Salam Alykom and Hello to all my followers. Over the years, I recalled stories of my past to my daughter. Today, she is writing a post solely about a few memories that mean very much to me. By writing this blog post, she is helping me in more than one way. Her writing is fantastic; and she is writing through the voice of me. Enjoy!
Today I woke up to grey clouds hanging low in the sky and rain tapping salutations to my roof. My house was strangely quiet- that kind of quiet that befalls a house when everyone is soundly sleeping. I lay in bed listening to my two kids breathing in and out, in and out.
from left to right; Michael Angelo 1971-1997- Arrelyo (Lucia's Husband) - Marrico
There is something about rain that brings about my thoughts of nostalgia. Of course, I frequently dwell on the spirits of the past, but today is an exceptionally nostalgic day. My mind is hopelessly trying to recall the finer details of dead memories. Laying in bed with the goose-down cover snugly embracing me, reminds me of laying in bed with my Italian girlfriends and smiling at the previous day's events.
Italy never seemed so far as it does today.
I remember, twenty years ago, being fascinated by the new neighbors on the block. Their handsome, dark hair and eyes even shone in the Texas heat. I was introduced to them and found out the inevitable: they were Italians, straight from that artistic country everyone wishes they could live in. Michael Angelo, Lucia, Ivana, Gian Luca- pronounced (John Luca) Gian Luca is Ivana's boyfriend and now Husband and Marianna... those were the beautiful names of the ones I was closest with. We spoke, laughed and ate together. I was taught, little by little, one of the romantic languages. A few months into our friendship, I could speak un poco italiano.
Lucia's mom and dad. :)
We would dream about traveling to Italy together and strolling through the famous olive tree farms. And while we would dream, Lucia would be making homemade Italian food just for my American taste buds to enjoy.
"Kristina," she would tell me, "the pizza here is bad! It's too thick. It's not good."
As I was laying in bed, thinking about my Italian memories, I got a call from one of my good friends all the way in England. I told him the stories of my friends, and he responded with enthusiasm, saying we could try and get a hold of them again. I rose out of bed and walked over to my closet. Inside, I keep a box full of the more physical memories of my past in the form of pictures. Looking through everything, I found letters that I would receive from Italy.
I will forever remember the good times I had with them. And I have the rain to thank for this.
What do y'all think about my lovely daughter's artistic writing skills? If I do say so myself, she's pretty awesome... Thanks, Amber, for this awesome guest post. I love you and am so proud of you. I wish I had all the pictures of us, but my Dad sent them all to me when we lived in the United Arab Emirates. Unfortunately I can't get them back.
My daughter is always asking about my past and I always have a nice story for her. I swear, I regret nothing from my past, it made me who I am today. Thanks, Past. Almost twenty years ago, I had some great friends from Italy. I had such great memories of them. We had a lot of fun and they taught me Italian . I picked up fast since I know Spanish and the rest is history. I await our next meeting. Someday. One of them in particular was my next door neighbor. His name was Michael Angelo. Yeah, really, that was his name. He was fun and very down to earth. He was stationed at Laughlin Air Force Base for his flight training, along with all his buddies. He in turn introduced me to one of his best friend's girlfriend, Lucia. Lucia had the biggest green eyes and darkest black hair I've ever seen. She was a beauty.
I'm sure she still is.
I await our next meeting. It might be sooner than I think. :)
final whisper: This is dedicated to Michael Angelo. In 1997 Lucia wrote me and told me the bad news. Michael Angelo's star fighter air plane crashed into the Mediterranean Sea. He died on impact doing what he loved most- flying. I still remember your voice, Mickey. I will never in all my life forget your funny ways. You are missed and will forever be.