed in our memories.<br /></p><p> The parade went on, and then Oh my !when I saw the minis my heart exploded, I had a mini, my dad bought it for me, he brushed this generous gift aside telling me the roads were dangerous, a car is a weapon, I had to have a car that was safe on the roads. his generosity was overwhelming, I was a bit embarrassed having my own car but I loved the mini, I was at one with my mini, living in the countryside having my mini gave me freedom , I was like a bird that had learnt to fly, my heart was filled with gratitude to my dad.</p><p>The roads were easier then, patrol for 35p a gallon, traffic jams were rare, we could drive up to London and park in Trafalgar square. There with my cup of tea and watching that parade I was catapulted into my youth, my mum and dad were at home waiting for me, my heart was light and loving.I thought of all the people that I have known and loved, each decade that went past was full of the people that I loved and loved me, my aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbours, friends and my dear precious family and all the people that came into my life along the way and enriched my life.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p>The first Jubilee I was aware of was 1977, my uncle gave me a present of a glass dish made to commemorate the Jubilee. 'Do you believe it?' he kept saying and when the penny dropped 'Do you believe it? Jubilee it?' we giggled for ages at his wit.</p><p>Ed Sheerhan came on and sang 'Perfect', which was the perfect choice of course for all of us glad and grateful for those years. </p><p>It was perfect.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-89028490640203291092022-05-30T09:17:00.000-07:002022-05-30T09:17:14.252-07:00Changes at The Walnut Tree <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGbrY9-feq-FW8OrK_yqVANedWvx9_mCpbf5LhLQu4XUGI2Aw-N4qdJgTr_ritwFXN2G1daL0RRfoP-oIwg78Tvws1ownLSBk4JWGcxfImg9yZy3Y5iU7so1oEYitfVBESz3xuRfeQS03QRZJ4S4s0Dv8ZbWPRb0-0l_3qbe7wwO5MWE1uJX84Eey/s480/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGbrY9-feq-FW8OrK_yqVANedWvx9_mCpbf5LhLQu4XUGI2Aw-N4qdJgTr_ritwFXN2G1daL0RRfoP-oIwg78Tvws1ownLSBk4JWGcxfImg9yZy3Y5iU7so1oEYitfVBESz3xuRfeQS03QRZJ4S4s0Dv8ZbWPRb0-0l_3qbe7wwO5MWE1uJX84Eey/s320/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>
<br />
The first thing that Linda did every morning was to write the specials on the board at the front of the cafè.</p><p> She
smiled at Mr. Roberts the owner who was putting out a tray of freshly
baked croissants and Danish pastries. He smiled warmly and she had to
fight back a tear. This was to be her last day working at 'The Walnut
Tree' cafè. </p><p>Linda glanced at the piece of paper that Doreen from
the kitchen had handed to her and wrote down the dishes. There was
always a traditional one like Shepherd's pie or Steak and Kidney
pudding, then a salad of the day and something like a Thai curry or
Fajitas. Linda thought how the menus had changed since she started
working as a waitress over thirty years ago. Back then it was all baked
potatoes and cheese on toast.<br />
<br />
Doreen called out from behind the kitchen door,<br />
<br />
'Linda add home-made Salted caramel ice cream with Pecan fudge sauce to
the specials will you please? Piotr has excelled himself today, it's
delicious. He's also made some sort of Polish carrot cake that's got a
whole day's calorie allowance in it.'<br />
<br />
She smiled at Linda and patted her ample stomach.<br />
</p><div>
Piotr was the young chef from Poland and Doreen looked after him like a
son, teaching him English and inviting him round for meals at the
weekend and to watch the football with her husband Eric.<br />
They'd even been out to Krakow for a holiday with Piotr's family.
Borscht soup made with beetroot was a regular dish on the menu. It was
very popular with the older customers as it was easy to eat and highly
nutritious. Piotr followed a recipe handed down from his great-
grandmother.</div><p>
<br />
The mothers from the playgroup came bustling in. Without their small
charges they were self conscious, not having little hands to hold and
pushchairs to manoeuvre they danced about laughing and chatting and
finally came to rest in the two large sofas by the window. One of them
Tamara, had been at school with Linda's son Matt and she put her hand on
Linda's arm as she came to take their orders.<br />
<br />
'Oh Linda, you must be so excited. It's your last day isn't it? Matt
told me that you'll be looking after little Markus when Eva goes back to
work. You can come have coffee with us and bring him along.'<br />
<br />
The other mothers all shouted out their approval. Linda went to give
their orders to Samira the lovely young woman who was going to take over
as head waitress.<br /></p><p>Linda thought of how not only the menu had changed over the years but
the people she worked with. At first they had all been young women like
her, who hadn't got qualifications and needed to earn some money. Then
along came a steady stream of young people wanting to learn English.
Many of them were qualified as doctors and teachers in their home
countries and hoping that by learning English they would have a better
chance of employment. Linda now had friends from all over the world.
Matt had taught her how to use Facebook and she loved seeing all their
photos.<br />
<br />
Linda had been working at 'The Walnut Tree' since Matt started school.
It was her doctor's idea. When he told her that she wouldn't be able to
have any more children she'd broken down. As she sobbed and told him
that she felt so useless, she wasn't good at anything, she was a real
nobody, he had cleared his throat and said that he'd seen a notice on
the window at the Walnut Tree for a head waitress. The doctor knew the
owner and said he was sure she was just who they needed. Linda went
along to the café straight away and was amazed when she was offered the
job. The hours meant she could pick up Matt from school. It was perfect,
she got out of the house and was in contact with lots of people. The
depression that was threatening to take a hold on her had melted away.<br />
<br />
Mr. Roberts came out from his office with the daily papers to arrange on the oak table at the front. <br />
<br />
'You can leave early today Linda,' he said briskly and she had to turn
away to hide the hurt at his tone as a wave of emotion hit her. She
remembered one of her Italian grandmother's favourite sayings that had
always made her feel sad and she never understood why until now, 'we're
all useful but no-one's necessary.' No-one would even notice that she'd
left. <br />
<br />
A young couple came in and sat down facing away from each other, their
expressions angry and drawn. Linda handed them the menu and two
chocolate hearts wrapped in silver paper.<br />
They looked up at her surprised and then smiled at each other. Linda saw
their hands reach across the table and a warm glow filled her heart as
they held onto each other.<br />
She went to check on the old people who were sitting on their own by the
window. Sometimes when the cafè wasn't busy she would sit down beside
them and ask about their grandchildren and talk about the changes in the
town.<br />
<br />
Over in the Free Wi Fi section there was a group from the university.
She knew it was exam time. They were all quiet and busy
concentrating. She had seen so many students over the years. She had
consoled them when they had been homesick at the beginning of term and
reassured them when they had disappointing results. Many of them came to
her for comfort and advice. She thought of their hopes and dreams and
what she would have done if she' d gone to university.<br />
<br />
Linda had got in with the 'wrong crowd' when she was fifteen and failed
all her 'O levels' as they were called then. Her parents had been so
angry it had frightened her so much and she had lost all interest in
studying. They had kept on comparing her to her sister Jean. They
couldn't understand her. They had washed their hands of her. Jean was
now a top manager in a bank in London. When Matt had turned out to be
so clever and got his PhD in Bio Physics, her parents just said how he
must have taken after Jean. Her sister had laughed and assured Linda
that Matt's success was all down to his own parents.<br />
<br />
Just before closing time the cafè door opened and a handsome man with
silver streaks in his thick curly hair walked towards table six. As he
passed through the cafè the mothers stopped their chattering, the women
with their bright shopping bags sat up straighter and patted their hair.
Linda smiled and walked towards him. Her heart gave a lift as it always
did when she saw him, her husband Andy, her love.<br />
<br />
'Would you like your usual sir,' she gave a saucy wink.<br />
<br />
She loved the way he was so completely unaware of the effect he had on women.<br />
<br />
'Oh yes please, you know just what I like.' he grinned up at her and she felt herself blush.<br />
<br />
Table six was Linda's special table, she felt it was enchanted, a magic
table where dreams come true. It was where she had first seen Andy. It
had been love at first sight.<br />
Three years ago her son Matt had sat there and told her that he had
fallen in love with a nurse from Estonia called Eva. He said that he
knew it was Linda's special table and it seemed the best place to tell
her. Mr.Roberts had opened some fizzy wine and offered round the last
eclairs. <br />
<br />
Matt and Eva had sat there and told her they were expecting Markus and
then again when they had asked her if she would consider looking after
him when Eva went back to work at the clinic. They said they knew it
would be a change for her and they would understand if she said no.<br />
Linda hadn't hesitated. The thought of her little grandson, his warm
sweet smelling chubby little body, his soft brown hair and ready smile. The thought of cuddling him, washing him and playing with him. Nothing
had prepared her for the force of her love for her grandson. For Matt it
was natural, a given. She had loved him from the moment she knew she
was expecting him. The moment she had set eyes on her grandson she was
bowled over by the full force of her love for him. Andy was due for
retirement from his job at the local Garden centre and they were both
looking forward to looking after Markus.<br />
</p>
<div>
Samira came over to Linda. </div>
<div>
'Thank you for all the help you've given me Linda. You'll be a hard act to follow.'</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
'Samira you're lovely, you'll be fine. I've loved working here and I
can't believe that it's been thirty years. It's like a chapter closing
and part of me feels sad but I 'm so looking forward to looking
after Markus and spending more time with Andy. I'll go and change now
but I'll be coming in regularly.'</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Linda took off her waitress uniform for the last time. She brushed her
hair and put on a new lipstick that Eva had given her. She looked at
herself in the mirror. She smiled at herself to try and cheer herself
up, 'You're going to be fine Linda, a chapter is closing and a new one
beginning.' Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.</div><div><br />
She pushed open the door into the café and was totally overwhelmed by the loud cheer that went up. </div><div>'Surprise!!'</div><div> </div><div>Balloons
and streamers filled the air and before her she saw the regular
customers, the students, the mothers, her sister Jean, Matt, Eva and
Markus, Samira and Mr. Roberts, Doreen and Piotr, then at the front her
mother and father holding up a banner saying 'We love you Linda,' her
mother was crying and looking proud, and at table six her dear Andy, on
all their faces, reflecting back at her, was all the love and kindness
that she had given over the years. <br /></div>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-27800495211188914412022-04-10T09:21:00.163-07:002022-04-26T08:57:45.276-07:00Qb: la magia della Torta Paradiso<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEktwo0RiEqa5Z_MCzsOBSXYcpGlJq14hxWQYcGI0bSln5szx6WY--DZVMGIYsB1ZVwsR_VoEADcqLfDh3FF3Qgy8gzD-NnRSnZkfQpFg81OppEwMCBx0NhmtV-Xz_Dl7DtAiOyVl0QIYRVLKNU4PFMF2NYqvukYMa0iMYiy8m6WoU1pBd7L8i-b6/s480/blogger-image--380015507.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEktwo0RiEqa5Z_MCzsOBSXYcpGlJq14hxWQYcGI0bSln5szx6WY--DZVMGIYsB1ZVwsR_VoEADcqLfDh3FF3Qgy8gzD-NnRSnZkfQpFg81OppEwMCBx0NhmtV-Xz_Dl7DtAiOyVl0QIYRVLKNU4PFMF2NYqvukYMa0iMYiy8m6WoU1pBd7L8i-b6/s320/blogger-image--380015507.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Oggi ho preso in mano un libro di ricette e aprendo le pagine un foglio di carta è caduto e si è adagiato per terra.</p><p>L'ho preso in mano e mettendolo davanti al naso inspiravo profondamente. Mi tornavano alla mente profumi di vaniglia, torte nel forno che fanno allegria e danno speranza. Torte che simboleggiavano la vita di famiglia, soffici, leggere e profumate, da dividere con allegria e gioia. <br /></p><p></p><p>Il mio cuore si è riempito di commozione guardando la calligrafia della mia nonna, una calligrafia che faceva pensare al libro 'Cuore', a un epoca tanto diversa, a lettere scritte a un amato fratello al fronte, a una mamma lontana, a parenti cari, lettere di ringraziamento, auguri per le feste.</p><p>C'erano scritti solo i cinque ingredienti per fare la sua torta delle feste: la chiamava 'Torta Paradiso'..</p><p>cinque uova</p><p>250g burro</p><p>250g zucchero</p><p>250 g fecola</p><p>un pizzico di sale </p><p>Poi in forno a 180° qb</p><p>Non c'erano alre indicazzioni. Mi faceva sorridere il qb. Quando ero bambina mi aveva insegnato a fare questa torta per le feste e mi diceva, strizzando l'occhio, che qb era magia, era l'ingrediente segreto. </p><p>Di solito la preparava il sabato cosi per la domenica c'era sempre una torta da condividere con chi veniva a trovarla.</p><p>Mettevamo gli ingredienti sulla tavola in ordine. </p><p>Prima il burro e lo zucchero con accanto un mestolo di legno. Poi le cinque uova e una forchetta. Per ultimo la farina. E un cucchiaio.</p><p>La nonna si metteva un grambiule bianco che profumava di vaniglia e prendeva una grossa insalatiera a righe. Sembrava un direttore di orchestra, con il mestolo in mano. Il forno era acceso e la tortiera da forno gia preparata e ben imburrata.</p><p>Per prima metteva il burro a pezzetti e lo zucchero e cominciava a mescolare con il mestolo di legno. All'inizio si faceva fatica, ma man mano che si mescolava, il tutto diventava cremoso e soffice e allora passava a me la insalatiera.</p><p>'Cento volte, e sempre nella stessa direzione', mi bisbigliava, come fosse una fata che preparava un incantesimo.</p><p>Mi ricordo i desideri che facevo con gli occhi chiusi tenendo il mestolo stretto, come una bacchetta magica.<br /></p><p>Quando la nonna era soddisfatta della consistenza, rompeva le uova in un 'altra ciotola e con la forchetta le sbatteva, finchè c'erano bolle in superficie e poi io pian piano versavo le uova nell'di burro e zucchero mentre lei mescolava in continuazione.</p><p>Poi toccava a me setacciare la farina, mi sembrava polvere di stelle e la versavo con cura e l'impasto diventava sempre piu soffice e cremoso.</p><p>Ero io che avevo sempre l'onore di versare la miscela nella tortiera, e facevo in modo che ne rimanesse nella ciotola abbastanza per me da "ripulire".</p><p>Quando il nonno sentiva il profumo della torta nel forno arrivava anche lui in cucina e mi guardava con gli occhi che brillavano,</p><p>'Dai! Pulisci bene la tortiera, che la nonna non deve neanche lavarla!'</p><p>Ridevo con gioia e il mio cucchiano ripuliva la ciotola, facendola tintinnare.</p><p>Mentre la torta si cucinava, e il profumo avvolgeva la casa di dolci promesse, mettevamo in ordine, e la nonna preparava il caffe per il nonno.</p><p>Un giorno il nonno mi aveva chiesto, 'Ma tu sai cosa vuole dire qb'' e io fiduciosa avevo risposto, 'Ma certo, è l'ingredienti segreto!'</p><p>Lui strizzava l'occhio e bisbigliava, 'Il vero ingrediente segreto è l'amore', e ci gurdavamo negli occhi e sentivo una forza che da allora mi ha sempre accompagnata. <br /></p><p> La nonna, quando era arrivata al qb, toglieva la torta dal forno, inseriva una stuzzicadenti, e quando vedeva che era pulito, sapeva che la torta era pronta. Non si sbagliava mai, la torta era sempre perfetta.</p><p>Concludeva sempre con le sue raccomandazioni: fare sempre una torta la domenica, avere una cosa di dolce da condividere, colmare di amore i bambini, aiutare i grandi a rilassarsi dopo una settimana di lavoro, togliere l'amaro dalla vita degli anziani: ecco quello che ci vuole! </p><p>Ed è subito festa. <br /></p><p>Adesso sono una nonna anch'io. Penso che chiederò a mia figlia di "prestarmi" la mia nipotina questo sabato, così insegnerò anche a lei la magia della Torta Paradiso. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>' <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-10058155899598732542022-04-06T10:00:00.006-07:002022-10-17T10:15:58.634-07:00Conserva le memorie<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Il sole splendente filtrava
tra le tende e, attraversando la stanza, arrivava a riscaldare il viso di
Snezana.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Qualcuno bussò alla porta e
Snezana aprì gli occhi. Suo figlio Bojan entrò portando un vassoio di caffè
alla turca.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bojan posò il vassoio, le
porse una tazza e si sedette sul letto.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">'Ho cercato di farlo bello
forte: ho pensato che ti avrebbe fatto sentire a casa.'</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Snezana sorseggiò il caffè e
gli accarezzò la mano.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">"Sei nato con il<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>cuore gentile Bojan: pensavo che bastasse, ma
poi ti sei rivelato anche così intelligente e bello, sono così orgogliosa di
te."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bojan si alzò ridendo,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Mi basta che tu lo pensi. Preparati con
comodo, poi Emma ti mostrerà la campagna e poi pranzerete insieme. Io devo
andare in ambulatorio, ma stasera sarò a casa e poi avremo tutto il weekend. E’
meraviglioso averti qui.'</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Snezana finì il caffè e andò
a guardare fuori dalla finestra. Era una bella giornata di primavera e poteva
vedere lungo la strada. C'erano molti alberi pieni di fiori, rosa o bianchi,
aprì la finestra per respirarne il profumo.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Per un momento le parve di
essere a Smederevo, sul Danubio, vicino a Belgrado, il luogo della sua
infanzia. Quanto aveva amato il periodo della fioritura!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">La voce di suo nonno
risuonava intorno a lei, 'Vedi Snezana, i fiori fanno il pieno di sole
primaverile e quando cadranno, presto ci saranno ciliegie e prugne carnose. Se
osservi i fiori da vicino, puoi dire quale è il ciliegio e quale il prugno’. A
questo punto raccoglieva un fiore e glielo porgeva. ‘C'è una piccola fessura
all'estremità di ogni petalo del fiore di ciliegio che quello di prugno non ha.
I fiori sarebbero caduti come neve e suo nonno le disse che il suo nome Snezana
significava Principessa delle Nevi. Sua nonna le aveva insegnato a fare la
marmellata con tutta la meravigliosa abbondanza di frutta che cresceva nella
loro campagna. Ciliegie, susine, prugne, ma erano le fragole che amava di più.
A Snezana piaceva immaginare che le fragole fossero delle principesse con
coroncine verdi e facce dolci. Sua nonna diceva sempre che fare la marmellata
di fragole era come conservare amore e sole per l'inverno. Diceva che anche i
bambini erano un po' così, avevano bisogno di tanto amore quando erano piccoli
per essere pronti per ciò che li aspettava. Snezana non poteva immaginare
un'altra vita, allora. Rabbrividì pensando alla sua vita e come si sarebbe
spezzato il cuore ai suoi nonni se avessero saputo.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Snezana sospirò e andò a
prepararsi per raggiungere Emma, la sua nuora inglese.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">xxxxx</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Emma aprì la portiera della
macchina per sua suocera. L'aveva vista tante volte su Skype, e Bojan aveva
insegnato a Emma a dire frasi semplici, ma sapeva che sarebbe stato un problema
comunicare, così aveva chiesto a Bojan di dire a sua madre che aveva deciso di
portarla in campagna e farle vedere gli alberi in fiore e i prati di campanule.
Si sarebbero fermate per un panino in un pub e poi lo avrebbero incontrato di
nuovo a casa al suo ritorno dall’ambulatorio.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Era una bella giornata ed
Emma sorrise a Snezana e indicò gli alberi in fiore dalla macchina. Snezana
poté solo annuire e ricambiare il sorriso. Dopo un po' passarono davanti a una
grande fattoria con un cartello con una foto di fragole che diceva
"Raccoglile da te" e Snezana fece cenno a Emma di fermarsi.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Parcheggiarono l'auto presso
il negozietto della Fattoria e scesero. C'era una pila di cestini e un bancone
con una bilancia. Snezana andò verso di essi, mostrando chiaramente la sua
intenzione. Emma sorrise e la seguì. Non aveva fatto niente del genere da
quando aveva otto anni, quando era andò a stare da sua nonna nel Suffolk.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Le due donne presero un
cesto ciascuna e andarono verso il filare di fragole più vicino. Emma osservò
sua suocera chinarsi e riempire il cesto di fragole, con perizia e rapidità.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Somigliava così tanto a
Bojan quando era eccitato per qualcosa, che Emma non poteva fare a meno di
ridere. Era stato l'entusiasmo di Bojan ad averla fatta sentire attratta da
lui, fin dall’inizio. Quello, e il suo bel viso gentile. Adesso poteva vedere
come aveva preso da sua madre, e non sembrava esserci traccia del padre che li
aveva abbandonati.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Avevano gli stessi occhi
azzurri intelligenti e i morbidi capelli biondi, la stessa corporatura alta, ma
la sera prima Emma aveva notato un’espressione seria negli occhi di Snezana,
che faceva intuire il suo profondo dolore nascosto.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Tutto quello che sapeva da
Bojan era che Snezana era andata a lavorare in Italia e in Germania come
badante, lasciandolo alle cure della nonna, come tante altre giovani donne del
suo villaggio. Aveva mandato così tanti soldi a casa per i suoi studi e lui
aveva lavorato sodo sapendo istintivamente che quel denaro era soprattutto
un<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dono per lui.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bojan l'aveva ricompensata
vincendo una borsa di studio per un'università britannica e ora era un medico
di successo a Oxford.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Emma lo aveva conosciuto
mentre lavorava come fisioterapista ed era stato amore a prima vista per
entrambi. Si erano sposati cinque mesi dopo il loro primo appuntamento. I
genitori di Emma si erano ritirati per vivere nello Shropshire e avevano aperto
un Bed and Breakfast. Erano venuti al matrimonio civile, e avevano regalato
loro una luna di miele in Scozia.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">C’era voluto molto tempo a
Bojan per ottenere i permessi per la visita di sua madre e non vedeva l'ora di
mostrarle la bellissima campagna inglese.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Il cesto di Snezana era
ormai pieno e andò a prenderne un altro. Emma non riusciva a pensare a cosa
avrebbero fatto con tutte queste fragole e poi, come se le leggesse nel
pensiero, Snezana prese un barattolo vicino alla cassa vi mise dentro una
fragola e le fece segno.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Emma si mise a ridere:
'Marmellata! Vuoi fare la conserva! Certamente! Che bella idea!'</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Quando ebbero pagato le
fragole, Emma guidò fino alla città e le mostrò il supermercato dove Snezana
prese zucchero, limoni e dei vasetti di vetro da marmellata. Volle pagare lei,
spingendo Emma da parte gentilmente ma con fermezza.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A casa Emma mostrò a Snezana
la cucina tirando fuori pentole e mestoli e poi si sedette a guardare, mentre
Snezana preparava abilmente la frutta e tutti gli ingredienti. Ben presto la
cucina si riempì dell'odore dell'estate, di promesse di sole, di crostate di
frutta, e di allegra compagnia. Emma preparò del caffè per entrambe e si
sedettero ad ammirare i vasetti pieni di marmellata di fragole.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">La porta si aprì ed entrò
Bojan. Il suo viso si illuminò alla vista delle donne che amava così tanto,
sedute insieme in modo così amichevole.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Emma corse da Bojan, lo
baciò e lo abbracciò, quindi fece cenno a sua madre di unirsi a loro. I tre
rimasero lì, abbracciati, a guardare la marmellata. Emma si allontanò e li
guardò raggiante. Poi si accarezzò la pancia piatta e mimò di dondolare un
bambino. Bojan e sua madre la fissarono, poi scoppiarono simultaneamente in un
cicaleccio nella loro lingua, ridendo e parlando allo stesso tempo.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">xxxxx</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mentre Snezana si preparava
per andare a letto quella sera, nella casa tranquilla e silenziosa, pensò a suo
figlio e alla sua adorabile moglie inglese nella stanza accanto, che sussurrava
con tono gioioso del bambino in arrivo e, per la prima volta nella sua vita, si
sentì orgogliosa di se stessa.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Aveva lavorato così
duramente per guadagnare i soldi in modo che suo figlio potesse studiare ed
essere libero, perché potesse fare qualcosa d’importante della sua vita.
Nessuno avrebbe mai saputo quanto le era costato, come il suo spirito fosse
stato sul punto di spezzarsi tante volte, ma il pensiero di Bojan l'aveva fatta
andare avanti.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Il pensiero di Bojan, e la
gioia e il sole che i suoi nonni le avevano regalato tanto tempo fa a
Smederevo. Come la marmellata di fragole, pensava, dobbiamo imbottigliare la
luce del sole finché possiamo, per farci superare i tempi bui.</span></p>
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<![endif]--></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-12274439702184476332022-03-21T13:32:00.004-07:002022-03-27T08:16:47.273-07:00Spring Sensations<p> </p><p>How I love the springtime, in the Autumn of my years:-</p><p>The depth and clarity of memories is moving me to tears.</p><p>A carpet of blue violets is lying at my feet,</p><p>I bend and draw a deep breath</p><p>Their perfume is so sweet.</p><p>Memories come rushing back of woods so fresh and green,</p><p>Of primroses and mossy banks</p><p>Where I could sit and dream</p><p>Of fairies, elves and little folk</p><p>That lived among the trees,</p><p>Knocking on a tree trunk</p><p>Asking whose cosy homes are these?</p><p>A little blackbird with the sweetest song</p><p> Outside the kitchen door,</p><p>Golden rays from the setting sun</p><p>Stream across the floor.</p><p>Winter tips his hat as he bids us all goodbye,</p><p>Sweeping rose and silver hues </p><p>Caress the evening sky</p><p>The frogspawn in the garden pond, </p><p>The tadpoles soon come out</p><p>Swimming in the little stream</p><p>Impossible to count.</p><p>Their transformation into frogs</p><p>Never ceases to enthral <br /></p><p>Bringing back dear memories</p><p>Of Biology at school.</p><p>I love the changing seasons </p><p>But Spring has a special charm</p><p>Making us feel young again</p><p>It reminds us who we are.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0XFZi153nxpJFf3QfUaVLDp5jz7IQOUsgVOPepqgAUzeJiHDnRo4Oycyck20dIZu7FYmb1bcJZvVcr9LEBrAjT005nuM0l3RXXPh2WhK7OLRsnsVzb53s_fHRwwchI6orpxUL21klrqUkN1rJJveSry3HC2TKyU7EIC6xHXu_JIFALFYVwWuaNo1C=s480" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0XFZi153nxpJFf3QfUaVLDp5jz7IQOUsgVOPepqgAUzeJiHDnRo4Oycyck20dIZu7FYmb1bcJZvVcr9LEBrAjT005nuM0l3RXXPh2WhK7OLRsnsVzb53s_fHRwwchI6orpxUL21klrqUkN1rJJveSry3HC2TKyU7EIC6xHXu_JIFALFYVwWuaNo1C=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p>.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-17357864737880664972021-12-27T13:21:00.029-08:002022-01-26T08:10:12.452-08:00Dumfy the Comfy<p>Dumfy the Comfy loved stories. He had been made specially for storytelling. His position in front of the fire, but not too close so as to discolour his smart velvet upholstery, was soft and warm and inviting. </p><p>Every evening after bathtime the two little children Frankie and Georgie would snuggle up on their mother Brenda's lap while she told them a bedtime story.</p><p> Dumfy would settle back, relax and luxuriate in the feel of the children stroking his large padded arms and the mother resting her head on his back as she hugged the children tight. Then she would tell a story, a different one each night. Sometimes there would be magic in the stories, different creatures, and faraway lands. Animals and flowers that could speak and fairies and pixies that lived in woods or gardens. Sometimes the stories would be about real children called Frankie and Georgie and the two children would squirm with excitement and giggle at the mischief their namesakes would do. Georgie spilling flour and milk over the kitchen floor and daddy skidding across clutching hold of the curtains and pulling them down. Frankie whizzing off on new roller skates and crashing into the garage door. Daddy breaking all the eggs and mummy making an enormous pancake. One thing the stories had in common was that everything turned out for the best, everything was alright in the end.</p><p>Dumfy's favourite stories though were the ones Brenda told at Christmas. </p><p>The winter months were bliss for Dumfy- The long dark evenings were perfect for story telling.</p><p> He knew that Christmas was getting near when the children started decorating the house and Brenda would make biscuits and cakes that spent a long time in the oven.</p><p>One evening the children came down in their pyjamas and dressing gowns and rushed to sit on Dumfy. To his surprise Brenda called out, <br /></p><p>'Frankie, Georgie off upstairs now, I shall tell you your bedtime story in bed tonight. Daddy has got to make room for the Christmas tree because Grandpa and Grandma are coming to stay and we need to make room for their sofabed.'<br /></p><p>Frankie and Georgie ran to Dumfy and stroked his soft arms. They were worn rather thin now and in the light from the fire he looked a little shabby.</p><p>'Good night Dumfy, see you tomorrow, ' they called and scampered up the stairs.</p><p>The next day the house was very quiet. It was the last day of term before the Christmas holidays and Frankie and Georgie had left in a flurry of excitement bearing gifts for their teacher and Brenda had gone to do her last minute Christmas shopping. It was a grey foggy day and the room was quite dark. Dumfy felt himself relax and a warm glow came over him as he thought of all the story telling during the Christmas holidays. </p><p>A jolt went through him and he shuddered as the back door was flung open and a gust of icy wind blew into the room. </p><p>Two men came in puffing and panting carrying an enormous Christmas tree and stuck it right next to him sprinkling needles onto his velvet seat.</p><p>One of the men shoved the tree so hard it pushed Dumfy out into the passage. He shivered and tried to shake off the needles.</p><p>'This must be the old chair that we've got to take away. Chap said they needed to make room for the new sofa bed. We can bring that in and set up the tree then load this old armchair onto the van.'</p><p>The other man came up to Dumfy and stroked his arm,</p><p>'Are you sure? It doesn't look that old, but I suppose once the sofa bed is in here there won't be room, so ok heave ho.'</p><p> Up into the air went Dumfy, carried on the men's shoulders and tossed into the back of their van. </p><p>He couldn't believe it. There was a mistake. Surely they didn't want to get rid of him? He might look a bit shabby, but they needed him.</p><p>He tried to manoeuvre himself off the back of the lorry into the road. He managed to shift his wooden casters over the edge off the van. The men came back dusting their hands , pushed roughly at the doors and climbed up into their cab. They were laughing and full of Christmas spirit, eager to be home and they didn't notice that the doors weren't closed. As they bumped along the road and swung round the corner Dumfy slid out of the van and rolled onto the grass verge. He rolled over and over down into a ditch and felt his arms grow sodden and heavy with the mud. He landed in a puddle, upside down with his wooden castors spinning in the air.</p><p>He heaved and heaved until he was the right way up and looked around him. He could see the cars passing by on the road above him. He wanted to go home and he wanted Frankie and Georgie to run to him and listen to Brenda's sories. There was a rustling noise from the undergrowth and a little furry rabbit scampered up onto his lap.</p><p>'Hello, I saw you fall off that van. What a tumbling you took, I'm surprised your stuffing hasn't come out, you must be very well made, last week a mattress fell off the roof of a car and it was feathers everywhere.' The rabbit stopped for breath, 'I'm Brown Person by the way. Pleased to meet you.'</p><p>The rabbit waved his paw and sat down.</p><p>'I'm Dumfy the Comfy, though you'd never think so now, who would want to sit on me. I live in a house with Frankie and Georgie and their mummy and dad and there must have been a mistake and now I'm lost. Brown Person is a funny name, you're not a person, you're a rabbit.'</p><p>The rabbit sat up and laid back his ears,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdMyRh3adUmZmY1bLuIF3cBivqH3uWz_K3hjXlpR07Qwa7Xgq4l042IrJ9Qj8THVx_I-4Fw-D5uE0Zt-3Iut0JRtXckVMfycZ9QWI8Ao7hihO9AKsst-ujxSxWbKzr3Zi1sdBnohpwCtiSuCMr51sjXHqrvF1tw3FW8aQpeQhBhUuSAWMVDK48Twmg=s480" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdMyRh3adUmZmY1bLuIF3cBivqH3uWz_K3hjXlpR07Qwa7Xgq4l042IrJ9Qj8THVx_I-4Fw-D5uE0Zt-3Iut0JRtXckVMfycZ9QWI8Ao7hihO9AKsst-ujxSxWbKzr3Zi1sdBnohpwCtiSuCMr51sjXHqrvF1tw3FW8aQpeQhBhUuSAWMVDK48Twmg=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>'I'm not a real rabbit, I'm a cuddly toy, but <span style="background-color: white;">who would want to cuddle me now,</span> look at me, all mangled from being out here in the rain.'</p><p>Dumfy sighed. There was more rustling from the bushes and a little Robin red breast appeared.</p><p>'What's all the noise ? Are you in trouble? I'm good at rescuing people and so tell me and I can help. '</p><p>Brown Person and Dumfy looked at the robin in awe, 'They have pictures of you everywhere in my house, ' said Dumfy. 'Everyone gets excited when the postman brings pictures of you.'</p><p>The Robin ruffled his feathers and puffed up his little red chest, it looked like a fire brightening up the gloomy day. 'I know they love me, especially at Christmas, one of my great great great great great grandfathers warmed a little baby a long long time ago, in a stable and they gave him a red breast as a reward and ever since I am a special bird.'</p><p>'That's a lovely story,' said Dumfy. 'I love stories, I'm a story chair where people tell stories. What's going to happen to me now, nobody will want to sit in me any more.'</p><p>The rabbit hung his head, 'Nobody will want to cuddle me'.</p><p>The robin flew up in the air and down again.</p><p>'I have an idea, tell me where your house is and I'll go and get them. Are there any trees or bushes or something so I can recognize it?'</p><p>Dumfy thought hard. 'There's a holly bush in the front garden with big red berries because they have brought some in for Christmas and there's a Christmas tree inside where I should be and there's a green car in the drive and a bicycle with a pink basket.'</p><p>The robin flapped his wings impatient to be off. 'Just don't move until I come back' he trilled.</p><p>Brown Person curled up into a ball close to Dumfy's back. </p><p>The day was getting dark and small white flakes appeared from the sky. Dumfy and Brown Person huddled together.</p><p>Back at the house Frankie and Georgie had come home from school and were sobbing fat tears as they discovered Dumfy had gone. Brenda was on the phone to the shop that had brought the table and the tree. ' I don't understand, 'She was running her hands through her hair. 'Why did you take the chair away and where's it gone? Yes I know I said make room for the table.' </p><p>She turned round to the children and put her arms round them. 'We'll get Dumfy back,don't worry.'</p><p>She looked out of the kitchen window and cried ' Look it's snowing! Snow makes everything alright, it's magic.' The children rushed to the back door and tilted their faces to feel the snowflakes which mingled with their tears. </p><p>Frankie called out 'Look there's a little robin, he looks like he wants us to follow him.'</p><p>Brenda came to join them. the little robin was flapping his wings and flying off then coming back and flying off again.</p><p>'Quick put on your coats and let's see what he wants.' </p><p>They huddled together holding onto each other to stop themselves from slipping and sliding and followed the little robin who kept swoooping and diving around them until they reached the ditch. There the robin stopped and hovered above Dumfy and Brown Person. Brenda and the children peered down and then shouted for joy as they saw Dumfy.</p><p>'It's Dumfy, it's him ! The robin knew where he was, it is magic. It's like one of your stories mum.' Frankie was laughing and crying at the same time and Georgie climbed down and picked up the little rabbit, 'Look Dumfy has made a friend. We can take him home too.'</p><p>Brenda called the shop and they soon returned with the van and loaded up Dumfy and said how sorry they were for their mistake.</p><p>When they were all home and Dumfy and the rabbit had been cleaned up, Brenda gave everyone a cup of tea and a mince pie . </p><p>The shop had sent a big box of Christmas decorations for the tree to apologize and that evening they all sat together in Dumfy even though he was still a bit soggy, with only the lights on the tree and listened to the adventures of Dumfy the Comfy. Dumfy puffed himself out, making himself as comfortable and soft as possible and sighed with happiness, he was not only a story chair but now there was a story about him.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-52061881323247199252021-12-27T04:02:00.005-08:002021-12-30T06:07:14.097-08:00Celebrating the Pure at Heart<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwjieqZti-F5eX_A5BFY0b6ebN87z4uU7GqQpDuVC-9l1ADf4w4yyDqAUiOvFQyj--WTeMo8wixDx0hVlmpAwZY4eI8OoaLD1WxsVHnoXTCRv3JjQF2xlXEKIUu6TqUqlkHviQS__U7QiMGhGdNbmFsnA9snCOldZsN6K9D8s_6Yg5mP_iEuLb7oHC=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="640" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwjieqZti-F5eX_A5BFY0b6ebN87z4uU7GqQpDuVC-9l1ADf4w4yyDqAUiOvFQyj--WTeMo8wixDx0hVlmpAwZY4eI8OoaLD1WxsVHnoXTCRv3JjQF2xlXEKIUu6TqUqlkHviQS__U7QiMGhGdNbmFsnA9snCOldZsN6K9D8s_6Yg5mP_iEuLb7oHC=s320" width="320" /></a></div>My mum used to tell my brother and me stories, she bound us together with a golden thread , she was a wonderful story teller. We would sit together in an armchair that she called Dumfy the Comfy by the fire and she would read the messages that Father Christmas sent<span style="background-color: white;"> on the chimney</span>, sparkly trails that only she could read. Every Christmas she would tell us a story about a little girl called Susan who desperately wanted a baby brother.<p></p><p> xxxx <br /></p><p>Susan was so excited it was Christmas Eve, all the decorations were up, paper chains hanging everywhere, the lights on the tree twinkling with the promise of something good, something special, something extraordinay. Susan kept bouncing up and down on the bed and chanting 'Father Christmas is on his way, he's bringing me a baby brother.' She had prepared her doll's cot with fresh clean sheets and blankets and put her favourite soft toy rabbit on the pillow.</p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Her mother and father smiled at her. Daddy picked her up and carried her to the window. 'Look up at the stars Susan,</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">He hugged the little girl, revelling in the sweet smell of her clean pyjamas and fruit shampoo,'don't be disappointed if Father Christmas doesn't bring a baby brother, maybe he'll bring a new doll, because I think he only has toys at the North Pole.'</span></p><p>Susan's eyes grew wide as she stared at her father, ' He's magic, daddy, he can do anything.' <br /></p><p>He lay her down under the blankets and tucked her in. Mummy kissed her, ' Father Christmas only comes when everyone is fast asleep so close your eyes now and I'll tell you a story.'</p><p><br /></p><p>Meanwhile at the North Pole Mother Christmas was preparing hot chocolate in a flask and cheese sandwiches with pickle, Father Christmas's favourite. She tucked the picnic basket by Father Christmas at the front of the sleigh, slipping in a shiny bar of chocolate and then gave him a kiss. </p><p>'Have you got everything dear? Have you checked your list?'</p><p>Father Christmas sighed, 'The only thing I haven't got is a baby brother for a little girl called Susan who lives near London in England. I have got a puppy for a boy who lives in Scotland and a kitten for a girl in Wales but ..'</p><p>Mother Christmas hugged him, 'Have you got a nice doll you can give her? Nobody has ever asked for a baby brother before.' Father Christmas sighed, 'I don't like disappointing the children, I don't know what to do.'<br /></p><p>Father Christmas <span style="background-color: white;">cracked the reins</span> and the bells jingled merrily as they flew up into the bright night sky. He waved back at Mother Christmas and started on his journey. He flew across the Atlantic Ocean to America, then on to Japan and China, down to Australia and New Zealand, up to India the across to Turkey where he had a lot of relations, then on to Europe. As he flew over London he looked down at all the beautiful parks and decided this was the best place for his picnic. His load was much lighter and he glided into Hyde Park narrowly missing the Serpentine. He got out and gave the reindeer their nose bags of carrots and hay then got back into his sleigh, poured himself a cup of hot chocolate and took a bite out of his sandwich. All was quiet and still. A shooting star swept across the sky, Father Christmas felt the magic of Christmas Eve envelop him like a warm velvet cloak. He lost his balance as Rudolph lifted up his head with a sharp movement.</p><p>'What is it Rudi? Can you hear something?</p><p>In the deep stillness of the night Father Christmas heard a whimpering noise. He crept out of the sleigh and walked towards a bush where the sound was coming from. He gazed down in amazement as he saw a little boy holding out his arms to be picked up.</p><p>'Hello little fellow what are you doing here?' Father Christmas took him back to the sleigh and wrapped him inside his warm red cloak.</p><p>Now Father Christmas can understand what children say even before they are old enough to talk, what we would have heard as 'gagaga' Father Christmas understood to mean, 'I am lost and nobody wants me and I need a home.'</p><p>Father Christmas wished Mother Christmas was there because she always knew the right thing to do but then he remembered Susan's letter. He took the letter out and checked the address. Susan lived near London! He would take the baby to Susan !</p><p>He quickly finished his sandwiches and hot chocolate and set off.</p><p>Rudolph knew exactly where to go because he remembered taking Susan a toy rabbit the year before.</p><p>Father Christmas crept into Susan's bedroom, sprinkling magic dust as he went, he put special wishes into Susan's parents' bedroom and when he saw the little cot prepared next to Susan's bed he gently laid the baby down and drew the blankets round him and smiled broadly as watched the baby snuggle up to the toy rabbit</p><p>He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction and rushed back to the sleigh. He hadn't much left to do, the kitten for Wales and the puppy in Scotland and then home! He was so eager now to get home and tell Mother Christmas about the baby brother he had found. </p><p>On Christmas morning Susan's mother and father were woken to the joyful noise of Susan singin 'I've got a baby brother! I knew he'd bring one! Oh thank you Father Christmas, thank you.'</p><p>They ran to Susan's bedroom and laughed with delight as they saw her cradling a dear little baby. Thanks to father Chr'stmas's magic wishes they became the happiest family in England.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-22209277489208810382021-12-11T07:07:00.001-08:002021-12-11T07:07:24.367-08:00Thoughts while at the Hairdressers<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3lRi2ClXFb6WExjirl1qC59EmWMpwQPipkn5Q1JppumcZDyvtAC5qeCBNJkVX0vmMACHTjfLWAsyCo2o1tMLCmKFUODbuPfB4kW8LnioE8RvV7SlrBDRfqxrA6yZ9kUx4mOrDSaHVcc8SVmmxJza4m-3RS6xgJFYOm2q1S6XkfH4gNGGz1QXaNqxs=s480" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3lRi2ClXFb6WExjirl1qC59EmWMpwQPipkn5Q1JppumcZDyvtAC5qeCBNJkVX0vmMACHTjfLWAsyCo2o1tMLCmKFUODbuPfB4kW8LnioE8RvV7SlrBDRfqxrA6yZ9kUx4mOrDSaHVcc8SVmmxJza4m-3RS6xgJFYOm2q1S6XkfH4gNGGz1QXaNqxs=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /> I like my hair when it's in a mess,<p></p><p>Sticky bits from a child's caress,</p><p>The wind that whipped my fringe about</p><p>Sticking hair to my glossy pout</p><p>I would like to have it thick and long</p><p>But it's never really been that strong</p><p>I remember my mother in despair</p><p>Trying to do something with my hair</p><p>Bows each side or a pony tail</p><p>Brushing away to no avail</p><p>It escaped the bands, it defied the clips</p><p>'Such fine hair', she'd purse her lips</p><p>She'd tug, she'd plait</p><p>She'd smooth it flat,</p><p> 'It's not like mine, all glossy curls,</p><p>It's so unfair for little girls</p><p>To have such fine and wispy hair</p><p>It's like your dad's so thin and fair.'</p><p>I drink my coffee, read my book</p><p>Consider having a new look,</p><p>A girl comes now to wash my hair</p><p>In the mirror I see you there</p><p>My dear old dad is in my eyes</p><p>In my heart and it's no surprise</p><p>My mum's voice ,they're always there</p><p>Even when I do my hair.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-35645952771053726672021-11-27T13:03:00.000-08:002021-11-27T13:03:41.880-08:00Teatime in Lockdown<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9ULCbsG2_JMuumngusnRxG9wCfxshfAWEZHr0vqrjloEC8TmVqTD3NphELpxS0uGRMBeGfy4LFVDGsOhtd_jjcVQfAoMqNl5QwxvyQl3GD5oxzcoBB7n13HyqfhubAv1NjwO0U1IK-Y/s140-p/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="140" data-original-width="105" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9ULCbsG2_JMuumngusnRxG9wCfxshfAWEZHr0vqrjloEC8TmVqTD3NphELpxS0uGRMBeGfy4LFVDGsOhtd_jjcVQfAoMqNl5QwxvyQl3GD5oxzcoBB7n13HyqfhubAv1NjwO0U1IK-Y/w240-h320/blogger-image--114172296.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>'Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,' sang the radio.</p><p>Suze turned it off. </p><p>'Lies' she thought, she'd had enough of those and thinking about what is the truth. She looked at the clock.It was nearly tea time, half past four and she always stopped whatever she was doing and put the kettle on.</p><p>Since lockdown began Suze and Brian had been <span style="background-color: white;">shielding</span>, they were considered vulnerable, or fragile or something. Here they were in their late seventies and feeling more useless than ever.</p><p>Suze picked up her <span style="background-color: white;">cellphone</span>, there were 12 whatsapp messages. She glanced at them, scrolling down, some trying to see humour where really there was none. A man yawning and telling his little boy that after the pandemic people would be good, a message about we're all in the same storm but not the same ship, not stuck at home, safe at home, everyone trying to kid themselves things were alright. Her shoulders slumped. If people needed a pandemic to know what mattered in life then poor them. Her weekly magazine was full of wartime spirit, articles on knitting, hobbies, gardening. people who saw the lockdown as a blessing, they had time for their marriage, for their pet sheep, to enjoy their wonderful gardens.They all sounded so smug.<br /></p><p>She needed to clear her head. She put the radio back on, 'land of hope and glory' wrapped itself round the room, suffocating, filling her eyes with tears of desperation. She switched it off. She picked up a cushion she was embroidering for her granddaughter, Emma.</p><p> Her friend Svetlana had given it to her for Christmas. Svetlana had said at the time</p><p>'Suzanna you must put love in every stitch. Empty your head of all thoughts and only put good ones there then your granddaughter will always feel your love.'</p><p>It seemed perfect for a lockdown activity. She sighed and squinted trying to thread the needle.</p><p>'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, think nice thoughts, you become what you think, never judge, be kind, think about all the people you love, be grateful, be kind, look on the bright side,' her head swarmed with buzzing thoughts.</p><p>The doorbell rang and she <span style="background-color: white;">rushed </span>to open it pulling up her mask and grabbing the hand gel. Her son-in-law Matt stood on the doorstep, his eyes wide above his mask and holding out a cardboard box at arms length.</p><p>She struggled to catch what he was saying through the mask.</p><p>'This is the last but one box from the garage, I thought now you would have time to finish sorting them out.'</p><p>Matt put the box on the floor and blew her a kiss with his gloved hand. She gave him a thumbs up trying to smile with her eyes, then closed the door, wiped her hands with the gel and took the box and put it on the table.</p><p>These boxes were causing her great distress. They were from her parents' house. So many wounds that she couldn't bear to open, so many tears that she hadn't cried. So many years of pretending.</p><p>The last box she had opened had broken her heart. Forty years of letters. There was no use pretending any more how much her family had hurt her. How much she had pretended things didn't matter.</p><p>Suze's cousin Daphne had suggested a 21 Day meditation course to help her through lockdown. She'd started doing it to please Daphne and was stuck on Day five. <span style="background-color: white;">Her task was to write a letter to someone who had hurt her badly and now she had forgiven and now thought nice things about. </span>She had spent three days tearing up angry letters to various people who had hurt her, she thought she had forgiven them, she'd always been brought up to think six of one half a doxen of another, but somehow it wasn't working. She thought of Brian and his affair, had she forgiven him? Sometimes it bubbled to the surface, it was always there, that pain. Then there was the doctor who had stitched her insides in such a way after her emergency c-section having their daughter, Jean, that she couldn't have any more children. Then the girls at school who had told the teachers it was Suze who had cheated, stolen some money, hidden some books, all lies to get her into trouble.Then the boxes, oh the boxes, she had found the letters and her life had unravelled. <br /></p><p>She felt the wounds opening up, the tears falling.</p><p>Brian called out</p><p>'Hey love, shall we have a cup of tea? It's gone half past four.' <br /></p><p>She scuttled into the bedroom and helped him into his wheelchair and swung him into the kitchen, wiping her eyes and filling the kettle with water.</p><p>'Sorry Brian I was lost in my thoughts. Look Matt has brought me another box, he said it's almost the last.'</p><p>Brian rolled his eyes,</p><p>'Oh Suze, be careful dragging all that stuff up, leave the past where it is. Look at all the good things that have happened and look at our lovely family, come on love. Anyway whatever's in that box you're over the worst. There can't be any more adoption papers. Come on love, chin up.'<br /></p><p>His kind gentle voice brought her back to the present, eased the pain that had sprung to the surface.He was right, she should be over the worst now. She made her voice sound bright,</p><p>'You're right.' She took a deep breath. 'I love the sound of the kettle, don't you? Tell you what, I'll quickly sort out the box and then we'll watch a film.'</p><p>She held his mug of tea while he drank it, visibly relaxing as the sweet warm liquid did its magic, then put it on the table, helped him eat a biscuit and wiped away the crumbs then wheeled him in front of the fire and started sorting through the box.</p><p>This one wasn't quite as full as the others. There was a pretty musical box and she opened the lid. A ballerina twirled round to the notes of Swan lake and Brian turned round and smiled at her.</p><p>'That's why you get so emotional when you hear that music, it's your childhood peeping back at you.'</p><p>Suze wiped away a tear and put it on the dresser. then she carefully took out a tin covered in roses and opened the lid, her heart beating fast. More letters.She didn't recognize the writing. A stillness came over the room as she read the letters, her hands trembling as she took in the words of love from her birth mother. She had learned from the adoption papers that her name was Olivia and came from Cornwall.</p><p>Now she revealed the truth of Suze's birth, all those years ago, the world was very different then, Cornwall was a long way from Essex. Olivia had been fourteen when the Americans came to Cornwall. She and her friends had been dazzled by them, their accents, their uniforms, their promises. Olivia had been sent in disgrace, banished from her home to stay with Suze's parents, a childless couple in Essex, found through the church where Olivia's father was a vicar. </p><p>Suze stopped reading and sipped her tea, she felt a bit faint. She knew what it felt like to be told you can't have children. She imagined the love that would have been poured on Olivia and her new baby.</p><p>Brian coughed, </p><p>'Alright love, anymore skeletons in the cupboards?'</p><p>Suze tried to laugh but it turned into a sob. She carried on reading the last letter. Olivia had decided to give Suze up for adoption and go back to Cornwall to make peace with her father. She wanted to keep in touch, she loved Suze but wanted the best for her. She seemed very confused.</p><p>Suze put the letter down.<br /></p><p>From her parents' letters Suze knew that Olivia had never arrived in Cornwall, she'd got caught up in the bombing of London where she'd gone to meet her American lover.</p><p>Suze sighed, here she was nearly eighty and feeling like a child inside. She looked in the box to see if there was anything left, there was a birthday card wedged at the bottom. She took it out,tracing her finger over the words, 'Happy Birthday One year old.' The message inside was in her mother Heather's pretty writing, dainty and slightly curly just like her.</p><p>'To our darling daughter Suzanna, we love you so much, you are everything to us, have a long and happy life.'<br /></p><p>The room was completely silent, Brian was perfectly still. She looked at the back of his head, she thought of all the lies he'd told her for five years during the affair. She'd forgiven that, she'd forgiven her parents, she'd forgiven the girls at school and the doctor who had probably saved her life. There was only one person she needed to forgive.<br /></p><p>'Tell you what Brian, you know the meditation course? You know I'm having trouble writing the forgiving letter?'</p><p>Brian grunted and shrugged. She knew him well enough to know he was listening intently.</p><p>'I'm going to write it to myself. At my age I need to forgive myself.'</p><p>Her husband turned and held out his hand,</p><p>'You've nothing to forgive yourself, come on you said something about watching a film. '</p><p>Suze jumped up and hugged him.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>'<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3503315454917641229.post-11583368591254898612021-10-30T09:27:00.002-07:002021-10-30T09:27:49.521-07:00Japanese poems for October<p> Haikus is a Japanese type of poem, 5/7/5 syllables, just three lines,</p><p>Let's have a go</p><p><br /></p><p>October is here</p><p>The trees are yellow and red</p><p>Soon they will be bare.</p><p> </p><p>Now we change the clocks</p><p>We have an hour more in bed</p><p>We wake with the sun</p><p> </p><p>Eat food that is good</p><p>For your body and your soul</p><p>Wrap up warm outside</p><p> </p><p>Read books by the fire</p><p>Plant bulbs for when the Spring comes</p><p>Watch the sunset glow</p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14713436526877323274noreply@blogger.com0