Di tutto un po'
This week-end I'm visiting my parents in Turin.
I got here on Thursday afternoon and am leaving on Sunday evening. So far I haven't been out at all but tonight my brother and I are going to see my friend Franco and his parents (an outing 'approved' by my parents as they are friends with his).
It's weird but I always feel quite claustrophobic on the flight to Turin and for just one moment before it took off on Thursday I wanted to get off the plane!
My brother picked me up at the airport, and when I got here I said Ciao! to my parents and reached immediately for the bottle of grappa. I love my brother dearly but he's a menace on the roads. He keeps moaning about all the other drivers but in a way he's worse. Out of principle, he didn't want to stop when an impatient driver pushed in front of him from a side road, and he just managed to avoid a collision. I saw myself back in hospital for a moment!
The weather has been reasonably good with rain in the evening. It feels rather autumnal. This morning there's snow on the mountains. We wouldn't have managed to tour the Dolomites if it had been this week-end.
A few pictures of flowers. They all look a bit sad with their bright colours, because well they are about to die with the imminent frost.
This bud will probably never bloom:
And talking of dying things, I can not help but thinking about a friendship.
7 weeks ago this friend (mainly of Adrian's) came to visit and gave us a book of their poems (printed at their own expense). The inscription on the dedication page said "To Adrian and Franco - such dear friends!".
This week Adrian got an e-mail asking for the book back because Adrian/we hadn't said anything about the poems. The silence had been deafening, they said. They only had a few books left and they could easily rip the dedication page out and give it to someone else. The truth is that we were not much in the mood for reading but we both quite enjoyed the little we read. Adrian returned the book nevertheless.
I guess we failed a test. That dedication "such dear friends!" now feels rather sarcastic. I don't know if I want anything to do with this person again: I really don't feel like treading on eggshells all the time.
I got here on Thursday afternoon and am leaving on Sunday evening. So far I haven't been out at all but tonight my brother and I are going to see my friend Franco and his parents (an outing 'approved' by my parents as they are friends with his).
It's weird but I always feel quite claustrophobic on the flight to Turin and for just one moment before it took off on Thursday I wanted to get off the plane!
My brother picked me up at the airport, and when I got here I said Ciao! to my parents and reached immediately for the bottle of grappa. I love my brother dearly but he's a menace on the roads. He keeps moaning about all the other drivers but in a way he's worse. Out of principle, he didn't want to stop when an impatient driver pushed in front of him from a side road, and he just managed to avoid a collision. I saw myself back in hospital for a moment!
The weather has been reasonably good with rain in the evening. It feels rather autumnal. This morning there's snow on the mountains. We wouldn't have managed to tour the Dolomites if it had been this week-end.
A few pictures of flowers. They all look a bit sad with their bright colours, because well they are about to die with the imminent frost.
This bud will probably never bloom:
And talking of dying things, I can not help but thinking about a friendship.
7 weeks ago this friend (mainly of Adrian's) came to visit and gave us a book of their poems (printed at their own expense). The inscription on the dedication page said "To Adrian and Franco - such dear friends!".
This week Adrian got an e-mail asking for the book back because Adrian/we hadn't said anything about the poems. The silence had been deafening, they said. They only had a few books left and they could easily rip the dedication page out and give it to someone else. The truth is that we were not much in the mood for reading but we both quite enjoyed the little we read. Adrian returned the book nevertheless.
I guess we failed a test. That dedication "such dear friends!" now feels rather sarcastic. I don't know if I want anything to do with this person again: I really don't feel like treading on eggshells all the time.