Civago missing from the country of my grandmother Angelica from Fioravanti 1988.
I was little more than a little girl and I was with my father, who died in 1990, after a year and a half. I was in the midst of the worst period of my life and I also have a vague memory of the last visit.
had just died my beloved maternal grandmother, Ada, to whom I am dedicating the novel I'm writing. I was confused, I did not see anything ...
So to get to some last memories I have to go back even further, to 1986
A life.
To be honest for a long time I always had a love / hate for this country ...
I felt very lonely I had cousins \u200b\u200bmy age, they were all older, except my cousin Tuscan Xavier, who was then a boy, and rightly so, I had downloaded because at that age, boys see girls as the smoke and mirrors.
spent the time reading the Marvel comics that I passed my cousin Franchino (but it was ten years older than me and was with his peers) and the tales that I found in the secret closet of the house of Sita, the postmaster of the country, where my rented a house for a month, usually July.
Captain America and Thor, were my favorite ... I just do not like the blonde, but I read everything: Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Iron Man, the Man from Atlantis, Phantom, Devil ... all all.
and the beautiful stories that I found to belong to Valerio Fioravanti, the son of the landlady, who practically I did not know, he is too big ... and I found randomly on facebook recently.
I regret not having had time to go to greet him when I came back, but I will next time.
Yes, because I'm back ... with a very special person who shared my excitement as we travel the roads I've done so many times as a child and a young girl ...
All the fountains of the descent ... that of the square where once a Doberman vacated had frightened me.
And that church that I had with the oil pastel portrait at school, at ten years.
Here it is ... now cherish memories in the place where care, which is not subject to viruses that are haunting me computers, frequented by people I know dear.
Even more expensive than I read on facebook, when the two do not coincide.
So I discovered that I had to reconcile with this part of the past that I had removed, as often happens to me in this important year of rediscovery of my roots. And these for so long have been the most neglected.
not come back because I was without my father, who was so fond of the place to be with all civaghino, I seemed to have more sense.
Then, just when I was there forty days desperate to write my friends in the city: - Travel .. little miss. Less than ten! "
In fact the place I apparteneva, c'è sangue. E' l'unico luogo delle mie radici che abbia VERAMENTE frequentato. C'è parte di me, una parte che forse non conosco ancora bene...
La montanara che non sono e che forse non sarò mai... ma sì... qualcosa c'è.
Non è un caso se i miei migliori amici, forse le persone a cui voglio più bene vivano tutte in montagna...
Nel viaggio tra i faggeti, nelle nebbie, tornava la mia infanzia e voci dimenticate... profumi e luci che hanno colorato la mia vita.
E poi qualche volta sono stata anche felice... come quando ho disceso l'Abetina reale con un kway sotto il sedere a mo' di slitta, o quando cercavo con mio padre i vermicelli per pescare nel Dolo.
Maybe being so alone there, helped me to be more introspective.
But enough, I wrote too much, everything else remains in my heart ...
And whatever you do not see here is what is most dear to me ... what is engraved in my soul and my heart.
I'll be back, I swear. Who will bring me there.
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