Family Roots

I felt rootless all my life. But now that I can relate to the Last of the Mohicans, I had it in mind. I owed a visit to Laveno, the place on the shores of Lake Maggiore where I spent each of my childhood summers. That's the place where my father was born. My whole father's side is buried there.

I have mixed memories about Villa Serenella. Some very good. Some bad. But I still enjoyed to go look at my grandparents' big house. There are other people whom I do not know there now but it does look pretty much the same. Just a few changes in the greenery and the exterior colors of the stucco and fixtures of the three-story. Still a great house, though.

I could almost hear our dogs barking, my cousins playing loud in the yard. The sweet smell of magnolias in July was hinting in the February chill.

Then I remembered my sister Marina when she was little. Still bigger than me but small too. How cute she was. How much fun we had. The camaraderie you can only experience with siblings. How lucky I was to have her then. She's the only Mattioni who's not buried in the Mattioni chapel in Laveno. I thought she likes it better where she is now.

And all of a sudden I was so overwhelmed. As tired as one can possibly be.

I drove back to Milan at 150km/hr, thanks goodness or the Italians for being more permissive on speed limits than the Americans. Pain is unbearable at a slower pace.

Comments

[gloria]

Mi manca molto ma spero che ora sia tornata a sorridere. Grazie per il tuo messaggio

[alessandra vuga]

Hai lo stesso sorriso di Marina. La ricordo spesso. Be happy you too.
Alessandra