Now and Then. Chapter Two

 

NOW AND THEN

A Random History of my Life

 

 

Chapter Two

 

In the late 60' I was trying hard to become a businesswoman! Since most of what happened to me, happened by chance, I landed in the communication business because someone-met my mother- at the Venice Biennale (!!)-who thought-that his ideas were interesting-and told me to find out more-and I hadn't a clue-but thought it was cool- and began my career!!!

Ha..ha..ha...the first three month I was alone in a room inside a much bigger office and my boss (the one who met my mother at the Biennale!!) didn't himself have a clue of what to do with us!! He said I had to learn how to type. True! He said to write letters to the Chamber of Commerce's lists of companies....I wrote an infinite number of letters using an old typing machine, carbon copy and so on! I used at least a forest of trees in those three months! But I learned to type!

 

Later, a few years later, I went to Moline....yes, in Illinois! But I'm going too far too quickly. Food for more chapters.

 

With a University degree in Political Science one can do everything, but that everything was hard to break down in viable careers. I was told at some point that I could have a career in the Police or become an ambassador. Ehm...not me! I'm not violent nor diplomatic!

Besides, I didn't know what I wanted, forget about knowing which career to embark on! I only knew that I wanted to work, something respectable young ladies were just then beginning to grasp!

I strongly believe in example, meaning give good examples to kids if you want them to be good people and citizens. My mother worked despite being banned by the "hi-society" of the times. My dad did too and fought against fascism. So there you go....I had to follow! But how??!! I was no where near them in terms of intelligence, culture...you name it. Hence...where could I look to find something to do not too miserable and hopefully even respectful and fulfilling??!!?? 

The communication deal seemed acceptable and unknown enough to make it attractive.

 

So I was busy learning to become a career woman, juggling my marriage and "follow-ups", and dealing with life. It took me a while to grasp the Press Release concept, and to learn to write in an acceptable PR jargon. All I had in my head were question marks!

 

 

 

Look what I found! I was looking for some pictures just before continuing writing. I have tons but all mixed up so I don't really know what to expect when I open a box. And...incredible...never saw this one in years...me standing with Leon Panetta whom I invited to a conference in Milano!



 

I had moved from Torino to Milano a few years earlier and I was still trying to find my way in a new city. I loved it, so much more lively, great night shows, open minded people. I spent a lot of free time walking borough after borough, understanding what my husband work was, locked in a huge room with gigantic computers...What I loved about his work was that he could write to me the most "techy" love letters...using an IBM 360!!

Everything ends, at least in my life.

The only family members I have providentially lived in Milan. My cousin, Franca, luckily had married a guy who really knew how to dance. During those early Milanese days I danced my way through the nights, rock&roll, boogie, Charleston, mambo, rumba and cha-cha-cha ...and so on!

Franca and her son FIlippo, no more a baby...

Those two and their 2 kids also began traveling quite a lot. And report back, which is not always such a wonderful experience (we were here...we had so much fun there...this was amazing but you can't see it in this pic...and so on...) also because in those years we had slides, with projector, wires, lenses, bulbs, and tons of uncatalogued small slide containers...discouraging!
Short....one year they came back from the West/Southwest in heaven with red rocks in all the pictures they had! I couldn't believe my eyes. It all stuck in my head, and deep in my heart.

The person who was in charge of their travels was someone who quickly became my friend too, Riccardo Rietti. Over the years we followed each other through continents and capitals of the world (well, kind of...), he helped me in the business with sound advice, with my life decisions when I was lost. In brief, he became a wonderful friend.
He died on December 2nds, ten days ago.

Riccardo, you would not have imagined in those days that your trip to now "my" country would become such a game changer in my life! It was almost 30 years ago....I never thanked you for this because I never saw the story the way I'm telling it now. So, please Riccardo, accept my heartfelt thank you! I will miss our long conversations from the homes of your sons who live back East.



Riccardo loved taking pictures. He self-published
some great photography books
                       
 






















So, here I am at Hopi Reservation! I designed the trip without a clear idea of where and what. I wanted the red rocks! Maybe someone remembers that for a short time there has been a hotel at Hopi! Burned down. We had already driven quite a bit, slept in a camp with a deer (in Milano this kind of things don't happen!), etc. Hopi though was indeed a big change!

This memory helped me often; when taking customers to visit I know exactly what goes through their mind before they even open their mouth! It's not easy to come straight from a big developed international city and...be ready for Hopi!

As we pull in, a second car stopped besides us.  we were the only two groups there, Two girls. We met again at dinner, chatted, fell in love with each other, promised to write (we then saw each other many times, I went to spend a month in Bali with one, spent wonderful times in NYC, what a lucky encounter!). Most importantly, we decided to meet again in a place they knew. Later, years later, I realized it was Chimayo'!!!! Funnily enough, we decided to skip Santa Fe because apparently there was not much to see!!

 

I remember I and my friend stopped in Albuquerque, went in a music shop and asked who was the hottest singer at the time. You know, in America everything was better (THEN!!!). I was informed that the first Bob Marley (Marley who???!!!) 33 record was out. I bough it. I still adore him today!

 

The then Chimayo' Restaurante is still clearly in my mind, stone steps and parasol.... it didn't change much!!

 

On that trip something else stopped my heart for a moment: Canyon de Chelly's Massacre Cave!

We got there without any expectations. We walked down the trail leading to the overlook and...Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I saw it again when I was already living here, in a snowy winter evening...amazing too!

There on the rim there are illustrations depicting scenes of that place. At massacre cave there is one that really struck me: the drawing is very realistic, almost childish. Terrifying. A Navajo woman grabs a Spanish soldier and not strong enough to kill him there and then she tightly grabs his body and jumps off the cliff taking him with her.

 

Massacre Cave

 

When I finally saw "RED" it was when we got lost and decided to follow a sign pointing at Painted Desert. Oh, I wish I could do it all over again!

Chapter

Being mature (old)

I'm really, really excited to have reached my age and to be able to discover that maturity and wisdom do indeed go hand in hand. It is an amazing feeling when answers to questions about things that happen around you come to you, like crawling from your guts up, up into the stomach, your chest and finally out of your mouth. And you don't have to do anything! It is a spontaneous process, it just happens.

Bla...bla...this and that...once upon a time...

I often considered doing what many friends have been suggesting for a while: write about my life. My answer has always been the same: I don't write well, particularly in English (!!!); my life is not so special to deserve to be shared; there are too many books out there that go unread into the black holes of the Universe. The truth is though, that each life is unique. Your life is unique, just  like his, hers, ours. But they are unique for ourselves, seldom for others.

But..., ok, yes, I want to try to jot down some memories and current experiences. We shall see. Be good to me!

NOW AND THEN

A Random History of my Life

 

Introduction

 

Because memory is a gift no longer available after a certain age, it's difficult to remember the name of the person you just met, or the article it took 30 minutes to read. We have to accept this. But memories from one's past come back, during the day, when you read but your mind refuses to focus, when you listen to a long chat on the phone, and during the night when you dream or have nightmares, when...when...when. Luckily most go away as fast and mysteriously as they came to us! And these memories sit at the bottom of your corners, scattered around in the mind and body to create a useful basket of facts our brain can manipulate to create...WISDOM!

Chapter One

Since about a year ago or so, I realize that it became easy for me to be a "counselor". Until then, if someone would ask for advice, I knew I was not going to be able to open my mouth quickly as my teeth were sticking together in terror... waiting for something to say to come up. Not anymore. The memory of a long life full of amazing experiences, people, fun and sad events create a sort of alliance among them and, voila', my opinion is ready and clear and I can advise, in a way that makes sense, and can even prove useful!

Here is where memories from the past come in! While listening to the friend in trouble, I receive an image of myself. University, studying with two friends, sitting on a pale green couch overlooking, through a gable, the river Po, that runs through Turin. We have on our laps those gigantic law books that I never managed to find interesting. I couldn't understand much, nor follow the discussion among THEM. My friends who learned quickly, who even understood what we were reading. Those two who didn't see my struggle, didn't pay attention to me, didn't care about my panic attacks. Didn't say a word to convince me that I was OK. I panicked, tears would begin dropping on my skirt (no pants then, unless when you skied!). I wanted them to SEE me, talk to me, and tell me that I was not stupid. Nothing. I saw my friends like in a cloud, happy, chirping, repeating long sentences about law...I was invisible. My heart was aching. I would resolve to screaming out loud: I think I'm stupid!!!!

The result was always the same, after quickly staring at me they would laugh and say "What??!!"

The same feelings, other circumstances. A Greek Island, gorgeous, hardly any tourist. It was my third visit. Many friends came with me. 16 hours between blue sea and burning sun (I am now covered with freckles and dark spots...), then dancing sirtaki all night. What was I doing when we were all walking up to the house I rented for us? I would gradually slow down my pace in order to stay behind and then get depressed! I would wait for someone to turn around, noticing I was not with them but alone, far away (not so far, really...) and sad, very sad. I needed someone to say "why are you behind? Something wrong?" Nothing of that ever happened because nobody could imagine that the most vivacious of all, laughing, diving, and dancing happily day and night, had something like that in her mind. Who would?
I can assure you that I was more than miserable, I was desperate (although it was over as soon as we reached home and change for dinner!). Truly.

Now I know that things happen for a reason. Since I was the happiest little girl during childhood and growing up, I had to experience, although not seriously, the feeling of depression and of being alone and misunderstood if I wanted to fend my way through life without a lifesaver. I did, I indeed survived all the bad experiences, each time feeling stronger, each time feeling I was equipped for victory. By myself.

My friends never found out how "cruel" they have been with me. Some are no longer with us. But I remember their happy and intelligent faces while I was feeling stupid, weak, alone.

Thank you for not noticing, now I can help others. If you had noticed I would always look for help outside myself.

Something else. A few days ago I read about an Italian organization that takes care of young people from poor countries who come to Italy to study. I first searched on Facebook, then I also searched for more information on the Internet. And BANG...the name of the village where it is based is that of a place where I have been incredibly happy while growing up. A hilly area famous for its vineyards and small farms. My family bought that place to hide during fascism, when possible. For me that place is synonymous of happiness, freedom, where I learned the friendship with animals and about their loyalty.
Thanks to that Google search and to my never ending curiosity I travelled back to the twin calves of my beloved cow Mora, that allowed me to raise one with the bottle while she was nursing the other (I will never forget the lovely nose covered with milk!!);

the goose chicks who lost their mother, the eggs laid under a helpful mommy turkey, and then in my shirt's pocket. I can still feel their tiny beaks eating bright yellow corn flower directly from my mouth!

Then, during my search I found a new page talking about restoring a beautiful gate now in disrepair. OMG....it is MY gate that opened to the farm!!!!!!!! That I didn't remember, until I saw it and suddenly it was like a movie. Me with the boy I grew up with, Marco, on an oxcart. getting the oxen from the stable, tying them to the cart, opening the gate and off into the fields! We were less than 10 years old for sure. With big pitchforks we would work hard lifting hey until the cart was so high we could hardly climb to the top. I can still feel the pride of coming home to the farm, open the gate having accomplished a tremendous job.

The search blessed me with another image of the farm. The label of a wine now produced there has the design of the building that saw my most exciting and "extreme" adventures, never again to be performed! The hayloft and the stable, which you can't see but that it was right below the lofts. Those were the places for "extreme" activities (i.e. forbidden to the children...) like jumping many levels of hey stacks, hiding for hours, and talking with the cows all with their warm look in their eyes who would turn around to greet me every time I would open the stable door. This was not forbidden but only BEFORE the evening bath....

 



Going to bed now hoping for some dreams and late night Google searches to give me some other bits of memories, enough for another chapter.