Miriam 51 – Dear Andre, our blog has always been an honest window on our daily lives. Today, honestly, it was a strange day, slowed down, full of gloomy thoughts about the imminent future. Full of real and deep doubts about what’s going to happen, from here to a week, to my job, for instance, whose restart at the moment is not yet contemplated between the various phases. I chose a job that would allow me to put out my emotions, and those are the most penalized, at the moment. How can you tell love without kisses, affection without hugs, complicity without touch? And then I think about my children, today. I wonder how much they have really understood about what happened, what consequences will have on them this lockdown, without friends, without reference points, without grandparents. I wonder if sooner or later, after some time, the monster will come back to haunt them in their thoughts, dreams. Yesterday Vittoria ended her online class by shouting to all her classmates and to the teacher “I love you!” and then she said to me, whispering – almost to justify that impetus of affection that might have seemed out of place – “what can I do, I miss them..”. There is nothing you can do, that’s what I wanted to tell her.
None of us can do anything.
And to think that I have always tried, as all mothers do, to protect my children from anything that could somehow upset them. Instead this time we have all been overwhelmed, and the battle is not over, quite the opposite. Sorry for my negativity tonight, but I have the impression, today, clearly for the first time, that I have lost.
Andrea 51 – I have the privilege of having an antidote for moments like these. Or rather two. Three. Four. Many. It’s the people you share or have shared lights moments with. Those who knows how to take life less seriously. Even in moments like these. Once, I don’t know if under the influence of alcohol, someone called them “enlightened” (called us, actually, because I was part of that circle). Those who can laugh or make you laugh even during tragedies. Those that a few years ago all found themselves together (or almost) in a new city where they didn’t belong to. Those that, one night, turned the defrosting of a freezer full of fish into a night of food and strumming. They all went through our uvulas: the girl from Ipanema, Caruso, but mostly, those years, Perdere l’amore. That was our hymn. A metaphor for our bachelor status. Those were the Solomare years. A format was born, which brought together friends who wanted to hang out, eating well and singing. Only lightness, nothing else. Today we are at home, we no longer hear the sound of the guitar in the living room, but we open our chat and everyday is Solomare. The antidote. And then there are those who, instead, all together or so, found themselves leaving the city they belonged to, and reunited only once a year, sitting around the table trying to decide the fate of their weekends throughout the year. Those with whom you shared most of your life (at least until 25 years old) and with whom you share one of the greatest joys of September: The Fantasy Football auction. Priority number one of the post August bank holiday, even before the organization of the return to school of our children, we think of the flight to book to sit once again all together, knowing we will still fight via chat for a whole year, with such an intensity and coherence, that if we put that into our work we would already be all CEOs. We have been doing this for 26 years. The years of the Fantacorrado. And now that the championship has stopped our chat, made up of all Neapolitans and a native of Catania has turned into “Stay at home”. Where football, or rather, Fantasy Football divided, the pandemic united. The results we talk about are no longer the number of goals but the number of pizzas the came out of our ovens. Every night I press the green icon of WhatsApp and I have fun. Simple. The best network I can watch are my friends who make me feel carefree. I have the privilege of having an antidote, indeed many.